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#it's the LEAST you can do if you turn a cool character into a mean and cruel one

blujayonthewing · 2 years

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Hello, can you tell me about Indigo??

oh man the TRUTH IS there isn't very much more to tell than this post about them, aahah ^^;; They're a one-shot character, so they don't necessarily NEED a lot of background or rich depth or anything (not that that's stopping me from giving them any tbqh, but since I'm not sure when I'm gonna play them again they're not high priority for it either per se). I do know that before they took to the seas, they lived in the mountains studying druidry, astronomy, astrology, and jewelrymaking under a crystal dragon (they're a one shot character, go big or go home tbqh) which I'd actually love to flesh out more at some point-- I had a lot of the basic idea for Indigo's interests and personality before looking at feats got me to look into gem dragons, and I was actually a little surprised at how well crystal dragon lore felt like it fit Indy's Vibe :3

They took up sailing out of a desire for a change of scenery; with their extensive background studying the stars it was pretty easy to get into navigation. At some point their ship was attacked by pirates and they were pressed into service, and it was FRANKLY a huge relief because it turns out sailing with merchants is fucking boring. Their motivations for piracy are very much the Romanticized Golden Age Piracy kind-- freedom, adventure, treasure, excitement. Basically, they're pirating on a lark. They're a little bit of a scallywag and a chronic bullshitter-- they've got dozens of stories about what happened to their missing eye and they're always giving obviously shitty and made up horoscopes, but they take their jobs onboard seriously even when they seem to have a laid back and lackadaisical attitude about it.

Because they're adventuring For Funsies, and partly due to their background, their idea of treasure is a little esoteric-- they're interested in weird things, or rare things, or pretty things, or things that were particularly challenging to get; their ship takes on the name of any ship she conquers in battle, and I think Indigo is more keen to attack ships with good names than good cargo, haha. They're companionable and enjoy sharing company with the rest of the crew, but they also cherish the solitude of the crow's nest, and spend a lot of time looking at the stars.

#antique-symbolism-main #'I do not have much to say [wall of text]' shhgskj #but I mean it isn't much. like this is most of what there is I'm just overly wordy ahaha :')#their perspective on divination is that everything in nature has patterns that may correlate with other things #so you can learn to recognize and read those patterns-- it's less that Your Destiny Is Written In The Stars #and more that everything that happens is interconnected in often obscure or unexpected ways #free will but if you're on a road you can usually find a map or at least see if it's turning a bend up ahead #they are ALSO a Sexy Flavored Pirate because a fictional pirate needs to be goofy and/or sexy #(of course they're both don't get it twisted it's more fun that way lmao)#also also I default to they/them but they use any pronouns I just like picking one and sticking with it for clarity #gender is an especially boring Other People Problem #anyway they're cool I should flesh them out more #this feels like a lot but a lot of it is surface trappings cause again one shot character #but it's a lot to work with! I'd love to go deeper I bet they're Interesting #about me #my OCs #Indigo

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twistedwonderlandimaginesblog · 6 months

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How do you think the dorm leaders would react to an rsa student leading/kidnapping the prefect to take them away from the 'villains', and when tracked down to a ledge and arguing with saud dorm leaders, the prefect defends them before getting accidentally pushed off? Just the look of horror on their face before they fall, reaching out for them? Ala gwen in spiderman

(I'm not going to do every dorm leader bc I normally have a cap of 5 characters per ask so if the leader you'd like to see isn't here, please feel free to send in another request

these are also all super long so they're under a cut)

Azul Ashengrotto:

Azul had been thinking since the moment you’d been taken. He figured it must be someone with a personal grudge against him, rolling his eyes at the platitude that you would be safer with them than him. The twins are even considering less annoying while he’s plotting out what to do, trying to find a way that wouldn’t leave him vulnerable to another strike while also procuring you from your kidnappers. The fact they even agreed to a meeting proved to Azul that they were a devious soul, hidden behind a mist of chivalry when their wants were just as selfish as anyone at NRC. He comes into the conversation thinking he has everything under control, not in the least bit surprised when it turns into a real fight; his magic is at the ready, hand raised and prepared to do what he must to end this when you move outside of his predictions. He would have to viciously scold you for this later but he’s too worried to think about the angry rant he’ll go on for not just trusting in him to be ready no matter what. When you’re tumbling to the ground, he squeezed the handle of the broom he had brought with him, hating the concept of being in the air but feeling even more sick about all his hard work being for nothing (meaning: he would be heartbroken and would not know what to do with himself should you end up perishing on him here). It’s a little washy, but the carefully thought out Plan B ended with you scooped in his arms, his flying wobbly at best but once there’s a safe place to land you feel much safer with him around. When you ask what might happen to the RSA student Azul simply smiled, telling you not to worry about it as Jade and Floyd wouldn’t leave behind a single trace of what occurred that night.

Idia Shroud:

Idia is fighting a storm of emotions, doing his best to not to lose his cool in such a fragile situation. He had to observe the options before him carefully, hoping his perception skill was high enough to afford him a break. It felt like having someone ripped away from him again, the past repeating before his very eyes, and while he knew the stakes were much less serious than the previous situation he’d gone through, it still set his anxiety through the roof. He considered begging you to just stay in your room like he did so he wouldn’t have to worry about you putting yourself in danger (his thoughts darting away from the concept of you just living in a room with him). Idia isn’t used to sticking his neck out for someone else but he knew you, and he knew defending him if the moment called for it would come to you as easy as breathing. He had Ortho prepared for any QTE’s that might be outside of Idia’s control, thankful that the second controller was plugged in before he arrived as you did exactly as he predicted. He can see the fear on your face and while he does want to call out to you to let you know you’ll be safe, it would be better to keep the enemy unaware of the surprise attack awaiting once Ortho got you to safety. With you out of the way Idia felt much more at ease, the sharp grin on his face appearing almost manic to his enemy, who found themselves wondering if they should follow you off the ledge.

Leona Kingscholar:

Leona was doing his best to keep a poker face on. When it came to others thinking they were better than him, he was no stranger, but to know they had taken away someone he loved—he was prepared to show them what a real villain looked like. He navigated the situation carefully, this was just a risky game of chess in his eyes but he didn’t realize quite how risky it was until your life was dangling right before his eyes. He’s not unaware of how something can change in the blink of an eye, the scale could tip in either direction but he had to be prepared. He’s always been quick on his feet and there’s nothing in this world that he’d put more effort into than assuring your safety, even pushing himself to the brink of his magical abilities when he cushions the dramatic fall that easily could’ve stolen your life. The person preaching to him from above has only cemented his view that those who soar so high above don’t consider their own actions as evil, always for the ‘greater good’ which meant you were better off dead than with a ‘villain’ like him. He can’t help but scoff, eyes darker than you’ve ever seen them as there’s an unspoken promise hanging in the air: he would kill them without hesitation if they were to ever touch a hair on your head again.

Malleus Draconia:

Malleus was shocked at first, secretly hurt, that people on the outside could look in at your relationship with him and consider him a danger to you. He was careful around you, always protective and caring and wanting what’s best for you, so how could that be misconstrued? It made his blood boil to think about your kidnapper trying to turn you against him, and he felt even more powerless when your life was in someone else’s hand so he had to act with caution. He approached with an air of calm that was betrayed by his eyes, the smile not quite reaching them as he greeted your captor politely. He didn’t think he could lead them into a false sense of security because everyone knew to be on guard against him, but he’s surprised the coward even showed their face again. He’s even more surprised to see you attempt to sacrifice yourself for him, reaching out for you and feeling helpless again as you slip right through his fingers; he refused to lose, his hands moving quicker than his brain was as he cast a last ditch effort spell to stop your fragile human body from becoming a stain on the ground. He’s relieved to see that his quick thinking had resulted in saving your life, the vines wrapped around your arms and legs like a comforting hug. He’s thankful he learned how to use the spell without including thorns, but his thoughts are now elsewhere, turning to look at his enemy with bright eyes and an even brighter smile. He tells them they should feel quite lucky that you’re in one piece, as if you had died, Malleus would have tormented their family for generations to come, if he allowed them to exist after this at all.

Riddle Rosehearts:

Riddle is trying to keep his cool, as Trey advised it was best he do so, but it was hard not to feel anger for the complete disrespect that was being shown. How could they think taking you away from your education would be the best route? From a place that you were thriving? If they thought he was doing a poor job as a dorm leader helping you, than they could’ve offered the criticism personally rather than causing you to break a hundred rules within the span of a day. He has to stop himself from raising his voice or going on a rant when he sees how frightened you are, feeling baffled again that this RSA student considered themself some sort of savior when they weren’t taking you into consideration at all. Even he had to learn a lesson or two in regards to it, and he considers it his turn to teach that lesson, challenging them to a duel that would decide where you would end up. Riddle, trusting in his opponents intent to have an honest duel, turned his back to get in place but is shocked to hear the other person winding their spell up already. Your interference is the only reason he’s in one piece but it was at the sacrifice of your own well-being; Riddle cried out your name, nearly panicking as he missed your hand by milliseconds. He can hear the chanting in his head, the word ‘failure’ stamped with bolded red letters, and he nearly lost himself in grief until he sees that Trey and Cater had tailed him. Now that he knew you were safe his face began to grow red, his complete rage turned on the RSA student who would learn the true definition of ‘off with your head’!

#Twisted Wonderland #Disney Twisted Wonderland #TWST #Disney TWST #TWST Imagines #TWST x Reader #Twisted Wonderland x Reader #Leona Kingscholar #Idia Shroud #Azul Ashengrotto #Malleus Draconia #Riddle Rosehearts #Leona Kingscholar x Reader #Idia Shroud x Reader #Malleus Draconia x Reader #Azul Ashengrotto x Reader #Riddle Rosehearts x Reader

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indierpgnewsletter · 1 month

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Playing Rabbits in an RPG from 1976

(This continues our 2024 series, 10 Games From The First 10 Years. First published in the Indie RPG Newsletter)

It is genuinely surprising to me that in 1976, within two years of D&D coming out, someone published a game about being rabbits. It makes a little more sense when you realize that it was inspired by Watership Down and the designers were, I believe, zoologists or something similar. But having read it, the premise is the least interesting part of this game. It has so many fascinating little ideas.

Bunnies & Burrows is a game about rabbits … but these aren’t just rabbits, they fight, explore, gamble, study herbs, see the future, parley with beetles, find love, have children – and the list goes on. The end result are characters that ironically feel more human than you’d imagine.

As I play more games, I learn about games, sure, but I’m also learning a lot about myself. And a rule of thumb has slowly emerged: I want to play games that lead to interesting, surprising, unique things being said by the players. I’ve sometimes phrased it as “people want to say cool shit at the table”. I’m people.

Bunnies & Burrows starts with D&D as a jumping off point – there’s that old, familiar rolling 3d6 down the line to get your stats. But that’s more or less where the similarities end. You have rules for fighting but it’s not D&D combat – this game is often described as having “the first martial arts system” but what this means is that fighting is mostly weapon-less and involves declaring actions that flow into each other as patterns or c-c-combos. Basically, some actions set up other actions – you can’t Rip into another rabbit unless you already pulled off a Bite & Hold in the last turn. Some actions like Run aren’t possible if you’ve just done a Pin or a Rip in the previous turn and so on. I didn’t actually get to play out a fight but these rules got me grinning.

And the whole thing is like that. The study and application of herbs is meant to be a little puzzle where through trial-and-error and dice rolls, you slowly figure out what’s good for you and what isn’t. The languages and persuasion rules mean that certain characters can become envoys to other species. Because a language can mean the difference between things turning violent and a peaceful negotiation between rabbits and a mother scorpion that has accidentally wandered into their warren.

Don’t get me wrong. Most of these little pieces are eccentric and inelegant – always more convoluted than you’d like but still a major leap forward in playability because in the end, it’s a d100 roll under a target number. All the fiddliness – and there’s a lot of it – lies in the absolutely esoteric ways this game invents for calculating that target number. But I find it easy to forgive this in an old game, especially when the most interesting part of the game doesn’t lie in the mechanics but the negative space the rules seem to create.

The donut hole in the centre of this game – fruitful void? uncrowded centre? – is the question: What is rabbit society like? This is a setting question – or rather, a system of relation question – that is never asked but it must be answered. The mechanics have some opinions. For example, every player picks a profession when they make a character – Empath, Seer, Storyteller, Scout, and so on. Some of this comes from Watership Down, which can, of course, be your ready-made answer – it’s the unstated but obvious setting sourcebook for this game. But if you don’t go down that route, you’ve got a juicy problem: What do we value? What do we despise?

#indie rpg #ttrpg #ttrpg community #ttrpg design #ttrpgsolidarity

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brofisting · 2 years

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MY FRIEND, I ABSOLUTELY CAN!!!! 🥰 Starting from the beginning...

PART ONE: ORIGINAL FILMANIA PRODUCTION & FATE

It’s 2019-20, you’re Mile Phakphum Romsaithong, a very rich socialite who plays guitar. You’re bored and you’ve been thinking about getting into acting, and have been offered misc. BL casting opportunities before (1), but never really felt like any of them were For You, so you turned them down.

Then, one day, you find out that there is a BL currently casting from the studio Filmania, where the male lead is based on you (2), at least your public persona/physically/whatever. Being a puppy of a man, you are delighted, and go read the script, and then the books, and decide you’ll go to the casting call for it.

At casting call, you re-meet Apo Nattawin Wattanagitiphat (3), who you went to college with and had a giant crush on (4). You guys hit it off IMMEDIATELY, chemistry unhinged, and get cast as Kinn and Porsche. Apo takes it, even though he has historically had a bad experience with the Thai acting industry (5). You are delighted by this incidence of FATE!!!!!!

PART TWO: IF YOU DON’T HAVE FATE ON YOUR SIDE STORE-BOUGHT IS FINE

The show gets dropped (6) Something something the authors, something something the company, whatever. I assume, if you are Mile, you are very sad! And if you’re Apo you’re also pretty sad, because it seemed like for once even with all the industry BS you had a cool dude on your side who you hit it off with, and it was gonna be a cool show. On the heels of that, if you are Mile, and have stacks of money, and see your college crush who is an unbelievable actor about to re-give up on acting and call it a wash, you are like, “wait, I have stacks of money and know everyone”.

So you, Mile, call up the head of the small talent agency you’re signed with, Be On Cloud, which is really just your buddy Pond Krisda Witthayakhajorndet in a fake mustache and a trench coat, and go, hey! So! Have you ever wanted to make television? I have a man here I CANNOT allow to be sad under any circumstances, and also, we’re really good at this and there’s an audience here.

PART THREE: BE ON CLOUD, KINNPORSCHE TAKE TWO!!!!

Pond, being just as unhinged as Mile, thinks about it for a second, and is like. Well. How different can making television be from running an event planning company, which is my real job (7). It’s just calling up a bunch of different guys who are good at their jobs and putting them in one place. And I know so many different guys! Let’s do it!

They get the rights (handwaves this I don’t know anything about it) and jump into production. They get their shit together UNREALISTICALLY quickly (6), and on top of that, since they’re starting from scratch and they’re just A Bunch Of Guys led by Pond and Mile, they decide that their priorities are #1 making art and #2 making Apo happy. With regards to #1, they rework the script (8), hire the best acting coaches money can afford, and put the cast through character-building and intimacy workshops. With regards to #2, they toss out all the industry bullshit that has sucked for him in the past -- no more crew/cast hierarchy (9), no more homophobia on-set (10), no more fake fanservice (11).

FINALE: MIRACLES IF U BELIEVE ETC.

Magically, it turns out, when you create a great working environment, you get really, really good TV!!!!! Which means that their unhinged plan succeeded beyond their wildest dreams, and now Mile & Apo are internationally famous superstars who hang out 24/7 with their squad of 16 close friends, and we get to watch them do it. And it has been, genuinely, a fucking privilege.

To end this tale with a personal note, one of the reasons I allowed myself to get so invested in KinnPorsche so fast is because it was evident from every aspect of it -- the show itself, the BTS, the actors interviews -- that the people working on this show both really cared about the show and were genuinely having a great time. There is nothing like seeing art made by people who are passionate about making it!

Their enthusiasm, their hard work, and their obvious enjoyment of the process & each other’s company are what made me feel like I could trust what they were making, because you could tell no matter what else it was, it was from the heart. And that’s really something special! Especially in this day and age!!

And even though they could pull it off this time because of the circumstances (financial and social), I hope that it shows BL television CAN be made in a way that keeps the actors comfortable and safe and happy, and encourages change for the better across the industry as a whole. KinnPorsche shouldn’t be the last wild BL passion project; it should be the first one of a new wave. (bangs gavel) Thank you for coming to my TED talk.

#THIS GOT OUT OF HAND SORRY #watch kinnporsche #kinnporsche #mile phakphum #apo nattawin #infodump #mangoamango

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inbarfink · 7 months

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Part of Fionna’s frustrations with Mundanewold were subconscious longings for her old life of magical adventure, but a lot of her problems tied more into deeply-rooted issues of monotony and a feeling like she can't do anything to change her lot in life and like her actions don’t matter.

