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wqnsho · 18 days ago

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resurface | kang dae-ho x gn! reader

*.✧ synopsis: after years of heartbreak and betrayal, you’ve learned to bury your emotions to survive. but when your high school sweetheart, kang dae-ho, unexpectedly appears in the deadly game you're also in, the walls you built around your heart begin to crack. As past and present collide, survival becomes about more than just staying alive *.✧ word count: 10.1k (yeah) *.✧ warnings: squidgame season 2 spoilers, violence, death, trauma, toxic relationships, cursing, fluff, angst. your number is 389. *.✧ note: dae-ho won against in-ho by just .2%! thank you all so much for the support. my in-ho fanfic reached 1K notes already, while 1k+ of you participated in my poll! I'm very thankful for the support :> i was in the middle of editing in-ho's fic when the polls finished, when i saw how close the votes were i laughed. luckily i only needed to tweak a bit in this fic for it to be done. enjoy reading!! >:) dae-ho is such a cutiee!! long italicized texts are flashbacks. masterlist | request here

“Shit, I just moved didn’t I?” Player 196 asked in a lighthearted tone after swatting the bee that landed on her. Before anyone could answer, she dropped dead to the ground, a bullet from god knows where piercing through her skull.

The area erupted in chaos as players realized the horrific truth: to be eliminated meant death. Others tried to make a desperate run for it, while some froze, paralyzed from fear, and you were one of them.

Your eyes trailed down to the corpse laying a few feet in front of you. Your heart dropped. That could’ve been you.

You should've trusted your gut. You should’ve known that whatever bullshit that shady man in a suit said was too good to be true. But here you were, paying the price of your stupid decisions.

The air was thick with panic as a bloody massacre unfolded before your eyes. People who ran got shot left and right, while those who stayed survived. Once it cleared those who moved, the mechanical doll turned around, its eerie voice rising in song. The players were too stunned to move. Only one person had the courage to act—Player 456. With unwavering resolve, they ran ahead and instructed you all to hide behind someone bigger than you.

The rest of you followed suit, moving quickly. You ended up behind Player 230—Thanos, a rapper drowning in 1.19 billion won of debt. You didn’t trust him, and your instincts proved right. As the game progressed, he shoved people ahead of him, ending their lives without hesitation. Yet, you had to give him some credit: the man could hold a pose.

One by one, players crossed the finish line. As the timer reached 0, the hellish game finally ended. You were shaking, your body trembling with the aftershock, but at least you were still alive. The guards escorted everyone back to the main area, where the survivors collapsed to their knees, begging for mercy, begging to go home. You could hear them, desperate, pleading. It was almost unbearable.

“There must’ve been a misunderstanding,” the square guard’s voice rang out, cutting through the despair. His tone was flat and devoid of emotion. “We are not trying to harm you. We are presenting you with an opportunity.”

His words did little to reassure anyone. Your eyes rolled at their response. Misunderstanding my ass! The chance of survival, of escape, felt more like a cruel joke than anything else. But before the guard could continue, a voice rose above the rest, sharp and commanding.

“Clause three of the consent form!” Player 456 called out, his voice filled with defiance.

Everyone turned to look at him, some surprised, others hopeful. You were no different. You hadn’t expected anyone to stand up in this situation. You didn’t even know what clause three was, you skipped that part and immediately signed the form, but there was something in the way he spoke that made you believe he knew more than the rest of you.

“The games may be terminated upon a majority vote, correct?” he demanded, his eyes never leaving the guard.

The square guard responded without missing a beat, his tone unchanged. “That is correct.”

“Then let us take a vote right now,” Player 456 pressed, his voice firm and unyielding.

There was a brief silence before the guard spoke again, acknowledging the request with a chilling calmness. “Of course, we respect your right to freedom of choice.” He paused, and in that moment, you could feel the hope that had been buried deep inside everyone start to stir. It wasn’t much, but it was something. “But first, let me announce the prize amount that has been accumulated.”

With the press of a button, the room shifted. The cold, sterile space took on a strange new color, bathed in a soft, eerie glow. A massive piggy bank, almost comically large, descended from the ceiling, its mechanical limbs creaking with the weight. The sound of bills filling it echoed through the room, a surreal sound that only added to the strangeness of the moment. It felt like something out of a twisted casino, a game that didn’t care about the lives it destroyed, only the money it could accumulate.

“The number of players eliminated in the first game is 91,” the guard continued, as the money filled the piggy bank at a steady pace. “Therefore, a total of 9.1 billion won has been accumulated. If you choose to quit the games now, the 365 remaining players can equally divide the 9.1 billion won and leave with your share.”

“How much is that?” Player 100 asked.

“Each person’s share would be 24,931,500 won,” the guard answered flatly, almost as if it was an insignificant amount.

You could hear the gasps of disbelief that rippled through the crowd. It was hard to wrap your mind around it. You almost died for that? The amount seemed insignificant compared to the terror you’d experienced. You could hear others murmuring, their frustration and disbelief growing louder. What good was 24 million won when you had been pushed to the brink of death, when you had witnessed so much suffering?

“Twenty million? You said 45.6 billion!” Player 230 shouted, his voice filled with outrage.

The guard’s response was cold, calculated. “The rule was that a hundred million won would be accumulated for each eliminated player. If you choose to play the next game, and more players are eliminated, the prize amount will increase accordingly.”

The answer felt hollow, like an empty promise that was meant to keep you on the hook.

“Then how much will it be if you survive until the very end?” someone asked, their voice tinged with desperation.

“As I already told you, the total prize money for all 456 players is 45.6 billion won. Those who make it through all six games will equally divide the 45.6 billion won.”

A hush fell over the room, as the reality of the prize set in. 45.6 billion won. It was an obscene amount of money. The sum felt impossible, unreal. But at the same time, it was exactly what so many of you needed. The temptation of that massive prize loomed in the air, a beacon in the darkness. Could you really leave with only 24 million? Was that all your life was worth?

“So, if you’re the only one to survive, you get 45.6 billion won?” Player 230 asked, as if the question needed to be confirmed, just to make sure he hadn’t misunderstood.

“That is correct,” the guard answered, his voice detached, like it was just another part of the game.

For a brief moment, the room seemed to breathe in unison. The weight of the prize, the gravity of the situation, pressed down on everyone. People began to murmur among themselves, the excitement in their voices unmistakable. The idea of that unimaginable sum of money—more than they had ever seen in their lives—became a tangible thing in the air. People who had been trembling in fear moments before now looked around, their eyes glinting with a new kind of hunger. The atmosphere shifted, the air thick with the scent of greed and desperation.

“So we can take a vote again and decide to leave after the next game?” someone asked, voice laced with uncertainty, but also with a flicker of hope.

“As promised in the consent form, you can take a vote after each game and decide to leave with the prize money accumulated up to that point,” the guard confirmed. “We always prioritize your voluntary actions.”

The voting began, and the room filled with tension once again. Player 456 was the first one to vote. He stepped forward, pressing X without hesitation. Others followed, some pressing X, others O. When your turn came, you felt your heart pounding in your chest. You didn’t hesitate. You stepped forward, pressing O with a sense of finality, the sound of the button clicking louder in your ears than it should have been. You placed the patch on your jacket, marking your decision, and walked back to your side of the room.

You didn’t look back.

You weren’t sure when you had made up your mind, but the choice was clear. Despite everything, despite the fear gnawing at the edges of your resolve, you knew you couldn’t walk away now.

Out there, in the real world, the debt that had dragged you into this nightmare would still be waiting. The vultures would circle, just as they always had, but now you could fight back. You could take a step toward something better. The thought of going back to the crushing weight of your debts, to the life that had led you to this point, filled you with dread. There was nothing for you out there anymore.

The prize, the money, the possibility of escaping this endless cycle—this was the only chance you had left. There was no turning back now.

As much as you sympathized with those who wanted to leave, You just couldn’t. Here, at least, there was hope. A sliver of it. And if you survived, you could finally break free. You could pay it all off. You could start over. For the first time in what felt like forever, you had a chance—one that you couldn’t let slip through your fingers.

Your gaze wandered to the others, watching as they made their decisions. Some pressed X with shaking hands, their faces filled with desperation to leave and go home. Others pressed O with grim determination, their eyes locked on the future, no matter how uncertain. And yet, the overwhelming weight of it all crashed down on you again, heavy and suffocating.

You looked up at the piggy bank hanging high above, its golden glow mocking you with promises of salvation. If you made it—if you became the lone survivor—you’d earn it all. 45.6 billion won. Enough to erase every debt. Enough to silence the loan sharks who haunted your dreams. Enough to leave it all behind and disappear.

But as you stared at it, bile rose in your throat. Was this all your life had become—fighting for money, sacrificing everything just to survive? Your stomach twisted as your fists clenched, nails digging into your palms.

Reaching for your necklace, you clutched it tightly, the familiar weight grounding you for a moment. Its warmth offered a flicker of comfort, but even that couldn’t silence the emptiness creeping in. Here, hope felt like a dangerous thing to hold onto.

Out there, you had nothing. No one. Over time, everyone had given up on you. Your friends had drifted away, unwilling to carry the weight of your problems. Your family had turned their backs, tired of the chaos and the shame. And then there was... him.

He left without a word. No explanation, no goodbye. Just gone, as if you had never mattered at all.

When he disappeared, it felt like the last thread holding you together unraveled. You tried to move on, to make sense of it, but the truth was simple: no one stayed. Out there, you were invisible—a burden no one wanted to carry.

But here? Here, you had a purpose. As twisted and brutal as it was, the games gave you something to hold onto. Every step forward felt like proof that you could still fight, still matter, even if it was only to yourself.

You tore your gaze from the piggy bank and stared down at your shoes. It used to be white— pure. Now it’s scuffed and worn, much like you. Each scratch and stain told a story of a life lived in survival mode, clinging to scraps of hope. You couldn’t help but wonder—if you walked away now, what would be waiting for you? Nothing but the same endless cycle of despair.

At least here, you had a chance. A sick, twisted, blood-soaked chance.

And that was more than the outside world had ever given you.

In the midst of your inner turmoil, you didn’t notice someone standing beside you. They were looking at you, as if they wanted to make small talk yet didn't know how.

There was something bugging Dae-ho and he didn't know what it was. He couldn't stay still, couldn't think properly, couldn’t stay calm. He desperately needs a distraction, and he needs it now. But what could he possibly do? He can't just slap himself or shout. No way, that's too embarrassing.

The male thought deeply before an idea popped up in his head. Eureka! He could try and talk to someone! His excitement died down as fast as it came. Yeah, he could try and talk to someone but who? His eyes scanned the crowd. To his dismay, most of the people surrounding him were scary oldies, and he was not willing to take the risk. He looked to his left, spotting a full head of hair.

His gaze landed on you. You're young, he thinks— the white spots in your hair were less than those around him. He felt a little nervous, unsure of how to approach you, but he had no choice. This was his chance.

He coughed lightly, a test to see if you would notice him.

No response.

He tried again, this time a bit louder.

Still nothing.

He began to get irritated, were you deaf or something? Shaking his irrational thoughts, Dae-ho got ready to fake cough again.

Then, out of nowhere, an old man in front of him turned and glared, sending a shiver down his spine. The male stopped, his face flushing. He needed to stop being a coward. He steeled himself, like the marine he was before doing it the right way.

He then stared at your unresponsive figure with intense, wide, and bulging eyes hoping that you would feel his intense stare and finally look at him. When that didn’t work, he began chanting “Hey! Look at me!” in his head just in case you were a mind reader.

To nobody's surprise, his ‘plan’ flunked. Letting out an audible sigh, Dae-ho shook his head. He stopped being a wuss and garnered courage like a true marine. He should just approach you the right way, a single tap on the shoulder wouldn't hurt anybody right? Right.

As soon as his hand touched your shoulder, you ducked down and sneezed—an odd timing. He froze, unsure whether this was a sign to stop or if you were actually a mind reader and was avoiding him. But before he could pull his hand away, you reverted back to your original position— bumping into his outstretched hand.

He jumped back, startled. His cheeks flushed again as he realized he’d intruded on your space. In a sudden burst of nervous energy, he bowed deeply— a perfect ninety degrees, his hands clasped in front of him.

“I’m really sorry! I didn’t mean to... you see, I was feeling a little bored and wanted to talk to someone. Between you and me, I don’t want to talk to some old gray-haired people in debt. Sorry if I made you uncomfortable, you’re free to slap me and ignore me!”

He spoke in one long breath, the words tumbling out faster than he could control. Then, he froze, bracing himself—waiting for a slap, a harsh word, anything to tell him he had crossed a line. Or maybe, just maybe, he was waiting for you to give him a sign that it was all okay. The silence that followed was suffocating, hanging between you like a heavyweight, neither of you dared to break.

When you didn’t respond, he began to doubt himself. Was this a joke? Was he imagining everything? Had he pushed too far?

And then—

“…Dae-ho…?”

The silence that was there from the beginning stretched even further as Dae-ho froze, his heart pounding. He could feel his chest tightening with every breath, his thoughts spinning in circles. Was this really happening?

He slowly lifted his head, praying, hoping that what he was thinking wasn’t true. His eyes scanned your face, searching for any sign that this was just some cruel illusion. He blinked hard, trying to clear his vision, but it didn’t help. You were still there, staring back at him, just as real as the cold walls of the room around him.

“[Name]...”

How could this be real? The years apart, the silence, the pain—it had all carved its place deep inside you, wounds that never fully healed. And yet, here he was, standing before you like a ghost dragged from the past to haunt you. It wasn’t fair. None of it was fair.

You stared at him, unable to look away, yet every second felt like a fresh wound. How could he just stand there, shaking and silent, as if you weren’t the one left to pick up the shattered pieces of your life when he walked away? Your chest tightened, the air suddenly too thick to breathe.

He looked so different, yet so heartbreakingly familiar. Those same eyes that used to meet yours with warmth now avoided your gaze like a coward. The same hands that once held yours trembled at his sides, as if they carried the weight of something unsaid.

You wanted to scream at him, to demand answers to the questions that had haunted you for years. Why did he leave? Why didn’t he say goodbye? The questions burned in your chest, but no words came. The silence between you was louder than any explanation he could give—louder than the ache of the years he left you to carry alone.

And yet, some small part of you hated yourself for hoping, for wanting him to say something that would make it all make sense. But as his lips parted and nothing came, his silence was louder than any excuse could ever be.

Cheers suddenly filled the room as the two of you looked away from each other. Looking at the scoreboard, you released a sigh of relief as O won, meaning the games would still proceed.

Following the guards orders to disperse, you walked away as fast as you could. You needed to run away for a while, away from everyone, away from him. You weaved through the sea of players, ignoring the chaotic mix of relief and despair filling the room. Every step felt heavier, your mind still reeling from the sight of him. Why here? Why now?

Your chest ached. The large room offered little solace, the murmur of restless voices and distant footsteps a constant reminder of where you were. You sought refuge in the thin, scratchy blanket of your assigned bed, pulling it over yourself as if it could shield you from the weight pressing down on your chest.

Laying in a fetal position, you tried to steady your breathing, to stop the trembling in your hands. But his face—his eyes—kept flashing in your mind, a painful reminder of everything you thought you’d buried.

Anger simmered just beneath the surface, threatening to boil over. You clenched your fists, an attempt to stop the tears from flowing. But no amount of control could erase the gnawing ache in your chest.

“[Name]...”

The voice froze you in place.

“Can we… talk?” His voice was quiet, almost pleading.

Under the covers, you exhaled sharply, forcing yourself to keep your tone steady. “What’s there to talk about, Dae-ho?”

His jaw tightened, and he took a cautious step closer to your bed. “I… I didn’t think I’d see you here. I didn’t think I’d see you again at all.”

“Neither did I,” you replied curtly. “And yet, here we are.”

He flinched at your words, guilt flashing in his eyes not that you could see it. “I know I owe you an explanation.”

You scoffed, shaking your head. “An explanation? After all these years? After you disappeared without a word? You think I need that now, here of all places?”

His lips parted as if to argue, but he stopped himself. Instead, he looked down, his hands gripping the fabric of his jumpsuit. “I wanted to explain. I really did. But I didn’t know how.”

“You didn’t know how?” you repeated, incredulous. “You didn’t know how to tell me you were leaving? That you were giving up on us? That you—”

Your voice cracked, and you stopped, swallowing the lump in your throat. You refused to let him hear you cry. Not here. Not now.

“I didn’t give up on you,” he said softly.

His words hung in the air, but they did nothing to soothe the ache inside you. You shook your head once more, your voice trembling. “You left me alone, Dae-ho. You walked away without a word, and you left me to deal with everything by myself. Don’t tell me you didn’t give up.”

Silence followed, thick and suffocating. You could feel his eyes on your figure under the covers, before hearing footsteps walk away. You didn’t expect much, knowing that all he does is run from his responsibilities. But why did it still hurt?

As you went to collect your dinner, you couldn’t help but overhear familiar laughter. Laughter that you used to love listening to. Silently gazing at Dae-ho’s figure, you watch in silence as he makes small talk with a group of men in the corner of the room. A small smile crept up your face, even after all those years he still has his charming laugh. You moved your gaze to the guard as they handed you your food, with a small bow you thanked them before going back to your bed.

Looking at him one more time, your eyes widened in surprise as a set of eyes clashed with yours. Thankfully, it wasn’t Dae-ho. It was 001. There was something in his stare that made you scared. Maybe Dae-ho told them about your history and now they were angry at you, either way, who were you to care? You broke eye contact first, setting your gaze elsewhere as you retreated back to your assigned bed. Little did you know Dae-ho was doing the same, looking at you with longing eyes every time you had your back turned from him.

The next day came quickly, the game even quicker. You convinced a group to let you join their team with your gonggi skills. They were reluctant at first but had no choice but to let you in as the timer was nearing its end. Your team went through the games with ease, everyone was a pro on the games�� you included.

As the guard placed the table in front of you, you and your team squatted, the familiar weight of the stones in your hands grounding you. It reminded you of something, something far simpler, back when you were young.

“The slowest will have to buy the winner dinner, deal?” you said with a playful grin, your voice filled with mischievous confidence as you laid out the challenge.

Dae-ho’s eyes widened, shaking his head dramatically. “That’s unfair! You only say that because you’re a pro at gonggi!” he shot back, his voice half-laughing and half-complaining, clearly trying to defend himself.

Currently, the two of you, still in your high school uniforms, are sprawled on the floor of your room, surrounded by an amusing mess of half-done activities. The afternoon had been a carefree escape from schoolwork and responsibilities, as you had decided to skip school for the day. Your parents were away, so you had the house all to yourselves.

The floor was scattered with papers, a few textbooks left open, and snacks you’d absentmindedly snacked on while getting lost in your own little world. Dae-ho’s hair was a chaotic mess of clips, ties, and failed attempts at creating something resembling style.

Meanwhile, your face was painted with makeup. Your eyes were covered in uneven eyeshadow, and your lipstick had smudged onto your cheeks in a way that had you wondering if you'd even be able to wash it off later. It was ridiculous, but it was also perfect. There was no need for perfection when you were together, just moments of unfiltered fun. You didn’t mind looking silly—it was a shared experience, after all.

You leaned back on the floor, hands resting behind your head, watching him with an amused expression. He had always been competitive, and you knew he wouldn’t let this challenge slide without giving it his all. But you also knew he wouldn’t back down.

"You're just mad because I'm about to beat you,” you teased, raising an eyebrow and holding the gonggi stones in your hand. “I’ve got this in the bag."

Dae-ho let out an exaggerated sigh, pretending to be defeated, but his eyes betrayed him—the challenge was on. “Fine. The loser buys the winner dinner.” he said, as the fire in his eyes burned brightly.

You smiled, leaning closer and placing the stones carefully in front of both of you. “You’re on,” you replied, your voice light but determined.

The game, which was just supposed to be a simple way to pass the time, had suddenly become a full-blown competition, complete with stakes. Dae-ho didn’t like losing, and you knew that meant he would give everything he had to win, but you weren’t going to make it easy for him.

With that, the tension between you both shifted. You could feel the energy change as you both focused on the stones in front of you, your hands hovering over them, ready to begin the game. The silly banter was still there, but now it was mixed with a more serious undercurrent—a challenge that was both fun and a little bit intense.

Dae-ho glanced at you once more, his expression playful but competitive, and you could see the slight smirk forming on his lips. “Get ready to buy me that dinner,” he said with mock confidence, ready to show you he was the better player.

You laughed, shaking your head. “We’ll see about that, Dae-ho.”

And with that, the game began, the stones flying through the air as you both competed to see who could win the challenge, the promise of dinner hanging in the balance.

After breezing through the first rounds, you placed all the stones on top of your hand, heart racing. You nervously exhaled, forcing yourself to focus.

“I’m honestly jealous of your gonggi skills,” you admitted, leaning back in your chair as you sat beside Dae-ho at your favorite hotpot place, a small smile playing on your lips as you stirred your bowl of soup.

Dae-ho, who had just taken a sip from his drink, blinked at you in mock surprise. “You? Jealous of me? You’re the one who won!” he said with a playful glare, his tone lighthearted.

You laughed softly, shaking your head at him. “Not that part, silly! I always notice that you always catch all five stones with ease. Even if I’m fast, I still mess up once in a while.” You looked down at your half-eaten bowl, the warmth from the hotpot filling your chest, but it wasn’t just from the food—it was the company that made everything feel so right.

Dae-ho’s expression softened as he put down his chopsticks, giving you his full attention. He nodded thoughtfully, then smiled, and for a moment, you felt as if the world outside didn’t exist, just the two of you, sharing this simple, quiet moment together.

“Well, my lovely [nickname],” he said, his voice taking on that playful, teasing tone you knew so well. “I can always tell you a trick,” he continued, raising an eyebrow mischievously. “But it’ll cost you. My secrets aren’t free, you know.”