And it does seem like Fionna and Friends’ lives have been kinda Stuck in a Rut - especially when you compare the way their lives parallel and diverge from their Mainworld counterparts. Most of the differences are... rather than just different choices diverging into different arcs - it’s the same arc, but the Fionnaworld characters are just stuck behind.

Fionna is still reeling from the breakup with DJ Flame and only met Hunter at the very day our story starts. Marshall Lee has more Unresolved Issues with his mom compared to Marceline and her dad. He and Gumball haven’t even met yet. Not to mention the Mundaneworld-specific problems like Fionna being unable to hold a steady job or Gary eternally spinning his wheels about opening his own bakery.

Fionna thought she wanted a world of magic, but while the added bits of strangeness and whimsy to Fionnaworld by the end of the show are certainly a cool fun bonus (and Cake is surely thankful to have the ability to freely think and speak her mind and stretch) - what Fionna and friends were really missing was a world where their actions matter, where things change, where they are real.

And especially important for Fionna and Cake to admit it, because handling the fact their actions have consequences has been a huge part of both of their character arcs. For Cake it was all about getting used to the fact that her newfound human-like sapience means being measured against human-like morality. For Fionna it's about not comparing everything in her life to video games and thinking through her actions at least a little bit.

Consequences are the thing Fionna and Cake struggled with the most, but it was what they were missing all along.

Now this seems to be, like, an actual metaphysical thing. I mean, the show hasn’t gone super into detail of how Fionnaworld worked but it does seem like Prismo’s stories had an active role in moving the events of the World forwards, possibly using the same event-manipulating-Magic that make sure his Wishes have that Obligatory Ironic Twists?

And once Ice King turned back to Simon, Prismo lost all ability to observe or create stories for Fionnaworld. And what happens to characters of a story once the writer can’t access their external hard-drive anymore? They just sorta get stuck. Moving their own lives forwards without Prismo’s stories is just a lot harder.

And if there is some sort of force in control behind the scenes of Fionnaworld at the start of the series, it’s only Simon’s subconscious - a fact F&C alludes to numerous times

And at the start of the show, how was Simon’s feeling about his own life?

In addition to Simon’s longing and memories for the pre-War world shaping the exact form of Fionna’s nonmagical world, perhaps his feelings of ennui and depression and helplessness have also subtly ‘infected’ this world?

It is perhaps not a coincidence that Marshall Lee and Gary Prince’s storyline only starts moving forwards after Simon embarks on the adventure and starts climbing out of his mental rock bottom. When things seem to move forwards for him as well.

As such, ‘Canonizing’ Fionnaworld solves more of Fionna’s problems much more than simply making it as magical as Ooo but keeping it as a tiny hidden bubble in someone's dome. It ensures the World’s inhabitants’ free will and agency and ability to enact change on the status quo with no need for Prismo’s stories or being dependent on the still-kinda-shaky mental health of Simon Petrikov. Thus giving them a world where everything matters and things can always change.

But also there's a psychological element for the Fionnaworld protagonists. You know, the reason why Fionna is stuck in her rut is because she’s too impulsive and careless. Gary is too perfectionist. Marshall never had someone who would stand up to him against his mom.

Fionna’s whole arc in the show is about learning to be more thoughtful and careful and considerate through her Multiverse Adventure. While Gary and Marshall Lee find release from the thing holding them back within Fionnaworld, with each other.

‘Canonizing’ Fionnaworld is like... half actively altering their world into a ‘real’ one where change is possible, or at least easier - and half about an affirmation that their world was always real because change is about them outgrowing their personal issues (and also, y’know, about protecting their universe from the spiteful Beetle Cop).

And with how Fionna used to feel ‘trapped’ in the City, with nowhere to go and nothing to do - there is another change in Fionnaworld as a result of ‘canonization’ that feels very notable.

I’m not entirely sure, but from Scarab's dialogue it seems likely that becoming a ‘real’ authorized universe just kinda manifested a whole planet and universe beyond the borders of the small existing Fionnaworld. Although I guess it's also possible that the process of repairing the existing city they found a way to expand it gradually - maybe it doesn’t matter as much as the fact that either way, Fionna’s horizons have been literally expanded.

So you know, if she ever gets that thirst for adventure again... she actually has a Whole New World to travel and explore, it might not have (a lot of) magic but... she already heard Simon's stories of his adventures in a similar low-Magic world. It's a totally viable outlet for her.

What Fionna really needed to find the joy in her life is to be Real - to know that her actions have consequences for ill and for good. Because sometimes an adventure looks like saving a Prince of candy from an evil Ice Witch, or going on a multiverse journey to uncover a cursed Magic Crown… but it can also look like backpacking through Europe or campaigning against your evil landlady.

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littlepinksapphire · 4 months

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“Shadowheart is so racist!” Idk man, her racism is pretty mild considering she was raised and brainwashed by an evil cult. And she gets over it. She learns. Also, she just specifically hates Lae’zel.

When I played as a Githyanki she was suspicious of me for a day or two. Then she told me that though she was skeptical of me at first, I’m actually pretty cool and she’s glad to be traveling with me. This is all well before she settled her differences with Lae’zel. And of course she doesn’t like Lae’zel at first. Lae’zel is a mirror of blind faith shining back at her in the form of an alien being she was specifically taught to fear.

Meanwhile Astarion is out here mouthing off about the Gur and gnomes and never seems to learn better by the end of the game. But I don’t see people bring that up the same way they bring up Shadowheart.

It really doesn’t surprise me that a women who’s whole life (at least what she can remember of it) has been driven by fear so she could easily do Shar’s bidding would turn out racist. Of course Shar would want to dehumanize the very people she sent Shadowheart to steal from. Caring about their lives would compromise the mission.

Some of you treat video game characters the way you would treat real people and it’s kinda weird. Hardline first impressions, blocking and avoiding people the moment they do anything problematic, etc. This is your opportunity to safely learn about and empathize with people you might not normally and I think its a shame if your instinct is to go “Lae’zel was mean so I killed her” or “Astarion’s an evil little shit, so I turned him in.”

Shadowheart is a wonderful example of what blind faith in a religious organization can do to a person, and that includes her racism. Which, again, she grows out of from interacting with people (including gith) outside of her cult. That’s how it works in the real world too, you guys.

#bg3 #baldur's gate 3 #Shadowheart #I saw someone say they don’t care to find out if her story gets better down the line and I’m just like why are you playing this game then?#god forbid a character be nuanced and flawed

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roguehongsami · 21 days

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Pistoleer's Wife.

pairing/s: police captain!yunho x wife!reader

genre/s: smut, fluff, au

synopsis: you decide to pay your husband a visit at the station after a drunken night out w. friends.

content: unprotected sex (condomize), oral sex, office sex, creampie, dacryphilia, possessiveness, degradation, bondage, breeding kink, gun play.

word count: 1.6k

* DISCLAIMER: THIS IS FICTIONAL. IT IS NOT A REPRESENTATION OF JEONG YUNHO'S CHARACTER, PERSONALITY OR BEHAVIOUR. THIS IS SOLELY FOR ENTERTAINMENT PURPOSES. *

As she stumbled out of the taxi, she leaned up against the wall near the entrance. Feet aching with the base of her stilettos causing discomfort in the region around her ankle. The midnight wind cooling her overheating body, but also pushing up her silk dress, nearly exposing her whole thigh. Her surroundings were spinning, eyes crossing every image. While she stood there catching her breath, one of her husband's subordinates stepped out the squad car. Confusion painted across his face as he slowly approached her.

"Mrs. Jeong, you doing okay?" Officer Carson asked.

She lifted her head up. "Mhm? Yes, yes. Just–" a shy burp left her mouth. "'scuse me, getting some fresh air." a dopey smile materialised.

His voiced trailed off as he followed with, "Do you need help with anything or..."

"Yes," she pushed herself up off the wall, "get me to Yunho's office."

Carson slung her arm over his shoulder and scooped her up in his arms. He opened the doors, making his way inside, careful not to bump her against any surface. They made their way past reception with eyes gawking at them. In the elevator, they rode up until the reached the desired floor. As they stepped out and turned left, eyes of detectives were watching. Carson knocked twice before opening the door.

"Captain..." he called out to Yunho, whose eyes immediately went straight to his wife.

She tapped Carson on the shoulder. "You can put me down."

As she slowly descended, her breasts nearly spilled out, catching Carson's attention. Yunho stood from his place, knuckles pressed on the desk with eyebrows creased down the middle. Carson left the two to their own company. She locked the door before waddling over to him, almost stumbling in her steps.

"Love of my life..." her words slurred.

He reeled her in by her waist. "Angel, I thought you said were having a night out with the girls?"

"Well, I did then I remembered you said something about working late, so now I'm here." she flashed him a wide smile. "You're not too busy, am I disturbing you?" a pleading look appeared.

"I'll never be too busy for you, sweetheart." he slammed his laptop shut and moved it aside. "Did you at least have fun?"

She nodded as she sat on the desk. "Can you guess how many drinks I had?" she giggled as she threw her arms over his shoulders.

He took a whiff of her and shuddered. "Jesus, did you drink an entire distillery?"

"Don't be mean." she deadpanned.

He sat down in front of her, removing her heels and proceeding to massage her feet. Her head cocked sideways on her shoulder, watching her husband whilst he was focused on easing her pain. Everything she ever desired in a partner, all in one man. There was never a day she wasn't thankful for him, even amidst a quibble. She placed her other foot under his chin and lifted his head up.

"I love you, Yuyu."

Confused, he said. "I love you too, pumpkin."

She leaned forward for a kiss as he met her halfway. It was slow and passionate, just lip locking. Growing in intensity, becoming hungry. His tongue demanded entrance and it was granted. The sour taste of spirits making itself known as he explored every crevice of the orifice. They stood from their places, as she pushed him up against the desk. Her hands fiddled with his belt buckle until it was undone, bringing down the zipper as her hand ventured into his slacks. Taut and throbbing, she pulled out his penis and begun stroking it, heating in her hand. A bead of cum formed the the tip.

Descending to her knees, she kneeled before his massive penis and welcomed the tip into her mouth. As she pumped the base, her mouth took him in inch by inch. Bobbing her head back and forth. Adding a twisting motion as she pumped, he threw his head back from the handiwork. Biting back every groan. He held the back of her head, grabbing a fistful of her hair, as he slowly eased further into her throat. Guiding her every motion. As his high approached, his warm cum covered the walls of her mouth. Swallowing every ounce of his load, licking the bit on her lips.

He brought her up to her feet, his hand plastering all over her neck, bringing her in for a deep kiss. With the pooling between her legs, she squeezed her thighs to bring herself some sort of relief. Her libido running rife for the past few days, paired with the way red wine riles her, she was ready to fall apart. The woody scent of his cologne with traces of lemon made her head spin. When he broke the kiss, she took in a deep breath. He bent her over his desk. The cold feel of the table on her breasts through the dress made her body shiver. Pushing up her dress, he pulled down her underwear, pooling at her feet. As he slid in two fingers, she let out a shaky breath.

Leaning in to her ear, in a whisper, "You're ovulating, aren't you?" he said.

"Maybe..."

With the handcuffs in his holster, he restrained her hands to her back. He ran the tip through her folds as he pumped himself. Desperate to feel him, she pushed herself up against him. He kept at a distance, grinning, as he witnessed her slowly unravel the longer he denied fulfilling her needs. Lining himself up at her entrance, he gripped her hips, easing into her. Her breath shuddered with every inch he fed her, stretching her all the way out. She instantly felt full swallowing him whole.

As he started bucking his hips back and thrusting back in, she fought every urge not be audible. She bit down on her lip with tears cascading down the side of her face, and onto the table. Her brain hazed with every thrust. A few moans escaping, illiciting a hush or a "be quiet" comment from her husband. The sound of slapping skin bounced on the walls. The combination of alcohol, arousal, and lack of ventilation in the room made her body radiate. Her skin glistened with sweat.

When she tightened around him, he pulled out. She cried at the empty feeling. He lifted her up and sat her up on the table, then easing himself back inside her. Out of his holster, he took out his gun. With one hand on her back to provide support, and the other holding up the firearm under her chin, he fell back into rhythm. Her eyes were trained on the weapon, chest heaving. Her whines trapped in her throat as he pounded harder. An audible moan filled the room when he brushed her sensitive spot.

He pulled on the safety with his thumb, "Not one word out of you." he whispered, pressing the gun further into her skin.

The pressure under her jaw had her growing wetter. Her legs wrapped tighter around his waist. He caught her lower lip between his, biting at it. His tongue demanded entry to her mouth, granting it, she met him with equal enthusiasm. Teeth clashing and spit swapping. His hand traveled from her back to her neck, applying pressure to the sides.

"Tell me why you wore this skimpy dress?" he grunted. "Why do love parading yourself like a whore when you come to my office? Huh, who are trying to impress?"

Breathlessly, "I'm not trying to impress anyone, I swear." she cried, tears running down her face. "I just wanna be a good wife."

Between thrusts, he said, "Maybe you forgot who you belong to..." he began thrusting faster.

Even with a personality brighter than the sun, Yunho never failed remind her who's wife she really was. He loathed letting her out of his sight. Every moment of the day, he wanted her near. To hear her, smell her, see her. Her alluring style always had him in a chokehold, but hated how it attracted the attention of other men. She always made it clear she was taken, that no man could ever amount to her husband.

"I should get you pregnant again." he whispered into her ear. "That way everyone will see you swell up with our baby, they'll know who's wife you are." she loved his overbearing, no, possessive nature. Yunho's possessiveness always manifested in either the form showering her with flashy gifts or pregnancy.

She grew wetter. It had been years since he made good on such a threat. A tight sensation materialised in the pit of her stomach as her walls tightened around him. He put the gun down, grabbing her lower back as he thrusted faster, the table squeaking against the floor tiles. With a few more strokes, they came simultaneously. Her walls squeezing so tightly, draining him of every drop. He slowly thrusted everything back into her. He undid her handcuffs. She stretched her arms above her head before resting them on his shoulders. Taking some tissues, he cleaned her up as soon as he pulled out.

Pecking her on the lips, he looked her lovingly in the eyes as he said, "Are you okay, the gun wasn't overkill, was it?"

She buried her face in his shoulders, "No, I actually thought you gave up on my request."

Rubbing her thighs, "You think the office heard us?" he asked.

Chuckling against his neck, "I'd sure hope so. Somebody needs to tell your deputies I'm a married woman." she joked.

taglist:

@aurora-tiny

#ateez #jeong yunho #yunho smut #yunho fluff #roguehongsami

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primaviva · 9 months

Text

PAIRINGS: gwen, miles (42!), hobie, pav, and miguel x fem! reader

SYNOPSIS: astv characters and their s/o going to see barbie.

WARNING/NOTES: matching outfits, the mention of o-o-oppenheimer 🤢🤮, barbie photo ops, miguel being a mamón

— GWEN

i hate to say it so… but she wanted to watch oppenheimer first.

she sent you a text talking about sum “babe let’s see oppenheimer it looks good 🥰” and then you sent her a voice memo of gun shots from your gun sound simulator app and she understood she was wrong.

gwen thinks father of the atomic

it’s not like she didn’t wanna see barbie but she was like… it’s barbie

“babe cmon! you can’t tell me oppenheimer doesn’t look cool. what is barbie even about? is she gonna go on an adventure to find that old rubber high heel the little girl that owns her lost those many years ago? oooo so interesting.”

“do not mock me gwendolyn.”

you showed her the trailer as gwen showed you the oppenheimer trailer

in the end you both lost.

yeah… oppenheimer is a glorification a historical event that people don’t touch on the affects it had and rather the men behind it

and yeah… barbie having an existential crisis on what it means to be a woman and her place in the world sounded like it had potential

“i mean, yeah the trailer is kinda fire,” you admitted, weak in defeat.

gwen crossed her arms with a smirk of victory. “see! i told you that it looked cool,” she rubbed in your face before changing her expression, “but… barbie also sounds like it’s gonna be good. who says we can’t do both?”

you guys do barbieheimer.

and since you both were already gonna indulge in the internet craze… of course you played into it

gwen dressed in all black in this tux and even got the hat to match

you on the other hand wore all pink in tribute to barbie

she was FAWNING over you.

the cute outfit? the accessories? you in general?

you also couldn’t lie with how attractive gwen looked in a blazer I MEANNNN

she wore a bunch of rings on her hands and had a tie and all but she made it looser and looser until she just took it off and shoved it in her pocket before y’all left because it was annoying the shit out of her

“oh my you look so dapper,” you complimented, fighting back laughs from your choice of wording.

you watched as she smoothed down the blazer, shocked that she even had that in her closet. it was weird seeing her dressed like that and you couldn’t help but try to not look. it would be a bad night if she caught you peeking because yeah, you know she’s fine, but do you want her knowing that? to use that against you as leverage? hell. no.

gwen let out a laugh as she striked a pose, hands on her hips moving the sides of the blazer behind her to show off black waistcoat top. “really? you flatter me. aren’t you the bees knees yourself, babe.”

you cringed. hard.

her attempt at 1940 slang was where you drew the line and her shit eating grin didn’t help.

“gwen… dare i say gwendolyn again.”

she smirked. “yes, sugar lips?”

“i hate you.”

gwen was clearly feeling herself

you were too

and trust there was a photoshoot. and trust that it was gwen’s idea even if it was mostly her taking photos of you and her hyping you up crazy

“you’re gonna be the prettiest there babe. nobody can top my girl! not even barbie-”

“don’t be corny with me please…”

you guys decided to watch oppenheimer first and then end on a happy note with barbie

throughout oppenheimer you could see… even FEEL gwen’s eyes staring at the side of your head

she was just making sure you at least enjoyed the movie because it would break her soul if she forced you to watch something you didn’t like

you guys ended up loving it, especially the bomb scene

then you guys watched barbie…

it was a lot of laughing but the moment the movie started taking its turn bro gwen was fighting tears

and at the end of it? BALLING HER EYES OUT

if you are crying you both are just looking at each other in utter shock at the movie but also doing a really poor job at hugging each other

if you aren’t crying your eyes out with her you are comforting her while kinda laughing at her because she thought it was just gonna be some pink glam movie

it wasn’t.

“t-the message… this is so embarrassing i can’t stop crying what the fuck,” she cried into her palms which made her sound really funny as it was muffled by her skin.

you just held her close and you guys talked about the movies

especially like talking about the symbolism in barbie and how it touched on women suffering from the system and standards they are forced to live up to like it really hit gwen especially because the hate she got for how she acted in astv and how nobody was coming at the males that did the same or even worse than her

she sends you tiktok edits of gloria x barbie and says “us❤️”

overall, it was a 10/10 experience y’all went out to eat after in your cute outfits n all

— MILES

you asked him and miles was down IMMEDIATELY

he was another that thought oppenheimer looked good but he didn’t really mention going to the movie with you and the same thing for barbie

miles just thought they was both cool lookin

so you asked him.

“miles, baby, i have a very important question to ask you… one that may very well determine the outcome of this relationship.”

you spoke stern and serious, and almost vague.

"yeah, what's up? something wrong?" miles asks, slightly concerned, running his fingers through his curls and looking up at you.

“will you watch the barbie movie with me?” you pleaded with your hands, “pleaseee!”

miles eyes go wide, a smile spreading across his face.

"yes! i'm so down! i'll even be your ken if you wanna be my barbie. you know i'm a sucker for anything barbie."

you laughed, moving over to sit in his lap. he wrapped his arms around your waist, pulling you in closer. “my ken, huh? i like the idea of that.”

“i mean, what else would i be? i’m here to serve you,” he spoke with a slight blush painted on his cheeks. you giggled as you wrapped your arms around his neck.

“we should do those matching couple outfits for barbie,” you suggested, “wouldn’t we look so cute?”

"matching outfits?" he asks thoughtfully. "y’know what, i think i know the perfect idea for our couple's look, babe."

miles had this glow to him as you literally saw a light bulb go off in his head.

“oh really, you have an idea?” you questioned, furrowing your brows at the speed of whatever little brain storm was going on in his head. “is it boricua barbie? because not gonna lie, i’d love to see you in a dress.”

"hmm, you wanna see me in a pink, ruffly dress?" miles teases you, smiling at the idea. "why didn't you tell me you were into cute boys in feminine outfits sooner, babe? cus’ i’d dress up for you whenever you want."

“you play too much,” choked out through the giggles as you shoved his shoulder. "hey now, i look amazing in a dress," he laughs. "but i do have an idea that includes both matching barbie costumes and me being your ken, if you're up for it."

miles smiles sweetly at you, his expression turning a little mischievous. “if you have an idea, please do tell,” you said in a sultry voice.

"i want to do what barbie and ken did in that one movie, where ken turns out to actually have superpowers too," miles explains excitedly. "but instead of us being the same superhero, like we both have super strength or super speed, we could be superheroes who complement each other."

you laughed im disbelief. ‘no way’ you thought, knowing exactly what he was thinking of.

he takes your hand, placing the other one on your cheeks and staring deeply into your eyes as he smiles at you. "what do you think?" miles whispers, leaning down toward you.

“you wanna be barbie and ken… from barbie princess power,” you recited slowly, a grin stretching across your face. “of course the one who is a superhero vigilante says this.”

miles' smile widens. "yes, princess power! that's exactly what i was talkin’ about," he says. "and come on, don't underestimate the barbie movies. most of them are really good, dare i say cinematic masterpieces!”

you mouthed an ‘okay’ as you rolled your eyes.

"if i'm your ken, you have to be my barbie," he says, moving his hands onto your waist and moving you up his lap. "the most iconic couple in the barbie universe, right here."

y’all outfits looked so funny but cute… like in a diy that didn’t go wrong typa way

and if you think for a minute mamita rio let y’all go without them facebook mom photos you’re sadly mistaken

"sonríe pa la foto!" rio yelled as the flash coming from her phone was almost blinding.

“mami, por favor-”

miles begging was not gonna get him anywhere with his mom.

“dios mío, you both look so cute,” rio gushed.

“señora morales…you’re too kind!”

miles dad gave you both the typical “y’all better not get into no trouble” parent speech and then you both was off

when i say he was fangirling over the barbie themed cups and popcorn… i mean it

he was taking photos of everything

the whole movie his mouth was wide open in awe

miles was actually so furious at ken he looked absolutely lost and physically upset watching that white piece of plastic run a muck in barbieland

“HE TALKIN’ TO BARBIE LIKE THAT??”

yes, he cried at the end… and at the middle… and a little at the start

at first he was just amazed with the cinematography

but then when they got to the real world? just seeing through the movies lens and it’s take on how modern society treats women based on the parallel barbie world like he felt so unreal

at the end, he was acting like those guys on tiktok that was treating the women in they lives like absolute QUEENS walking out the theater because of the perspective they got watching the movie

not that he didn’t treat you like that before, don’t get him wrong, it’s just that he felt the need like a bunch of other guys after watching the movie to apologizes for the system men have created

it was a little funny, especially because it has nothing to do with him and men doing this type of stuff is a little corny coming from the privilege of the gender, but you appreciated it nonetheless

if you cried during the movie tho? he is bear hugging you crazy and not letting go even after the barbie world credits end

you guys leave the theater holding hands and talking about the film and he is geeking out over all the symbolism and stuff this man watches titanic you know he’s a secret film bro

“i’m so sorry mi amor, that us men have failed our women-”

and there miles went, on a nonstop rant about how you are his queen and how much he loves the women in his life.

you ended up sleeping over at his place

with the door open of course… you know rio is watching.

he had so much fun with you tonight and you could tell by the way he slept with a big smile displayed on his face.

— PAVITR

you asked him and he was happily accepting before you even got the question fully out.

“pav!” you called out from behind him, pulling him in from the neck for a hug. “hey, i wanna ask you something. do you wanna-”

“yes.”

“wait… what? pav i didn’t even say anything yet? what if i’m about to say something completely criminal?” you asked in a teasing tone.

“hehe, yeah maybe i’m a little too excited to see you. what is it, love?”

his eyes looked at you so bright and full of love, it was almost distracting.

“can we go see the barbie movie? we can even wear all pink and match…”

you were gonna say more, but you didn’t have to.

pav was immediately saying yes to everything

until the fear sunk in…

"wait, but I don't have anything pink to wear!" pavitr exclaimed, sounding slightly distressed. "does that mean you won't go with me?" he asked, raising an eyebrow and giving you a teasing smile.

he knows you’d never do such a thing.

"you know, i don't usually dress in pink, but for you i'll make an exception!"

you suggested you both go shopping like a little couples date

it was chaotic to say the least… but just as fun !!

he was acting like a model with everything he put on and it got even worse when you let him look at the stuff you were putting on

absolutely whipped.

“my girlfriend is gorgeous! absolutely gorgeous!”

you thanked him again, and again, and again.

“pav, do you think you are india’s next top model? because you are not gaytari,” you teased for him not finding an outfit yet, landing a peck on his cheek as he giggled in response.

"i'II look my best for the movie," he added with a wink. "are you sure you can handle all this style?"

all you could do was roll your eyes.

y’all were almost late to the movie because of bro

but you weren’t.

for the movie he was similar to miles and just in awe

in the beginning he was rooting for ken because he thought he was just being a good service boyfriend

you can imagine pavitr heartbreak when he started talking about the patriarchy

“no, wait- KEN WHAT ARE YOU DOING I WAS ROOTING FOR YOU!”

man is anger sobbing

words cannot describe the physical anger he feels seeing ken talk to barbie in such a manner he was stunned at the switch up

he also loved all of ruth’s parts, thinks she carried the whole movie

was physically leaning backwards at the sad scenes just taking it all in

pavitr LOVED the movie

came out the theater a changed man.

“my amazing, sweetest, most caring girlfriend…the prettiest of all mumbattan,” he spoke as he got down on one leg.

‘oh boy’ you thought, preparing yourself.

“i promise you, i would never ever treat you like how ken did barbie. you are a breathtaking woman and deserve the world-”

there goes another speech.

he walked you home like a true gentleman he smoking that ken pack and y’all talked about your favorite parts

pavitr overall had a really good time with you and enjoyed the message of the movie

— HOBIE

hobie is not and i repeat NOT watching that atomic bomb glorification story

but a movie about the patriarchy and double standard against women that hurts both genders based on the system men built through a satire film that is actually very political and has a message? yeah he’s going

when you told him tho not gonna lie he was gonna clown you

“barbie? like that lil white girl… you sure you wanna go watch that, luv?”

once you told him about the plot and showed him the trailer bro was READY to go

the set up of barbie world being a parallel to modern society was music to his ears

“really? i didn’t really expect allat comin’ from that bird. ight then, i’ll go. now i'm kinda curious.”

yes, he dresses up with you.

hobie is a punk icon… you know gender does not define him and he doesn’t care about breaking the “rules” of fashion of bit

so what does he dress as?

erika from rock n royals barbie.

guitar included.

you? well it’s a couple costume YOU'RE GONNA BE HIS COURTNEY

it’s not like you guys wore an exact replica of the outfits it was just heavily inspired fits

y’all looked cute as hell tho trust

“hobie, i can feel you staring,” you told him as you fixed up your makeup in your mirror.

it was true, you could feel him staring at you. heavy.

you looked to the side of your mirror and indeed saw him eyeing your figure with a soft smirk as he leaned against your bed frame. “what, not allowed to look at my girl now? since when?”

he was teasing and he knew it was making you flustered just by how your face was heating up.

his outfit isn’t too far out of bounds of what we would normally wear, but you couldn’t lie and say that the new colors didn’t fit him. the purple and the blue accents of his outfit, the leather jacket, the black eyeshadow with glitter that he surprisingly let you do, just everything about him looked so good.

hobie walked up behind you and put his hands on your hips, guiding your body closer to his as he watched your hands freeze applying your lip liner.

“don’t stop cus’ of me,” he spoke sheepishly.

you continued and shortly after finished up. his eyes still stared silently at you, admiring your beauty. “looking again, hobie? y’know i hope you pay attention to this movie…”

“i am,” he admitted with no shame, “you’re the prettiest gal i’ve seen. not gonna deny that.”

he pressed a slow, open mouth kiss on your shoulder as he rested his head in the crook of your neck. his breath was warm against your chilled skin.

“shall we get goin’ now?”

he payed attention to the movie but he couldn’t help wrapping a arm around your shoulder and making little comments in your ear

hobie got quiet tho towards the middle because he genuinely got invested once her feet turned flat and barbie met the ceo

but once the movie started getting deep… BOYY the look on this mans face he was stunned, appalled, baffled, gobsmacked even at ken

and then the speech about women? lawd.

he didn’t cry at all during the final sequence and if anything i think he was confused…

“wait that’s the lady from before that was makin tea, innit?”

“yes hobie.”

“holdup, where the granny go? what’s with the white void?”

“HOBIE-”

don’t get it twisted tho he understood the film and thought it was beautifully done

y’all talked about all the topics afterwards and let’s just say bro hates kens and is angry that nobody told them shit

“are they mad? they must be cus’ no way after everything that happened they just gon forgive the man for being a raging misogynist… they had the girls wearing maid costumes and not one apology was heard man that’s insane!”

hobie smoking that ken pack

he enjoyed the movie but what made him enjoy it was doing it with you <33

— MIGUEL

you know you had to ask him.

bro was not considering anything that would take him away from his work or distract him because he feels he doesn’t have time for that

and the crazy thing is that miguel knows about the hype about the movie and the whole barbie core pink mania

but of course he gonna act like he don’t and got better things to do.

“do you wanna see the barbie movie with me?”

those the words that stopped the gears turning in his head.

“excuse me?” miguel asked, looking up from his report with furrowed brows as his forehead already began to crease.

you wanted to dwell on the fact that he is getting annoyed before you even got to explain yourself, but you pushed it to the back of your mind. no, you couldn’t let him get push you away this time.

“you heard me, miguel. c’mon, the movie with margot robbie! and did i mention barbie? one of the most popular dolls? don’t act stupid,” you told him, walking over and wrapping your arms around his neck to hug him close from behind as he sat. “you don’t think it would be fun?”

he pinches the bridge of his nose, knowing what you’re about to get him into.

“mi vida…” you hear him sigh, quietly in almost a cut-it-out type of tone. he moves his head to the side and you can practically feel the confusion behind the glare. “you’re joking.”

you move one of your hands to your heart. “miguel!” you gasped playful, “this is a serious matter. why would i even joke about watching a movie with you?”

“because there's no way you're being serious. you don't go looking for me to see a barbie movie. especially one you know i'll refuse,” he replies, his voice stern.

“but-”

"Is this some sort of elaborate humiliation attempt?"

“NO!”

"... you're serious, aren't you? what's in it for me? i mean, it's a barbie movie."

you explain to him the premise and he still acts like this whole thing is stupid and you have no business trying to see this movie with him

but he can’t lie, he’s intrigued.

he kinda wants to see it.

and he’s trying his best to hide it.

"okay… what time?" he asked, defeated.

“really, my begging actually worked? thank god because i already brought two tickets and it would’ve been sad showing up alone,” you confessed.

“you bought them? already?” he repeated, caught off guard by how ready you were. “and what time are they for?"

“7:30.”

“fine, fine. but i'm holding you to your word. If it turns out this is some kind of elaborate scheme, you'll be hearing about it."

he’s so suspicious for no reason

now when it came to outfits… yeah you know miguel owns no pink whatsoever

you didn’t even know he knew about the pink craze or even wanted to play into it until he let it slip

"what am i supposed to wear then? i don't own anything pink.”

“it’s fine we’ll go shoppin- wait who said anything about pink outfits to you?”

you started making fun of him but then he threatened to take back saying he was going with you and told you that you’d be sitting in a theater all by yourself

but then you brought up again how he was ready to wear pink for you and he had a little slip up

"n-no? i mean, I could… if i’m gonna go see this thing with you and it your way, might as well commit right?”

his facade was slipping, this was golden. “so you will wear pink?”

the mischievous look on your face made him annoyed but he knew what he was getting into.

“i said i could, not that i’m going to. don’t get your hopes up chiquita."

he did end up wearing pink

little said he know you were plotting something against him

it started off nice… simple.

it was white pants with a pink button up

you told him for a “pop of color” he should wear a green blazer

sound familiar? because you were planning a scheme YOU DRESSED HIM AS SUGAR DADDY KEN

it was for shits and giggles

he had no idea until it was all paid for and safe to tell him before miguel made you fix his outfit

he’s ore than a little surprised, and not really sure how to react. miguel takes a look at the outfit, and does his best to try and hold back a chuckle.

"this... is a joke. there's no way you're serious about me wearing this, is there?”

“put. it. on.”

he does a low sighs and take the outfit from you. "fine, only because it's you."

it didn’t take him long to finish in the changing room, and when he stepped out you were enchanted by the sight.

“happy?”

yes. indeed you were very happy.

he was paying for everything of course like the sugar daddy he doesn’t know he is

he had his arms crossed, sat down legs spread, watching you change into different pink outfits and rating telling you how he thought you looked

you’d do little spins for miguel

“muy bella.” “you look gorgeous.” “i like that one, fits you nicely.”

you ended up leaving and going to the movie and while on your way there decided to tell him about his little outfit.

“you wanna know a secret, miggy?” you ask him with a grin.

he raises a brown at you, “i feel like you're gonna tell me regardless, so i'm gonna say yes.”

you say nothing, you just pull up a photo of sugar daddy ken and show it to him.

as his eyes flicker to the screen, you see the light amusement fade away from his expression as it turns to one of genuine confusion and horror. miguel’s hand moves subconsciously to the green blazer, as the fear sets in that he recognizes exactly what the outfit is referring to. “you didn’t…”

“but i did.”