Your curiosity piqued, you tilted your head, giving him a playful. “Go on, then.”

Dae-ho’s smile widened as he turned his cheek toward you, tilting his head just enough to make it clear what he wanted. You giggled, rolling your eyes but giving in, leaning forward to place a soft kiss on his left cheek.

He grinned, the sparkle in his eyes making your heart skip a beat, and without missing a beat, he pointed to the other side, silently asking for more. You couldn’t help but smile, kissing his right cheek just as lightly.

Then, Dae-ho tilted his head again, offering his forehead with that trademark mischievous smile. “And this one?” he asked, his eyes glinting with excitement.

You didn’t even hesitate, leaning in to plant a soft kiss on his forehead, your heart fluttering in the simple affection. It felt like the most natural thing in the world, and the more you kissed him, the more the world around you faded away.

He stretched his hand out next, offering the back of his left hand with an expectant grin. You chuckled at how silly this game was becoming, but you still kissed it gently, your heart swelling with warmth. His grin only grew wider, and before you knew it, he was extending his right hand, offering it up for another kiss.

You kissed it too, your heart fluttering again at how effortlessly he could make everything feel so special. Each little moment, each silly gesture, you loved it all.

Finally, with that signature grin of his, Dae-ho turned fully toward you, his eyes sparkling with playfulness. “And this one?” he asked, tilting his face toward yours, the question hanging in the air like an invitation.

Without even thinking, you closed the space between you and kissed his lips, a soft, lingering kiss that felt full of promise and affection. The moment was so pure, so simple, that it left you breathless in the best way. Nothing mattered but the two of you, sharing this quiet, tender connection.

Dae-ho smiled against your lips, his arms subtly drawing you closer as he pulled back just slightly, a lovestruck expression on his face. “You’re the best, [nickname].” he whispered, his breath warm against your ear as he nuzzled you gently. His voice was soft and full of affection, and you couldn’t help but smile back, your heart swelling with warmth.

You leaned in, your voice teasing. “So? What’s the trick?”

Dae-ho let out a dramatic sigh, pretending to be exasperated but still smiling. “Can’t I have a lovely moment with you?” he asked, his tone light and affectionate.

“Dae-ho.” you said with a small laugh, nudging him playfully.

“Fine, fine! You’re a party pooper!” he joked, giving you a nudge back before getting serious. He shifted slightly, sitting up straighter and showing you a more focused expression. “Alright, listen carefully.” He mimicked the motions as he spoke. “What I do is first calm myself down. Inhale... and exhale.” He demonstrated the breathing technique, his chest rising and falling slowly.

He paused before looking at you expectantly. Rolling your eyes, you copied his movement. Inhale and exhale.

Satisfied, he continued. “Once you find your peace, you put all your might in your palm so the stones don’t fall. Strong foundation.”

You nodded, watching him carefully. “Got it,” you said, your gaze fixed on his hands as he continued with his instructions.

He smiled, clearly pleased by your attention. “Then you throw your hand upwards—just right. Not too low, not too high,” he said, raising one hand and showing you the perfect motion. “Count one...” He paused dramatically, his eyes never leaving yours.

“Count one,” you repeated, laughing softly at how serious he was being, yet how cute he looked while teaching you.

“Then catch!”

You threw your hand up. It felt natural. It felt right. The stones landed, and you caught them all in one smooth motion.

“Hey! I caught it on the first try!” You grinned, excitement rushing through you. You looked up, expecting to see Dae-ho’s proud smile, the one that always made your heart race.

But instead, you met the cold, expressionless face of a guard. Reality hit like a punch to the gut. This wasn’t Dae-ho. This wasn’t your favorite hotpot place.

Your heart twisted, the warmth you replaced by the emptiness of this place. You tried to smile, but it felt hollow. The distant cheers of your teammates did nothing to drown out the silence in your mind.

You couldn’t shake the memory, his teasing smile, his quiet words, the way his lips brushed against yours. Those were moments you could never go back to. As you moved on to the next station, the sting of that memory lingered, sharp and painful. The sweetness was gone. It was just you, alone in this game, with no place for memories of simpler times.

Everything was a blur after that, your mind occupied by what happened during the second game. Gonggi was something you always bonded over, and that game brought unwanted memories back. It got to a point wherein the way you’d always made decisions, small or big, was by playing gonggi. Where to eat? Play gonggi. Who’s paying the bill? Gonggi.

But now, as you lay at your bed, staring at the ceiling, it wasn’t the same. Your mind wandered back to that moment, remembering his smile, the way his eyes would soften when he looked at you. That warmth, that sense of belonging, was gone. The past felt distant, like a dream you couldn’t hold onto anymore.

You closed your eyes, trying to push the memory away. Suddenly, the light went out.

The light went out? That wasn’t right.

You opened one eye and saw Dae-ho standing above you, looking down at you with that nervous, familiar expression.

“Congrats, [Name]. I knew you could do it.” he said softly.

You looked up at him, emotions swirling in your chest. “Congrats also, Dae-ho.” you replied quietly.

You stared at him as the weight of everything hung heavy in the air between you. You had so many emotions running through your veins—hurt, betrayal, confusion, anger—and yet, here he was, standing in front of you, trying to explain himself, trying to make sense of everything.

“[Name]... Please, talk to me.” he repeated, his voice soft but desperate.

You didn’t move at first. The space between you, filled with so many unspoken words. Finally, you stood up, leading him to a quiet corner between the bed frames, away from the chaos. The moment felt strangely intimate, but so far removed from anything you could have ever imagined.

Dae-ho was the first to break the silence, his voice shaking with the weight of his confession. “I didn’t want to leave, [Name]. I didn’t... but I had no choice.” He paused, his face twisted with guilt as he rubbed his hands together nervously.

“My father...” His voice cracked as he spoke, his words thick with regret. “He was... always trying to control me. Pushing me into things I didn’t want. He never let me make my own decisions. But when it came to you... he saw how much I cared. He saw how soft I was because of you, and he hated it. He thought I wasn’t strong enough to survive—how I wasn't becoming a real man, so he sent me away. He made me join the Marines. He didn’t even let me choose. I tried to fight him. I tried to say no, but he didn’t care.”

You felt your heart break all over again. “But... Why didn’t you fight harder for us? Why didn’t you try harder to stay? To... tell me?” The words were out before you could stop them, and they stung more than you’d expected.

“I... I couldn’t,” he whispered. “He had me. I thought if I left, if I did what he said, it would all be over. That he’d leave me alone. But when I came back, you were gone. I couldn’t find you. I looked for you everywhere, [Name], but you and your family were gone. And I thought... I thought I lost you forever. And I couldn’t fix it.”

You bit your lip to stop yourself from crying. “But you didn’t even try to find me, Dae-ho. You just... disappeared. I waited for you. I thought I was worth waiting for, but you made me feel the opposite. You just left, and I had to pick up the pieces of my life without you.”

“Please don’t say that. You are worth fighting for [Name].”

His eyes filled with sorrow, and he reached out for you, but you pulled back slightly, not ready for his touch just yet. “I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I never wanted to hurt you. I thought I could make it right when I came back, but... it wasn’t the same. And now I’m afraid I’ve lost you for good.”

Your chest tightened, and you fought to keep your emotions in check. “You didn’t lose me, Dae-ho. If anything, I still think about you. Every street I walk, every place I visit. I always tried to find any sign of you. You just… you never gave me a chance to be part of your life anymore. I can’t just go back to how things were. I can’t pretend everything’s okay, because it’s not.”

“I understand,” Dae-ho said quietly, his voice laced with sincerity. “I know you’ve been through so much. And I’m sorry I wasn’t there for you before, but I’m here now. Let me make it right. Please…”

He paused, swallowing hard before speaking again, as if the weight of his words was too heavy to bear. “If you just vote to go home, we can leave all this behind. We don’t have to keep playing. We can go back to the way things were. We can be free. We can live together.”

His words hit you like a punch to the stomach, leaving you breathless. You couldn’t wrap your mind around what he was asking. He wanted you to vote to go home? That’s all it took? To end this nightmare?

You took a step back, your heart hammering in your chest. The sudden flood of emotions was overwhelming—confusion, anger, hurt, all rolled into one. “Is that what you think this is about, Dae-ho? You think you can just tell me to vote to go home and everything will magically go back to normal? That we’ll just go back to living in some fairy tale together?”

His face faltered with guilt, but you couldn’t stop yourself. The words were already tumbling out, and the anger was building with each second. “You have no idea what it’s like for me out there. I don’t have anything left. No family. No safety. No way out. If I leave without the money, I’ll be dead before I even make it out of the game. The people who own me—they’ll come for me. They’ll end me.”

You couldn’t stop the rise of panic and fury in your voice. “You think voting to go home is going to fix everything? Do you think that’ll save me from what’s out there? You think that’s going to protect me?”

You were shaking now, your words louder, sharper with each passing second. “I’m not here by choice. I didn’t sign up for this game to have some fun. I’m here because I have no other option. I need the money. I have to win. I don’t have the luxury of walking away. If I don’t make it, I’m dead. They’ll take everything I have left. They’ll take my life. And you want me to just throw that away?”

His face went pale, his hands trembling as he reached out, but you stepped back, your emotions running too high. You were drowning in your own fear, your own anger, and he was standing there, asking for something you couldn’t give. Not now. Not when your very existence was on the line.

“I’m not going to die for you to feel like you’ve done something good,” you spat, your voice cold and full of finality. “I’ll keep playing. I’ll keep fighting. I’ll keep voting O if that’s what it takes to stay alive. Because I don’t have the luxury to just quit. I don’t have the luxury to go home. If I die here, then I die here. But at least I had a chance. A chance to keep living.”

You could see the regret flooding his face now, the guilt in his eyes clear as day. But it didn’t matter. You had already crossed the line, said everything you needed to say. The wound had already been made, and nothing would heal it now.

“They took everything from me,” you whispered, voice cracking with the weight of the confession. “I don’t have anything left. This game, this nightmare is all I have. If I leave without any money, without anything... they’ll take me. They’ll take my life.”

His expression was full of pain now. The words hit him hard, and you saw the guilt swirling inside him. He opened his mouth, wanting to say something, but no words came. You saw the regret in his eyes, the apology he couldn’t voice—but it was too little, too late.

“I’m sorry,” he muttered finally, his voice thick with regret. “I never meant to hurt you. I just… I didn’t know. I didn’t know it was this bad. I didn’t know you were fighting for your life.”

You shook your head slowly, stepping back from him. “You didn’t know? You never bothered to ask. You didn’t care enough to understand what I was going through. You just assumed everything would be fine, that we could go back to normal. But you didn’t ask, Dae-ho. You didn’t care.”

His face crumpled with the realization of what you were saying, and the weight of your words hit him like a ton of bricks. But you didn’t care. Not now. Not when you were holding on to the one thing that mattered to you right now—your will to survive.

“I’m sorry, Dae-ho,” you whispered, the words barely escaping your lips, but full of emotion. “But I care about surviving. I care about living. And if I have to vote O, if I have to keep playing to do that, then that’s what I’ll do.”

For a long moment, you stood there, facing each other in the silence, your hearts both full of unsaid things. But the anger slowly began to fade, replaced by a deep sadness, a sorrow that neither of you could fix.

He stepped closer to you, his voice quiet. “I’m sorry... I never wanted this for you. But I’ll always be here, [Name], even if you hate me for it.”

You looked at him one last time, the weight of everything you had said sinking in. And for the first time in a long time, you let the tears fall—not from anger, but from the overwhelming fear of it all. The fear of what your life had become, of how far you’d fallen, of the choices you had to make that never felt right.

Dae-ho stared at you as you quietly wept, his heart breaking at the sight of your pain. Without a second thought, he reached out, pulling you into his arms. He wrapped you in the comfort of his embrace, guiding your head to rest against his chest, your tears soaking into the fabric of his shirt.

He didn’t speak at first, just held you tightly, as if trying to shield you from the world, from everything that had happened, and everything you feared. His hand gently rubbed your back in slow, soothing circles, offering what comfort he could in that moment.

“I’m sorry… I know I can’t take away all the pain,” he whispered, his voice rough with emotion. “But I’m here, [Name]. I won’t leave you. You don’t have to go through this alone anymore. Please... just let me be here for you.”

You clung to him, not knowing if you wanted him to fix everything, but just needing the solace, the warmth that came with knowing he was still here. Still trying. You didn’t know what the future held, or if you could ever truly forgive him for the past, but in that moment, you allowed yourself to feel something you hadn’t in so long—comfort, even if it was fleeting.

He tightened his hold on you, letting you cry, never pushing you away. “I’ll always be here. I promise.”

You didn’t know how long it had been, but eventually, the tears started to slow. The tightness in your chest eased just a little, and you found yourself breathing a bit easier. Dae-ho, still holding you gently, never let go. He simply let you rest against him, giving you space to process everything, even if that meant staying silent for the moment.

You looked at him, your chest heavy with everything you’d just let out. “I’m sorry too,” you murmured, voice low and shaky. “I... I didn’t mean to lash out like that. I was just... I don’t know. I was scared. I couldn’t—couldn’t bear the thought of losing everything. But I shouldn’t have said those things.”

Dae-ho shook his head softly, his fingers brushing your cheek again. “No... I deserved it. I made you carry too much, and I never gave you the chance to say how you really felt. I was so focused on my own guilt, I didn’t see how much I was hurting you.”

The weight of the words sank in, and you felt a tear slip down your cheek, though this one wasn’t filled with anger—it was filled with a sadness you hadn’t let yourself fully feel until now. “We both messed up,” you whispered, the ache in your heart growing.

Dae-ho’s gaze softened, his hand gently squeezing yours. “But I’ll try to make it right. I don’t know if I can, but I’ll keep trying, [Name]. I’ll stay by your side, no matter what.”

You took a shaky breath, finding comfort in the sincerity of his words. “I don’t know where we go from here, but... I can’t pretend like it’s all fine. I need time.”

He nodded, his eyes never leaving yours. “I’ll give you all the time you need. I’m not going anywhere. I’m just... sorry. For everything.”

The air between you was thick with unspoken apologies, regrets, and the fragile hope that maybe, just maybe, you could both find a way to heal from this. You both had a long road ahead, a game to survive. But for now, the silence was no longer heavy with tension. Instead, it was filled with a quiet understanding, one that neither of you had expected to find, but one that was slowly, carefully beginning to piece things together.

"This time, the vote will begin with Player 001. Player 001, please cast your vote."

The moment the announcement was made, you felt a cold shiver run down your spine. Voting had begun. This time, you were going first—before Dae-ho. He stood beside you, his presence steady and calming, but there was an undeniable tension in the air. His hand brushed your back, the soothing gesture almost feeling out of place in this chaotic, life-or-death situation.

“Choose what you need,” Dae-ho whispered, his voice soft but full of sincerity. “Don’t worry about me. I won’t be mad.”

His words settled over you like a gentle blanket, but they couldn’t remove the weight of the decision you had to make. To survive, to keep moving forward, you knew you had to vote for O. You had to keep playing if you wanted a chance at surviving, but even as you stood in front of the voting machine, you felt a sickening sense of dread.

Was it really worth it? Pushing yourself, forcing the belief that survival was your only option, knowing the outside world would swallow you whole. What was the point of living if the only person who ever made you feel truly alive has always been Dae-ho? The thought echoed in your mind, and the walls of the room suddenly felt like they were closing in around you. Dae-ho had become your anchor in this madness—your reason for pushing through.

But now, you had to choose. You needed to choose for your own survival.

Your finger hovered over the button for O, but then you thought about everything you’d been through, everything you’d sacrificed already. At that moment, it was no longer just about survival. It was about the life you had left to live. You didn’t want to keep going without him.

You slammed your hand down on the button, your choice made in an instant. The harsh reality of it stung as you tore off the patch you had placed on your jacket earlier, replacing it with a new one. As you made your way to the X side of the room, your heart felt heavy, but there was a strange sense of finality to it. You have made your decision.

You couldn’t help but look over at Dae-ho. The surprise on his face was so pure, so raw. His eyes were wide, his mouth slightly agape, like a fish caught out of water, and the shock in his gaze hit you harder than you expected.

Despite the tension and the gravity of the moment, you found yourself quietly laughing at him, unable to hold it in. The absurdity of it all—of choosing to walk away from everything that had kept you going—made you want to laugh and cry at the same time. God, you felt like a fool. After your dramatic show earlier, how you had confidently claimed that you would continue voting O, ready to survive, ready to keep playing. Yet here you were, choosing X, choosing to stop. Choosing him.

Dae-ho just stood there for a moment, still processing, before going up the platform to vote. His footsteps were slow, deliberate, as if he were trying to piece together what had just happened. You couldn’t blame him. The moment was so surreal, so at odds with everything you’d said before.

You watched him, heart hammering in your chest as he stood at the voting machine. His back was turned to you, but you could almost feel the confusion radiating off him. His hesitation was palpable, and you wondered if he understood. If he saw why you made the decision you did.

The sound of his vote pressing echoed in the silence, a soft click that seemed too loud for the room. He immediately walked to where you stood, his expression unreadable.

“I don’t get it,” he muttered. “Why... why did you choose X?”

The answer was too simple, too complicated, and maybe too painful to say out loud. Instead, you gave him a small smile, one that held so many unsaid things. “Dae-ho, I’ll always choose you.”

In the end, your vote didn’t matter. Since O won by a landslide, the next game was inevitable. But for the first time in days, or maybe even years, you found yourself smiling—a real, genuine smile—as you were introduced to Dae-ho’s little group. You exchanged pleasantries, introduced yourselves, and felt something warm stir inside you.

The following day came quickly, and with it, the next game. One moment, you were lying in bed, your mind running wild with the uncertainty of what was to come. Next, you were on a spinning platform, waiting for the music to stop. Your eyes immediately sought out Dae-ho, and when you met his gaze, he reached for your hand, gripping it tightly, as if he couldn’t bear to let go.

“Don’t worry,” he said softly, a promise in his words. “I won’t let go.”

You chuckled, shaking your head. “I know.”

The rounds passed, too smoothly, almost disturbingly so. You all survived the first four rounds with ease.

But everything was about to change.

“Five women, and two men. Go!” Gi-hun’s commanding voice cut through the noise, demanding attention. Without hesitation, 007 shot his hand into the air. “I’ll go with my mother!” he announced, stepping forward. Gi-hun nodded, relieved to have a volunteer. He scanned the group again, waiting for the next person to step up.

Dae-ho raised his hand, his voice strong as he called out, “We’ll go!” He pulled you closer to him, offering a small smile that was laced with worry. His eyes betrayed his calm demeanor, revealing the weight of what was happening. The air around you both felt heavy with the uncertainty of the situation. Still, you clung to each other, walking together toward the door.

Your group of seven—007, 149, 120, 095, Jun-hee, you, and Dae-ho—ran toward the nearest empty room. The sound of your hurried footsteps echoed in the tense silence. But just as you were about to step inside, something caught your eye and made your heart drop.

Player 095, frail and struggling, was being shoved aside by a group of players. Seeing her so helpless, you couldn’t just stand by. Without thinking, you yanked your hand from Dae-ho’s grasp and rushed to her side.

Dae-ho’s heart skipped a beat the moment he felt the loss of your hand. Panic surged through him. Where did you go? He scanned the chaos around him, his eyes frantic as he searched for you in the crowded room. His heart tightened when he saw you helped 095 into the room, making sure she was safe. He could see the determination in your eyes as you ensured her well-being, but once it was your turn to come into the room, to rejoin him, disaster struck.

A group of four players, each desperately fighting for their own survival, barreled into you.

The impact was brutal. Your body was slammed to the ground with overwhelming force. Everything around you seemed to blur and slow down as you hit the floor, your breath knocked from your chest in a violent rush. A sharp wave of pain shot through your body—your limbs aching, your head spinning—but strangely, you couldn't feel it all at once. The shock of the fall seemed to disconnect you from your body, like you were floating in a painful haze.

In that split second, time seemed to stretch out. You felt a sudden sense of numbness as your body tried to process the damage, and your heart raced as you struggled to breathe. Your vision blurred, and for a moment, you feared that you wouldn’t be able to get up again. But then, the rush of adrenaline kicked in.

Determination surged through you like a lightning bolt. You couldn't afford to stay down. You had to survive.

You pushed yourself off the ground, ignoring the throbbing pain in your limbs, and scrambled to your feet. Gritting your teeth, you ran with every ounce of strength you had left, your focus fixed on the door. You had to get inside—it was the only chance left. The room was just a few feet away now, but each step felt like an eternity as you sprinted, your legs shaking with exertion and fear. Every part of you screamed for rest, but you couldn't stop. Not yet.

"[Name]! Let’s play Mingle!" Dae-ho’s voice rang out with excitement, pulling you out of your thoughts. You raised an eyebrow, already knowing his playful nature.

“With just the two of us?” you asked, teasing him. A grin tugged at your lips despite yourself, knowing that whatever he had planned would likely be a mix of fun and absurdity.

“Well...” Dae-ho scratched the back of his neck, pretending to think deeply, but the mischievous glint in his eyes gave him away. He was already scheming.

It was your third anniversary together, a day you both decided to celebrate in your usual style: by skipping class and spending it alone in your room. Both of you were still wearing your high school uniforms—uniforms that no longer felt like the serious attire they were supposed to be. The two of you had spent countless afternoons like this, laughing and simply enjoying each other's company, without a care in the world.

“I’ve got it!” Dae-ho suddenly exclaimed, his eyes lighting up as he dashed to your bed. He scooped up a handful of stuffed toys with exaggerated enthusiasm. “Let’s use our children!” he declared, holding them up like he had just discovered the most brilliant idea.