“you. you are a bad person.”

truth be told, he really liked the movie

miguel just really liked the message like it made it him think of all the women that were and are in his life like you and all the other girls he’s wronged before you iykyk

but it also made him sad because it reminded him of gabriella

just thinking about all the muñequitas she use to play with before it happens

all the dress up games they use to play, when he pretended to be whatever doll he picked for her to play pretend scenarios with her dream house

it also made him sad to think of the strong, independent woman she wouldn’t become if it wasn’t for him

he didn’t tear up, no not at all.

but by the empty look on his face you could tell just how he was feeling

you put a hand over his as the audience laughed at the screen. “miguel, you okay? you know we can leave if that’s what you want.”

he just turned, put his hand over yours and gave it a squeeze. “no, no… i’m fine. don't worry.”

you guys had a good time and you swore you could see a small smile stretch across his face during some moments

he genuinely wanted to talk about the movie with you for hours but the man does have to sleep at some point

“hey, i just wanted to thank you for uh… convincing me to see a barbie movie. yeah, it sounded ridiculous and thought you were trying to find some way to mess with me for my attention. but, i really did enjoy spending time with you. just felt compelled to tell you that is all.”

miguel holds his heavy responsibility of the universe on his shoulders and is filled with grief

he doesn’t do this with the intent to tell people how to live their lives, but to try and protect what he couldn’t

so yeah, he’s glad you could give him some relief from the day

A/N: hey guys… i feel it’s been a minute but this took so long and it’s my first time writing for all of them beside gwen so im scared it’s gonna sound like shit so ??? i hope y’all enjoyed tho 🫶 BARBIE WAS SO GOOD

837 notes · View notes

skzdarlings · 6 months

Text

part viii: bodyguard!felix x reader

masterlist.

PART I ; PART II ; PART III ; PART IV ; PART V ; PART VI ; PART VII ; PART VIII ; PART IX ; FINAL PART.

( READ ON AO3. )

Your father hires an inconspicuous bodyguard to accompany you at school and supervise you at home. What seems like an innocuous change in routine eventually spirals into a forbidden romance that grows more passionate over the years.

pairing: lee felix/reader content info: smut. violence. parental abuse. situations of intense peril overall. forced proximity. enemies2lovers. angst with eventual happy ending. (chapter word count; 13,800 words)

chapter warnings: the usual dynamics and abuse history. reader is harassed at a bar by a handsy man. some fighting. unprotected sex. BDSM dynamics (dom!felix/sub!reader, sadism, masochism, rope bondage, spanking, belting, fear kink).

You sleep through most of the afternoon, waking in that bleary, purple hour where evening is unexpectedly creeping into the day. Felix is not in the room, though the evidence of your lovemaking remains in the mess of your shared bed. There is also a tender ache between your thighs but it does not register as pain, or at least not as bad. It is proof of pleasure.

You touch yourself there, still sleepy but still wanting.

You listen for Felix. He is talking in the other room, on the phone with your father. You slip out of bed and dig around for a shirt, because you don’t want to distract Felix too bad while he is reporting.

A conversation with your father will no doubt cool him down, more effective than a douse of ice water, but you will not abandon him to that cold. Never again.

You wait in the corridor, listening as he mentions your missed class but lying about you having a stomach flu. He claims he made you rest because you have an important exam in a few days. He also claims you argued with him, which is convincingly in character for you, but naturally he won this supposed argument so your father has ‘nothing to worry about’.

You grin, biting your bottom lip, as tender from loving as the rest of you.

Felix ends the call. After a moment, he sighs and says, “I know you’re there.”

You turn the corner. Felix is sitting in the middle of the couch, dressed in sweatpants and a t-shirt. His hair is partially pulled back, a lazy half-bun with the rest in a messy sweep around his neck. The collar of the shirt does not hide the love bite on his throat, twin to your own.

Despite his frown, he is sitting with his legs apart, and light sweatpants do very little for hiding anything inside them. He clears his throat but doesn’t close his legs, just cocks an eyebrow when you meet his gaze.

You blink oh-so innocently.

“You made me sound like such a good girl,” you say. “Even I almost believed it.”

You can see the amusement tugging at his lips. He pushes his tongue into his cheek.

“Mmm…” His low voice comes softly. “But you are a good girl. When you want to be.”

“When I’m made to be, you mean,” you say.

You hold his gaze as you approach. He plays the professional, watching you with a detachment that contradicts the thickening bulge in his sweats. Your desire is even more obvious, in your eyes and face and the sway of your body.

You put your hands on his knees and bend over, the collar of your shirt swooping low. Still, he looks into your eyes and no where else. A conversation happens there, beneath the surface of your words. You have often read each other like a book.

Come with me, you say, and though he does not move, though his body and eyes are rooted, he lets a little fondness run through the fissures of his usual mask. He finally looks at your lips.

“Do you tell them?” you ask. You get down on your knees, face at level with his open thighs. “When they ask how you get me to behave, how you seem to do it so easily when so many tried and failed…”

He says your name, darkly coloured with promise. You both know where this is leading.

It is not just about the kneeling or the pouting, but that this is you, who has never willingly knelt for even the most dangerous of men. And when you rest your head on his knee, you are thinking about that, about how it is only for him, exactly as he is. How he knows every possible way his body could be used to hurt someone. How he runs a gentle hand across your hair.

“Sweetheart,” he says.

“Do you tell them how you win our arguments?” you ask, flicking your gaze from between his legs to his face. “Or do you leave out the part where you shut me up with your dick in my mouth?”

His hand drifts down your face and he holds your chin, lifts your head. He furrows his brow as if he, too, is completely innocent.

“Shut you up?” he asks. He presses two fingers at your lips in a patient request. You open your mouth and take him to the knuckle. “That doesn’t sound right.” He lets you tease him, lets you swirl your tongue around his fingers. He looks at those fingers as he slides them out between your lips and back in again. “You weren’t quiet this afternoon,” he says. “Mmm, the opposite even, I think, don’t you?”

You give him your best glare, to which he laughs, a little huff of amusement.

“You can hate me,” he says, “if it makes you feel better.”

He stands and takes his fingers with him, so you chase him with pursed lips. Your breath catches when he grabs the back of your neck, stopping your pursuit, holding you firmly, safely.

He smiles down at you with that too-sweet, too-innocent smile. His other hand unties the band of his sweats.

You swallow. Your heart is thumping, an excited and pleasurable thrum you feel right down to the core of you. You blink up at him as the waistband comes loose so he can roll the material down, his dick hard and springing up, his hand as firm on the back of your neck.

You smile.

“Make me,” you say.

He smiles back.

“Don’t have to,” he says. “You’ll do what I say. Now come on. Be a good girl and open your mouth.”

He is right, that it takes nothing more than that. You want him too badly to even pretend to refuse, your lips parting in an open kiss that welcomes him to enjoy you as much as you are enjoying yourself.

Though he plays along, Felix is naturally restrained. Even when assuming the semblance of total control, he holds himself in a type of bondage, his body tense and breath ragged.

You make a showy mess of your wet mouth and stick out your tongue.

“Is that it?” you ask. “I don’t think you would any arguments like that—”

He laughs and shakes his head. He hesitates only a moment before taking your face in his hands and fucking himself back into your open mouth.

It gets you hot and wet, how he hands himself over to you, how he trusts you with the pleasure he is always so reluctant to accept. You give it to him and more, until your jaw is sore and your face is wet with tears.

He touches you there, looking down at you with the sort of reverence that usually comes from the person kneeling. He cups your face and tilts it up, looking at you affectionately even while stroking his dick right beside your cheek.

You glance there out of the corner of your eye, then bat your eyelashes up at him.

“I hate you,” you say, and it makes him come in a streak on your wet cheek.

It is stupidly hot, but Felix being Felix apologizes anyway.

When he reaches for you, you lean away. His gaze is wary, watching as you swipe a finger over your cheek then lick that finger clean. There is very little evidence left on your face, but you gather what remains and put your fingers back in your mouth, giggling as he huffs but surrenders to a smile. He reaches again but you dodge his hand.

You wonder if he is also remembering your first night together: how he chased you to stop you from petulantly shoving things in your mouth, how you were the hot-tempered girl you are pretending to be now, how he was the dutiful soldier already in over his head because of that girl.

You think he does remember, because you understand each other with one glance.

You run and he chases you. He vaults the couch and sweeps you into his arms before you can get too far.

When Felix truly applies himself, you stand no chance of escaping, so every little squirm and wiggle is something he grants you.

Right now, he concedes no ground. He locks you in his arms, your back to his front, and marches you right up to the window.

It is a mirror on the outside and, even if it was not, you are too high up for anyone to see anything but a spec in the glass. Still, there is a thrilling moment when you feel like you are standing on top of the whole city, where everyone can see you, where they can see him, his hand slipping under your shirt as you plant your palms on the glass.

“That’s it,” he says, nudging your feet apart with a little kick.

Your breath is already fogging the glass by the time he touches you. He makes an even more guttural sound than you, pressing his forehead to your shoulder as he rubs his fingers through all that wet desire.

His hair is more dishevelled now, wisps falling from the knot. You unravel just as quickly, quicker even, riding the rhythm he sets with his hand.

His arm is around your neck, cradling you close, and his other hand is inside you. You press against him and come to the soft sound he makes, to his breath hitting your neck, to everything intimate between you.

His touch gentles but not stop. You realize he does not intend to stop, that he is slowly working you towards another orgasm. You whimper and wriggle in his grip, but you also push desperately onto his hand.

He shushes you soothingly, his arm holding you steady when your knees start to tremble. He eases you both down, on your knees, never ceasing his touching.

You come even harder the second time, throwing your head back onto his shoulder.

He kisses your face then slows down and finally stops his touching. He cups his hand over your pussy with a sort of possessiveness. Then he sighs with satisfaction, his breath waking goosebumps along your skin.

“That’s my girl,” he says, a soft murmur.

It is only for you, a secret whisper spoken right into your ear. You look down at the city beneath you, sprawling as far as the eye can see, all the way to the where to the last rays of sunlight peek over the horizon. An entire world.

You touch a hand to the glass. He kisses your neck and your eyes close. You imagine falling into that big open world, secure in his protective hold.

You let yourself relax in his arms. You release a breath you did not realize you had been holding.

The next few semesters pass in a blur of similar dreams and desires. It is just you and Felix in the middle of everything, in and out of a dangerous world, escaping to a haven of your own design.

You do not know where the times goes, but weeks turn to months. Semesters come and go. Another graduation looms on the not-so-distant horizon. Somehow, you feel as ill-equipped for the world as you did when you were a teenager.

So much has changed and so much has stayed the same. When it is just you and Felix in that apartment, you feel free to safely exist. You lives are mired in trouble and trauma but you grow comfortably into your weird, grown-up selves. You might even say you are happy to be who you are, appreciating the good days because of the bad ones.

But beyond graduation is the looming threat of a permanent return to your father’s house and the life he has planned for you.

You are spending the weekend there, in your old bedroom, because of a few events your father wants you to attend. After just one day in his house, you revert to all your anxious teenage habits. It worries Felix when you withdraw like that, when you get snippy and cold, though he knows you well enough to understand.

You look at him now, on the opposite side of this huge bed, far away because you are not alone in this house. The space feels bigger than you remember. Terror forms its usual death grip on your heart. You wonder how you were ever so reckless with your safety, with his safety. Felix is the bodyguard but you would do anything to keep him safe.

You slide a little closer, then a little more. The cadence of his breathing changes as he wakes, always a light sleeper, though he does not open his eyes.

You brush some hair off his face. He leans into your touch and you smile despite everything. You stroke his cheek and feel your sorrows melt with his soft exhale.

“Rest,” he says in a deep voice rough with sleep.

You continue to stroke your thumb over his cheek, just looking at his face. His roots are getting dark again and his freckles are more pronounced in the blue dark of this bedroom. You admire his profile, the slope of his nose, his lips, and you find yourself overcome with affection and desire.

“Sweetheart,” he whispers, catching your hand when it slides down his neck. “Not now.”

His admonition makes sense. You have only been here a day. You will be back in the apartment in a few more. An apartment with privacy and protection, where you can touch each other without any consequences. There is no reason to put yourselves in jeopardy here, tonight.

Maybe you do remember how and why you were so reckless as a child, stealing back whatever parts of your life you could, whenever you could, however you could. You should be allowed to touch who you want when you want. You should be allowed to live in your own body.

You want to feel alive, and you feel most alive when you act in defiance of all the rules that would restrain you, when you face down danger in your path and steal back your heart from that death grip.

“Felix,” you say. Then, in a softer hush, you whisper, “Baby.”

It catches his breath as it always does, such a simple endearment, so common, like he is just a boy and you’re just his girl. You are certain if you slide your hand lower, you will find him already getting hard just from hearing it.

“Please,” you whisper.

“This is crazy,” he whispers, eyes still closed, tightly now, like he can make the rest of the world disappear by not looking at it.

“I’ve always been crazy,” you say. “You like me anyway.”

He finally opens his eyes. He looks at you and your heart skips beats, and you wonder if that gaze will ever cease to make your heart race this way. Years and years and years of sharing this bed, and you still feel warm and dreamy when he strokes the pad of his thumb across your knuckles.

“Hmm, doesn’t matter how I feel, yeah?” he says. “You hate me no matter what.”

His tone is light and teasing. It is your usual innuendo. The game you always play.

You do not want to play any games tonight. Tears prickle in your eyes as you look at him, as those words cross his lips. You want so badly to say what you really mean, but your emotion gets the best of you and the words never cross your lips.

His brow furrows when he realizes you are struggling with something. He touches your face, turning it towards him to look at you more closely. A tear slips down your cheek and he wipes it away.

“Felix,” you say. You shake your head. You clasp his hand to your cheek. “Make love to me.”

You cannot help but laugh at the look on his face. Very little surprises him, a consummate professional in all appearances, and he is good at absorbing his own shock and moving on. But he looks physically stunned, eyes wide and mouth open, words caught in a cluster on his tongue.

When you laugh, it snaps him out of his daze. His face softens, expression fond if not a little morose.

“This is, uhh…” He clears his throat, shakes his head. “Stupid.”

“I don’t care,” you say.

It is the truth. You are suddenly completely apathetic to everything beyond the bedroom door. You don’t care if they catch you. You don’t care if they hurt you. You don’t even care if they kill you. That dark thought has you reaching desperately for the only source of light and life in the room.

You wrap your arms around Felix. You hold his shoulders and kiss his face, lining your body up against his. When you kiss below his jaw, he makes a soft sound of surrender. His hand slides up the back of your shirt, rests between your shoulder blades and holds you, firmly, as he looks at you then kisses you.

Your eyes close and you kiss him back. They stay closed, even when the kiss deepens, when he licks into your mouth, when he catches your sigh with a bruising press of his lips. You let yourself fall into the sublime haze of desire, not looking but feeling.

He puts you on your back and holds himself above you. You are already breathing hard. You tug on his shirt so he leans back and whips it off. Then you are touching his bare shoulder, his back, dragging your nails down his backside and feeling him shiver against you.

His open mouth is hot against your throat, wet on your chest through your shirt, then under it. You tug it off and over your head, leaving it spilled on the pillow beside you, then your arms are around him and your legs are spreading to fit his hips. You are both fumbling with the last of your clothes when he gasps against your throat and mumbles something like, “We don’t have—we can’t—”

Some distant, logical part of your brain knows he means protection. After the first coming together, you’ve been careful in all your intimate moments. But sense and logic are far from your mind right now.

Once you are both completely naked and free, you wrap around him and pull him to you. He comes to you with another surrendering sigh.

Your eyes have been closed for so long, and the physical sensations have been so strong, that you very literally see stars when he is finally inside you.

He instinctively covers your mouth when you make too loud a sound. You grab that hand and lace your fingers, then rest it beside your head. He covers your mouth with his, gathering your other hand so both are pushed into the mattress on either side of your head. He is so close, his whole body pressed to yours, that you think he must be deeper inside you than ever before.

His hips roll against yours with a slow sensuality, one sometimes lacking in your more desperate couplings. It all feels so good that you genuinely believe you could die happy if you died right now.

He makes another soft noise that sounds like a question. You answer with a gentle moan of your own, a squeeze of your fingers between his, and a clenching between your thighs that has his whole hard body going soft and tender in seconds. He comes inside you and maybe that should wake you up and cause alarm, but it doesn’t. The room just gets quieter, your heart thumping against his all the while. He holds himself above you for a few breathless seconds then lets go.

You hold him against you, hands separating so you can slide them along his arms and up into his hair. His face rests in the crook of your neck and shoulder.

Maybe you should feel more concern for your circumstance. But you are not really worried.

Tomorrow, you will attend another party, you will smile, you will dance with someone your father pushes your way.

A few days later, you will convince your father to let you take birth control, claiming it is to manage your irregular and too-heavy period flows. He will be as immature as ever and quickly agree, anything to end a conversation he finds too awkward to navigate.

You and Felix will go back to your apartment. You will study for tests and drink coffee and write essays. You will count the days to graduation.

Right now, you laugh. It is soft and carefree. It catches when he slides out of you, but it returns when he looks at you with a quirked eyebrow. But his regard is a tender one. You stroke his face and he kisses your palm, then he swoops down and kisses your nose and cheeks and just under your chin.

I’m alive, you think. In your father’s house, disobeying all his rules. He has tried so hard to kill you, to break you down into pieces that he can rebuild, the way he does with any malfunctioning piece of industry tech. And he has failed. Despite his best efforts, despite his money and power and influence over what seems like the whole world, you are alive.

You concede that maybe with your problems and imperfections, there is not much more to boast, but being alive is all that matters.

Felix kisses you. You think about the childish fairy tales that your father and grandfather ensured never took root in your mind. If you were like them, you would not believe in magic kisses or true love or saving grace.

You kiss Felix back.

“Can you ride a motorcycle?” you ask.

Felix, who is concentrating so you do not fall off your bicycle, briefly flicks his gaze up to you. You lose your balance and swerve, but he is quick to catch the handlebar and steer you straight. His hands hover around you as he walks alongside where you peddle.

“I can do anything,” he says but absently, too focussed on watching you.

You snort and your amusement almost derails you again. You correct your wobble with a little jerk of the handles.

“Cocky,” you say. “I’ll have to see it to believe it.”

Felix laughs. He holds the handle and guides you around a corner in the path.

“Maybe I should learn to ride a motorcycle,” you say with absolutely no sincerity. “I’m sure my father would loooove that, don’t you think?”

Felix levels you with a predictably dry regard. You giggle maniacally which causes you to swerve again.

He steers you forward with a quick yank. He cannot help but smile at your cheesy grin.

“How about you learn to ride a regular bike first, hmm?” he says.

“It’s not my fault,” you say, wobbling again. “It’s the wind.”

“Mhm.”

“It is!”

It is a rather blustery day, all grey skies and swift winds. Felix almost lost his favourite beanie, so now it is yanked tight and low over his head so you can hardly see a wisp of hair. You are similarly bundled in a hoodie, the strings drawn comically tight around your face so it would stop blowing off. Felix keeps snickering when he looks at you, but it just makes you giggle back at him.

The university has bicycles for rent to cross campus. Though you usually walk, today you thought it would be fun to try, even if you did immediately disprove the old adage about memory and bike riding.

You have not ridden a bike since childhood. You were not allowed to use it outside because your father was concerned the wheels would carry you away too quickly, that something could happen before your nanny and guards caught up. You were only allowed to ride your bike in the gym, which got very boring very fast, so you never bothered with it. The only other time you sat on a bike was the few times you sat on the handlebars when Jisung rode his bike around.

The memory comes so suddenly, a snapshot of a moment you did realize you remembered so vividly. His goofy laughter sings through your memory, your own delighted shrieks as he sped down a slope and scared himself more than you.

It makes you a little sullen. After years, it seems ridiculous that you should still be so hung-up on an adolescent friendship, especially with so much more to occupy your mind. But then, you suppose it was not just any friendship. The Han Jisungs of the world are few and far between. You were lucky to know him while you did. Without him, you doubt you would have ever gotten on a bike again.

Without him, you doubt you would have ever done much of anything but curl into an empty husk of a person.

Instead, you are soft and smiling when Felix touches your back. He notices the change in your disposition and looks at you with concern, and it does not trigger frustration nor do you flinch from his touch. You just smile and steady your handlebars.

“Just silly stuff,” you say with a shake of your head. “Sometimes I sat on Jisung’s bike while he drove us around. Just… thinking about him, I guess.”

“Mm.” Felix nods, understanding. He holds the handle to help keep you steady but he looks ahead, sighing into the wind. “It’s not silly. Your friendship was important,” Felix says. “Though, uhh, I definitely wouldn’t trust Jisung behind the wheels of a motorcycle.”

You laugh at the image of Jisung on a motorbike when that poor boy would sweat just from speeding down a hill.

“No,” you say. “Definitely not for him.”

Of course, maybe that is not true anymore. You are picturing a teenage boy, but Jisung will be as grown as you now. Who knows what he looks like or what he enjoys, what he fears or wants anymore.

Romantic intimacy holds its own special felicity, but it is still different from the gentle affection of friendship. Your heart pangs with the ache of missing him, of years passed apart, of your first ever friend now potentially being as unrecognizable to you as any stranger.

“I just hope he’s happy,” you say, feeling it so strongly you cannot keep it yourself. But then, that was always the way with Jisung, to have liked him so much that you cannot help but let it spill out of you, consciously or not. You’re kinder for having known him. You know how to joke and be goofy and make Felix smile.

“Me too,” Felix says. “He was… well, sort of my friend too. In a way.”

“He was,” you say. “I guess he was the first friend for us both—whoa!”

You make a playful swipe at his shoulder and it makes you lose your balance again. Felix fortunately catches you with those lightning-fast reflexes, holding you up while your bike hits the pavement. There is some stumbling while you try to stand, tangled up with the bike, and nearly yank him down with you.

Eventually you step out. Felix brushes off your shoulders and pats down your arms, as if inspecting for injuries.

“I’m fine,” you say, at the same time Felix says, “He wasn’t.”

“Huh?” You blink at him. “Who wasn’t what?”

“Jisung,” Felix says, a little exasperated. “He wasn’t my first fr—” He cuts himself off when he meets your eye, frowning instead. He tugs on the string of your hoodie so your already tight lacing gets a little snugger. “I’m not talking about this while you look like that,” he intones dryly.

Before you can even open your mouth to protest or ask more, he picks up the bike and swings onto the seat for himself.

“Come on,” he says, patting the handlebars. “I’m hungry. Let’s go.”

You are not exactly a spritely adolescent anymore, but you manage to get yourself perched up on the handlebars. Felix is a better driver than Jisung, faster too, and you find yourself laughing into the wind from the thrill of it. When you reach the campus café, Felix is smiling too, and your previous conversation is forgotten for the time being.

You park the bike in one of the rental receptacles then enter the café. The warmth inside is a balm after the chill. You take off your hood and breathe in deeply, satisfied. Felix rubs your back as he walks you up to the counter to order.

You are waiting for your order when you hear your name. You lift your head, smiling when you see the friendly, dimpled grin of a class-mate, Yang Jeongin. He is a year younger than you but academically advanced so you have shared a few classes over the years. He is a very sweet boy, but you have kept your distance given what happened to the last very sweet boy you befriended.

“Jeongin, hi!” you say.

“Hi, what’s up?” he says. “Have you started any of your final projects? I’m already drowning.”

His big smile and wheezy laugh is disarming in its boyish charm, though you know Felix has his guard up as always. You are still not expecting to feel a proprietary touch settle low on your back, subtle but possessive, and it makes your stomach flip.

It is not really necessary anyway. Jeongin is genuinely just being friendly. He even invites you and Felix to sit with him and his friend, Seungmin, and talk about some readings.

Instinct almost propels you to blurt your usual reply, a polite dismissal or vague promise of a next time that never comes. Friendships don’t end well. You know that.

But Jisung is on your mind, not just the bad but the good. You find yourself agreeing, then you find yourself sitting at a table with two class-mates, having a normal conversation about school and exams and some silly, gossipy campus rumours. You laugh and drink, and Felix does too.

You touch his knee briefly. He touches your hand under the table.

You leave the café feeling lighter, a bounce in your step that has Felix smiling affectionately at you.

“I do have to tell your father something,” Felix reminds you. “If he found out you were seeing people and I said nothing—”

“Ughhhh, clock out for two seconds,” you say. To be extra annoying, you reach out and yank his beanie down over his face. “Just tell him I’m studying with some people. It’s for the benefit of my education, so I can be his perfect and dazzling heir, since I am such a well behaved little girl now, all thanks to the dutiful care and guidance of my oh-so competent bodyguard. See? No big deal.”

Felix fixes his beanie and shakes his head at you, but he still smiling.

“I think you and the rest of the world have, hmm, a different idea of no big deal,” he says. “You know, your extremely powerful father for one… and how he might, uhh, ruin our lives…?”

You shrug.

“Win some, lose some,” you say, to which Felix laughs and rubs his face in disbelief.

Although some days the power of your father and the world under the thumb seems insurmountable, some days all you can do is sigh in the face of it. Today feels like one of those days. You are so often frightened or sad or just downright despondent. Sometimes, the pendulum swings back the other way, and all you can do is laugh.

You do so now, pulling your hood up and tightening the string around your face again.

“Don’t worry, bodyguard,” you say with an exaggerated, innocent flutter of your eyelashes. “I trust you to keep me out of trouble.”

“Oh, you are gonna get me in so much trouble,” you say.

Seungmin laughs.

A few weeks have passed in which you have tentatively befriended Jeongin and Seungmin. Jeongin is all smiles and wheezy laughter, with a biting wit that catches both you and Felix off guard. You can tell Felix enjoys his companionship, even beyond the superficial college-boy role he plays. And not just because Jeongin is something of a gamer and Felix not-so secretly likes having a go at whatever hand console Jeongin keeps on him.

You quite like Seungmin. He is more soft-spoken until he has an opinion to vocalize, at which point there is no escaping his somewhat scathing commentary. His frankness reminds you a little of Hyunjin, just without any showmanship or embellishment. With Seungmin, what you see is what you get. He’s smart and funny and playful, and you like listening to him talk about the readings and his family and all the general shenanigans of an ordinary life.

Felix has told your father they are study partners, which is not an outright lie as all of your interactions have taken place on campus. You have stayed away from parties and clubs and private spaces, so there has been nothing tangible to protest.

But today certainly straddles that line.

After class, the four of you went to your usual campus café. With a major project due at the start of next week, you have been swamped with work.

It was after a few hours and several coffees that Jeongin suggested a break. There are a couple bars around the sprawling campus. Felix was a little hesitant but your pout was as effective as ever in persuading him.

The bar is a cozy one, packed wall-to-wall with noisy students seeking downtime. There is no way anything insane would transpire in here.

Other than Kim Seungmin.

“What, you can’t leave your boyfriend for a second?” Seungmin says, but with no animosity, smiling his big puppy grin. He exhales and shakes his head, eyebrows lifted in faux exasperation. “That sucks for you, wow.”

“First of all, he’s not my boyfriend,” you say. You look over at Felix who is standing at a pinball machine with Jeongin. His eyes keep darting over to you even though you are not that far away. The game is just a few steps from the couch where you and Seungmin sit.

Felix smiles. He is in his favourite black beanie, some ripped black jeans, and a crisp white coat, wisps of blonde hair falling over his freckled face. He looks like such a guy, just a casual university senior, slouching against the wall with hands in his pockets, chatting with his friend and his eyes on his smiling girlfriend. It certainly looks as simple as that. Your heart does not know the difference.

He looks away for a moment because Jeongin says something. Felix laughs. The room is loud so you do not hear him, but you know that laugh so well, the low drop and happy rumble. His eyes crinkle with delight. Your heart skips beats like a little girl with a crush starting all over again.

“Right,” Seungmin says, looking between you and Felix. “Sure.”

You punch Seungmin playfully on the arm.

“Stop,” you say. “We’re just friends.”

It is for the best you maintain that as your cover story. It would be far too convoluted to pretend to be together while being together but lying about being together and—

No. It is for the best that no one ever suspects, that everyone assumes you are close friends or room-mates and nothing more. Not an inkling of your true dynamic.

No one needs to know you woke before your alarm this morning, that you kissed Felix awake, planting soft kisses on his face until he smiled. That you teased him and kissed him and finally bit his shoulder, a playful step too far, so he gathered you in his arms and kissed you breathless. That he stretched out behind you, that he pulled back your thigh with a strong grip and kissed your neck. That he fucked you long and slow until you were gasping and wriggling in his arms. That he made you come mere minutes before your alarm. That he then made a professional call to your father about the week’s plans and the pompous, foolish, awful man was none the wiser.

You look his way. Felix winks then looks down at the game again.

Seungmin clears his throat and you look at him with all the innocence you can muster. He just laughs.

“Uh-huh,” Seungmin says. “Well, does he know you’re just friends? I mean, seriously, watch this—”

Seungmin slings his arm over the back of the couch, not quite around your shoulders but close nonetheless. He leans in ever so slightly and Felix looks over as if on cue. He would never cause a scene without due cause, and, besides, you doubt he seriously considers Seungmin a threat, but he instinctively shifts into guard mode.

It sends Seungmin into peels of laughter. You thump him on the leg.

“Ahaha,” Seungmin says, but lowers his arm. “Fine, I’ll go get drinks all alone so your super good friend doesn’t pop a vein if you come with me.”

You hide your face in your hands and shake your head while Seungmin laughs. He gives you a pat on the back before rising and pushing his way through the crowd to get to the bar counter.

Felix watches him go then looks at you. You smile at him reassuringly, waving a hand, non-committal.

Your stomach does a little flip when his sharp stare softens to something more intimate, something just for you. Years ago, you worried those glances and touches would be addicting, and you were right. It is more intoxicating than anything in a glass. Headier than the atmosphere of the bar. You are flushed with warmth in seconds, the packed heat of the bar keeping that warmth at a simmer.

You have always desperately chased highs and adrenaline, whatever form they took, good or bad. When Felix looks away, you crave the thrill of his determined attention, so you stand and step behind the couch. He looks up as quickly, like you knew he would, standing straight and taking his hands out of his pockets.

You truly do not go far. You have no intention of running, of making him follow, of making him worry. You would not do that to him. While you are certain no one would try anything in a place as public as a campus bar, you nonetheless will not play completely stupid games. You only mean to catch his eye so you can level with him a teasing smirk of your own.

But then someone grabs your arm and yanks. The unexpected touch and the forcefulness triggers a swift panic, your eyes swimming with the shapes of shuffling bodies, your ears slurring what sound like a friendly enough sentence – someone asking if you are in a certain class with him.

“I think I’ve seen you,” he says, still gripping your arm. He smells as drunk as he sounds. Harmless, or maybe not, given the bruising strength of his touch. Drunken stupidity can be as dangerous as conniving intention. “But you always got that little lap dog hanging around, cutie,” he says. “Can’t get within a foot of you without him in the way—”

Said lap dog manifests without delay. The man is taller but he is no match for Felix who comes up behind him and yanks on his collar.

Felix pulls the man over backwards to stare him down. He says, “Hands. Off. Now.”

The man lets go but with a stupid, futile struggle, shoving you so hard that you hit the woman behind you and topple her drink.

In less than a second, the man is on the ground, people shrieking and stepping back when he falls. Felix steps over him to reach you, catching your hand and touching the side of your face.

“You all right?” he asks.

Everything happened so fast that you hardly know what to say. Instinctively, you throw your arms around his neck to be closer to him. He hugs you back as fiercely, murmuring words of comfort that get muffled in your shoulder.

His senses are sharper than yours. He knows the man is up and he turns in time to catch the clumsy punch the guy throws his way. Felix does not show off, even though he could probably lay the guy low a second time. He just pushes the hand away.

This nonchalant rejection seems to anger the man more than a direct hit. He is embarrassed and his stupor only encourages retaliation. His buddies are trying to pull him back now, failing to lead him off.

The man looks at you, red from both exertion and embarrassment, and says with a snarl in his upper lip, “Should keep that dog on a leash.”

Splash.

It takes a second for everyone to realize what just happened. The man is as startled as you, standing stock still with something dripping down his face.

You all look over to Seungmin who is standing there with a half-empty glass.

“Uh… Woof I guess?” Seungmin says, then throws the rest of his drink on him.

The guy staggers towards Seungmin who backs up rapidly. Then Jeongin literally flies in between them and takes a swing at the guy. It completely misses and he smacks his hand on a stool, but it is enough for the man to back up. He must decide that the odds of three-on-one are not in his favour so he finally abandons course, shaking his head as he stalks off with his friends.

“Yeah, yeah, walk away,” Seungmin says as menacingly as Seungmin possibly can, which is not much, especially with Jeongin doubled over beside him. He is shaking out his hand, his face contorted with pain from hitting the stool. “Are you okay?” Seungmin asks.

“Yeah, I’m—” Jeongin starts.

“Not you, dumbass,” Seungmin says. “Go apologize to that chair you assaulted. I’m talking to her.” He looks at you with a tilt of his head.

You nod, letting Felix tuck you under his arm. He rubs your arm soothingly, up and down, and it helps ground you.

“Just happened really fast,” you say. “Startled me, you know…”

“The guy was a jerk,” Seungmin says.

Felix scoffs. His eyes follow the retreating figure. “No kidding,” he says.

“I just wanna go home,” you say.

Your panic ebbs and the hurricane inside you settles.

You touch Felix’s chest. His heart is beating fast with adrenaline. Your breath catches when he looks at you, tendrils of frustration radiating off him. Yet despite the aura of energy, he looks composed, hair neat across his forehead, beanie in place. His jacket is slightly rucked up the arm, but otherwise he is in perfect command of himself.

Your heart dances its bewildered little dance.

His hand drops to your hip and he tugs you close. He exhales through his nose, your eyes drawn to his closed mouth.

You think you must be drunk despite not touching a drop of liquor. How else to explain the physical sensations inside you, so contradictory to your heart and mind? Your soul could never, ever abide by violence or true possessive domination, not with your history and upbringing.

But perhaps it is that, the naturally contradictory nature of its manifestation in Felix. Made by violence, but not made of it. You feel safe because his careful touches and gentle glances do not come from the same blithe, civilian naivete of your sweet friends. It comes from all the violence and control that he rises above.

He holds you and you are safe, protected.

You say goodbye to your friends and Felix calls the car. You wait outside together in the light of a streetlamp. The cool night air dwindles what remains of his adrenaline, though his heart picks up when you step closer, when you press your face to his neck and sigh.

“I’m sorry,” you say.

“You did nothing wrong,” he says, cupping your cheek and lifting your face. His thumb strokes your cheek, down along your jaw. He looks into your eyes and smiles. “You were just standing there. He shouldn’t have grabbed you. You okay?”

“I’m fine,” you say. You look down and his hand falls away from your face. You fiddle with the zipper of his jacket then drag it down a couple inches. “I’m just really sorry.”