You stared at him, your laughter bubbling up instantly. "Our children? Really, tiger?" you chuckled, wiping away the tears that had already begun to form from laughing too hard.

"Hey, don’t laugh! This is serious!" he protested, feigning offense, but you could see the twinkle in his eyes that told you he was only pretending to be upset. He adjusted the toys in his arms, a determined look on his face.

“Alright, fine,” you replied, still laughing but wiping your eyes. “Let’s play.” You were already game—who could resist when Dae-ho was this excited?

Dae-ho carefully arranged the toys in front of you both, giving each one a position with a level of care that made it clear he was taking this game very seriously. “Okay. For this round… Three!” he announced dramatically, holding his hands out in front of him like he was preparing to start a battle.

You didn’t even wait for him to finish before snatching up two of the nearest toys. His jaw dropped in mock betrayal, and he huffed loudly, feigning offense. "Not fair! You should partner with me. Always!" he said, acting like you had broken some sacred rule.

You stuck your tongue out at him, teasing. “Stop being a sore loser! I’m just playing by your rules.”

"Fine," he grumbled. He pouted dramatically, a little over-the-top for someone so competitive. He then scurried around the room, gathering two more toys to prepare for the next round.

The game continued in the same playful vein, with the toys being eliminated one by one. The room filled with the sound of laughter, teasing, and mock outrage as each round got more dramatic. The toys “lost” in ways that made no sense, their plush bodies being thrown to the side in exaggerated defeat.

"For this round,” Dae-ho said, his voice suddenly turning serious. “Two!” He gave you a look, as if to challenge you to keep up with him.

You smirked, ready to grab him this time. But before you could react, he swooped down and grabbed the last remaining toy, holding it close to his chest with a triumphant grin. “Hey!” you cried out in mock outrage, throwing your hands up.

"Sore loser!" he teased, clearly pleased with his victory.

You crossed your arms, pretending to sulk. “Whatever.” you muttered, rolling your eyes for effect.

Dae-ho chuckled, the sound warm and genuine. He set the toy down, then knelt in front of you. “Wait, wait, don’t be mad!” he said, holding the toy up to his face like a little puppet. He moved its tiny arms in a dramatic fashion, as if it was trying to “walk” toward you.

"Eomma! Please don’t be angry at Appa! Pleaseee!” he said in a high-pitched, exaggerated voice that made you burst out laughing.

Your faux anger crumbled immediately, and you couldn’t help but giggle at his antics. He was ridiculous—and that was one of the many reasons you loved him.

Still holding the toy, Dae-ho slowly lowered it from his face, a more tender look in his eyes. You hadn’t noticed at first, but there was a delicate necklace hanging from the toy’s tiny paw. Your breath hitched as he gently removed the necklace and held it out to you.

"Here," he said softly, his voice unexpectedly gentle. You could feel the warmth in his words as he looked at you with such sincerity. Without warning, he leaned forward and clasped the necklace around your neck. The touch of his fingers against your skin sent a shiver through you. "Happy anniversary, [Name]."

For a moment, your heart skipped a beat as the rush of emotion hit you unexpectedly. His gesture felt like everything—a simple, yet deeply meaningful way of showing how much he cared. You blinked back the sudden welling of emotion in your chest.

Before you could stop yourself, you threw your arms around him, pressing a kiss to his lips in gratitude. You then buried your face in his shoulder, hiding the emotions that threatened to spill over.

“Thank you.” you murmured, your voice muffled against his skin.

Dae-ho chuckled softly, his arms wrapping around you in a tight, comforting hug. “Anything for you.”

In that moment, everything else faded away. There was just the two of you, wrapped in each other's warmth, sharing a quiet, simple happiness that felt bigger than any words could express. Time seemed to slow down, and you didn’t want to think about anything else.

As you pulled back, your laughter bubbled up again, light and carefree. You couldn’t resist teasing him once more. “You’re still a sore loser, though.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Dae-ho replied, rolling his eyes but still grinning. “But you love me anyway.”

You smiled, your gaze softening as you looked at him with affection. “I do. Now help me with this necklace!”

Your hand stretched toward the door, the cold metal just within reach.

Then everything went silent.

#wqnsho.writes #squid game #squid game x reader #squid game x you #squid game fanfic #kang dae ho x reader #dae ho x reader #player 388 x reader #oneshot

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nicksolemnlyswears · 4 months ago

Text

JUST TEASIN’

summary: you call joel an old man…amongst other names

pairing: joel miller x reader

word count: 4.4k [i need to learn how to keep things concise]

warnings: 18+, cursing, spanking, p in v, fingering, oral (male receiving), age gap? totally legal though, joel's in his early 40s and reader is in her early 30s, joel is an ass guy which is strange cause i always make my men boob guys, idk i guess this is pretty tame

a/n: as a joke i tend to call pedro and joel peepaw cause he’s older and a total dilf but i love these men so fucking much. i'll be the first to get on my knees

thought i’d make a sweet oneshot about how they’d react to you calling them old. it’s a mix of fluff and smut. a little something for everyone!

also don’t judge me, this is my first time writing for joel 🥺

there’s a little nudge to another favorite fictional men of mine

i want to thank @yxtkiwiyxt for providing me with all the pedro pascal pictures and gifs and movie trailers and for ranting with me all day every day about how amazing this human is… if anyone is to blame about this oneshot it’s her ❤️

It’s one of those lazy Sunday mornings where everyone sleeps in, leaving the Miller household at complete ease. There are no responsibilities to tend to and nowhere to go.

You’re the only one awake, singing quietly under your breath and flipping pancakes until they’re nice and golden. Joel will come seeking you out soon, missing the warmth of your body and Sarah will follow when Joel cracks her door open to let the sweet smell of batter waft into her room.

No matter how hard you try you’re always the first one up. Sometimes you stay in bed with your husband, tracing figures on his bare skin until he pulls you into him and kisses your head good morning, raspy voice begging you for five more minutes.

But most of the time you decide on getting up and having an early start to your day, which includes making breakfast and sorting through your work emails.

The puppy Sarah adopted a couple weeks ago, sits on your feet, licking your legs as if begging for the fluffy sweetness of the pancakes. He had a taste of it when batter dripped on the floor, he licked it up before you had the chance of cleaning it.

Lost in your little world, singing to the tune of Lana del Rey you fail to notice your husband coming down the stairs. Joel leans against the kitchen island admiring you in your distracted state. The loose brown curls in a disarray at the top of his head.

His eyes scan you from head to toe, noting your messy hair pulled up to a half ponytail half bun thing he can’t begin to explain. Down they go to the cropped tshirt with his company’s logo on the back. The frayed edges are the byproduct of your use of kitchen scissors to crop it yourself.

Joel bites his lip as he ogles at your ass and thick thighs framed by the tiniest cotton shorts he’s ever seen. They fail to cover the bottom of your butt cheeks, exposing a sliver of the indigo panties and the crease where thighs meet butt.

Unable to stay away, Joel wraps his warm arms around your waist as he presses a kiss to your temple. He squeezes you to him, bodies pressed flushed to reveal the stiffness in his pajama pants.

The puppy wags his tail in the presence of his favorite human, standing on two legs to call his attention. The man didn’t want him in the first place but was out voted by the females in the household.

“Morning,” Joel murmurs, placing kisses all over your cheeks and down your neck until he finally presses a warm kiss on your shoulder where he rests his chin to look over at the stovetop.

“Morning old man,” you say with a giggle as his scruffy beard tickles your skin. Your lips press against his in a quick kiss, muffling his sigh of disappointment.

“Don’t start, sweetheart,” he warns. His lips brushing against your ear. Joel’s hands find themselves under your tshirt, his thumbs ghosting over your underboob. At the same time the fingertips of his other hand teasingly dip on the waistband of your shorts.

“Or what?” You say with a bite to your lip, flipping over the last batch of pancakes. Couple more seconds and they would’ve burned—that’s how much he distracts you.

“It’s too early for this!” Sarah’s high pitched voice yells. “Not in the kitchen and not in front of the baby, please!”

The puppy scrambles over to Sarah, jumping into her arms. He recognizes she’s the one who will cave and give him scraps of food.

Joel, startled, takes his hands off of you, facing Sarah with an apologetic smile, not that she sees it as she covers her eyes with a hand. “Are you decent? Can I look now? I’m really hungry if you don’t mind.”

You laugh loudly, shaking your head at Sarah’s dramatics. She takes after Joel and is well on her way to beat him at his own game.

“We’re not doin’ anythin’,” Joel mumbles, sitting on one of the kitchen island stools and petting the pups fluffy head, and the ear that flipped over cutely.

“Not yet,” you whisper to him as you place his stack of pancakes in front of him.

“I heard that!” Sarah yells, covering her ears this time. Joel laughs, nudging her shoulder and telling her to pass the syrup.

You lean across from them, grabbing a sliced strawberry to plop into your mouth. Sarah takes over the conversation as you and Joel share a glance. This is far from over.

Later on the day you head outside with a tray of lemonade and pie in your hands. You’ve gotta take care of your dear husband before the Texas heat gets the best of him.

You nudge Joel’s leg with your foot. He’s under the beat up truck, fixing some odd part. He has the means to replace the old thing but he likes to remind you that ‘Betsy,’ as he’s named his truck, is a part of the family and will never be replaced.

“Thanks, darlin,‘“ he drawls, wiping his dirty hands on a random rag he found on the bed of the truck.

Joel takes a second too long to get up from the floor. You see the hesitance in his eyes as he tries to think the best way to stand without hurting or pulling a muscle.

This is your chance. “Need help there, grandpa?” You pipe up, resting the tray on the portable table scattered with tools.

Joel openly glares at you while you smile broadly at him. It’s not often you make fun of his age, or rather, the age gap between the two of you. It’s only when you’re feeling a particular sort of way.

The age gap between the two of you isn’t the craziest but it’s large enough for people to notice. Joel is easily through the first half of his fourth decade, while you are barely entering your third.

“Watch your mouth,” Joel warns you, standing up quickly despite the cracking of his knees and the ache on his lower back.

Your eyes spark when he grabs the glass of cool lemonade and begins chugging it. The drops of sweat sliding down his neck and into the damp collar of his shirt stealing your attention and any innocent thought you’ve might’ve had about him. They weren’t many to begin with.

You clench your thighs together as you imagine licking that same trail, tasting his salty skin. Say what you want but you love a man that works with his hands and gets all dirty and grimy.

Joel catches onto the glazed look covering your eyes and grasps your chin between his thumb and pointer finger. His body gravitating towards yours as if nature demanded it.

You’re overly conscious of the motor oil covering his hands if not you would’ve sucked his thumb into your mouth, reminding him just exactly you can do with your tongue.

“What’s in that pretty lil head of yours, darlin’?”

Him. It’s all about him. He’s always interrupting whatever sane thought you have. Scenarios of you being bent over the hood of the truck as he sinks his aching length from behind. You riding him in the front seat as you’ve done on more than one occasion, fogging up the windows. The time he was knuckles deep inside of you, teasing fingers drenched during his lunch break.

“How good gray looks on you,” you reply, diverting the conversation somewhere else entirely. A delicate fingers wraps around the charming curl that constantly falls over his forehead, twirling it around.

Joel doesn’t take kindly to your comment, rolling his eyes and clicking his jaw as he lets go of you to return to the truck. Your hand which had been playing with his curl drops to your side as you cock your hip to assess him.

He’s much too aware of the age gap, it makes him insecure. Like you’ll one day realize you’re with an old man and leave him for someone younger.

Except in your eyes he’s the most perfect man alive. The grey streaks of hair that mix with the typical brown of his curls give him an air of authority, making him look dashing in all ways. A silver fox. Strong muscles from working manual labor most of his life are now covered with a healthy layer of fat but remain strong nonetheless. Warm brown eyes that sweep you off your feet every morning as soon as they open.

That man is aging like fine wine and he doesn’t begin to realize it. You feel extremely lucky to be the only one to enjoy it…squeaky joints and all.

Joel is experienced and mature and loyal. He simply wants to have a nice life with his family. A family you’re now a part of. It’s all a woman could ask for.

“You know I love you,” you tell him, wrapping your arms around him as he leans over the hood.

“Love to torture me,” he scoffs, taking hold of one of your hands affectionately. He can never stay mad at you.

“I don’t know what you mean? I brought you lemonade and even that apple pie you love so much,” you feign innocence, pressing a kiss to the middle of his back.

Facing you with a sigh, he lets his heavy hands fall on your hips, “What’re you playing at?”

“Me? Nothing,” you say with a wicked smile, “I’m gonna go with Sarah to the mall to get her homecoming dress. Will you be alright here with Ghost?”

He’s quickly distracted by the words Sarah and Homecoming. His babygirl is growing too fast, starting High School and going on dances with boys. She hasn’t told him yet if she’s been invited by someone and he hopes it stays that way.

There’s no way he’s letting her go with a date and you can’t convince him other wise. If she wants a date she can take the puppy she adopted, Ghost. Joel is determined to teach the ball of fur how to defend his daughter.

“Here,” he says, pulling out his wallet to hand you his credit card.

“No, it’s my treat!” You say, pushing his hand away.

“Take it,” Joel insists, trying to slip it into the tight pair of jeans you’re wearing. Fuck. How didn’t he notice until now.

It should be illegal to wear jeans that make you look THAT good. The blue material hugs your thighs tightly and lifts your perky ass to heaven—not that you other wise need it.

He doesn’t hold back and slides his palms on your back pockets, giving you a firm squeeze. You stumble, falling onto him with a weak protest.

“‘M so fucking lucky you’re my woman,” he groans, taking another feel. Temporarily forgetting the conversation at hand, yet another comment directed at his age snaps Joel back to reality.

“Honey, I know I married an older man but it wasn’t for your money,” you tease again, patting his cheek and removing his hands from your pockets—credit card and all.

A sharp slap to your ass, startles you, eliciting a cheeky giggle. All this teasing and you’re leaving him home alone with the mutt.

You don’t apologize, you’ll never apologize for teasing him. Unless it’s in the right circumstances…in his bed.

Towards the end of the night you finish pushing him to the edge of no return. Remember, opportunities are always around when you’re determined.

“Dad, can you sign this for school?” Sarah comes into the living room where you and Joel are watching a movie. Ghost’s head is plopped on his lap, where Joel had been ‘forced’ to pet him.

“What’s this for?” Joel tries to read the paper but has to keep it at arms reach to be able to read it. Failing, he searches for his glasses until Sarah points at his head where they’ve been resting for half the night, nestled between his curls.

You stifle a laugh as you think of what to say. “Sorry Sarah, good old peepaw needs his glasses to read.”

It’s clear you’re pushing it far as Joel freezes only to glare at you. If looks could kill you’d be six feet underground. Sarah laughs until her belly hurts, repeating the word peepaw between breaths.

“You two are bullies,” Joel shakes his head in disbelief, signing the permit and handing it to Sarah who is wiping her tears away.

“I’m heading to bed, goodnight old man,” Sarah tells a pouting Joel, kissing his cheek and running up the stairs. “Come on, Ghost. Bedtime!”

“Peepaw? Really?” Joel raises his eyebrows at you when both Sarah and Ghost are gone.

You shrug feigning innocence, hiding your smile with the edge of the blanket. ”Yeah, peepaw. It’s cute.”

“It ain’t cute,” Joel kisses his teeth before turning off the TV and standing from the couch, leaving you behind.

“Where are you going?” You call after him.

“To bed,” he dryly responds, shutting off the lights and climbing the stairs. He only leaves the lamp by the couch on. How considerate of him.

“What? Joel it’s barely 10!” Hiding your satisfaction is difficult. Joel’s ticked off, a day of calling him old will do that. It’s exactly what you hoped for.

“Guess that’s what old men do, darlin,’” Joel says sarcastically half way up the stairs.

With a hand over your mouth, you follow him, “Honey, come on. Don’t be angry, it’s harmless teasing. Are you really heading to bed?”

Joel turns at the top of the stairs, glaring down at you, “You really think I’m an old man?”

“Technically speaking you are an older man,” you quip, scrunching your nose cutely.

“You know that’s not what I mean.” Joel crosses his arms, reprimanding you for your cheekiness.

“I dunno why you get like this, you should know I love my older men,” you say sultrily, although it falls on deaf ears as Joel retreats to the bedroom.

When you step into the bedroom you’re instantly pressed against the door, slamming it shut. Joel’s sneaky hands lock it. “You’re playing a dangerous game, darlin.’ Don’t make me bend you over my knee and give you a spanking.”

The thought alone makes you shudder in delight. Wetness instantly seeping into your underwear. You’ve finally succeeded. You have him right where you want him.

With your hands braced on his chest you deliver the final blow. “You sure your knees can take it?”

Disbelief flashes in Joel’s eyes, “That’s it!”

Grabbing your arms Joel leads you to the bed where he sits on the edge. He roughly pull down on your jeans, panties and all, leaving them pooled on your knees, limiting your mobility.

With another tug he lays you face down on his lap, holding your wrists behind you in a tight grip. Joel shakes his head at your upturned ass that’s waiting a little too eagerly for his touch.

Delight bubbles out of you and Joel is determined to take you down a notch or two. Let’s see how you handle this after fucking with him all damn day.

The first swat comes without warning, eliciting a gasp from you. It’s sharp and borderline painful. A red handprint magically appearing on your left butt cheek.

Joel massages and paws at the skin, getting ready to deliver another one. “Cat got your tongue?” He questions at your sudden silence.

You try to look over your shoulder and say, “Is that all you got?”

A sarcastic chuckle leaves Joel’s mouth. Then, three fast slaps are delivered, successfully earning him a whine from your pretty lips. He rubs on the sweltering flesh, easing some of the sting.

Finding their way to your thighs his fingers dig between them to cup your pussy. It’s no surprise that it’s warm, messy and slick. Clear strands extending from it to the inside of your thighs and covering his digits.

You’re a fucking vixen who loves to torture him for your own fucking pleasure and he’s the damn fool who falls for it each and every time.

“Touch me,” you huff, wiggling on his lap to grind on his hand, hoping to gain more contact with his coated digits.

“Touch you? Oh, darlin’ you’re not getting off the hook so easily,” Joel mentions darkly, retrieving his hand and landing yet another smack to your ass, making it ripple from the impact.

“Ow!” You flinch yet remain in the same position, expecting more. You fucking love when Joel gets rough with you. It’s a shame you have to gauge it out of him like this.

“Wasn’t this what you wanted? Hm?” Joel’s asks and when he doesn’t get a response his hand flies down once more. “What was it you called me?”

There’s a beat of silence before his hand strikes, this time aiming towards the middle. “Gra-grandpa,” you stutter at the small burst of pleasure.

“Mhm, what else darlin’?” He prompts again. His middle finger tracing the slit of your pussy, feeling you grow impossibly wetter. His pretty little wife is always so reactive to his touch.

“Old man.”

The stinging in your skin grows warmer, no doubt turning a considerable shade of cherry red. Yet the ache in your cunt obscures it all. The scraps of attention only makes your arousal worse.

“I think there was one more,” Joel hums, urging you on. His slick finger teasing your weeping entrance.

“P-peepaw,” you gasp when Joel pushes it in until his knuckle meets your delicate skin.

“That’s right, peepaw,” Joel repeats absentmindedly, pushing his middle finger in and out. Listening intently to the squishing sound your pussy makes.

He’ll have you calling him something else by the end of the night.

Tight walls grip his finger like a vice, refusing to let go. Soft puffs of air tumble out of your mouth and he knows your eyes are closed as you concentrate on the minimal pleasure he’s providing you with. It’ll never be enough to make you cum but it’ll keep you bothered.

“Get up,” Joel orders with a softer smack to your bottom, wiping his slick covered finger on your skin. He helps you up from the restrained position he kept you in and makes work of taking off your clothes.

Joel pulls and tugs on your shirt roughly, throwing it mindlessly across the room. He palms your tits briefly, pinching one of your nipples to make you whine his name. With cracking knees he kneels on the floor to help you out your jeans and underwear, kneading your thighs with his big strong hands.

He catches a glance of your reddening skin and feels a prickle of pride at the mark he left. Most of it will fade by morning but you’ll feel it nonetheless.

Sitting back on the edge of the bed he wordlessly motions you to get on your knees. A wicked smile spreads on your cheeks as you do as you’re told, kneeling between his spread legs.

Eager hands grasp his belt, undoing the worn leather to get to the button of his jeans. He provides no help, leaning back on his hands and simply watching you with hooded and expecting eyes.

You pull down on his jeans and underwear, revealing the happy trail that comes down his navel to the patch of brown at his pelvis.

His hard cock springs free once you’ve worked his pants down enough. A throaty groan coming from above you at the release of tension.

“Mmm,” you hum, grasping his length in your fist. His eyes meet yours when you look up to press a kiss to the tip, your hand pulling the thin skin back to reveal it.

“Stop with the teasin,’” Joel growls audibly, chastising you.

You rolls your eyes obnoxiosuly, “You’re no fun, g-“

A hand flies to your hair, gripping the roots tightly. Your eyes fly open, starting up at Joel. “You sure you want to finish that sentence, babygirl?”

“Maybe not,” you shrug with a pout, your hand mindlessly pumping his length.

“That’s what I thought.” Joel keeps his grip on your hair, pulling it back to see every detail of you taking his cock into your pretty mouth.

Your tongue goes flat against the underside of his shaft, tracing the vein that runs along his length and letting saliva drip all down and into your fisted hand. Joel watches intently as your lips wrap around the angry red tip of his cock.

You start off slow taking more of his length with each bob of your head. Your eyes never leaves his face, observing every small reaction he makes. The sharp intake of breath when your tongue grazes his tip, the furrowing of his eyebrows, the bobbing of his adam’s apple as he fails to keep his moans in.