He is silent for a moment, his back a little stiffer. You think he catches the tone in your voice because his hand drifts a little lower, resting on the base of your spine.

“I see,” he says, voice lower. “Even though Jeongin did all the work hitting that stool—?”

The unexpected joke in a sultry exchange makes you snort with laughter. The sound surprises Felix who laughs so hard he almost falls over. You give him a little shove, shaking your head.

“All right, all right,” he says, patting your back. “Behave. The car is coming.”

“I always behave,” you say with a swish of your coat, stomping ahead of him to the approaching sedan.

You sit in silence for part of the journey, quiet even with the partition up. Felix has an elbow resting on the window sill, temple pressed to his fist as he stares at the passing streetlights.

“Are you mad?” you ask in your coldest tone.

He looks at you out of the corner of his eye, dimple flashing with an aborted smile. “I’m never mad,” he says. “I’m a professional.”

“Right,” you say. You slide across the seat to be closer to him but he puts up his hand, stopping you.

“I know it’s a limo, but seatbelt, yeah?” he says. You do not miss the patronizing tone.

“You gonna make me?” you ask. You grab his hand and lower it, looking at him with your smokiest gaze.

His tongue jabs into his cheek as he looks at your hands, palms touching, fingers lacing. He appears contemplative, beyond your little game. You give his hand a gentle squeeze. His eyes meet yours.

“I never want to hurt you,” he says, low even though no one can hear you back here. “You know that, yeah? You know I— I never knew how to want or not want something. I would never—”

“I know, Felix,” you say.

I love you too.

It sits on the tip of your tongue. You very nearly say it in that same low voice.

He lowers your hand to your lap, his palm to your knuckles as he cups your thigh and squeezes. Once, twice, three times. He taps on your knee three times then guides you to do the same. You are a bit bemused until he says, “If you want to talk to me, then…” Three more touches.

“I see,” you say, hot beneath the skin of your cheeks and throat, your heart a thunderous thing. “You expect to shut my mouth then?” You blink at him too cutely.

“I expect you to apologize properly,” he says.

He catches your face before you can spit a rejoinder. It steals your breath. He holds your face steady in his hand, jaw pinched, mouth shut, his eyes burning into the side of your face.

“You answer to me,” he says sternly. “You think you’re sorry, yeah? Then you’re going to apologize. Properly. Quietly. Obediently. Now nod for me. You understand.”

You do not nod. You look at him out of the corner of your eye. His lips break into a smile.

“Ah,” he says. “I see.”

And he does. He has always seen to the depths of you. Just as you have always seen beneath his surface smiles.

The driver sees nothing but a professional on payroll, exchanging an evening pleasantry before Felix escorts you into the apartment building. The greeter nods at you, you nod back. Felix marches you into the elevator and stands politely at your side, hands in his pockets.

You lean on opposite walls of the elevator. He takes off the beanie and tucks it in his pocket. Then he runs his fingers through his hair, fluffing the fair strands. Eventually he meets your gaze. You stare at each other, a silent exchange of thought and anticipation.

In the apartment, he does his security check. You take your time drifting toward the bedroom, wiping off your lipstick, dropping your coat in the middle of the doorway. He scoops it up as he enters behind you, tutting while he brushes it off.

“No respect,” he says but lightly, teasingly.

He walks right past you and drapes the coat neatly over the back of your computer chair. There, he stands with his back to you, unzipping and discarding his own jacket. It leaves him in a black t-shirt and his ripped black jeans, plus those heavy regulation army boots. He is a sharp streak of black shadow, all at odds with his light hair and sweet freckled face as he turns to look at you.

You stand across the bedroom from each other. Your heart is going a mile a minute as he looks you over. You hardly know why the roving glance affects you so deeply. He has seen you in a hundred variations of dressed and undressed. Checking you out in your jeans and t-shirt should hardly warrant a herd of butterflies in your belly.

But it does. Your skin feels alight as he looks at you, assessing you like a target. When his dark eyes flick up to meet yours, he is not smiling. He exhales. His shoulders are tense, his body hard.

“Take off your clothes,” he says.

You expected some deviance from routine given your flirtations, but that is still quite different. You often undress each other, or you provoke him by stripping, flustering him into surrender. He is not flustered now, his stare cold and ungiving as he waits expectantly for you to obey.

Your fingers flutter at your side. Your lips part with a breath.

“Um,” you say, voice rough with arousal in a way you cannot hide. It is hard to fake an affronted feeling, though it is not hard to look nervous. “Excuse me?��

“Everything,” Felix says. “Off. Now.”

You scoff, suffusing the worst of your jitters into the sound. You feign a cocky tilt of your head, hands on your hips as you say, “I don’t think you’re in position to give me orders. If my daddy knew—”

He lifts his knee only infinitesimally but when his foot slams down there is a knife in his hand.

He flicks some hair out of his hair and smiles, perky, just like Felix.

“Off,” he says. “Or I take it off.”

What should be a flicker of fear is a font of pure desire, sharp in your belly and hot between your legs. You look at the knife then his cool smile, the crinkle of pleasure in the corners of his eyes, the pretty fall of his hair. He flips the knife over his knuckles, around and around, smoothly, thoughtlessly.

You step out of your shoes and kick them aside. Your jitters are back, excited and jumpy, prickling under your skin as you lift your shirt over your head and toss that aside too.

“Neatly,” he says, with a tsk, tsk tsk. “Don’t make a mess. Daddy wouldn’t like that, would he?”

“Bastard,” you say, flushed with the admonition. It also makes you a little giddy. There is real power and real evil out there, and it is utterly meaningless in the face of everything between you and Felix. It is a punchline. It is an inside joke. The only thing that holds any real power is his gaze, his voice, his hands.

Your eyes, your sigh, your obedience. It makes him blush, despite his relative position of power, watching you neatly fold your shirt and place it on the bedside table. You remove your jeans and fold those too.

When you look at him, he points the knife to your underclothes, a mute statement: yes, I mean those too. So you take off your bra and place it on the table, flushed and hasty and embarrassed and excited. You slip off your panties and crumple them. You miss the table and they fall to the floor, and Felix points to it with the knife.

“Pick it up,” he says.

You do, quickly, putting it on the pile then stepping away. You cross your arms, only a little chilled, mostly hot under his gaze.

“Good,” he says. “Very good.”

With a flick of his wrist, the knife is swiftly embedded in your desk behind him. He does not even look back.

You jump. It makes your heart beat even faster, stomach tied up in anticipatory knots, desperate to unravel as he approaches you with a slow, predatory stroll.

He circles you. His fingertips brush your side, sending a shiver shooting up your spine. He takes a pillow off the bed and puts it on the floor.

You stand with your back to him, arms still crossed. He touches the middle of your back, walks his fingers gently up your spine until he is holding the back of your neck, pulling you into him, your naked body against his clothed one.

“Get on your knees,” he says. You swear his voice is even deeper than usual. “Sweetheart.”

You cannot think of a snarky reply, not even when he steps back and you can breathe again. You just look at him over your shoulder and make a show of rolling your eyes. He tips his head, regarding you as if oh-so confused by your petulance.

He stands while you kneel. You sit back on your heels and hum to yourself as if bored.

He ignores that, pointing to bed and saying, “Face there, not me.”

You look at him with genuine confusion, once more surprised by his direction, but you do as told. You kneel facing the bed. He gets down on one knee beside you, cups the back of your head and guides you up, off your heels.

“Up, up, up,” he says in too jovial of a tone, so frustratingly Felix. “Hands up here.” He pats the bed with his other hand until you uncross your arms and place them where directed. “That’s it,” he says. “Just like that, sweetheart.”

He stands, leaving you kneeling at the bedside, upright, arms in front of you. Kneeling like a penitent in prayer at their bedside. You look over your shoulder at him, wearing your best and bitchiest expression. There is an irrevocable challenge in your eyes.

Clink.

Your eyes drop to his belt, to the swift flick of leather and metal over his hands as he opens it. He is unhurried, sliding it free of its loops.

But then he does not discard it. He folds it over his hand. Once, twice, three times.

He tips his head. He holds up three fingers, a question.

He knows the significance here. He knows how your insides unravel at the sight of that belt hooked around his fist.

You know he would stop if you said so. If you said the word three, if you held up three fingers, if you tapped three times or did anything else to speak to him. He has given you a voice in every form.

He is standing over you, at once a personification of your pains and fears, and also he is none of them. This does not feel the way it did back then, unwilling and tortured and harmed.

He loves you. And he is trapped with you, and he is carving out holes in the world with you. He is handing you back your life, if only pieces, however he can. You are not a scared little girl under him. You are in control of that pendulum of emotion. There is no power in the things that once scared you. It is a punchline. An inside joke.

You smile at him.

He gets down on one knee again, squeezes the nape of your neck then runs his hand down your spine. Your back arches under his touch, breath staggering into gasps even though all he does is caress you skin.

You jump when he smacks the soft curve of your ass, just the flat of his palm on your skin, but already you are tingling head to toe with pleasure.

“I am responsible for you, yeah?” he says, and smacks you there again. “That means you are mine. You don’t run off, you don’t play games. You do what I say.”

“Or what?” you say, voice already breathy. “You’ll beat me up like you did that brute in the bar?”

You can hear him adjusting the belt, flipping it around his hand for a better grip.

“You liked that, didn’t you?” he asks. “Does it get your pussy wet, watching me hurt them for you?”

You don’t get a chance to answer. Your voice is a feathery-light sound, piercing a gasp when he brings that strip of leather down against your backside.

You squirm. You are already so, so wet.

“Hmm?” he asks, and does it again, a stinging, hot line across your skin. “Is that how it is?”

“I hate you,” you say. You are gripping the blanket, nails digging in. Your back arches at another strike, chest pushing into the bedding.

“Awww…” he says, careless. “Yeah… I know.”

You must be wriggling too much because Felix pins you down with his free hand, your cheek pressed to the blanket. He adjusts his position for a better reach.

“I know, sweetheart,” he says, and snaps the belt across your skin. This one makes you cry out. “I know exactly how you feel about me.”

You cry turns to a watery whine, shaking when he gently sweeps his fingertips across your smarting backside. Your breath snags when he leans in close, breath ghosting your skin.

“I know,” he says. “Because it gets my dick hard. Oh? What’s that? Did that scare you?” He hits you again. “You wanna tell your daddy? Tell him how you’re all wet because your mean bodyguard got a little too, mmm, rough with you?”

He kisses the middle of your back and you shiver.

“Mmm,” he says. “No. You’re not going to do that, are you? You’re going to stay right… here…” He leans back and snaps his wrist again, patting you when the belt sears your skin and you cry out again. “That’s it. You’re gonna take it until you apologize—”

“I’m sorry,” you say, even while tilting your hips, seeking more from him. You can feel how wet you are when you squish your thighs together, hot and slick between them. “I really am.”

“Oh?” he says. “For what?”

“Uhhh—” It turns to another yelp when he hits you again. “F-for disobeying y-you.”

“Why is that bad, sweetheart?”

“B-because—” You don’t even cry out when he does it again. This sound is a pure moan, roughly exhaled into the bed. “Because you’re in charge,” you say breathlessly, voice on the cusp of a sob. You can feel your knees starting to shake. “Y-you’re in charge of me.”

“Am I?”

You hear the belt unravel, the clink of the metal as it hits the floor. He touches you with his bare hand, smoothing his palm over your warm, smarting skin. Every inch of you quivers with the tingling aftershock of the soft touch.

“Yes,” you say. “I’m—I’m yours, Felix.”

There is a moment of quiet when all he does it touch you, gently, a caress across your stinging skin. Your whole body reacts to him, the slightest brush sending floods of heat shooting through you.

He traces a circle on your backside, pinches the warm skin. It makes that sob spill over your lips.

“Say it again,” he says, his voice lower, only just above a whisper.

“I’m yours,” you say just as softly. A tear spills onto the blanket.

“My name.”

“Felix,” you say. “My bodyguard.”

“Yes,” he says, still in that soft voice. He slips his hand down between your legs and you rear up, spreading your thighs, eager to feel him. “I am, aren’t I?” He hardly needs to touch you to feel how wet you are. Just a surface touch wets his fingers with your desire, a slow stroke that makes your knees shake again. “I’m good at it, aren’t I?” he says, and takes his hand back. “At guarding this body. Hmm?”

Another tear spills out. You nod, breathing hard into the blanket.

“Well,” he says, clearing his throat.

He stands up and you lift your head, blinking up at him with big, wet eyes. You can see how hard he is, obscenely bulging behind his fly. It makes your mouth water, makes you press your cheek into the blanket as you stare at him wantingly.

“If I’m not going to hit you,” he says, “then what am I going to do with you?”

His thumb presses at his zipper and he smiles, dimpled and cheeky, and slowly tugs it down. Your knees finally surrender and you sit again, slumped against the bed and reaching between your legs.

“Uh-uh-uh—” he says, diving down to catch your arm.

You groan, wriggling while he scoops you up and deposits you on the bed as easily as tossing a pillow. You shuffle around, making some pitiful blubbery noises as you lay on your sore backside. You rest your head on a pillow, breathing hard, so aware of your body in a way you have never felt before.

Felix takes off his boots while you settle yourself. Then he gets on the bed and kneels at your feet, a vision of sin in his black clothes with his flushed face and heady, dark eyes. He wets his lips, leaves his tongue sticking out the corner of his mouth as he looks at you like a meal offered to a starving man.

“Hold the headboard, sweetheart,” he says, nodding above you.

You do not look away from him, reaching back to grip one of the bars in the headboard. Though your legs are pressed together, you feel the exposure of the vulnerable position, throbbing everywhere he looks at you.

Your breath gets ragged when he moves closer. He takes a pillow, ripping it out of its case and tossing the cushion aside. He flips the soft material of the pillowcase around his fist until it makes a long line like a soft rope.

Then your hands are bound to the headboard. His fingers curl around yours, showing you how to tap, how to talk to him. It registers, even if he immediately distracts you with a wandering hand, slipping down your body to touch and fondle.

Then he is back at your feet, grabbing your ankles and sliding up, up, up until his hands are hooked under your knees and he can spread you open to him.

Your hips buck, your back arches, legs shaking in his steady hold. You are so open to him that it makes you whimper and close your eyes.

They open again when you feel his mouth between your legs, his teasing abruptly finished as he dives in with full commitment. You cry out in relief, with utter ecstasy, noisier than you have ever been as he licks and sucks and strokes. You twitch when he nips at your thighs, when he slips his tongue inside you, when he licks back up then tortures the source of your pent-up need, again and again until you are crying out and coming hard on his tongue.

He lets you finish, takes over that peak and beyond. He lowers your trembling legs, lets you wrap them around his hips. You make a horrible mess of his pants, you are sure, grinding up against the hard material.

“Shhh, shh, shh,” he says, reaching past you to the bedside table.

You hardly have a second to look before he is shoving your balled up panties in your mouth.

“That’s it,” he says, kissing down your neck. “That’s a good girl. Don’t need to think, yeah?”

He sits back on his heels and finally unzips all the way. He shuffles his pants and boxers down past his hips. He smiles, then pushes your legs against you so are nearly folded in half.

“Just—” he says with a soft grunt, pushing at the soft, wet heat of you, so easily sliding inside. “Just—need—to—take it.”

And you do, moaning helplessly into your gag, still sore from your earlier punishment but all that sensation mingling with everything hard and sweet and good between your thighs. Your eyes close and you let yourself float, feeling as he hits all those soft places inside you that make your body keen. When you come again, it is just from that, and a stream of euphoric tears follow as you wrap him between your legs and bring him over the edge with you.

“God,” he says, dropping every trace of his persona, sounding near tears himself as he comes inside you. “God—fucking—You. Oh, sweetheart. Jesus. I—”

His brain sounds as mushy as yours, maybe only marginally smarter because he takes out your gag and releases you from your bondage.

Your arms fall limp around your head and you hum sweetly, literal music moving through you as your whole body aches with pleasant aftershocks.

“We gotta clean you up,” he says softly, from somewhere, stroking your sweaty skin. “And I wanna take care of where I used the—”

“Felix,” you murmur, “if you don’t get over here and kiss me stupid, then I’m gonna take a turn with the belt.”

He laughs, then you feel him stretched out beside you, his arms circling you. You roll into his embrace, throwing your leg around his hip and snuggling into him.

“You still hate me, yeah?” he says after a moment, though how he expects any coherency when he is massaging down your arm like that, you do not know.

But you nod, kissing his chest.

“Of course, you’re my bodyguard,” you say.

You sigh when he smooths his hand over your backside, tenderly caressing the sore skin.

“Yes,” he says. “Always.”

It sounds almost ridiculous to say, but he honestly fucked you so good that you feel like a new woman.

You have a little skip in your step – or maybe it’s a limp – for the next couple days, and it’s cute how it flusters him in the daylight because he knows the cause.

In the mood for a full cleansing, you get the idea to clean out your closet. You toss things around left and right, sorting donations and garbage and pieces you forgot you owned.

You are elbow deep in a pile of old sweaters when your fingers curl around something soft. You yank it out of the pile, hidden away at the very back of your closet. You wonder what it is and why you have not been wearing it when it is so soft—

Peppy music is blaring out of your speakers, your disposition cheery and pleasant as can be. It all gets a little fuzzy when you unfold the sweater and realize it is Jisung’s hoodie, the one he gave you that last night you left his house.