The sudden jerk of Joel’s hips causes your eyes to water and screw shut. The initial intrusion of his cockhead unexpected yet welcome. Joel throws his head back, “That’s a fucking good girl.”

Those magic words make everything worth it as you messily continue to suck and lick every inch of his cock. Neither the tears in the corner of your eyes nor the saliva dripping down his length stop you from tasting him.

You swear you’re dripping on the floor as your pussy flutters at his pleased words. You could touch yourself but all your energy and attention goes to pleasing the man above you.

The pain of kneeling hard wood floor for an extended period of time doesn’t bother you and the ache on your jaw is barely noticeable because all your concentration is on Joel and making him feel good.

Joel continues to set the pace, his grip tight on your scalp. “Fuck, just like that,” he moans when you tease the crown of his cock expertly.

“Alright, that’s enough,” Joel’s voice lilts in a reprimanding voice.

A string of saliva connects you to the tip of him as your hand continuing to work on the rest of his length.

Joel takes note of your red rimmed eyes and flushed nose as well as in your swollen lips and moussed hair. The picture of you completely filthy and sexy.

Joel cups the back of your neck, bringing you up to his height. He brings you into a sloppy kiss consisting of teeth and tongue and saliva. Joel loves that can taste himself in your mouth. A job well done.

You straddle his lap so his cock grazes your dripping pussy, tugging needily at his tshirt. “Take it off,” you beg. Your lips separate for a brief second as the shirt comes off before they smash back together.

He complies but quickly reminds himself that this all started because you were calling him old. He can’t be quick to reward you.

You foolishly believe that’s it and you get to have him. Eagerly you try to sink into his cock but he holds you still, not letting you take him to the hilt.

“Who’s the tease now?” You pant against his lips, stealing another long kiss before whispering in his ear begging him to take you, to use you.

“I like to see you begging for it.” That’s Joel’s response as he pushes you off of him.

You protest but fall silent when he removes his remaining clothes. God you’re like a teenager desperate to fuck with clothes and all.

It drives Joel nuts the way you look at him with lust filled eyes. You bite your lip as you take him in all his glory, hands reaching to touch his chest.

He pulls you back to him, his cock wedged between the two of you. The saliva covering it, sticking to your skin. He cups your face, “You have something to say?”

“Nope.”

Joel to cos his head in disappointment, pushing you into bed and maneuvering you till your head is buried in the pillows and your ass is high in the air. It’s tinged a dozen shades of pink and red from his hands.

You wiggle your hips offering yourself to him. Air hits your pussy, giving you an idea of how aroused you are. That’s what happens whenever you have the pleasure of going down in Joel.

Joel grips himself, spreading his pre before pumping his hand. Smack. His hand flies down to strike your ass once more. Your back arches when Joel teases your entrance with the tip. He runs it up and down your slit, wetting it with your slick. He lightly pushes into you so only the tip is inside before he pulls out again.

“Please fuck me,” you plead breathlessly, attempting to rock back to get more of him inside you.

Joel laughs. “Now you’re nice and polite. Is there something else you want to tell me?” He asks expecting an apology.

“No,” you repeat stubbornly.

He’ll get you soon enough. There’s no way you’ll resist.

Joel’s cock brushes against your clit, making you jump and moan. He does it again and again. Your pussy clenches desperately wanting him inside of you.

“You sure? You don’t want to apologize?” He gives you another chance. Sinking his cock deeper into you to give you a taste before he pulls out.

You huff and pout but you can’t take it anymore. You need him. “I’m sorry!”

“Now, was that so hard,” Joel grunts, pushing his length all the way in, rewarding you.

You bury your head into the pillow, stifling the guttural moan that rips from your throat. You could die like this suffocated and blissfully impaled on Joel’s cock and be happy.

With a tight grip on your waist Joel fucks into you at his own pace, watching how easily you accept him, covering him with your essence. It feels fucking fantastic.

His skin slaps against yours rhythmically. You swear you can cum at that moment but Joel knows all your tells and he slows his pace, pushing into you only when the tip remains. Long, slow strokes keeping you from cumming.

“I wanna cum,” you cry out frustrated but he ignores you, edging you.

“If you want to cum tonight you have to stop calling me old,” Joel grits. This is torture for him as much as it is for you.

“I said I’m sorry,” you sob into the pillow, your back arching as you try and take matters into your own hands. Smack, another spank, warning you to stop.

“Will you stop calling me grandpa?”

You have the audacity to fucking hesitate. He’s serious about not letting you cum but he’s confident he’ll get you to cave in.

Joel pulls out his cock when you refuse to answer. He instantly misses the warmth and tightness of your walls. His cock is soaked with your slick, a creamy white substance covering him from root to tip.

Licking his middle and ring fingers he replaces his cock, feeling your walls clench around them. He pumps them angling them downward to reach that spot inside of you, his other hand pressing on your lower back so you arch more.

“Oh fuck,” you gasp when this thumb presses on your bud. An orgasm quickly building. “Please Joel.” You wanted to cum around his cock not his fingers but at this point you’ll take anything you can get. Your mind is completely clouded and years for release.

“Did you reconsider what you wanted to call me?” Joel curves his fingers, quickening the pace.

“Yes,” you whine as your hips grind against his hand.

“And what’s that?” His fingers are sticky, your essence dripping down his hand.

“Please, daddy,” you cry abashedly, hiding your reddening face in the pillows.

“I didn’t hear ya’ darlin’. How about you look at me when you speak?” Joel dares to say while his fingers continue to drive into you.

Fuck, your legs are shaking and the knot continues to tighten in your belly. You have to say it or Joel will stop. You turn your head to meet his eyes, “Please, daddy.”

“That’s more like it,” Joel’s raspy voice says, removing his fingers when you’re at the cusp once more.

You audibly groan in frustration but it’s interrupted when Joel eases his cock back into you Fucking you just as you want it, hard and fast.

The bed sheets are fisted in your hands as you hold on. Your nipples brushing against the bed with each thrust. It doesn’t take long at all for you both to titer over the edge. Your pussy squeezing tightly around him, milking him for all he’s worth.

When Joel pulls out you fall to lie on your stomach, catching your breath. He lies beside you doing the same. Sharing a glance you both start laughing.

“Next time you want it rough just tell me,” Joel shakes his head at you. He knew all along and yet it still pissed him off.

“It’s not the same, honey,” you sigh, kissing his shoulder. The nearest part of him you can reach without moving too much.

The following morning you wake up with a kink in your back and Joel being the ever loving husband brings you painkillers to bed where you’re lying still, “Take these grandma. They’ll make you feel better.”

He won’t ever call you ‘grandma’ again. The daggers you sent him were fucking terrifying.

listen...typically i'm not the biggest fan of the daddy kink...but when it works, it works

#fanfiction #nicksolemnlyswears #joel miller x reader #joel miller smut #joel miller #tlou #the last of us fanfiction #the last of us #pedro pascal #pedro pascal fanfiction

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charmedimsure · 7 days ago

Note

dae-ho x f!reader where they just met in the games and they obviously had a connection so they went to the bathroom

and when they were kissing someone came in and caught them (you can choose who) and then they tease them about it when they come out

(if you’re uncomfortable with smut it doesn’t have to be smut!!)

Not a Word || Kang Dae-ho

pairing: Kang Dae-ho x f!reader

summary: You and Dae-ho share a moment in the bathroom

word count: 1.4k

warnings: squid game stuff, 18+

A/N: this is the closest i will get to writing smut. if you see any mistakes no you didn't <3

You walk into the bathroom, rubbing your eyes with your hands. It had been a long day. First one of your friends died in Mingle, then the vote on whether to stay or go home was split 50/50, meaning tensions have never been higher.

You look up, pausing when you see the urinals. The guard could've at least guided you to the correct restroom. Instead, they just brought you to two doors, one with a triangle and one with a square. You chose the wrong one, apparently. Still, there are stalls, so whatever.

After you go, you come out of the stall, turning the knob of the sink to wash your hands. You look in the mirror at yourself. You wish you could take back all of those times that you apologized for looking like a mess. All those times you have never come close to how you look now. Your hair is a knotted mess, and the smudges of at least four day old mascara is smeared under your eyes, making you look gaunt.

With a huff, you comb your fingers through your hair, trying to get out as many knots as you can. The loose strands fall from your head, and you grimace as you watch them pile up in the sink. That's... a lot of hair. You turn the faucet back on, letting it go down the drain. It'll be their problem now.

The door to the bathroom opens and you jump. When a familiar face walks in, you relax.

"Thank god it's just you," you sigh.

Dae-ho gives you a confused look. "Why are you in the men's room?"

You roll your eyes. "I've just always really wanted to try pissing in a urinal," you deadpan.

The man smirks. "You walked into the wrong bathroom?"

"Yep."

He chuckles, going over to one of the stalls and locking the door.

You look back at yourself in the mirror, trying to make yourself look at least a little presentable. You rub under your eyes, trying to get the makeup off of your face, but if anything it just smudges even more.

Dae-ho comes out of the stall, walking to the sink next to you and washing his hands. He looks at you, a small frown on his face. "What's wrong."

"I'm trying to get this off but it won't budge," you say, throwing your hands in the air with a huff. Two hands grab your waist and you involuntarily let out a small squeal as you're lifted up.

Dae-ho sets you down so that you're sitting on the edge of the sink, you're back facing the mirror. He runs the sink next to yours, pulling his sleeve over his hand and running it under the water.

"What are you doing?"

"This is how my sisters take their's off when they run out of makeup wipes," he says, bringing his damp sleeve to your face. With the sleeve over his thumb, you watch him as he gently wipes under your right eye. You relax, opting to watch his face as he focuses.

"What do you think's gonna happen tomorrow with the vote?" you ask.

Dae-ho sighs. "I wish I could say we'll win, that we'll finally go home, but I have no idea." He puts his sleeve over his other hand, running under the water before copying his motions under your other eye. "Gi-hun says there's gonna be a fight tonight. That's why they gave us the forks with dinner today, they want us to kill each other."

"Sick fucks," you mumble. You wish you could say you're surprised, but nothing here really surprises you anymore. It's silent for another mminute before you speak again. "I'm going to die tonight."

Dae-ho gives you a concerned look. "Why do you say that?"

"I can play kids games, but I don't have the strength to fight off someone who's trying to kill me. The moment someone grabs me, I'm dead."

Dae-ho finishes cleaning your makeup off, wiping the wet areas with the dry part of his sleeves. "You know we're not gonna let that happen, right?"

You shrug.

Dae-ho cups your face with both hands, forcing you to look at him. "Listen to me. You are not going to die tonight. I'll protect you, I swear on my life."

Tears start to well up in your eyes. "And what if they get you?" You take a deep, shaky breath. "I don't want you to die."

You and Dae-ho had found each other during the first game. He kept you behind him, and you helped him know when to stop so he wouldn't get caught. When he joined Gi-hun's team, he brought you along.

"I don't want you to die, either," he whispers. He slides his hands down your arms, holding your hands in his.

A small smile appears on your face. "At least I'll die having watched the best game of Gong-gi ever played."

Dae-ho lets out a chuckle, his cheeks turning red as he looks away. When he looks back at you, the softness in his eyes nearly makes you melt.

"In case we die tonight," he says softly, "in case these are our last few hours alive, let me do something I've been thinking about since our first day here."

His eyes flicker to your lips and you gasp slightly. He looks back up to your eyes, silently asking permission, and you nod.

He closes the distance between you, breathing you in as he cradles your face. You bring your hands up to thread into his hair, kissing him back eagerly. If you're going to die tonight, this is how you want to spend your last moments.

His tongue teases your lips and you part them slightly, allowing him access. You lightly tug on his hair, the groan he lets out as a result going straight to your core.

Fuck, you need him right now.

Without breaking the kiss, you move your hands away from his hair, unzipping his jacket and pushing it over his shoulders. He takes his hands away from you for a moment to let the article fall to the floor before his hands attach to your hips. He steps closer to you, your bodies flush against each other.

He moves away from you lips, leaving open-mouthed kisses down your throat that have you gasping. His hands lift the hem of your shirt, rising underneath to roam your bare skin. You throw your head back as his lips travel lower and low-

"Oh shit!"

The voice breaks you out of the moment, your head whipping around to look at the door. Jung-bae stands at the entrance to the bathroom, eyes moving back and forth between you and Dae-ho. You freeze, along with the man whose hands are still underneath your shirt.

"Uhh, I'll just go. You two have fun," he walks out, a small smirk on his face.

Dae-ho is still looking at the door when he feels your stomach moving under his hands. He looks at you, a small smile spreading on his face when he sees your quiet laughter. He breaks into laughter as well, removing his hands from you.

"At least it was just him," you chuckle. "Imagine it was that old man."

Dae-ho laughs harder, picking his jacket up off of the ground. Instead of putting it on himself, he wraps it around your shoulders, taking your hips in his hands to help you off the counter.

Once your feet are back on the ground, you reach for the back of his neck, planting another kiss on his lips. "If we get out of here, we'll continue this."

Dae-ho nods, a smile on his face as he kisses your temple. You take his hand, walking to the door of the bathroom. When you leave, you spot Jung-bae leaning against the wall. As soon as he sees you, a smirk decorates his face. He opens his mouth to talk but you hold up your hand, stopping him.

"Not a word, Jung-bae," you threaten.

The man holds up his hands in surrender, the smirk still on his face as he enters the bathroom.

You sigh and shake your head, looking at Dae-ho and breaking out into another chuckle before walking back to your quarters.

Dae-ho tags: @whatthefuckeryfuckityfuck @ally1uvsu @hiphip-horray @k1michii @tpwkcaryslizb @louissst28 @sshwaa @jennwonwoo @sunnysurvives @lalalaa2210 @tayshs @sunshinethatlooksalive @plntmxrss @lxnnrobin @mariaxman @alexx-iia @batty-barty-crouchjr @kxsm3t @takuma-talkz @peacemakersbeloved @skywalker0809 @soobinbunnie5 @dragons-h0ard @silas-222 @putrescentpoet @chrisgetsmewetter

Squid Game tags: @thebiggestigurosimp @vvnbxz @lov3yy @miltzzy @l5byrinth @come-as-you-are-111 @starkeyszn @learninglinesintherainn

lmk if you want to be added to the tags! (lmk which one)

#squid game #squid game 2 #squid game season 2 #player 388 #squid game fanfic #squid game x reader #dae ho #dae-ho #kang dae ho #x reader #kang daeho x reader

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cypherscript · 8 months ago

Text

Linchpin

The GIW have finally done it; they finally rid the world of the strongest ghost in their recorded history and the world finally know peace from ghost kind.

Watchtower - Four years three months later.

"Right," Tim Drake-Wayne aka Red Robin stood before a small council of Batman, Wonder Woman, Booster Gold, Martian Manhunter and the Flash, "Thank you, everyone for allowing me to request this meeting but it's imperative that this matter be seen to before something irreversible comes to pass."

"Red Robin, wandering."

"Right, sorry." Tim taps away on the computer and pulls up several of his personal photos from his day off last month of the night sky with two bright pinpoints of lights. "This is the night sky with Alpha Centauri a month ago. I was on vacation and managed to get some good pictures for that night but something else happened that night." He pulls up another photo of the same night sky but one of the stars were gone.

"Where'd the left star go," Flash asks as he pulls over a digital copy of the two pictures.

"I don't know but it's still not there. A month ago Proxima Centauri went out and no one's saying anything about it online. I was hoping to petition the Justice League to borrow the Watchtower's computer and telescope to check the area."

"I don't see why that would be an issue," Wonder Woman says as she also looks over the pictures with the flash. "Batman?"

"I don't have a problem with it but it needed someone not connected to the issue to vote on it." With that said they voted to let Tim borrow the computer's telescope and began scanning the area. Several hours later they had a really clear picture of the area Proxima Centauri had been. In its spot there was nothing; no gas, no planets, no nebulas or anything but darkness.

"We should probably get Green Lantern or one of the space heroes." Batman's Hn spoke leagues to his current mood.

_____________________________________________________________

"So your little bird was right, Bats. Proxima's gone and it's not the only one. The Guardian's have been receiving distress calls for several universal cycles. Tamaran, Corona Seven, Betelgeuse, Alpha Corvi to name some." Hal says as he reads from a list projected from his ring, "They've traced a Decay Field originating from Earth over four years ago. Supposedly failed supervillain attack? Experimentation gone wrong?"

"We're unsure. We've talked with the United Nations and no one's come forward with anything concrete. We do have a list the length of the Batmobile of possible culprits though."

"Sorry but what's a Decay Field? I can hear those capital letters and don't just say it's a field that decays stuff." Flash asks, looking up from his portion of experiments.

"But it is... The Guardian's explained it like a kill switch to certain technologies. Something happened on Earth four years that made the universe start eating itself."

"Then why not start with our sun? Why start at a star 4 light years away," Batman asks, putting down the League's digitized stellar map, "If the field originated on Earth, Sol should have been the first to vanish."

"Strange isn't it?"

A burst of static comes from the speakers at the table, causing a couple to flinch before a corrupted male voice speaks to them.

Ņ̵͙͔̼̓̏̕̚o̸̢̳̮̖̩̪͉͒̊̓̐t̸͙͓̻̙͗̌͆́̈ ̸̢̖̪̫̪͙̉̆ͅǎ̸̦͔̜͂͗͛͘͠t̸͇̏̂̉̆ ̵̹̖̣͎̘̟̞͒͆a̴̛̟͗́͂̿͜ḻ̸̑́̀l̵̢̗̻̙̜̄͆.̶̢̨̤̞̖͕̾̏͌̽̽ ̷̛̩̘͍̺͚͈̐̔́̾͊̚W̸̨̳̟͍͓̱̊͗̿̓͜e̸̛̛̹̒͜ ̵̞̻̌̓͆̂̕w̷͉͐́e̴̼̗͑̐̈̑̆͝r̴̫̻͇͖̞͂è̶̯̺͙̬̲ ̶̢̣̣̥͐̓̓w̶͇̺̯̝̲̌̚o̸̡̢̗͖̤̮͑̇n̵͇̣͙̫̹̄͌̽d̴̺̼͕̙̐́̂̈e̴̢̧̮̣͍̯̽͝r̵̼͙̩͛͆͝i̷̝̱͎̞͑̏̀n̵̯̰̻̹̭͕̫̈́͛́̌͘g̵̨̛̻̯̺̠͈̜̅͂̌͘͠͝ ̸̺͉͍̹̱͕̈́̅̀̾̈́͘ẅ̷̨̝͔̖͉̜̭͘̕h̴͚̘͕͊̄ȩ̷̢̱̱̤̫̗̈͘n̸̼̦̭̹͆̏͘ ̷̰̫̳͊͌̋̇͂̍̕͜ẙ̷̭͙̘̅̋́̚ó̶͔̪̥̩̭͎̺͋͑́́̒ũ̶͙̝̬͖̯̏̎͠ ̴̢͈͎̤̜̲͛̈̓̀̒̍̕ͅp̸̨͈̱̥̙̗̠̊̋̀e̶͚͊̈́͐̀̋͠ơ̵̧̧͍̥̮p̴͈̘̺̙̫͈̀͆́l̵̝̻̼̳̋ͅͅḙ̵̮͍̻̺̀̑͛́͑̕ ̸̮̥̀̉̈́͑͊͐͂w̵̲̥̅̎̋̓ȏ̴͚̰̩̐̓̎̿̍̀ͅȗ̵̙͓̂͝l̶̟̪͐͗͂̂d̵͎̦̈́̌̀͌ ̵̧̗̲̈́́̔f̵̨͙̪̌̌̀͜͠i̷̳͛̉̊̆̈̓̒n̶̮̗̤͋̾̂̂͘a̶̤̫̘͚͌̓̒̊l̴̟̰̼͉͖̉̎̓͒͆̅͜l̶̢̹̾̉̒̊̕y̴̡̙̞͒̒̏̉ ̷̧͙̺̯̼̉ǹ̷̯̲́̉̈̚o̸͓̠̖͌̋͒͛ṭ̵̟̥͕͉̀̔ȋ̴̢͉͎̃͆̈́̈́̈́͠c̵̰̰͎̭̯͑̆͌͗͝ȅ̷̖̫̃̐̈͝ ̵͎̣̖̄̃͋̌̂̌̊w̴̹̦̙̜̙͉̰̓̈́̚h̸͇̣̩̝͇͊̃͑͆̂͝ä̵͚̭̪̖̀͗͑̄͘t̶̛̟̳̣͔͍̿̓͆͘͠ ̷̨̠̪͔͎̐̇͌ẁ̷̢͖͓̹͛̈a̷̭͚̭̳̙͇̽́̉̽̐͘s̷̨̲̖͌̆̊̋̐̈́ͅ ̵̻̻̯͍̤̊̂͝͝ĝ̴̨̢̰̙̞̲̂̽̈o̴̪̥̙̽̅͗̓í̷͈̯̾́̋̾̊n̸̳̘͍͒̋̏͆̀̐͜ͅg̸̻̿͗̐̊̍̚͝ ̶̤̰̹̭͙̬͙̇̀ṏ̴̘̮̱̦͍́͂̑̚͜͝ņ̵̼͊.̴̡̜͔͍͇͍̃̐

(Not at all. We were wondering when you people would finally notic what was going on.)

"Who are you," Batman demands as the voice chuckles, "Is this your doing?"

Ņ̷͙̹̱͕̀͐̄́͜ớ̷̩̠̻̅̉̈́̎̀ͅ.̷̮̲̰̩͆͗͂̆́̒̚

(no)

"But you know about it, what's doing this and how do we stop it?"

I̷̢̬͉̖͗̒̀̈ ̷̟͎̯̺̺͕̅̆͆̌̐̔́d̷͙͔̜̿ȏ̶̡͓̩͝ņ̴̜̤̟̳́͑̂̚͠͝͠'̵̝̜̉̆́t̷̛̯͌̓̎̎ ̴̞́̈̍ţ̴̢͓͙́ḧ̸̲͛̿͗̍i̶̧̯̱̠̩̥̭͛̉̊̌̈̒͝n̷͖̯̩̺͛͂̊̑͐͠ķ̶̧̙̖̐͐̀̄ ̷̛̦̲̎̋̑y̷̧̯̝̝̦̌̒͌͂o̴̧̹̲͉̟̝̱̊̏u̵̱̣̘̳͖̇͗͆͐ͅ ̷͙͇̝̳͒̎̑̓͜͝ͅͅc̵̫̼̠̮͕̠̃ą̸̣͇̩̬̟͌̋͠n̵̛̬̟̼͈̪͓̲̆̀̔̋̈́̕.̸̢̝̳̜̥̗̾́.̸̢̪͔̹͈̂̈̆͛̇́̔.̸͓̯͓̞̃̉̃ ̸̢͉͉̳̬͙̗͗͂͌̄̏T̵͚̩̙̽̈́͛͌́̀h̶̘̲̙̪̗̾i̵̭͕̙̟̒̔͝ͅș̵͗̈́̚͝ ̶̥̲̹̜̖̼̯̉̍į̶͓̥̀̍̓s̸̢̡͓̬̰̹̋̿̿̃́̽͜ ̵̀̈̇́͐̚ͅp̸̡̨͎͇̦̌̍͜ṳ̸̫̖̘̑͋͂̕̕͝n̵͔͔͇̺͚̪͋͂ͅĩ̸̢̛̥̬̮̙̈́́̔s̸̩̝̝̓̀̈́ḧ̸̫͇́̓̄́̕ṃ̸̨̐̄̾̌͂͝ẽ̴͓̈́n̵̮̥̯͑͛͂̀́͝ţ̷̨̟̖͚̹̺͗̋͑͌̄.̷̭̐̈̕

(I don't think you can, this is punishment.)

"Punishment for what?! We didn't do anything," Flash shouts as he stands up to yell at the voice.

Ỳ̸͕̖̼͐o̵̘̻̩̹̽̀̍͑͗̊̓ú̴̢͇̮̯͍̑̚ ̷̢̢͖̹̍͗͜ḏ̵̨̹͔͆̈́̀̀̑͆͜i̶̲̯̯̱͍͐̆̉͛͋͐ͅd̶͈͇̤̙̃̃͑͌̅̓͆n̷͓̳̅̄'̶͙͓͉̣̝͓͌̽͘t̵̡̝̘͔̮̹͔̊̈́͋͂́̾,̷̧͔̲͕̙̋̚ ̶̳̙͉̩̄̐̄͌b̷̻̮̟̩͑̿̕ű̶̩̩͚t̷̛͎̤̠̪̮́̒͜ͅ ̵̠͓̩̤̋̇̂͆̕ͅc̶̘̹͒ị̵̢̟̩̄́͐̒͝t̶̠̥͙̗͎̺̘́͗̄͂̅̚ḯ̸̡̞̳̝̰͆̒̀͂̑̎z̴̯͉̾̑̈́͝͝ę̵̻̼̟̗̌̎͝͝n̴̘̓̈́̎̊͌͛s̷̝̭͔͈͗̂͐̇ ̵̱̇͑̆̋̓͜͝͠ő̶̥̝̠̞̇͆̊̀͌͗͜f̸͈̖͆̀̑̈̇̄̓ ̷̨͇̦͕̺̩̃̓̇̇͐̀t̴̬̬͇͔͛̃̊̿̀̏́h̷̯̠͒̒͋̆̂̅͠é̶̡ ̸̰̘͈̹̳̈́Ẽ̸̢̟̥̺͈̙̓̈̄͘͠͝a̶̛͎̥̦͙͆̑͋̿͝͠ͅr̶̺̟̱̈́̀ţ̵̝̩̬͍̉̔͊́̕͠h̶̥̠̣̹̰̻̖͆͂̉͌͠ ̶̳̣̠͚̮̌͆̋̅͂̈́ḧ̶͖͉̟̮̜̻̖́̊ã̸̲̦̗̜̌̿͌́̑̚v̵̯͚̲̯̖͋̽͝ͅȩ̴̛͕̯̖̈́͌ͅ.̸̩͚̽

(You didn't but the citizens of the Earth have.)

"What did they do to warrant starting a Decay Field to eat the universe?!" The next words spoken was a combination of several voices.

T̷̝̹̥̘̯̠̓̑̽ͅh̶̺͓͕̝̍͗̐̃̄̚ȇ̶̜͉͈̦̮̓͝͠y̵͔̗̫͎͙͚͠ ̷̟̓̃͂ķ̷̦̳͎̓̃͛͌̒͝ͅi̴̫̪̮̰̭̠̘̊͑͛́̐l̴̖̲̙̀̿l̵̹̦̪͐̌̎͆ę̷̨̙͇̮͇̊ḋ̵͉͙͖̦̪̰̒͝ ̴̮̜̥̟͚͇͊̀ḿ̵̱̼̮̠̪̘̓̃̀̐͐͝ŷ̸̖̞̤͐̄͛͆ ̸͎̯̠̰̆͋̓̌̂͌͛b̶̢̜̙͎͌̓̐e̸̛̥̳͒̋̽́́s̴̨̙͑́͑̒͐̐t̷͙͌̀̄͝ ̵̰͑̓͜f̷̛̦̭̀́̅̌r̷̖̹̫͕̬̩̔į̴͎͖̯̜̲̥͒̀͊̓̆͒͘ẻ̵̬͈͊͝n̶̤̼̥͚̱͉̔͗̂͝d̶̯̼̋̏̂̈̿͝ͅ.̴̻̭̣̭̪̣̖̒̐̒̄͝ (They killed my best friend.)

T̶̰̗́̋̓͝h̶̞͔̠̪͖͎̝́ě̴͇̭̻̗̣̉̔y̴̛̝̼͎͇̼͌̽̏̚ ̴̢̛̞͕͓̜̻̑͋̍́k̷̲̃̓̊̊́̽ǐ̷̡̟͔̜͈̃ḽ̶̢̭̠͕͒̈́͊́̈́l̵̠͎̎̋̄͘ȅ̷͖̪͖͒̈́d̴̩͖̳̜̯̹̋͑ ̷̜̜̯̬̤͂̑̀̍͋͒̆m̴̙͕̹̩̞͐̌̅̾y̷̡̱͉̠̗͇̏̓̉ͅ ̴̨̖͇̠͜͝p̷̺̯̖̹͚͎͛̋͌ȃ̵̧̪̼̫͈̺̞̾͋̓͛r̶͇̺̫͂̍̑̕t̵̟̦̞̞͍̀̒̉́̋̓n̸͎̻̻̒ȇ̵̢̪̣̤̫͐͜r̸̡̯̪͖̻̃̉̓͘̕͝.̸̹̖̜̈́̃̎̓ (They killed my partner.)

T̴̗̻̫̼̙͛̐̿̈́͂̈̐̎̔̆̀͑͐͠͝ͅh̸̘̞̫̺̗̹͆̽͒̅ȩ̴̡͕̄ÿ̵̢̳̺̗̲̠̩̹̟͈̞̘́͊̓̀́̏̒͑̐̿̊ ̸̼̞͖̻̰̤͚́k̴̛͚̬̹͚͒̐͊̍̉́́̚͝͠ͅͅi̵̘͈̿̌̋̂̈͌̋̐͑̕͝l̵̘̊̒̄́̈́͂̒̍́̿͗̐̉͝͝l̴̬͔͎̍̓͋̉̐̀͂̕͘͠͝e̷̙̭̪̝̭̜̻̠̓͋͑̔̓̈́̋̈͒̒̉̔̏̚͝d̸͕̫̼͉̫͓̜̩̪̺̫͈͋͝ͅ ̸̧̧̼̙̰̮͓̖̑̈́͋͌̅̃̑́̍͛̂͠t̶̡͎̼̖̳̼̣͚͓̝̘͉̊̍̈́͛͆́̾̀͊̃̚͝ḧ̸̨̛̺̹̭̖̠̞́͛̀e̸̡͚̤̮̼̳̽͗͛̾̀̆͂͑̀͛͜͝ ̸̛̪̝̺͓͇̜̀́̿̄̏̕̚w̸͉͕͐̾̋̏͒̂͒̓̚ḩ̴̠̹͇̘͔͚̖̘̻̈́̿̄͆̓̑͑̚͝͠͠͝ę̶̛͔̲̰̖̗̈͋̾͑̂́̅̈͑͆́̀̓͝l̶̨͇͇͉͖͂̃̈̂p̷̛͇̭̺̲̠͕̝̹͍̙̓̍̈́̾̆́̋̐̀̿̓̂̉ (they killed the whelp)

Ţ̵̇̍͐͝ḥ̶̢͎̇ͅě̶̢̨̇̉̎̉ÿ̶̹͔̼́̅͌͑̚ ̸̖̤͛̿̎̍̂̍ͅk̴͓̞̼̙̰̼̅̑͌̍̄i̷͓̣͎͑͂̌̽̈́̾͝l̸̮͖̖̲͑͑͋̐l̸̛̛͇̹̙̳̟͌̽̃̌è̴͇̒͗͐͂d̷̮͈̋̚ͅ ̴͉͈̞͙̙͇̈́̋͂̚ȯ̶͚͓͋̍̍ǔ̴̢͎̹͕̀͆̇̒̂r̶̮̖̱͂̉̽̔ ̵̤͙̺̒́͌̿̈͠s̷̛͔̣̹̱̼͆͐o̸͕͖̘̬̭͒͑̾̆̓̇n̸̡͖̙̗̩̆̀͌̃.̵̬͉͎̞̬͗́͊̀̂̓̕(they killed our son.)

T̷͖͇̱̜̺̳͠ͅh̷̥͍̼̼̥̊ͅę̶̨̺͇͖̹̒͒ỹ̸̟̟̜̗̘̠̓̓̑̑̄͜ ̷̗̲́͊͋̅ͅk̸̻̤͉̝̽͊̃̉̄͒̃i̴͔͙̰̮̐ͅl̸̤̥̭̊̾͘l̶̢̠̹̩͉̦̏͒͘e̷̢͕̠̥̜̘͓̿̈́̏̅͝d̷̪̭͕̓̐͛̿̈̚ͅ ̶̙̱̩̠̄̎̈́́͘̕m̵̪̫͉̲͑͑ͅy̸̢̬̹̞̳͗̃͌̔̔ ̶̢̼͖̼͕̋̎͛͝͠k̶̞̱̘̲̺͔̔̏̇̍̕ǐ̶̜̟͆̍ṋ̶͈͓̱͌͛̑̂͐̇g̸̩͕̻̃̍̔̃̏̚.̵͙̖͐͠ (They killed my king)

T̶͙͍̤̼͕̎͌͜h̴̩̬̞̕̕͜e̷̫͔̟̔͐͒ͅÿ̴̢̢̻̯̩̱́́̇̄͗̑͠ ̸̧̤̪͈̗͈̼̉̓͋̐k̸̢̟̲͝í̵̢̩ͅl̸͈͒̄͋͝͝l̴̡͍̥̱̙̫̣̄̈́͌e̸̛͔̾̒͛̂̉d̴̪̀̓͜ ̴̧̭͚̥͛͗t̶̨͙̬̥͉̼̎͋̍͜h̶͙̲̟̆ḙ̶͕̿ ̶̧̬͒̍͠͝Ḡ̴̨̓ṛ̶͙̺̘̭̮͍̏̒͗͋̇͝e̶̖̙̥͛̄͆̾͋̐̚a̷͚̙̠̙̠͝ͅt̵̰̥̺̹̂̓ ̸̞́̈́Ó̶̞̳̈́̃͋̇́n̴͙̘̤͉͆̆͗̇̈͆̋e̷̛̹͂͝.̵̝̲̣̅(they killed the Great One)

I̵̜͎͎̘͍͒̈̑̄̔͝l̴̝͔̙̞̓͋̅i̶̖͉̠͎͍̽̒ ̸͇̰̝͙̮̩͒̓̒̆̊̚m̷̨̨̘͔̀͊͌̆̈͐̐͜ơ̷̢̺͉͓̤͍̺̒͝r̵̨̧̰͎̓̎̽͒͛t̸̤̲̙̄͐́̈́̕̕͜į̶̧̭̙̗͙͙̊̉̍͛̿̋g̵̜̺̘̙̼͇̃i̵͈̅̀̅s̵̞̯̯̩͖͖̎ ̴̡̤̞̇̾̆̈̓͝m̵̺͈̺̻̫̰̋̽͐̍͛̕͜ȉ̴̮̙̳̄͛ą̵͕̭̲̱͈̒ǹ̸̨̛̫̺̯̥̗́͜͝ ̵̨̳̝͓̼͆͂͂͛̍͘s̴̡̢̟̘̝̠̘̃̏͑̑̎͠à̶̧̛͖̦v̷͚̇̈́́̏͝â̴̢͓̚n̶̢̗͓̘͖̹͂̂̚ṱ̶̒̂̈̃͆ŏ̸̬̥̎̕ń̵̨̛͇̲̫̦̮̎̾̔̀ (ili mortigis mian savanton/killed my savior)

T̸̢̨͍̲̝̣͎͈̖͓͇͈̘͓̐̉̏̉͊̍̈́̋̕h̸̢̨̙͇̳̜͖̎̇͛̈́͜ḛ̶̡̻͕̝̫̣͇̉̅y̷̢͖̤̫̔̎̌ ̵͎͍̭̟̗̼̹̪̠͉̲̍͆̓́͜k̴̢̗̺̘̳̰͎̲͇̃̌͆͂̀̔̾͛͂̉͘͝͝i̶̟̹̳̱̤͚͖͖̫̲̓̾̄̅̆̎͂̕l̴̨̡̡̲̥͓̠̰̼̥̂͑̀͝ḻ̷̡͕̩̫̾͐́͑̓̃́͒̈́͆̿̓͌̚͘ͅȩ̶̡̣̮̯̳͓̼̓̉̽̄̍́̔̓̆̎̀ď̷͈̬̱̂ ̶͖̺̝͉̜͇̅͐̓̆͗̿̋̿̀̍͝b̵̧̮͆̂̄̒̐̿͋͌̆̍̓̈́͘͝ä̴̡̛͔̫̉͆̍̔̄́̈́͝b̸̮͙͛̃͛̀̃̍̓y̵̱͑̈́̽̇̄̓̔̌̚͝͠p̶͈̮̣̠̮͖͇̠̫̫̦̝̩̉̐̂̈́̐͐ǫ̵̯͙͓͚͍̂̊͊̉̾̌̂́͠͝p̷͙̯̪͔̙̗̞̘͙̅̄̒͒̍͛͋̈͋̕(they killed babypop)

T̴̯̮̝͙͕̐̍h̸̡̢̋͌͊ȅ̴̟̼̀̈́̄̀͌͠ý̸̨̯̩͐̎͒͒̒̕ͅ ̶̡͈̝͎̞͗̊͘k̸̭͇͙̬̫̙͊̎͆̓͝͝ͅi̶̦̝̳̪͂̅̈́̑l̷̛͈̭̺̄́̔̈́͋́l̶͙̳̯̩̈́͐e̴͇̰̭͙̙̿͜d̴̛͉͚͍̋͂̀̔̉ ̶̤̞͙͕̃̓͒͐m̴͈̹̟̃y̵̠̜̏̽̐̀́̀͝ ̶̢̥͉̊̊̊͐͝f̶͎̥͉́́ḁ̸̩̤̱̲̬̒̕͘ṯ̷̯̬̘̮͙̚ḩ̸̖͍͌̀̓̃͘ẻ̵̢͎̓͝r̸̨̩̗̘̗̒̈̆̓͂͘̕.̶̥̀͐̓̉(They killed my father)

Ţ̷̠̘̦̍̏̆̍̀͊̚ẖ̷̼̪̝͇̪̥͑e̸̢̨̻͚̬̯̭̊͗̀͝y̵̪͛̾̅́̓̕ ̶̤͕͆̑̓͐k̵̖͎͍̬͙͒̍i̴̛͙̬͚̫̻͑̆͆͂l̵̨͒̂͑l̷̛͖̫̫̳̭̱̀̀ę̴͈͕͖̜͎̋̆͒̓͘̚d̸̢̼͙̬͐͋̎̉͝ ̵̲̥͋̃̆͂͗͝m̷̞̭̖͚̭̣̑͛͗y̶̛̜͎͆̂͑̑ ̸̩̤̫̹́̾̈͂̏ḇ̷̞̱̣̂̋̚̚r̵̛̻̙̯̯̆̋̽̈́̚͝ô̷̱̍̈́t̶̡̙͈̘̹̫͆͒̽͐̏h̴̥̝́͊̅͌̓̔̒͜è̶͙̰̱́̅̾̉̽͂r̴͍͗̍͂̾̂̆.̷̺̖̥̖̹̾̓́̔ (They killed my brother)

Ṱ̵̻̤̩̰͛͆͑͒̍ͅh̸̜̼̅̀̏͒̄͐ĕ̵̲͚͕̓ͅy̷̻̣̭̰͎͊͂̇͛͗ͅ ̴̜̘̣̙͑̄k̵̭̝̹͛͒̽͘ȉ̵̫ļ̴̡͇̺͈̞͐͂̅͑ͅl̶̫̈́̃͊̏ę̶̛͖̪̺̤̌̓d̸̛̤̱͂ ̴̞͇̫̘͊m̴̛͖̩̲͊̏̈́̓͑̆ÿ̵͔͎́́ ̴͎͎͎͕̳͖̭͊͒͋̒͑̿s̷̬̹̔̒̾̉̿́̕͜t̵̹̋ụ̸̩̂̆̓d̷̢̧̪̞̦̻̓́̋̐̇̂e̷̡̢̯̤̜̞͈͛̑̎̿͝ń̵̙ẗ̵̨̛͔̯́.̷̨̟̰̩̲͆̉̚ (They killed my student)

"Stop! Stop!" Flash shouts over the voices, "We can't understand what you're saying! Who is 'They'?!"

The voices stop and the clearest voice they've heard yet speaks.

T̵͔̊h̸̲͑e̴̘͋ ̴̻̋G̴͚̈́h̸̩͌o̵̮̍s̷͍̽t̶̬͛ ̸͍̒Ȉ̵͚n̸͙̑v̴͙̽e̸̞̓s̴̞͘t̷̠̓ĩ̵͎g̷͖͘a̷̭͒ť̵͓i̵̟̇o̶̞̕n̵̨͠ ̸͓̂W̵̱͂a̵̺͝ŕ̷̥d̶͇͒

#dc x dp #dp x dc #space ancient danny #ghost king danny #batman #the flash #wonder woman #green lantern #tucker foley #I translated the zalgo text #sorry #giw fucked around and found out

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whumptober · 1 year ago

Text

Whumptober 2023

Welcome to Whumptober 2023 — the sixth year running!

COMPLETIONISTS/PARTICIPANT BADGES CAN BE FOUND HERE

To those of you who participated last year, welcome back! To everyone joining this year, welcome!

Please make sure to read the Event Info carefully, as most of your questions will be answered there already. For everything else, you are welcome to come to our ask box or ask questions in our Discord server here.

This year’s AO3 Collection can be found here.

And this years playlist can be found here.

There are 139 prompt options in total this year - this is including the alternatives list! A special thanks goes out to those who took part in our trope vote back in July. From the 1526 responses to our list of 223 tropes, we looked through the popularity results, as well as your honourable mentions, and were able to produce this years prompts list. Stay tuned, as we will be posting some of the results at a later date!

We’re very excited to see the community come together once more and be a wild, chaotic bunch of creators and consumers of whump. Go wild with the prompts, and support your fellow creators - we wish you all the fun!

Best of luck and happy whumping,

Mods Vanne, Yenn, Kitty and Surro

(All 31 Themes + Prompts, Event Information and FAQs are posted below the cut!)

Whumptober 2023 Prompt List

No. 1: “But now this room is spinning while I’m trying just to fill in all the gaps.”

Safety Net | Swooning | “How many fingers am I holding up?”

No. 2: “I’ll call out your name, but you won’t call back.”

Thermometer | Delirium | “They don't care about you.”

No. 3: “Like crying out in empty rooms; with no-one there except the moon.”

Journal | Solitary Confinement | “Make it stop.”

No. 4: “I see the danger, It’s written there in your eyes.”

Cattle Prod | Shock | “You in there?”

No. 5: “You better pray I don't get up this time around.”

Debris | Pinned Down | “It's broken.”

No. 6: “Do or die, you’ll never make me; Because the world will never take my heart.”

Recording | Made to Watch | “It should have been me.”

No. 7: " “I paced around for hours on empty; I jumped at the slightest of sounds.”

Alleyway | Radio Silence | “Can you hear me?”

No. 8: “I’ve got soul, but I’m not a soldier.”

Overcrowded ER | Outnumbered | “It’s all for nothing.”

No. 9: “Learning everything ain't what it seems, that's the thing about these days.”

Polaroid | Mistaken Identity | “You're a liar.”

No. 10: “Can’t you see that you’re lost without me?”

Broken Phone | Stranded | “You said you'd never leave.”

No. 11: “All the lights going dark and my hope’s destroyed.”

Animal trap | Captivity | “No one will find you.”

No. 12: “I haven't slept in days but who's counting?”

Red | Insomnia | “I’m up, I’m up.”

No. 13: “It comes and goes like the strength in your bones.”

Cold Compress | Infection | “I don’t feel so good.”

No. 14: “Feed me poison, fill me ‘till I drown.”

Flare | Water Inhalation | “Just hold on.”