You and Felix are meeting Jeongin and Seungmin after class today, a usual coffee at your usual café while you do the finishing touches on your semester project. Having friends and a lover and a future you can almost see, can almost imagine controlling if only in your own special way, makes you realize how far you have come.

Things have changed. You have changed. You have forgotten a lot about high school. You don’t really remember faces, or the things that had you stressed, or half the arguments with your father. You were obsessed with Lee Minho for years but, frankly, you can hardly remember what he looked like.

But you touch the hoodie and you can feel your best friend, solid as if he was still sitting beside you. When you lift it to your chest, you swear you can faintly smell the lingering trace of him, that boyish body spray that was probably baked into everything he owned but that you stopped noticing because you were around him so much.

It is the smell that overwhelms you. In a matter of moments, your face is buried in the hoodie and you are crying, and you don’t know if it’s because you’re happy or because you’re not.

Felix comes running, stumbling to a stop in your closet door and looking at you with alarm.

“Sweetheart?” he says, crouching down beside you. “What is it? What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” you say, because you don’t know what to say. You lift your head and look at him, face streaked with tears. He wipes them immediately, a gentle back and forth, soothing you until your crying is just a mere hiccup. “I’m sorry,” you say, wiping your face on your sleeve. “I don’t know why I still get so worked up.”

“About what?” Felix asks.

You open the hoodie and recognition lights up in his eyes.

“Jisung,” he says.

“You recognize it?” you say, a bit surprised.

“Uh, yeah,” he says, and looks at you with a dimpled grin. “You were wearing this the first night we—”

“Right,” you say with a watery giggle.

You look back down and sniffle some more, blinking back another onslaught of tears. You run your hand over the material while Felix rubs a soothing circle on your back.

“Why is it so hard to let go?” you ask softly. “When I have people here, now... When I have a future and…” You trail off, voice breaking. You wipe your face again.

“I don’t know,” Felix says, sounding as morose. His gaze wanders. You can see his own mental space shift as he goes somewhere far away. “I guess…” He rubs the bridge of his nose, shaking his head. “One person can’t, uh, really replace another, I guess. And he was your friend. It’s different.” He swallows. “You can’t just let go of love. Not… not easily.”

“I guess not,” you say. You trace a circle on the material with your thumb. You sigh. “I should get ready for school.”

“Yeah,” Felix says, voice breaking too. He clears his throat and stands. “Do you need anything?”

You shake your head, hugging the hoodie to your chest and staring straight ahead.

“No,” you say softly. “Thank you, Felix.”

You are a little too distracted with your own thoughts and grief to notice his own solemn disposition. He does not hold it against you, though, as you are distracted for the rest of the day. The cause is reasonable enough.

You are sitting in the library with Felix and your friends, working on your project but distracted, when you lift your head and spot the library computers.

You have not looked for Jisung anywhere, not online or in person, far too terrified your father would find out and track him down and kill him. You remember his rage. You know how serious he was.

But that seems far away now, not the same nightmarish terror that haunted your every shaking step. Now you are staring at the campus computers with a more calculating air. You realize there is no way to trace any searches back to you if they are made on a public server.

Felix looks up when you stand, shooting you a questioning look. You just point to the computers and he nods, slouching back in his seat again.

You feel a little queasy, maybe from the tumultuous feelings of the day. Maybe plain worry. Until now, you could pretend Jisung was fine, but what if he isn’t? God, what if your father went after him anyway? What if something else happened? What if he got worse after you left him on that hospital bed? You are sick with the thought.

The world needs him. You need him. Even far away, even without seeing or touching him, because your friendship does not require that. It can be words on a page, tucked away in a yearbook that you read on your worst days when you need a reason to keep fighting.

And so you search. You find results faster than you thought. It turns out Jisung has been writing music. He is very underground and indie, it seems. He does not have a huge collection of followers, but his artistry has stirred interest nonetheless. You find his social media profiles without much struggle, as well as his soundcloud and professional profiles. It looks like he works part time at a grocery store while making music.

You click through his profiles, smiling at some of his goofy pictures and videos. There are some click-bait short videos with dramatic fonts slashed over his face, saying things like GIRLFRIEND DRAMA!! and GAY RIVALS??

You click on a couple. It’s just videos where he talks to the camera, but he’s so funny that it feels like miniature stand-up routines. Some of these videos get more views than his music.

It looks like he had a girlfriend for a while, then a boyfriend, which is probably not too surprising when you remember he was obsessed with Hyunjin.

He says exactly that in his video, laughing as he runs his hands through his hair, black-painted nails stark against the lighter dyed locks.

“Yeah…” he says, laughing awkwardly, “Turns out most people don’t have an arch-nemesis that occupies their every thought in their horny teenage years. Who knew, right?”

The comment sections are all a bit chaotic, as comment sections are often a no-man’s land of anarchy, but it feeds the algorithm so he lets the public run amok. It does not seem to ruffle his feathers.

You scroll until you see a video with the words BEST FRIEND? It is the only video where he turned the comments off.

You are not sure what you are expecting. It has been years. This video could be about anyone. He has more friends, quite a lot by the look of it.

His video starts with that very message.

“I know it’s hard to believe since I am, like, so insanely beautiful and funny and popular and talented now,” he says with a goofy drawl, grinning at the camera, “but I used to be like… the loser. Not even a loser, no way, man, I’m an overachiever. I mean the loser. I did not have any friends but, like, I didn’t even have any enemies either, like what’s a guy got to do to get bullied around here? I was just, you know, kinda invisible I guess… Hard to believe I developed issues and became an online clout-chaser like whoo-hoo…”

You shake your head, smiling in spite of yourself. The Jisung on camera is wearing glasses, his hair longer than you remember. His shoulders are broader and he looks good, healthy.

He rubs his shoulder as he gazes past the camera, looking wistful.

“I had one friend, though, eventually,” he says. “I used to think she was kinda scary but, also, to be fair, I thought everything was scary back then haha… I mean, not haha, you know I was… It was rough. I was like ready to end it all, man… Times were hard! Teenage angst, you know, nothing like it! But she, uh…”

He looks at the camera and it makes your spine straighten. This was posted a year ago. He is not actually talking to you, but for a moment he feels present.

“She was really good at seeing people,” he says. “I think, maybe, that’s because she wanted for someone to see her too. But, like, that’s hard to ask for… And even harder to accept when you finally have it. She would run away just as fast as she would want attention, haha. But at the same time… You know, she got it. She got me. We got each other. Until then, neither of us had ever really—you know, we didn’t really have good families and stuff, we didn’t have friends. I talk about firsts a lot, and, you know, every one makes a deal out of their first kiss and their first lay and stuff but like… Your first friend...”

You pause the video for a second, blinking so you don’t cry in the library. You briefly glance at Felix, Jeongin, and Seungmin. Jeongin has predictably strayed from his studies, showing Felix something on his hand console. Seungmin throws a pencil at them.

You smile then look back at the screen, hitting play.

“It changes you, you know?” Jisung says. “Especially at that age, you know, when you’re growing and stuff… You kinda learn from each other. Even though we super different, in some ways we were the same, and I think I still… um, carry her with me. It sounds cheesy but it’s true. I was a stupid softy but her…! She never took anyone’s shit! And I got better at that, and I think it was because of her. We, um, we didn’t exactly have a falling out— Life just— Sometimes life isn’t fair. And she was… she was kinda in a bad spot. And at the time I felt like I let her down, because I couldn’t get her out. Of course, now I’m like, yo, we were both kids, haha, how the fuck was I gonna do that anyway… And before we said goodbye, you know, she told me I did save her, and I didn’t really know what she meant at the time. But when I realized how much of her was still with me all the time, every day, how much she taught me to get me where I am today… I got it. I still wish I could have done more, but I get it. And I mean, um, hey, if you’re out there—”

You are startled into greater attention when he looks directly in the eye of the camera. You realize he is speaking to you, across space and time, as surely as a scribble in your yearbook or a laugh in your memory.

“I don’t know if you’ll ever see this,” he says. “But I, uh, I told you once a best friend promise is forever. Ten years, twenty years, fifty years, you know… hit me up. But, um, even if you don’t… even if you can’t…”

He takes a breath and shakes his shoulders, wiggling like he would do when he was trying not to cry. He exhales and smiles. You can see all the emotion behind that smile, grief and hope alike.

“I just hope you’re happy,” he says. “I am. And that’s partly because of you. So if you ever need a reason, or an excuse, or whatever to be happy… This is it. Thank you for… for everything I guess. I loved you so much that it made me love the whole world just because you were in it. So I don’t need anything else from you, but if you could be happy for me… Yeah. That, uh, that would be good.”

He pauses, purses his lips, then he laughs a very watery laugh.

“Okay!” he says. “I’m gonna go cry now like a big baby. Love you all! Bye! See you next time. Oh yeah, stream Volcano! Bye!”

You end up laughing through your tears, Jisung being so incredibly Jisung. You glance back at Felix and your friends, watching them try to keep their laughter down as they snicker over something in Jeongin’s game. Seungmin has his big puppy grin on and Jeongin’s dimple are so deep as glee pours off him.

Felix looks so delighted and carefree, his whole face glowing like it was touched by a drop of sunshine.

You want this.

Now. Always.

Oh, Jisung, you think to yourself. How many times are you going to save me?

You open a new window and make a profile on the website. Fortunately, Jisung allows private messages from accounts he does not follow. You just hope he clicks on the message despite the blank profile. You cannot have anything public that would give you away in any capacity.

But you open the private message and you write, and you hope it reaches him, even after you have closed the window and walked away, head high with your purpose and a newfound determination to fulfill his only wish for you.

To the bestest most awesome boy in the world, from the bestest most awesome girl in the world.

I think I have that whole note memorized by now. I don’t know you even remember these words, but it was how you started your message in my yearbook.

I know it’s been a long time but I wanted to reach out. My situation hasn’t really changed, so it’s still not safe to see you properly, which is why I’m messaging this way. I’m sorry for that. But I saw your video where you said you were happy, and I just wanted to say how glad I am. You deserve the world, Jisungie. I hope you know how much it loves you back. How much I love you back.

I have friends and even a boyfriend now. I don’t think I would have any of it if not for you. I think I am starting to be happy, but truth be told I don’t really know what that is supposed to feel or look like. But I think I am starting to understand. I think I know what I have to do.

I’m going to get out. I am going to get my love out too. I have been waiting and wallowing, but I’m not going to do that anymore. I want to be happy, whatever that looks like.

Thank you for saving me when you did. Now it’s time for me to save myself.

You also gave me the world and I love it a little more everyday. I hope someday soon I can see more of it. If I’m lucky, maybe I will see you too, but even if we never meet face-to-face again, know I carry you with me too. A best friend promise is a forever promise, right?

Take care, Jisung. Keep fighting. Be happy.

Love,

Your best friend.

Now and always.

♡

#skz smut #stray kids smut #lee felix smut #lee felix x reader #felix x reader #skz x reader

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pixiecaps · 5 months

Text

Heres a portion of Maxo’s ending monologue and some meta commentary.

q!Maxo: And what if I stay? At least they won’t have that planned out. How can I be so stupid? Of course, they know about the bomb. They literally know everything, see everything, its an all seeing eye, of course. They already knew about my plan.. But there’s a plan they don’t know. And it’s that I’m going to stay here. It’s over. Besides, I’m a danger to everybody, I’m turning into a code. I know now that I’m not the only one but at least it’ll be one less, right? It’s the desperation of not being able to do anything against the Federation. They always get away with it, man. They always get what they want. I don’t- I don’t know why I’m even still walking. … They’ve taken my bomb and stolen my idea and now they’re exploding it. They don’t care. At least, we found a way to escape. (Timer runs out)

cc!Maxo: (Closes game) And like that is how he dies. “Are you coming back as a ghost?” As of right now I am not thinking about returning as a ghost. (Plays sad music) Rest in peace qMaxo. Rest in fucking peace. I did all I could chat. I did all I could. … If I had reached the boat I would not have gotten on. I think what I would’ve wanted is to reach the boat, say goodbye to everybody, and die. But I suppose due to the timer the bomb blew up before that could happen. … So I’ve died. That is how it goes. This was the only thing I could do that the Federation could really not control. Killing myself.

cc!Maxo: (When a chatter mentioned the people who didn’t reach the boat) Chat I only know that I’ve died, it’s what I wanted for my lore. That I would’ve stayed there with the atomic bomb. In a fantasy world like the QSMP, of course I could revive, finally turn into a code, or whatever but for the moment all I know is that I’m dead. And I don’t have anything else scripted, from this moment on I’m dead and thats final. Thats the reality, and thats why I’m not… happy because I will for sure miss the QSMP. But since I personally take roleplay very seriously, for me there is no going back. I am dead. I cannot return as cubito Maxo. I can return as a spirit that haunts Roier once in a while, periodically, I could, I could but qMaxo is dead. It’s sad, I’m not super happy because obviously I spent a really great time on QSMP but by my own lore, man, I couldn’t do it any longer. I couldn’t handle returning to Quesadilla Island knowing I couldn’t do anything against the Federation. If I made a fucking atomic bomb and the boss of Purgatory goes and says, “Oh you have an atomic bomb? Okay. In fact, that’s a good idea. Let’s explode it, run to the boat, returning again to the island that you were in, because thats likely what will happen, and you’ll continue suffering.” I can’t do it anymore. I’ve lost Trump, my son, I’ve lost- I no longer trust people who can kill each other amongst themselves, by the lore.

cc!Maxo: The players themselves are super fun people and I’ve had a good time. What makes me feel shame is that, that I can’t roleplay with them anymore. To say it one way or another. Well, there could be things in the future the admins offer but as a player it makes me feel shame. Also, while it is true that recently I hadn’t been logging in a lot, the times I did I had a good time. I did a lot of cool things with these people.

cc!Maxo: I lost SOFIA, I lost.. everything. Everything that I’ve done, every idea that I had thought of for myself and others has been taken by the Federation. … I think that the Federation has so much control that is impossible to do anything against them. And everything you do against them they’ll use to further confuse the people. … For me I will no longer play [as qMaxo] because I am dead, that’s serious to me, I’ve decided my character has died in an explosion. Another thing is that I could occasionally log on as a spirit or something. If they allow me that then great! But if dying means not being able to play on the QSMP anymore then so be it. … This was necessary for the roleplay. … I didn’t die thinking, “Wow I found the answer.” I didn’t want to die because I found any type of answer. I died because of desperation. To say, look man I couldn’t find any answers.

Maxo mentioned it did leave him with a sour taste in his mouth that he didn’t get the chance to say goodbye to everybody since he ran out of time. So a chatter suggested he does canonical pre recording goodbye video to everybody. He said he’d likely consider it and do it so that his character gets the chance to tell the other characters goodbye and that he’s gone.

Rest in peace qMaxo, the original founder of the Theory Bros, and someone who gave his all to escaping the island no matter the cost.

#qsmp #suicide cw

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markscherz · 9 months

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This might be a weird question but I can't think of a better person to ask! My nibling recently came out as non-binary and wants to change their name, but they're struggling to find something they are happy with.

They were given a feminine name at birth and are currently using a masculine name, but aren't happy with either of them. Every human name that's suggested to them is either too masc, too femme, or has poor associations. However, they love frogs, so I wondered if that might be a solution.

I've tried to find frog names that might work as a human name, but so far I'm not having much luck. It's not allowed to start with R or J, and apparently it's not allowed to have an X in it because nibling thinks they're "not cool enough" to carry that off (I've tried explaining that they're wrong, but 16 year olds are very sensitive).

If this isn't too weird a question, can you think of any frog or toad names that might be manageable as human names? We live in the UK for reference

So many thanks for even reading this giant info dump 💕

Wow this is only the second time I have gotten to help find a name for a human. What an honour.

Okay firstly, sounds 100% like your nibling is cool enough to use an X (despite my current negative emotions associated with the letter due to the Elongated Muskrat), and there are some *amazing* names out there with X's in, so they should at least consider them. Scinax and Ixalus for instance are great. Ixalus has a fun history: originally it was coined as a replacement name for Orchestes, which wasn't available because there was already a beetle genus called Orchestes. But then it turned out that Ixalus was *also* not available, because the world's most beautiful antelope, the bongo, was already called Ixalus. Only, the bongo had already been called Tragelaphus. So now Ixalus isn't the name used for *any* animal. Ixalus is Greek, meaning 'bounding, springing, spry'. Also there are numerous other frog genera that use the ending -ixalus, such as Heterixalus, Micrixalus, etc.

But, taking the lack of X seriously, here are some other alternatives. I will avoid names that are derived from other people's names, and focus on names that have a neutral ring to my ear, and are also euphonious (nice to say or hear) and fewer than four syllables. I am also only considering genus names, because there are too many species names to choose from:

Acris — meaning sharp, sour, bitter, pungent, sharp, keen, acute, energetic, eager, etc. Technically this is the feminine version of the adjective; the neuter version is Acre, but I do not think anyone would read 'Acris' and immediately think either gender. It is supposed to be pronounced with a long a, as in 'hard', but a lot of people pronounce it with a hard a as in 'ace'. This name is most familiar to Americans, because Acris are cricket frogs, widespread in the US.