No. 15: “I don't need you to help me I can handle things myself.”

Makeshift Bandages | Suppressed Suffering | “I’m fine.”

No. 16: “Would you lie with me and just forget the world?”

Gurney | Flatline | “Don’t go where I can’t follow.”

No. 17: “You’re the lump in my throat and the knot in my chest.”

Collar | Touch Aversion | “Leave me alone.”

No. 18: “I tend to deflect when I’m feeling threatened.”

Blindfold | Tortured For Information | “Hit them harder.”

No. 19: “I’ll take one final step, all you have to do is make me.”

Floral Bouquet | Psychological | “I’m not as stupid as you think I am.”

No. 20: “People don’t change people, time does.”

Blanket | Found Family | “You will regret touching them.”

No. 21: “See the chains around my feet.”

Vows | Restraints | “Don't move.”

No. 22: “They never saw us coming, ‘til they hit the floor.”

Glass Shard | Vehicular Accident | “Watch out!”

No. 23: “It’s gonna get me by the end of the night.”

Shadows | Stalking | “Who’s there?”

No. 24: “I’ve got a head full of chemicals; mouth full of ridicule.”

Goodbye Note | Neglect | “I thought they were with you.”

No. 25: “You’re not delivering a perfect body to the grave.”

Storm | Buried Alive | “They’re not breathing!”

No. 26: “Sometimes I get so tired; I don’t even know myself.”

Seeing Double | Working To Exhaustion | “You look awful.”

No. 27: “You drew stars around my scars; But now I’m bleeding.”

Matches | Scars | “Let me see”

No. 28: “We might not make it to the morning; so go on and tell me now.”

Bloody Knife | Sacrifice | “You'll have to go through me.”

No. 29: “I only sink deeper the deeper I think.”

Scented Candle | Troubled Past Resurfacing | “What happened to me?”

No. 30: “It’s okay, just to say, ‘I’m not okay’.”

Borrowed Clothing | Bridal Carry | “Not much longer...”

No. 31: “I thought that I was getting better.”

Emptiness | Setbacks | “Take it easy.”

Alternatives List:

Betrayal

Aftermath of Failure

Brass Knuckles

Decoy

Body Modification

Playing Cards

Examination

Hunting

Drugging

Shaking

Panic

Broken

Miscommunication

Lab Rat

Reluctant Whumper

Event Info & Rules

~ Please read our extensive event info posts before sending us an ask ~

WHUMPTOBER is a month-long, prompt-based creation challenge (think: Inktober, but whumpier). There are 31 official themes this year - one for each day of the month - which can be used, skipped, or combined in any way you’d like. The 'theme' of each day is the line of lyrics.

The prompts are merely to serve as inspiration without being taken literally (e.g. you don’t have to include the exact wording of prompts into your work). Feel free to run rampant on interpretation. For example, if the prompt is "flame", you could create something with reference to a candle/campfire, your character could have suffered a burn, or the flame could be related to the 'spark' of a relationship. It's truly up to you!

In total, there are 4 prompts for each day: there's lyrics, an object, a trope and a line of dialogue to choose from. We want to give everyone as much creative freedom as possible, as well as increase event accessibility for folks with triggers and squicks.

Creators can PRODUCE work in any media they choose, including but not limited to: writing, visual artwork, photo/video/audio edits, paper crafts and elaborate recommendation lists (not just a list of links). Creators can PARTICIPATE as much or as little as they want (i.e. you don’t have to do ALL the prompts if you don’t want to) and prompts can be used in any order. They are also free to use even after the event ends.

When uploading Whumptober content to your blog, be sure to tag the with:

#whumptober2023 …..(the event tag)

#no.1, #no.2, #no.3, …..(day number)

#lyric, #bruises, #stabbing, …..(the theme or specific prompt you chose)

#fandom or #OC, … (ironman, originalcontent, oc …)

#medium …..(gifs, fic, podcast, art, etc.)

#teeth, #gore tw, #etc …..(trigger warnings & any additional tags. Add "tw" AFTER the trigger/content warning. )

#nsfwhump …..(only for nsfw content)

#your own tags go here

PLEASE BE DILIGENT WITH YOUR TAGGING. Only properly tagged posts are considered for archiving on the official @whumptober-archive blog. They must be tagged in the order above. An elaborate post about our tagging system can be found [here]

Unfortunately, due to the sheer number of participants in recent years, we cannot guarantee your work will be archived. A random selection of properly tagged posts from all genres will be reblogged each day.

Whumpers who produce content for 31 total theme days are considered event completionists and will be tagged in a masterpost at the end of the month. A form will be published at the beginning of November asking you to tell us if you completed the event. You do not need to post anything you have created, we rely on trust and we will not check this.

Questions not addressed in one of our many event info posts can be directed to this blog. We will not answer any questions that have been answered in the FAQs or rules already.

Frequently Asked Questions

Q. How does this year’s prompt list work? What do I have to choose?

You can create something based on:

The overall theme/lyric of the day

Prompt 1, 2 or 3

One or several of the alternative prompts

A combination of the above

Q. Is [specific anything] allowed?

When in doubt: JUST DO IT!

Q. Do I have to do all 31 days?

Participate as much or little as you like! Just be sure to tag your posts properly (ex. #no.7, #radio silence). If you create works for 31 total theme days you will become a completionist. But apart from that, there are no repercussions if you don’t fill prompts for each day.

Q. Can I post early/late?

Yes, you can post whenever you want. We will only reblog posts during October, but you can use our prompts all year round. The day you post will only affect your probability of being reblogged.

Q. Will you reblog my post?

Due to the sheer number of content posted during Whumptober we can’t promise to reblog every single post. We will make a random selection trying to capture a wide variety of content. The following will increase your chances at being reblogged:

tag your post properly

post within 2-3 days of the theme you want to fill: if you fill the prompt for Day 1 your chances of being reblogged during October 1st to 3rd are highest and will go towards zero afterwards.

Q. What if I don’t understand a prompt/theme?

Send us an ask! We’re happy to help with wild, unhelpful clarifications or brainstorming. That being said, the themes are entirely up for interpretation. Don’t take them too literally. For example: You can be choking on a cherry, someone else can choke you or you could be choked up on emotions, etc.

Q. What kind of content can I make? Can it be NSFW?

This is a MIXED MEDIA event! You can write fic, post meta, doodle or paint, create a gifset or photo edit, link a song, or get crafty with video - anything goes. As for NSFW, make what you like, we just hope that you’ll tag your work accordingly so that others participating in the event can stay safe.

Q. Can I combine Whumptober with other creation challenges?

Absolutely, as long as the other challenges allow it too.

Q. Can I upload/repost my Whumptober content to other social media platforms?

Of course! You can post your own content wherever you like (or you can opt to not publish it at all). Additionally we’ve created an AO3 Collection to archive any fics posted there. It can be accessed here. The tumblr blog @whumptober-archive is the official archive, so please respect the boundaries of any closeted whumpers in your social circle.

Q. Can I use prompts to write a new chapter for an existing fic?

Yes.

Q. An existing fic I am currently writing contains many of the Whumptober prompts, can I use it?

If you are actively writing this fic at the moment with the Whumptober prompts in mind, yes. If you’ve previously posted something that checks the boxes, we ask that you not include it retroactively for this current year. You can, however, add new chapters relating to one or more of the prompts.

Q. What kind of characters can I write for?

Fandom characters, OC characters, human, furry, alien, cyborg, RPF, whoever you like. You can use the generic “whumpee” character or have specific ones.

Q. Does it have to take place in a specific fandom?

No, you can create works for your own worlds or for fandoms or for both. You can also create more generic or pan-fandom works. You can do cross-overs or use OCs, whatever you want.

Q. Can I use a prompt multiple times?

Yes, but it only counts once towards being a completionist.

Q. If I’m not comfortable with one day’s prompts can I use a prompt of a different day as a substitute and still be a completionist?

No, you can’t exchange prompts for different days. However, if all four prompts of a specific day make you uncomfortable, we have created an alternate prompts list that you can draw from. You can exchange any prompt with these, but please make sure not to use them twice.

Q. Where can I post my work?

Post where and how you want. You don’t have to (cross)post it to Tumblr or at all. Just keep in mind if it’s not on Tumblr we will not be able to add it to the blog archive.

Q. Can I start posting early?

You can, but this is an October event and wouldn’t it be more fun with everyone doing it at the same time? That being said, you can post early, but we won’t be reblogging any work predating October 1st.

Q. Do I have to finish a fic I started/can I post WIP’s?

Yes you can post WIPs. And you’re not obligated to finish it in October for it to count towards being a completionist.

Q. Is co-writing allowed?

Yes, absolutely, and it would count towards being a completionist for both/all of you.

Q. Do I have to create 31 standalone pieces to be considered a completionist or can I write one continuous story?

One continuous story is fine. The challenge is to write something for 31 prompts. If that’s spread over 31 fics or just one, you are still considered a completionist. (The same goes for every other media you choose.)

Q. Is there a min/max limit on word count?

There is no limit.

Q. Can I combine prompts? Is there a limit on how many?

No limit and combine as many as you’d like.

Q. Is a hc/angst/emotional whump focus ok?

Of course! We are not going to establish a threshold for whumpiness. If you think it’s whumpy enough, then it’s whumpy enough. It can be physical, psychological, emotional, or any combination of the three.

Q. What’s considered nsfw?

See this post

Q. What is whump?

Typically the genre includes situations where a fictional character is hurt, be it emotionally, psychologically, or physically. Fanlore provides information here.

Q. My interpretation of the prompt isn’t whumpy at all, does that count?

If you don’t think your interpretation is whumpy, then it doesn’t count for Whumptober. Remember that whump comes in many forms, though, and that we don’t have a whump-checker or a threshold for how much whump needs to be included. If you think your interpretation contains enough whump to count, then it does.

Q. Can I start working on the prompts before October?

Absolutely! That’s why we post the prompts a month in advance. We recognise how difficult it can be creating for 31 days in “real time” so feel free to start creating early!

Q. How do I tag triggers?

tw at the end of the word, ex. #gore tw

Q. Do I have to use your tags?

Yes, if you want your work archived on the blog. If not, feel free to use whatever tags you want.

Q. Does combining prompts count towards completion?

Yes

Q. Can we @ you?

Yes but we mostly rely on the #whumptober2023 tag.

Q. Is there anything we are absolutely not allowed to write?

There are no rules, but please make sure to properly tag your trigger warnings. And keep in mind Tumblr’s policies if you are posting it here (or the policies for whatever site you use).

Q. Where can I go for brainstorming help?

Here on Discord or come into our ask box.

Q. My characters are minors, is that ok?

Yes, but as with everything else, use clear and descriptive tags.

Q. Can I cross post on other blogs?

Yes, multiple platforms and blogs are perfectly acceptable. You can also post different works to different accounts under different names, without posting them everywhere at once.

Note: This is a creation challenge, please don’t repost your old work under our tags (unless it’s been changed or edited for the event).

Thanks for reading, and happy whumping!

#whumptober2023 #whumptober 2023 prompts list #whumptober #prompts list #long post

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juletheghoul · 2 months ago

Text

educational

a/n: I still have so many asks for this man, and I have not forgotten them! Thank you to everyone who voted, to everyone who takes the time to comment and reblog on my posts. You have no idea how you all have reinvigorated my love for writing, a million hugs and cuddles for all of you. I always welcome any and all comments and questions or deep dives! This isn't beta'd, barely proofread. Hope you enjoy 💕xo

Warnings; 18+ no minors, vague but big-legal age gap, piv sex, dirty talk, let me know if I missed any!

Pairing: Marcus Acaciusx F!Reader

word count: 2.3k

reblogs are appreciated

Masterlist series masterlist

The sun was oppressive. It beat down with a vengeance and the fan in your hand did nothing to alleviate the waves of heat permeating the market. You had half a mind to head right back to the villa, to ask Marcus to bring you on another day when you could focus on anything other than the drops of sweat sliding down your spine, making your new robes stick to your skin. Or the way the stiff leather sandals on your feet rubbed your ankles raw.

Running back to the villa didn’t seem right however, it tasted too much of defeat, of a refusal to accept your new place in this world and the thought of your General, your husband being disappointed in your inability to shop for yourself put eels into your belly. Gritting your teeth, you continued your hunt for the things you needed.

“What about this Domina?” Your new attendant, a girl a few years younger than you had been when you’d first joined his house pointed at a blessedly covered stall, golden trinkets glittering where the sun poked through gaps in the covering catching your eye.

“Let us look.” You smiled, making your way over. There you found a lovely perfumed oil for your skin, at a fairly reasonable price. You also found some of the incense Marcus liked, and a new brush for his hair. You bought them, even though he had sent you with the intent to buy things for yourself. With your purchases made and in the hands of your guards you decided to finally return home, when another stall caught your eye. Gauzy sheer linens covered most of it but when the warm breeze blew them aside, glittering jewels flashed.

The woman running the stall smiled when you entered, she had streaks of grey in her hair, lovely oiled skin and eyes as dark as night.

Opals with fire caught inside them hung on golden racks, rubies the size of walnuts, emeralds as green as fresh laurel leaves glittered, all of them entrancing you enough to pull your hands out to touch them.

“With your skin, those would look lovely.” She walked over, pulling dark blue sapphire earrings from their place on her wall and holding them to your ears. “Beautiful.”

“They are gorgeous, I must admit.” Marcus had told you to buy whatever you wanted, had given you enough coin to splurge but you hesitated. Your eyes fell to a small book on a shelf, a picture of a man and a woman on the cover.

“That is… very educational. Especially for a married woman.” She pulled the book off the shelf, placing it into your hands for you to peruse. The contents made you gasp. It was a guide book, a guide for the art of love. The art of copulation. There were diagrams, positions to try, all manner of things you’d never even thought of.

Heat rushed to your face, the thought of showing Marcus, of trying them with him made the heat grow and spread to the place between your thighs.

“You must have it, I have no doubt your husband will enjoy it, you as well.” She winked and you laughed a nervous little laugh, nodding conspiratorially.

“You should adorn yourself for him, something glittering, something precious.” She gestured to the jewels once more and you bit your lip, wondering what to choose until you saw what looked to be a belt of different coloured gems.

“I like this–is it for my waist?” You slid your fingers across it.

“That would be perfect, not just your waist my lady.” She undid the clasps and arranged it, draping it onto your body. “Usually the ladies wear them over a simple robe to elevate it, but I think it would look just as beautiful against the skin, if you take my meaning.” You could see it, the top part of it like a necklace, with a long line of gems between your breasts leading down to connect with another line of it like a belt.

With an ache for him, and a considerably lighter purse, you left with your purchases and made your way home once more.

He was occupied, held up in his study with representatives from the Emperor, a senator and a whole host of others taking up his time with important matters. You left him to it, and busied yourself with your own preparations.

The tub was steaming and fragrant when you submerged yourself. Dried flowers and sweet smelling oils swirling with every movement, all manner of different elements coming together to soften your skin and make you shine for him. Thoughts of what he would think of your book fill your mind as you cleanse yourself of the day, musings about what he might choose pull at the corners of your lips as you run the clean washcloth across the expanse of your chest and thighs.

You oil your skin once out of the tub, arrange your hair and adorn yourself with jewels. Golden bracelets and anklets he’d gifted you on your wedding night, an armband shaped like a snake, earrings that dangle and trap the light when you move, the special body chain from the stand. You feel like a goddess, like a priestess readying yourself for worship.

By the time he comes to bed the need, the arousal is fierce enough to make your hands shake.

“Apologies my love, I was hoping to have been done sooner but—“ he catches sight of you then, sprawled out on the bed, an airy robe leaving nothing to the imagination, the small book in your hands. His eyes devour you, robbing him of his words, making your heart race.

“I have something for you, something for us.” You rise, exaggerating the swing in your hips with every step you take towards him. Your adornments jingle, a pleasant sound rings with every stride.

“Do you now?” He licks his lips, and presses his palm to his growing bulge at the sight of you. “I have something for you too, growing stiff and aching.” His hand reaches for you as you get closer, pulling you into his embrace.

“I do not doubt that.” You laugh, pressing your palms to his chest to keep him from pushing you onto your bed.

“I would very much like to give it to you, nice and deep.” His eyes are so lust blown that the warm brown is now a cold black. A moan escapes at his words, at the feel of his kiss on your throat.

“First, I would like you to look through the book I bought today.” He frowns, confused at the apparent shift. “I believe it could be very educational for us.”

If you weren’t so aroused, so excited to experiment you might have laughed at his expression. Naked shock was all you could see on his face. Never, in all your years within the villa, within his presence had you ever rendered him speechless before. The effect is titillating.

Wordlessly he peruses the pages, cheeks flushing, attention rapt at the diagrams and instructions shown within.

“Gods above.” Your smile deepens at the low whisper of his voice, nerves fraying with anticipation.

“I am particularly curious about this one.” With trembling hands, you flip the pages to a certain diagram, where the woman is sitting on the man's lap but facing away, her legs closed tightly between his legs underneath her. The thought of Marcus having you that way floods your body with heat. His mouth at your ear, his hands free to slip between your legs or hold onto the weight of your breasts.

Silently he studies the book, eyes intent. His quiet intensity fills the air between you, it makes you wring your hands with nervous anticipation, almost makes you wonder if you’ve gone too far. Your nerves fray the longer he stares, the old fear of disappointing or upsetting him creeps up your spine, until he smiles and licks his lip.

“You, my love, continue to surprise me.” He closes the book and sets it aside.

“Do I?” You take his hand in yours, and press it to your lips, desperate for his approval and for his love.

“Oh yes. Just when I think I cannot be any more fortunate, you spoil me and show me another facet of your love.” He pulls you forward, guiding you to stand between his spread legs at the edge of your bed, pulling the robe off to expose your nakedness.

“Look at you.” His palms slide from the sides of your thighs past your hips where they touch the jewels that adorn your waist. Up, up, up until his thumbs flick at your nipples.

“You are yourself, my most precious jewel. So beautiful–” He presses his face to your breast, his lips gliding across your skin between words, “-kind, adventurous and brave, sweet as summer fruit,” he skims his nose over the top of your breast before licking at the stiff peak. With a sigh you hold him close, fingernails scratching at his neck, slipping through the fine grey waves, cradling his head close.

Your heart races as he pours his love onto you, any and all fears are quieted to nothing under the silky slip of his palms against your back. His mouth forms a tight seal around your nipple, enough that it makes you gasp. His smile is predatory, confident and it makes you laugh; half nervous, half exhilarated.

Your breasts shine with the oil, and his spit when he lets go. You take the opportunity to pull his robes up and off. Your mouth waters at the sight of his manhood, hard and leaking for you.

“Turn around.” His voice sends a shiver down your spine, deep and commanding, irrefutable. His lips press to your shoulder, moving down to your lower back, you squeal in shock and delight to feel his teeth on the meat of your ass.

“I could devour you whole, do you know that?” You can hear the smile in his voice.

The arousal is enough to choke you, enough to ease the glide of himself against your sex. Butterflies swarm as he pulls you back, guiding his own weeping tip to the tight fist of your cunt until you sink, slowly onto him. You gasp at just how deep, just how full you feel like this.

“Gods above, woman.” His grip on your hips is tight enough to bruise, his voice strangled in your ear.

It is so much better than you had imagined.

His thighs bracket yours as you adjust to the fullness, slick dribbles out of you and drenches his lap when his hands do exactly as you hoped they might. With deft fingers he pinches and pulls at your sensitive nipples, teasing the peaks mercilessly as you begin a tentative bounce on his lap.

“Is this how you wanted it?” His breath tickles your neck, painting your skin in gooseflesh.

“Yes, yes Marcus, just like this-“ your head falls back onto his shoulder, the arousal so fierce it burns through you, sets your heart beating like the wings of a hummingbird, trapped in the cage of your ribs.

“Take it, take your pleasure from me my love, ride this cock—“ he bucks up, pulling a pained moan from somewhere inside you.

“That’s it, you can do it, milk my fucking cock.” His arm tightens around your middle and you can feel the jewels pinching at your skin, the edge of pain only heightens the pleasure coursing through your veins, ripping a swathe through your body in the shape of him, always him.

Thick fingers force their way between the tight press of your thighs, pinching at your swollen clit and it’s almost too much. Sweat beads in your hairline, slips between your bodies as you roll your hips harder, clenching around him with every tight bounce.

There are no more words, only the harsh pant of his breath in your ear, the slick, vulgar sound of your wet arousal; the whimpering heralding your climax.

His fingers leave your clit and you whine, the demand for them to return on the tip of your tongue but he quells it, pressing those same fingers into your mouth. He takes the saliva from your mouth, and returns his fingers to their task. The slip is just right and with a silent scream you freeze, squeezing him tight enough for him to hiss, tight enough to do just as he wanted and milk him for all he’s worth.

His grip around your middle softens, the jewels have left indents in his skin as well as yours, you pull his arm up to press your lips to it.

Once the blood has settled and you’ve caught your breath, you pull away from him, turning to settle in his lap again only this time facing him.

His expression is pure bliss, flushed with exertion and smiling with the ghost of his climax still painting his features.

“I must send you to the market more often, spoil you as you spoil me.” You laugh, wrapping your arms around his neck just as his wrap tightly around your waist.

“So you are pleased with my purchase then?” Your lips press to his mouth, his cheek, the little hairless spot on his chin, your favourite constellation to map out.

“I am more than pleased with it, but I must study it in depth. So many things to try, so many lessons for us to learn from this book, hmm?” He skims his nose across the column of your throat, smiling into your skin as your heart races for him even with your pleasure still coursing through you.

“…And you know that I am a quick learner, my love.”

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#pedro pascal #pedro pascal fanfiction #marcus acacius #general acacius #general marcus acacius #gladiator ll #gladiator 2 #gladiator ii #marcus acacius x reader #marcus acacius x you #marcus acacius fanfiction #marcus acacius x female reader #marcus acacius smut

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little-diable · 8 months ago

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Forever Mine – Harvey Specter (smut)

Y'all voted on reading my Harvey stuff, so here we go! I am so in love with this man, it's insane. Please like and reblog if you enjoyed reading this, your comments keep us writers motivated! Enjoy my loves. xxx

Summary: Harvey and the reader are best friends, but on the night when she asks him to pick her up from yet another horrible date, neither of them manages to hide their feelings any longer.

Warnings: 18+, smut, piv, jealousy, possessiveness, lots of feelings, friends to lovers

Pairing: Harvey Specter x fem!reader (2.4k words)

“Harvey?” Her voice rang in his ear, drawing his tired eyes towards the clock on his nightstand. It was far past midnight, and even though it wasn’t unusual for Harvey to be awake late into the night, it had been one of those nights where he had passed out the second he had found shelter in his bed, hours ago.

“(Y/n)? What’s going on?” It took her a moment to reply, to let go of a sigh before finding her voice to answer her best friend’s question.

“Could you pick me up from somewhere?” Harvey had already set into motion to put on his clothes with the phone balanced between his ear and shoulder. Heavy breaths left her, filled with a sadness that made his heart clench in his chest.

“What happened, baby?” The nickname left him all too easily, even though it was something he hadn’t called his best friend in years. The sharp intake of air he heard urged him on to move even quicker to find his way out of his apartment.

“Do you remember the bar we went to last month with Mike?” Harvey gripped his car keys tighter, clenching them in his fist. A hum left him as he stepped out of the elevator, letting his shoes meet the cold ground while jogging towards his car.

“I’m waiting there.” And without another word, (y/n) had ended the call.

……

She shifted her weight from one foot to the other, with her coat tightly wrapped around her frame, and her hands buried in the pockets of said coat. It had been a stupid idea, a fucking stupid idea, she shouldn’t have listened to her friends and how they had urged her to go on that date to finally get over her best friend – Harvey fucking Specter.

It had been an awful date, nothing but a waste of her time, but deep down she had hoped it’d finally manage to take her mind off her best friend, the man (y/n) longed for with every rising of the sun. The man who’d never be hers. The man who looked at her with a love only family members shared, and nothing more.

A cry wanted to break out of (y/n) at the familiar pain in her chest, squeezing her heart with its all too familiar grasp. Shaky breaths left her as she saw his car approach, needing to prepare herself for an uncomfortable conversation where Harvey would scold her for meeting up with a man like this, while being all too oblivious about her reasons for that date.

“Thank you for picking me up.” She pressed a kiss to his cheek before properly sinking into the comfortable leather seat. Harvey’s hand found its rest on her knee, and with his thumb running over the exposed parts of her skin, due to her dress, he began driving.

“Do you want to tell me what happened?” (Y/n) could tell that he was driving her back to his place, taking the all too familiar route she could probably walk blindfolded. Her heart was racing in her chest as it whispered to her, begging (y/n) to finally tell Harvey about the emotional chaos growing deep inside of her, while her mind forced her to stay quiet, to not risk a friendship she couldn’t live without.

“Just a horrible date, nothing special.” The hand resting on her knee stopped moving, frozen to the spot as his eyes flickered to meet hers. For a moment, an uncomfortable silence began to fill the car, it clung to her like a second layer of skin, crawling up its limbs like a parasite. Dates had always been a struggling topic between the two, uncomfortable conversations they both tried to avoid.

“Do I know the guy?” His voice was husky, growing lower with every further word he spoke. His fingers no longer stroked her skin, they had a tight grasp on her knee as if he was making sure she wouldn’t leave his side, not daring to let go as if he was scared to be alone.

“No, the girls introduced me to him.” Nothing but a hum left Harvey as a reply, letting the sound buzz through (y/n). Only as they arrived at his apartment complex to park the car did they find their voices again, sharing a small “Thank you” while Harvey helped her out of the car and led her to the elevator, with his hand placed on her lower back and his jacket wrapped around her frame.

“Why do you always go on dates with these men? By now we both know your friends don’t have the best taste.” The question hung in the air, it forced a shudder down her spine while her heart slowly began to win the upper hand to silence her mind. Harvey was intently staring down at her, while keeping close to (y/n) with his hand moving from her lower back to her waist.

“Don’t ask me this, please, Harvey.” Sadness dripped from her voice, followed by something he couldn’t pinpoint. But something inside of Harvey began to shift, it was whispering to him as if he could tell that whatever he’d force out of her, would change the outcome of this very night, a turning point neither could run from.

“You know I’m not one to back down, sweetheart.” Her tongue kissed her teeth while (y/n) pondered over her choices. She was grateful for the few seconds of silence they were offered as they stepped out of the elevator and entered the apartment she knew like the back of her hand.

“Talk to me, (y/n), what’s going on?” Harvey was towering over her, even as she kicked off her heels and shrugged out of his jacket to expose the dress he loved seeing on her. His hands held onto her to guide her towards the couch, and even as they sat down next to one another, his hands held contact with her body.

“Harvey, please, don’t make me do this.” She could tell that whatever he was waiting for her to say was different to what she was about to confess. Harvey was too oblivious, he wouldn’t ever pick up on the love she fostered for him, a secret that would turn their friendship into something (y/n) would curse herself for. Uneasy waters that would swallow them both without giving them a chance to swim.

“It can’t be that bad, sweetheart. Is there something I don’t know? Did somebody hurt you?” Her glassy eyes got lost in his. She allowed herself to study her handsome best friend for a moment before slowly rising to her feet, desperately searching the now growing distance between the. If she was about to lay this on him, she needed some space, enough room to prepare herself to walk out of his door any moment now.

Harvey’s jaw muscles ticked, he was growing impatient, angry even – about something he had awfully mixed up. He would burn down the earth for (y/n), would hurt anybody who dared to come too close to her. And yet he still didn't know that he was causing her this pain, a biting sensation that made bile rise in her throat.

“You wouldn’t get it, Harvey. Let it go.” Her eyes found the city below their feet, allowing her to study the numerous lights filling the darkness, the high buildings growing nearby and far away. It was a beautiful sight, a sight that tried to calm her aching heart, though without any luck. She heard Harvey move, could watch in the reflection of his big windows how he rose to his feet and walked up to her.

“Talk to me, baby.” His muscular front was pressed against back, and for a moment (y/n) allowed herself to imagine being held by him like a lover would cling to their significant other. A thought that guided her next movements as she slowly turned in his grasp to stare up at her handsome best friend.

With her breath hitched in her chest, (y/n) shifted her weight to press her lips against his. It was a quick kiss, a simple kiss, and yet it carried more meaning than any other kiss (y/n) had ever given. She felt him freeze at the touch, seemingly not expecting his best friend to cross that invisible line.

“This is why I don’t want to talk about it with you, Harvey.” A tear dripped from her eye as the words rolled off her tongue. Harvey stared down at her with something so intense, (y/n) couldn’t help but peel herself out of his grasp, set on leaving his apartment and the man she had been in love with for years behind.

“How dare you!” His angry words made her halt in her steps. Slowly, (y/n) turned back towards Harvey who wore an expression filled with hurt and anger. (Y/n) could only imagine how his opponents in court must feel whenever he directed his anger at them, forcing them to back down from any fight they couldn’t win – not against Harvey Specter.

“How dare you act as if I have no say in this. Have you ever wondered for just a second if I feel the same? If I was forced to carry the same heartbreak for years whenever you called me to pick you up from shitty dates with men who weren’t me?” Even though her heart began to race once again, begging (y/n) to realise what he had just confessed, her anger managed to guide her, letting her voice grow louder just like Harvey’s.

“Then why didn’t you say something?” He stalked towards her, with eyes so fiery, (y/n) feared he’d burn her on the spot. Almost no space was left between them, with his chest pressed against hers to push her against the door, and his hand pressed to the spot next to her head.

“Because I’d rather suffer from this heartbreak for years than risk losing you.” She got no time to reply as his lips came down on hers in a stormy kiss. (Y/n) instantly allowed her lips to move with his, letting their tongues tangle while her arms found their way around his neck. Moans rumbled through the both of them, sounds that rang in their ears like a song solemnly composed for this night only. Harvey’s hands found their way down her frame to pick her up without breaking the kiss, guiding them towards the kitchen where he placed her down on his kitchen island.

“Promise I’ll take my time with you later, but fuck I need to be inside of you now.” Her excited chuckles left Harvey smirking as he shuffled her dress up to her waist, groaning at the sight of her drenched panties. She was mesmerised by the sight of Harvey lingering between her thighs, something (y/n) had only dared to dream of.

“I bet your date thought he could have you like this tonight, spread out and ready to be fucked. But let me promise you something, sweetheart,” without breaking eye contact, Harvey ripped her panties apart to expose her aching heat to the colder temperatures now stroking her limbs. “No other man but me will ever get to see you like this again, from now on, you’re mine, you belong to me, and I will never share you.”

“I only want to be yours, Harvey, like you will always be mine.” (Y/n) pulled him down for a kiss while he freed his cock from his dark trousers and reached for a condom. The seconds kept blurring by until Harvey finally pushed into her, letting his cock stretch her walls as his thumb circled her pulsing bundle.

Both moaned at the new sensation, having to adjust to something they had longed for all these years. With her back arched off the kitchen island, she let Harvey fuck her, letting their bodies meet with every thrust as if they were magnets finding together. A storm was rocking through them both, binding them together to forge another bond so strong, neither of them would ever be able to shake it off again.

Harvey’s name rolled off her tongue like a prayer, filling the apartment that would forever keep their deepest secrets. Both clung to the other as if they were scared that this was nothing but a dream, about to evaporate into a bitter nothingness as they’d be ripped from their sleep.

Wandering hands kept searching the other’s closeness, clinging to the reminder that this was real, that this was not a trick of their brains but something they could forever cling to.

“I love you, fuck, I love you so goddamn much, (y/n).” Harvey’s moaned words left her heart somersaulting, forcing her upper body off the cold top of the kitchen island to meet his lips for a kiss. They were a tangled mess, and yet a mess so sweet, both were high on all the different sensations.

“I love you too, Harvey.” Her walls fluttered around his cock as he met her swollen spot, pushing her closer to the edge. (Y/n) trembled beneath him, wordlessly begging his thumb to move faster, to circle her bundle with more pressure to push her closer towards her orgasm.

“Cum for me, baby, show me how pretty you look when you cum on my cock.” Harvey’s gritty voice gave her the needed push to cum beneath him. Her moans rang in his ears, filling every part of his body with an unfamiliar kind of pride he hadn't ever felt with another woman. His eyes didn’t stray from her pleasure-drunken features while fucking her through her high, a high he chased with ferocious thrusts.

Harvey came moments later with curses rumbling through him. She clung to him while his cock twitched inside of her, filling the condom with his release. Neither spoke a word as they stayed connected in the most intimate way, clinging to each other while the hazy fog of lust slowly began to lift.

“Did this really just happen, Harvey?” Her whispered question left Harvey laughing. Slowly, he pulled out of her to toss away the condom before cupping (y/n)'s cheeks with his warm hands. His eyes studied her for a moment before pressing his forehead against hers to let go of a deep, relieved sigh.

“It did, and I’ll do whatever it takes to keep you with me forever, sweetheart.”

#Harvey Specter smut #Harvey Specter x reader #Harvey Specter imagine #suits #suits imagine

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celestiamour · 23 days ago

Note

Can you please write an imagine for kang dae-ho where he’s having the panic attack and the reader tires to calm him down/ comfort him?

ft. kang dae-ho x f! reader — squid game

╰₊✧ calming him down during his panic attack┊0.6k words

setting: season 2, episode 7 contains: descriptions of panic attacks, mentions of toxic masculinity, could be romantic or platonic but intended to be romantic

➤ author's note: this baby :(

he looked a complete wreck with the blood of another smeared on his right cheek, shaky hands trying to gather up all the magazines from the pockets of the guards and stuttering up a storm every time someone tried to talk to him, not saying anything other than “magazines in pockets, help me gather the magazines in their pockets. you and a few others rushed to help him gather them up in a jacket used as a makeshift bag before he rushed out the double doors with nothing more than a few nods as a form of thanks.

then dae-ho suddenly rushed back, running into one of the empty far corners and huddling up as if to protect himself from the danger he just escaped from. people began to murmur asking what was up with him like the red on his skin wasn’t as clear as day, the very same able-bodied men who voted to stay in these death games for their own selfish needs yet were too cowardly to volunteer for the benefit of all the remaining players. it pissed you off to no extent how most of these men could sit on their asses away from the battle and talk like he was weak. you wished you had joined him and the rest in the rebellion, but they told you it was no place for a woman without military experience.

you approached him nervously like one would with an injured wild animal, watching as he rocked his body back and forth covering his hands. “... hey… are you alright?” you mentally punched yourself for the stupid question. trying not to make any sudden movements, you climbed onto the bed when he finally noticed you.

there were tears all along his waterline starting to drip down his face, eyes wide and completely glossed over. he started apologizing profusely even though you weren’t the person it was supposed to be directed to, lips trembling and voice strained to a higher pitch than normal. it’s a jarring contrast in comparison to his usual attitude and it broke your heart.

“do you… want a hug?” you really weren’t sure how to comfort him, hugs usually worked for children who cried over scraped knees, but you didn’t know what to do with a man suffering from a panic attack due to shellshock.

thankfully though, it was exactly what he needed. he basically threw himself on you, freely sobbing with his head rested in your lap and arms wrapped around your waist. he cried that he was a failure whose time in the military amounted to nothing, a mere boy his father would be ashamed of, and a coward who couldn’t help his friends when they needed him most. his words were barely understandable between choked-up sobs, but it was clear he was letting out thoughts that were buried under years of being unable to express himself emotionally

you were a little hesitant to stop his rambling, but eventually shushed him by gently placing a hand on his head and soothingly running your fingers through his hair, promising he wasn’t any of those things and very brave to have agreed to go in the first place. you spoke softly and held onto him, bringing his head to your chest so that he could listen to your steady heartbeat to help ground him and wipe away some of his tears while telling him that you were there for him without any intentions of leaving soon.

your words uplifted his heart, but truth be told, your mere presence was enough. he could feel the eyes of others nosily watching, but they didn’t matter at the moment and seemed to melt away into nothingness. all his focus was just on you, and soon, he became quiet, feeling calm and renewed with a sudden determination to finish his mission setting fire to his soul.

#📜. her works #kang dae ho #kang dae ho x reader #squid game #squid game x reader

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sitepathos · 2 months ago

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From Gold to Mold

Chapter 11: The Interview

Note: Didn’t really plan on making a chapter like this, but I thought we were overdue some filler before we got into some real drama. Enjoy!

You let out a loud agitated sigh as you power down your computer and slouch in your office chair.

Since you got back from Metropolis, you’ve been working on a free update to thank all your players for their support and voting to make Salvage Rights the Indie Game of the Year; working on an update that’ll satisfy the players and be easy to develop and implement was difficult enough, but all the drama with the Waynes made it even harder.

It’s been four fucking years since you left Gotham! Even when you moved back to Goodsprings, you couldn’t help but think about all they’d done to you, from Bruce acting like you’re an intruder in his “perfect” house to Damian being your personal demon. You’d managed to put hundreds of miles between yourself and them, but they still managed to have a hold on you. Sure, you knew you were in a home you owned fair and square, not Wayne Manor, but there were still instances where you caught yourself looking over your shoulder to make sure no one was behind you or peeking around corners to make sure a room was empty before you walked in.

Even with the Megamycete constantly reminding you, it took you the better part of a year to get it through your head that you no longer needed the survival tactics that had kept you alive in Wayne Manor as you’re the only one in your house.

It’s taken the last three years, but you were finally ready to move on with your life, look towards the future and leave Gotham, Bruce Wayne, and his merry band of bastards behind. You published your game, people loved it almost immediately, and you had been rewarded for your efforts with fame and fortune.

You finally free and could actually be happy for the first time in years.

Now, he and his children come and plague you, trying to drag you back to the place you hated from day one.

He made it clear that he never considered you his son (hell, what he said the night those three bastards kidnapped you proved that), always showering Dick, Jason, Tim, and Damian with a fatherly love you had slowly realized would never be meant for you and shoved you aside in favor of showcasing the children he was proud of. Eventually, you were forgotten by both Bruce Wayne and the larger world as no one in Gotham’s media class ever asked where you were, why weren’t you with them at this party, or when was he planning on throwing you your own introductory gala like his other kids.

As time went on, you took steps to separate yourself from him, never telling anyone who your father was and only accepting Gould as your proper last name (although if you ever found some guy to marry you, you’d definitely be open to changing your last name).

Then, that son of a bitch shows up and ruins everything, your face plastered all over the news, primarily in Gotham and Metropolis, and you can’t go anywhere without people staring, whispering, and bombarding you with several questions (many of them being if you could set them up with your “siblings”).

You were finally living the life you’d dreamed about and he had to go and ruin it! You’d known that Bruce Wayne is a miserable motherfucker who can’t stand to see anyone around him to be happy (you’d listened in on plenty of arguments between him and the others whenever one of them tried to strike out on their own to figure that out), but you never thought that he’d be so petty he’d try to drag you, the son he never wanted, back when he saw you happy for once in your life.

You look down at your hands and imagine what it’d feel like to have them wrapped around his neck, squeezing the life out of him and seeing him realize that despite his strength as Batman, he was powerless compared to you; the relief you would feel as you saw the life leave his eyes as he accepted that the son he never wanted was the instrument of his destruction.

You revel in the brief sensation of satisfaction that passes through you from your daydream.

(You may get your wish,) the Megamycete says, bringing you out for your fantasy.

“How do you figure?”

It doesn’t answer, but you feel sensations of anxiety and apprehension radiate from it.

“What’s wrong,” you say, getting a little afraid.

Over the last four years, you’d never known the Megamycete to be afraid of anything.

So, seems like things are about to go from bad to worse in your life.

(We reached out to the Bats. They know of both our existence and our bond with you.)

“What,” you exclaim, standing up from your chair. “You told them? Why?”

(We thought we could reason with them for you. They—)

“How could you do that? Now they know about you! They weren’t going to stop coming and my only ace in the hole is you! I’ve lost that advantage thanks to you! For a sentient mushroom that has the knowledge of thousands of people, that was a pretty stupid thing to do!”

You’re pissed. Really pissed.

You had a feeling that the night with Bruce at the Gala wasn’t the end of things and all of his children visiting you proved it. The Bats have made it clear they’ll do whatever they must to accomplish their goals and for whatever reason, they’ve decided you’re their goal.

Sure, you went overboard a little demonstating your strength when dealing with Jason and Damian, but that they had no idea your strength came from the Megamycete and that was only the surface what you were capable of. If they decided to come at you in force, they were in one hell of a surprise when you fabricated hardened mold armor right in front of them and do to them what you did to Joker. You know they’ve fought plenty of villains with powers, but the mold is stronger than all of them combined and you’d make them regret ever meeting you as you tear them apart and scatter their intestines across the ground.

But now, thanks to the Megamycete, they know that you’re not alone and who knows what else?

(We are sorry,) it says, its tone remorseful. (We thought we could persuade them to leave you alone. We were wrong.)

“Yeah, no shit! If they weren’t listening to me, what made you think they would listen to you? Hell, you know how Bruce feels about metas, knowing I’m one probably made things worse! He’s probably making some cage to hold me right now!”

You tap into the roots scattered around Gotham and focus on Wayne Manor, but are surprised to find you’re unable to connect.

(They have started removing our roots. We have accelerated the growth of the surrounding roots, but they are taking steps to prevent their regrowth.)

“So, we have no idea what they’re planning. Great, that’s just great. Terrific job, man. Really, just superb.”

(We thought we could help.)

You exhale a sigh and wave a hand through your hair, trying to come up with a plan on where to go next.

“How did it go down, exactly? What happened?”

The Megamycete uploads its meeting with them into your brain and it flashes before your eyes, from the Megamycete torturing some of them by turning into their dead ones to them learning about you killing your would-be murderers and Joker and Harley.

You thought you hated Bruce Wayne enough, but apparently you don’t hate that man enough.

How someone can be so delusional is astounding to say the least. Honestly, he deserves to be thrown in Arkham and studied, along with all the others.

They ignore you for most of your life and treat you like shit and now that you’re finally happy, they want to drag you back to Gotham.

And why?

Because they “love you?”

Bullshit.

They feel guilty and they just want to feel better. You know no one in that damn house is capable of feeling real love and once they feel better about themselves, they’ll go right back to ignoring you.

(They are truly delusional. They think their past behavior does not matter and you should be brought back to their fold.)

Yeah, you got that from Jason. The bastard wasn’t able to get away from Bruce and Gotham (because despite all his bluster, all he wants is that man’s approval) and because he couldn’t do it, he thinks you shouldn’t be able to.

Selfish, all of them.

“You fucked up. They were going to find out eventually, but thanks to you, we’re gonna have to deal with them sooner than we expected.”

(We know. We overestimated our abilities and brought trouble upon you. We apologize. Truly, we do.)

You understand where its heart was in the right place, but it still doesn’t change the fact that the Bats are probably going to be breaking down your door any day now.

Just then, there’s a knock at your door, making you freeze.

Shit, are they already here? Are they in regular clothes or are they in their capes and cowls? Are they really that desperate to bring you back to Gotham that they’d really raid your house in the middle of the day for anyone walking by to see?

You tap into the roots surrounding your house and see not Bruce Wayne or any of his kids darkening your door. Instead, you see a black haired woman dressed professionally standing on your porch.

“Who the hell is she?”

(We do not know. She is definitely not a resident of Gotham as we do not recognize her.)