[Acris crepitans, src]

Mantis — of course, the genus Mantis was coined by Linnaeus in 1758, and so it is unambiguous that this is not a frog name. However, it is very often used as part of frog taxonomic names, such as Chiromantis, Boehmantis, Guibemantis, Gephyromantis, Phlyctimantis etc. Mantis is Greek (μάντης), and means oracle, prophet, soothsayer, seer, clairvoyant, or fortune teller. The name has the feminine gender in its language of origin, but that has no bearing on its use, which, barring the character in the Marvel movies, does not seem particularly gendered to me.

[Pristimantis cruentus, src]

Dasypops — simply a delightful name, but probably not neutral enough. I have not been able to figure out what the etymology is; it might be a play on Dasypus, the Greek word meaning 'rough-footed', which is a genus of armadillos. The frog is also spectacular, but there are no photos I can legally share on tumblr.

Kaloula — a euphonic name with an unclear meaning. Very round frogs. I love them.

[Kaloula pulchra, src]

Adelotus — means 'unseen'. These are 'tusked frogs'. Males have crazy extensions of lower jaw bones, and they fight with them.

[Adelotus brevis, src]

Taruga — a Sanskrit name meaning 'tree climber'. I fucking love this name, and the frogs are just *chef's kiss* POINTY, and have really committed to bold colours.

[Taruga eques, src]

EDIT: I have been informed that taruga means ‘blockhead’ or ‘numb skull’ in Spanish, so it might not be the best choice. Sorry!

If the nibling would like to check out a list of genera themselves, there is a tolerably complete list here.

I hope this helps!

#frog #frogs #frogs and toads #names #animals #nonbinary #answers by Mark #annamelia-art #herpetology #I guess

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faebaex · 8 months

Text

Tangled in Wonderland - Library Liaison

author note: Winner of the first 1000 follower event poll was Riddle! every time I write Riddle, I forget how much I enjoy writing him (≧◡≦) he’s such an interesting, complex character. I hope I do him justice, I think he deserves it. Next up is Leona, who won the second poll and the Octavinelle poll is currently running, so go check it out if you haven’t seen it already! Enjoy~

characters: Riddle Rosehearts x GN!Reader

You sat, staring into space in the Ramshackle dorm lounge. The ruined interior really helped you zone out, your mind still reeling after the odd situation that you found yourself in.

Despite your best endeavours, your life in Twisted Wonderland had so far proceeded exactly as it had for the main character. The chandelier still ended up breaking, you still ended up going to the dwarf mine and getting attacked by the overblot monster and, in the end, you ended up becoming a joint student with Grim. You had developed a rocky friendship with both Ace and Deuce, despite how you tried to distance yourself from them. It wasn’t anything personal, you just sort of hoped that the events in the game wouldn’t occur if you kept yourself low profile and didn’t get close to any of the game’s named characters.

Unfortunately, so far that plan hadn’t worked out.

Ace still ended up coming to your dorm, collar and all, complaining about his housewarden. You had attempted to slow the inevitable ride to disaster, even suggesting that Ace and Deuce transfer and become students of Ramshackle dorm in an attempt to cool the tensions. But your suggestions fell on deaf ears, and Ace and Deuce ended up challenging Riddle to the housewarden duel that ended up resulting in his overblot. Safe to say, your attempts at laying low and floating undetected through the student body weren’t going well so far.

And to top it all off, Crowley had been avoiding you, as you had been using any opportunity to ambush him and ask him if he had made any progress on finding a way home for you. If Crowley’s monumental negligence in the game was anything to go by, he likely wasn’t even looking into it, so the least you could do was make his life as miserable as possible. When you weren’t accosting Crowley, you spent every spare moment you had in the library.

Every day, you’d comb the library for any material that even had a hint of information about your situation. You were always surrounded by books, piled high around you as you poured over the often-dry material. You’d entirely absconded from any of your schoolwork, leaving that particular gambit to Grim. Whilst diligence wasn’t Grim’s strong point, there was nothing bribery with a can of premium tuna couldn’t solve. So from after classes to when you could barely keep your eyes open any longer, you were huddled in a discreet spot in the library, an agreement with one of the library ghosts meaning that this table was basically reserved for you.

It was just another day for you at the library, surrounded by dusty tomes that obviously hadn’t been touched in who knows how long. You were currently absorbed in a publication about summoning magic, so absorbed in fact that you didn’t notice the figure who had approached your table until they cleared their throat.

“Hello prefect. I see you are in the library again today.”

You froze in your seat, reluctantly looking up to see Riddle standing at the opposite side of your desk. With a purse of your lips, you nodded once before lowering your eyes back down to your book. “Yup.” You responded flatly, turning to the next page, not seeing Riddle fidget awkwardly in front of you.

“You are very studious, prefect. I’ve seen you in the library every day for the past two weeks, Ace and Deuce could stand to learn a thing from you,” Riddle remarked, reaching out and settling a hand on the chair opposite yours, readying to pull it out, “may I?”

“Um… I’d rather you didn’t, actually.” You responded, looking up from your textbook again with a neutral expression. Riddle’s hand froze on the chair and for a moment he looked like a deer caught in lamplights, before his grip tightened on the back of the chair.

“I… See…” Riddle mumbled, and an awkward silence settled between you. You gave a small, cold smile, hoping that Riddle would get the hint and leave, and he did turn, but hesitated and turned back to you, a conflicted frown on his face. “Have I… Offended you in some way, prefect?” Riddle broached and internally you sighed, wishing the pile of books surrounding you would tumble down and hide you from this awkward situation.

“Well… When you throw a tree at someone, its hard not to take it personally.” You quipped coolly, turning your eyes back down to your book and trying to find the line you were on, hoping that Riddle would finally leave you alone. But as ever since you had gotten into this world, luck was not on your side.

Riddle looked absolutely mortified by your comment, and to your chagrin, he pulled out the chair opposite you and sat down, leaning forward in an attempt to keep your conversation as private as possible. “I-I’m sorry if I’ve given you a negative impression… I’m aware that my behaviour was unacceptable and—”

“Look, Riddle,” you sighed, grabbing a spare bookmark so that you didn’t lose your place, considering Riddle seemed to have no intention of leaving you in peace anytime soon, “it’s nothing personal. Really, it isn’t. I just…” You sighed again, putting your head in your hands and rubbing your temples for a moment, “its hard for me adjusting to life here, so I prefer to spend my time alone. I hope you understand.” Once again, silence fell between you and you found yourself shifting impatiently in your chair. You didn’t hate Riddle, not at all. How could you? Riddle had very compelling reasons to be the way he was, and you knew that after his overblot incident, he did make deliberate steps to change and accept his flaws. But… You had your own world to get back to and if being cold and unwelcoming was what it took for you to get back there, then so be it.

“I- I’m sorry, Y/N. I had no idea that you were feeling that way… I should have realised that given your situation…” Riddle trailed off, and the two of you once again lapsed into silence. You shifted in your chair uncomfortably again, exhaling heavily before you began to speak again, “Riddle, its fine—”

“You’re welcome in Heartslabyul, anytime. I would offer you a dorm room but we are at full capacity and I don’t expect that to change anytime soon.” Riddle stated, with the same air of finality that he spoke most things with, and you ended up blinking at him in surprise. “O-oh, that’s really not necessary—”

“I… I may not be the best person to preach about family but…” Riddle’s cheeks dusted slightly red as he continued, “I would like it if you were able to seek some solace within Heartlabyul, to help you feel more comfortable and adjust to your circumstances.” You stared at Riddle, your expression blank and hiding the turmoil of emotions that you felt inside. You were really trying your best to put on a cold front and keep distant, but Riddle just had to be so… Endearing.

“That’s… That’s really kind, Riddle. Thank you…” You mumbled, before you sighed and collapsed onto the book you were reading. “But I don’t want to adjust, I want to go home…” You complained, your voice muffled by the pages of the book. Despite finally complaining aloud about the issue that had been on your mind since you got here, it felt oddly cathartic to vent. Until you felt a tap on your head.

“Don’t lay on the book like that, Y/N, you’ll crumple the pages.” Riddle scolded, and just like that he was back to being the Heartslabyul housewarden that you knew. He tapped your head again until you leaned up, shooting him an unimpressed look as he pulled the book towards him, smoothing the pages and checking for any damage before looking over the book itself. “I thought the headmage was looking into your situation?” Riddle queried, flipping through the pages of your book with a judging eye. You resisted the urge to glower at the mention of the headmage.

“Does it seem like he’s looking into my situation?” Riddle’s eyes looked towards you briefly at your tone, but he nodded shortly once, “no comment.” Suddenly, he slammed the book in his hands shut, and you opened your mouth to complain at him for losing your page before he pushed his chair back and stood up. “There are better books on summoning magic than this one in this library, wait here a moment.” Without waiting for you to respond, Riddle was gone.

Over the next hour, Riddle had systematically gone through all the books in your ‘to read’ pile, replacing several books with other ones that he personally ferreted out himself, claiming that they would be much more appropriate for your needs than the one you currently had. You could only stare on in amazement, having no idea that he had such a breadth of knowledge about the books contained in the library. Sure, you were aware that at a young age when you were still reading picture books, he was reading hefty tomes, but watching him so easily sort through your mish mash research pile really did hammer home a respect for his character that you’d never appreciated when you’d played the game.

“Y/N are you listening? I said I’ve made you a list of the order I recommend you read in. I know you are eager to find some information that could lead you home, but if you walk before you can run, you might miss a vital clue.” Riddle lectured as he passed you a crisp white piece of paper, with his elegant script looped throughout it, “I’ve colour coded the list by subject, so you shouldn’t get anything mixed up—”

“Thank you, Riddle. Really. I truly appreciate this.” For the first time since you ended up in Twisted Wonderland, you found yourself genuinely smiling. Riddle blinked in surprise, before a red hue burst forth onto his cheeks, and he rose his hand in an attempt to hide it. “W-well, its nothing. I consider you an honorary member of Heartslabyul now, and I-i’d do this for any of the students under my leadership.” Riddle stuttered, before clearing his throat and trying to get a hold of himself, “but of course, don’t expect this to happen often. I have my own study schedule to adhere to, and its important that you develop these research skills for yourself. For your future assignments, of course.” Riddle said sternly, his usual strict demeanour starting to fall back into place. “But… If you have any questions, or need to use someone as a sounding board then… I’d be happy to lend my services.” Riddle mumbled softly, almost quiet enough for you not to catch, “b-but only if my schedule allows for it, o-of course!” He quickly added, a fresh wave of blush tinting his cheeks.

You found yourself charmed by Riddle’s generosity, your mood feeling genuinely lifted for the first time since you’d thrown yourself out of the coffin. It was odd, the warm feeling in your heart as you watched Riddle fluster, but it wasn’t unpleasant.

“Thank you, Riddle. I think I might take you up on that, sometime.”

#twst #twisted wonderland #twst x reader #twisted wonderland x reader #riddle rosehearts #twst riddle #riddle rosehearts x reader #riddle rosehearts x y/n

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tyrantisterror · 29 days

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I think one of the things that gets lost in the big, endless internet conversation about whether or not heroes should kill their villains is the fact that killing villains off robs you of a lot of story-telling potential. The Joker died at the end of his debut story in Batman - imagine what Batman would be if he stayed dead. No Joker in Batman 66, no The Killing Joke which means no Barbara Gordon as Oracle and no The Dark Knight, no Mark Hamill Joker episodes of BTAS (so many of them were based on his comic appearances, after all - the laughing fish is a direct adaptation of a comic), which means no Harley Quinn and no Return of the Joker, on and on it goes.

Like, you can argue the morality of heroes sparing their villains till you turn blue - god knows this site does it at least a thousand times a day - but on a purely pragmatic story-telling level, the minute you kill ANY character, you kill all the story potential they had. And yeah, it's fiction, you can bring them back from the dead if you really need them, but that's a pretty hard story beat to pull off without hurting your story. You don't want to fill your tale with "Somehow, Palpatine has returned" moments.

And you can just make new villains, sure, but again you have a problem with that - a new villain has to establish themselves and has to stand out from who came before, which means you can't go directly to the storylines you could have had with a villain who stuck around AFTER their introduction. A recurring villain is capable of doing things that one-off villains can't.

youtube

I'm going to illustrate this with a character from a fandom I'm not even a part of - I never played the Ratchet and Clank series and am only vaguely aware of it, but one day I saw a supercut of scenes starring one of its recurring villains, Dr. Nefarious, on twitter, and I was like "Oh shit, that's the guy who plays Quark on Deep Space Nine, isn't? This guys a hoot, let's see if we can find more clips on youtube." Which brought me to this hefty video here from one of the more recent games in the series.

And, like, as a person who "doesn't even go here," it's obvious this goofy little fucker has a history. His opening scenes have him ranting about how much it sucks to lose repeatedly - a lampshade on the "flaw" of a recurring villain, i.e. that their threat diminishes the more they come back because, by the nature of their role in the story, it means they've suffered a lot of losses. So how cool is it that as this supercut chugs along you can clearly see this is a theme of the game - that this is a story about the virtue of losing, a story that is enriched by having an antagonist who fans of the series know has lost a LOT?

The true antagonist is an alternate version of Dr. Nefarious who's won every fight in his life so far, apparently with little effort, and I love how they differ on a design aspect. They're both technically mad scientists, but notably, Emperor Nefarious, the winner, has a more imposing and "heroic" build, but a smaller brain-dome for his robot brains. Because winning may make him look strong, but if a mad scientist's real power is their mind, well, which Nefarious is really the strong one here then?

Dr. Nefarious gets this juicy arc about realizing the virtue in his repeated failures that corresponds with the heroic characters struggling to find a way to win against a seemingly invincible opponent, as well as contrasts the true villain, Dr. Nefarious's explicit counterpart and foil Emperor Nefarious, who has never once lost and is a total piece of shit for it. Again, not my fandom, I don't go here, not an expert on Ratchet and Clank, but even as a relative stranger to it who's just watching a big supercut, I fucking love this. This is an excellent story.

And it's one you can only tell with a recurring villain. Without Dr. Nefarious, this story works significantly less. You need a villain with a history the audience has seen to really sell this.

Anyway, I made this post because, ironically enough, I saw another tweet talking about how some fans think Dr. Nefarious should have been killed off in his first appearance, and, like... that's just fucking baffling to me, as a person outside this fandom looking in. Recurring villains deserve more love, man, they give us so much.

#Youtube

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hopeluna-archived · 8 months

Note

hi can i pls request mc snapping on the brothers while having an argument with them thxxx🌷🌷

(ahhhh i sorta got into this angst mood while playing nightbringer sorry😭)

✿𝆬.𖥔 ݁ ˖ | arguments

.𖥔 ݁ ˖ Characters: the brothers x gn!reader

.𖥔 ݁ ˖ CW: hurt/not really much comfort, arguments, no arguments on Beel's one 'cause I love him too much to hurt him, went a bit overboard angst on Satan lololololol :)))

.𖥔 ݁ ˖ A/N: took me forever but finally clearing out my asks cause i've gotten a bit of motivation! I hope u like it nonnie <333

m.list

↺ Lucifer

Lucifer goes quiet, silently reading your face having never seen you snap at him- anyone like that. He's too prideful to admit that both him and you were at fault, he felt like you had to admit your mistake but he was too focused on proving you wrong that he hadn't realised the exhaustion and silent frustration that had been bubbling on your face.

↺ Mammon

Mammon looks like he's been slapped, metaphorically. He subtly flinches away. He knows he should have noticed the dark bags of exhaustion under your eyes but he was ignorant and now you're angry at him. He's had people snap at him all the time but not you, never you. Mammon's heart races at the thought that you hate him now, just like everyone.

↺ Leviathan

Rationally, Levi knows you have just been exhausted from the entire day and didn't mean to snap at him like that. He also knows that him getting envious that you didn't spend your day with him when you were actually working just worsened your mood. But you always understood that no matter how he tried, he can't really control his sin....right?

↺ Satan

It is sort of funny he thinks, in a twisted way. Mostly its him losing his cool and snapping at you when he doesn't mean to. But oh how the tables have turned! Satan can practically taste the wrath emitting from you in the air. Its a bitter taste, like vomit. He wonders if you can somehow feel it too when he gets angry with you. Does your heart crack in two the same way his has now?

↺ Asmodeus

His words of poison halt at your venom. Only when you have stormed out of the room does Asmo snap out of his daze and realise that he had gotten too far which led to your anger bursting. He tries to shrug it off, it doesn't matter to him much. That is what he tries to convince himself when he feels his eyes water.

↺ Beelzebub

You never really got mad at him for his gluttony 'cause you are well aware that its something he can't really control, so Beel is surprised when you came home and snapped a little at him for eating the meal you made for yourself. He knows you're just tired, but he still can't help but feel his heart sink at your words and lose his appetite as it gets replaced with a pit of guilt.

↺ Belphegor

Belphie sits there idly, picking at the skin around his nails as he replays the words you said over and over again in his head before leaving the room and him behind. He wonders if he can sleep it off but that doesn't work when the oddest thing happens, he can't sleep. Belphie knows that you don't mean it, well at least he hopes you don't....

510 notes · View notes

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