That certainly doesn’t make you feel better. You know Bruce is resourceful as hell and isn’t afraid to use any dirty trick in the book to get what he wants.

(She does not appear to have ill intents. She is too delicate-looking to pose a threat to you, nor is her purse large enough to hold a weapon large enough to harm you.)

Looks can be deceiving. After all, Bruce is a member of the Justice League, where Martian Manhunter is and you can see Bruce using the alien to transform and trick you into lowering your guard. When that man gets obsessed over something, he doesn’t know when to leave well enough alone.

Still, you can speculate to the moon and back, but until you open the door and talk to the woman, you’ll never know for certain. Sure, it could be related to your current Bat problem, or it could be something else.

So, you walk through your house and up to your door.

“Who is it,” you call out.

“Lois Lane, Daily Planet,” she responds. “I’m here to ask Y/N Gould for an interview.”

Lois Lane? You’ve heard Bruce and the others say that name when talking about Metropolis and Superman and you’ve seen the name when reading a few news articles for school assignments, but you’ve never seen any pictures of her, so you had no idea the woman standing on your doorstep is the very woman famous for being one of the very few reputable journalists left in the world.

You unlock the door and open it just enough to stick your head out to see her face to face. You look into her eyes and see no ill intent or hidden motives.

“Mr. Gould, I presume,” she asks, a gentle smile on her face.

“You want an interview with me? What for?”

“Your relation with Bruce Wayne. As I’m sure you know, he’s the most famous man in Gotham, if he so much as sneezes in public, several news articles are written to publish it. Gotham’s media has always covered whenever he adopted another child, but out of nowhere, he appears at a video game awards ceremony and claims you’re his son and you call him a sperm donor. No one can forget when Damian Wayne appeared at a gala and was declared Bruce Wayne’s biological son. It made quite the stir when you pushed him and made it clear you had nothing but animosity towards him.”

Oh yes, you can remember the many days of fawning Damian got when he moved into the manor, leaving you bitter since all you got was a few minutes of people asking about your mother before forgetting about you in favor of all the others.

“What is it you want,” you say, trying to remain polite. “I lost years thanks to Gotham and Bruce Wayne and I’m not eager to lose any more dwelling in the past.”

“I want to hear your side of the story,” she says with a determination that surprises you. “You clearly suffered due to him and I want to help you tell your story to the world.”

You’re actually speechless at that. You know pretty much all of Gotham worships at the Alter of Wayne and his influence expands far beyond the city’s borders, leaving very few people willing to hear anything that would portray him in a negative light. It’s very safe to say Gotham is a cathedral dedicated to both Bruce Wayne and Batman.

To hear that someone with a reputation and influence like Lois Lane would want to listen to you and help you tell others your life’s story is nothing less of a shocker.

“I can’t say you’ll like what I have to say, Ms. Lane,” you say as you open the door wide and stand in the doorway. “I know Bruce Wayne is an institution of Gotham, but I can tell you that wasn’t my experience.”

“This isn’t about my opinion on Bruce Wayne or any of his children. This is about what you experienced during your stay in Wayne Manor.”

“And how much are you wanting to know?”

“Everything. Or, as much or as little you’re willing to tell me.”

Her words strike you to your core. It’s been years since you’ve had anyone really interested in what you have to say. Sure, Alfred was always willing to listen to you, but you learned early on that you had to hold back on how you really felt about Bruce Wayne and his children as any criticism you had about them was a failure on his part.

The poor man did the best he could, but those people are clearly beyond any form of help outside of being locked in padded cells.

“Come in, please,” you say, steeping aside so she could enter your home. Once she’s in, you close the door and lead her to the living room. “Can I get you anything? Coffee, water, soda?”

“Anything’s fine, thank you.”

She sits on the couch while you rush to the kitchen and prepare two glasses of ice water, a crystal pitcher full of more water, and a small bowl full of grapes and load it all onto a tray and carry it back to the living room. This is the first time you’ve ever had a guest and you want to make a good impression.

“So, where would you like to start,” you ask as you sit in your favorite chair, your glass of water in hand.

“I’d like to ask about your mother, if that’s alright,” she answers, pulling out a writing pad and pen from her purse. “I managed to find newspapers relating to you around the time you moved to Gotham, but they were very few and none of them had anything regarding your mother or your past.”

You stifle a chuckle at the thought of being one the front page of a few newspapers no doubt rotting in the Gotham Gazette’s archives. You were probably the center of news for all a week before Bruce adopted Tim and stole the spotlight, leading to the tradition of you being pushed further and further back whenever Bruce collected another troubled kid.

“My mom was Maria Gould, a famous writer known for romance novels set during the Age of Sail.”

“That Maria Gould,” she asks, looking up from her notepad in shock. “I didn’t know you were related to her?”

“You know her?”

“I was an avid reader of her books.” She gives a small chuckle. “I actually use to daydream of interviewing her when I first started at the Daily Planet.” He smile then shifts into a sympathetic frown. “I remember reading about her death in the paper. I knew it said she had a son, but I didn’t see the connection until now.”

“She died on my sixth birthday. It’s been sixteen years since that day and I can still remember it so clearly.”

That day haunts you to this day. You got to school so happy and excited for Momma to come pick you up after school, thinking about how much pizza you’d eat and what presents you’d get.

You had no idea that when you told her bye that day, it would be for the last time.

(Your grief is still so profound, even after all this time.)

That day ended in the loss of your Momma and your life went from bad to worse when Alfred picked you up and brought you to Gotham to live with that bastard.

“I can tell you loved you very much,” she responds, her expression sympathetic.

“Yeah,” you say, suppressing a tear. “Yeah, I did.”

“So, did you have any idea who your father was? Did she ever tell you or did you ever ask?”

“Yeah, I did ask when all my friends were celebrating Father’s Day and I realized I didn’t have a Daddy like my friends. She said that she didn’t know who he was. She didn’t say it, but when she said she was “young and dumb,” I later found out that meant she got drunk and had sex with a guy she didn’t know.” A ghost of a smile graces your face. “She said when I came along, I set her on the right path.”

“I say you did,” she responds, returning your smile. “Being a parent often makes people turn their lives around.” She jots something down in her pad before looking back at you. “So, when did you move to Gotham?”

“Immediately after the funeral. The sheriff drove me back home to pack up most of my stuff and when we got to the house, Alfred was waiting for me.”

“Wait, Bruce Wayne didn’t pick you up himself?”

“No, Alfred said he was too busy with work and couldn’t come.”

“His firstborn son loses his son and he couldn’t even make the time to get you,” she angrily mutters to herself as she writes. “And how did he react when he saw you?”

“It was almost like he was staring at a stranger in his home.”

You can still remember how you felt when you met Bruce Wayne for the first time; it was the first time you’d ever felt like someone didn’t like you and it really hurt.

“He barely said a word to me before telling Alfred he was going out.”

“Doing what,” she asks, clearly getting angrier and angrier by the second.

For a brief moment, you entertain the idea on ousting Bruce’s dirty little secret and telling the world that he’s Batman. He’d be drowning in so much attention and legal battles that he wouldn’t be able to bother you ever again.

But then, the rational part of your brain convinces you that by telling everyone Batman’s secret identity would invite a lot of trouble your way. After all, all of Bruce’s kids are vigilantes, so many would automatically assume you were one as well, leading you to being dragged into Bruce’s legal and publicity quagmire.

Also, there’s the very real possibility that all of Bruce’s enemies would come after you seeking revenge and while you were more than capable of dealing with whatever came your way, you’d really rather not deal with it altogether.

“I don’t know,” you say. “He said he had work to do, but this is Bruce Wayne we’re talking about. Chances are he was in some sleazy club with a girl on each side and one on her knees if you know what I mean.”

“I wouldn’t doubt it,” she agrees. “Now, a week after you moved to Wayne Manor, Bruce adopted Tim Drake. Did you two get along?”

You bark a bitter laugh. “He took one look at me and decided I wasn’t worth his attention. If you ask me, there’s always been something wrong with him. He’s always watching people, taking note of everything they do and obsessing over finding out his secrets. If you ask me, he’s not right and his parents knew it. That’s why they were always leaving him behind when they went to dig sites or parties.”

She’s definitely interested in that as she seemingly writes down everything you said, word for word.

She stifle a chuckle at the thought of Tim Drake being asked what the fuck’s wrong with him every time he goes anywhere.

“What about Dick Grayson? Everyone in Gotham says he’s everything a good big brother should be.”

Yes, you remember the celebration he got when the Gotham Gazette named him the World’s Best Big Brother for the tenth year in a row.

A celebration you weren’t invited to.

“He was a brother to me. When I first moved in, he always carved out time for Tim, but couldn’t give me the time of day. After being blown off a few dozen times in favor for of his other siblings, I eventually stopped asking him.”

“What about Jason Todd?”

“He gave me a black eye when we met.” She gasps at that. “Yeah, he’s a brute. He’s always going on about Jane Austen, but underneath that veneer of an intellectual, he’s Crime Alley trash. Honestly, Bruce should’ve just left him in that part of Gotham. With his poor anger management and proclivity for violence, he’d fit right in. Animals belong in the wild.”

“What about your half brother, Damian Wayne?”

“That little shit pulled a sword on me and nearly tried to take my head off.”

“He what?”

“Yeah, an actual sword. I was able to get out of the way, but he gave me a scar on my cheek. It took me a few years, but I was able to find a way to make it invisible, especially when I looked in the mirror. Every time I saw it, it reminded me of how little I mattered in that house.”

“What did Bruce Wayne do? Surely he knew about it?”

“He was in the room when it happened. All he did was carry him out while he was yelling insults about me and my Momma. And Dick said he had a difficult upbringing and I should forgive him.”

“Forgive him for almost killing you,” she exclaims, her eyes wide as saucers and a look of disgust on her face. “You can’t be serious!”

“I wish I was, Ms. Lane, but Dick’s made it clear that Damian’s his favorite and had he managed to kill me, I’m sure Dick would’ve just taken him out for ice cream and told him that he can’t go around killing people.” You let out a bitter laugh. “You know, he had some nerve calling my Momma a ‘whore’ when I know the secret about his mother.”

“You do,” she asks, leaning forward, her pen and pad ready, indicating you have her full and undivided attention. “Everyone’s asked Bruce about the identity of Damian’s mother and the details relating to the birth, but he’s told us nothing. Are you willing to shed some light on this?”

For a brief moment, you actually ask yourself if this is right. With all the things Damian’s done to you, is it really acceptable to tell the dirty little secret regarding his conception? After all, if you were in his shoes, you’d kill to ensure your secret never saw the light of day.

(But he would not hesitate to tell the world your secret if your situations were reversed,) the Megamycete chimes in. (And does he not deserve some comeuppance for his many transgressions against you?)

You have to admit, it has a point. And besides, this’ll give the Wayne Family a massive shitstorm they’ll have to deal with and your mind’s immediately made up.

“I know her name, but I don’t want her coming after me, so I’m afraid that part of the secret stays with me.” Lois nods, so you continue. “His mother raped him.”

She gasps and you know you’ve passed a point of no return now.

Then again, daring to defy the “great” Bruce Wayne was a point of no return, so this is just adding fuel to the fire.

“She drugged his drink and got him to agree to sleep with her, all for the sole purpose of getting pregnant because she believed him to be of a superior quality.” You lower your voice to mutter, “I can tell you she was greatly misled.”

After that, the interview breezed by, asking about how Steph and Cass treated you to the conditions you were kept in. You told her everything, about how Damian would go out of his way to make you miserable to how Bruce couldn’t be bothered to do anything for you and it was Alfred that kept you alive. In fact, it was only the poor butler that seemed to care about you and you were confident that had you died, Bruce would just be pissed about the inconvenience your death caused him, from having to find a place to bury you to making up a story to tell the media.

It was only when you told her the story involving Damian and your Momma’s pen did you realize that not only was she crying, but so were you.

You knew how that memory made you feel, but had forgotten how much it pained you until you told her every detail. Funny how the brain tries so hard to suppress the worst moments of your life.

“Why do you think they treated you like this,” she asks, trying to keep her voice even to disguise the fact she’s obviously upset. “From everything you’ve told me, it sounds like they really didn’t see you as a Wayne.”

“Because I was the consequence of Bruce’s stupidity. He got drunk and did something stupid, leading to me, and he didn’t like that he was forced to live with him and ruin his family’s image. And because I was normal.”

“Normal?”

“Yes, normal. I had a normal life with Momma while all of the have colorful backgrounds. And I’d like to think that I’m average looking and averagely intelligent with nothing special about me, compared to everyone in the Wayne Family, who always thing their the best looking and smartest people in the room. Plus, I wasn’t damaged goods until Bruce Wayne came into my life. I guess the tragic death of my Momma wasn’t enough for him to make him love me.”

Those words cause you to let out a choked sob as more and more memories of your time in Wayne Manor start surfacing, memories you’d prefer to keep buried.

“I think that’s enough reminiscing for one day,” you say, wiping your eyes and standing up.

“Yes, I think I have everything I need,” she says, doing the same thing.

“Is there anything I can get you before you go, Ms. Lane,” you ask as you lead her to the front door. “Maybe a drink or a snack for the road?”

One of Alfred’s many lessons was how to be a good host and he’d flip out if you didn’t offer her something.

“No, thank you, Mr. Gould, you’ve given me more than enough.” She hesitates for a moment before getting close to you, her arms at both your sides. You freeze up, thinking the worst is about to happen when you realize she’s hugging you. “I’m so sorry for your loss and what you had to go through growing up. No one should ever have to experience such neglect.”

Outside of Alfred, it’s been years since anyone’s hugged you. Last time you were hugged by anyone not the butler was when Momma first died; Goodsprings is the type of where everyone knows everyone and you’re pretty sure you had the entire town giving you hugs before and during the funeral.

“Thank you,” you whisper, returning the hug.

“I know it doesn’t undo the damage he’s done, but I promise this story will make everyone see who Bruce Wayne truly is.”

And with that, you two separate and you wave goodbye as she gets in her car and drives off.

(You made the right decision to tell her everything,) the Megamycete says as you close and lock your door. (We must say, we are surprised you chose not to tell her their roles as Gotham’s vigilantes. Surely the benefits of exposing them outweigh the projected consequences. Or at least balance out.)

“Believe me, I was plenty tempted, but having the enemies of Batman knocking down my door would be more trouble than it was worth. Sure, I could kill them all, but it would only be a matter of time until I was put in a situation where too many people would ask too many questions.”

“We see your point. Besides, her story will no doubt cause more than enough trouble for him and his band of misfits.”

A part of you makes you wish you were back in Gotham so you could see the backlash Bruce is about to be hit with.

Granted, it’s a small part, practically microscopic, but it’s still there.

“I understand, but—“ Bruce says before hearing a click, indicating the call has been ended.

“Another bad phone call, Master Bruce,” Alfred says as holds out a cup of tea.

“Yes,” he sighs, putting his phone in his pocket and taking the cup with one hand and rubbing his temples with the other. “The Humanitarian Ball. The event organizers said they didn’t want ‘cruel and heartless monsters’ bringing a bad name on their event.”

Ever since Lois Lane’s article titled The Forsaken Gould of the Wayne Family came out two days ago, he’s experienced set back after set back; in less than forty-eight hours, Wayne Enterprises’ stock has lost half its value, many large companies have dropped out of their business deals, and more than a few people have withdrawn their invitations for high-profile events.

But none of that compares to the massive gap between you and him getting even larger. He knew that he’d wronged you, but being able to read it in black and white just drives the point even further.

He just wishes that it could’ve stayed between you, him, and your siblings. His family may be celebrities in Gotham, but he prefers to handle the family’s drama behind closed doors.

He’s held his family together through thick and thin and he’ll continue to do so.

And he’s had a hard time doing that over the past two days.

He’s read and reread that article ever since it came out, unable to go a single day without looking at it. He had no idea that he made you feel like you were a mistake he felt embarrassed over or that because you weren’t anything like them, you weren’t worthy of his love.

He knows he’s failed you, but he wants to fix all of it! He wants to embrace you and never let go and to put you up on a pedestal for all of Gotham to bask in and know that you’re the most treasured member of the Wayne Family.

But until they find a way to rid that mushroom in your body and bring you back home, they can’t start fixing their mistakes.

The media’s had a field day with the article ever since it came out, hounding them every time they go out in public, asking them how they could sleep at night knowing they kept you in tiny guest room on the other side of the manor or about how Bruce could treat the son born from Talia drugging him with such love while treating the son born from a drunken one-night stand with such disdain.

He was shocked to learn that you knew of them being the Bats, but to learn you knew the truth regarding Damian’s birth…

Just how much did you know? Did he ignore you so much that he didn’t know you were nearby whenever he talked about anything, even sensitive information that he only talked to Alfred about.

Were you practically invisible to him the entire time you lived here?

Of course, Damian’s pissed that people are calling Talia a rapist and asking if he knew. All this made him a powder keg ready to go off, but what made him really go off was when one of his more elitist classmates made the snide remark that Damian was right to treat you like he did because you came from “some low class author” and simply weren’t worthy of being a member of high society, his son broke the boy’s nose and said he wasn’t worthy of saying your name.

He really wished Damian would’ve let him handle it by framing his parents for tax evasion and illegal business dealings (of course, he still did it, that little shit should’ve known better than to think he had the right to even think about you). They already have enough problems on their plate, they don’t need to add assault to it.

Dick really took it hard when he read that you didn’t think of him as a big brother and Lois Lane had called for him to be stripped of his status of Gotham’s Best Big Brother.

If there’s one thing Dick holds dear in this world, it’s his status as the family’s big brother and would bend over backwards for any of his siblings, be it driving them to the other side of Gotham or helping them with a case.

Dick already felt bad when he realized he’s always ignored you in favor of his other siblings, but that article pushed him over the edge, making his oldest son lose his trademark energetic behavior, choosing to spend all his time in your old room. And if Bruce is very quiet and he creeps close to the door, he can hear Dick’s muffled weeping and apologies.

His heart breaks for his oldest. If he could, he’d undo his and his children’s wrongdoings towards you and bare the memory of it if it meant you being here, where you belong, and not hating them.

Jason also took it hard; Jason knows that he has a problem with his temper and has tried everything under the sun to keep it under control, but his upbringing in Crime Alley and his torture and death at Joker’s hands have left marks on him that he’ll be dealing with for the rest of his life (and Bruce would pay any price to undo them). Jason regrets taking his anger for him out on you when he returned, thinking you were another “replacement” like Tim when he sees you and him had so much in common, you’re practically related.

Tim’s sequestered himself in his room, glued to his computer desk; he’d been in your old room almost everyday ever since they learned of their neglect towards you, thinking the almost bare room would provide some glimpse into your mind that he can use to get into your good graces and make you return home. After the article, many of them tried to rationalize that this Megamycete was twisting your mind and make you hate them so much, but that’s when Tim admitted that he found an old journal of yours, going back to when you first moved in and detailing everything they’d done to you, the last entry detailing Damian throwing your mother’s pen into the yard while it was raining.

He hates how he handled that situation; at the time, he thought you were just making a big deal over some silly little pen (fuck, that was how he really saw it back then), but you were just protecting the only thing you had of your mother, uncaring what it would cost you. He’d like to think he’s do the same thing had someone tried to take his mother’s pearls (you really are his son, aren’t you).

When Tim said he had your journal, they all tried to get it from him, Damian going as far as to bring out his sword and threaten to take it by force (Bruce really needs to consider confiscating that sword due to all the trouble it’s caused). Hell, Jason actually begged to be able to read your journal, but his son would not surrender the book and has been hoarding all the information for himself.

The girls have been silent since reading it, which is never a good sign since Steph is always making noise. He tried to comfort Cass when she read that you don’t consider her a person because of the way she looks at people, like she’s trying to find strengths and weaknesses before attacking them (apparently you also know of her upbringing as a weapon), but his second daughter wouldn’t accept his gestures, signing that you had a point and that she’d never break free of her origins as a living weapon.

And Damian… His youngest has been eerily quiet, but it doesn’t take his detective training to realize he’s fuming on the inside (it seems to be a prerequisite in this family to deal with emotions in unhealthy ways). Bruce had asked him if he was angry that you had exposed the secret of his birth and all his youngest said was that it was his penance for his transgressions against you (his heart breaks that his youngest thinks he deserves this as some sort of punishment).

He was already having a hard time containing the fallout of the world finding out his firstborn son is you, not Damian, and that he’s basically not acknowledged you at all in the last decade, but this article has made it next to impossible to find a convincing lie to tell the media that you came back willingly when they ultimately bring you back home.

“This fucking Megamycete,” he growls, setting the teacup on a nearby table not so gently. “It’s ruined everything.”

“How do you figure, Master Bruce,” the man responds, an eyebrow raised.

“It’s making him lash out, do these things. I know we wronged Y/N and he has every right to hate us, but he shouldn’t be capable of this, should he? There’s no way he’d ever say these things willingly.”

“Do you think you know Master Y/N to make such an assessment?”

That makes him pause.

He has no illusion that he never took the time to sit down with you to have an actual conversation, but his blood still courses through your veins; he’d never do something like this, nor would Damian or any of his other children.

Did your hate for them… for him run that strong? That you despise them so much that you’d expose and put them all on display for the world to see?

Would you go as far as exposing their secret identities?

“What do you think, Alfred,” he says after a moment of silence. “You obviously know him better than all of us. Would he ever do something like this?”

“I think that he wishes to exact revenge for the many years of neglect you all inflicted upon him and that this is his opening volley,” the man says with no hesitation or restraint.

That makes him flinch.

“So, you’re saying he hates us,” he asks, afraid of the answer the butler will give him.

He knows you have every right to hate him, god knows he’s made his children hate him on several occasions, but if you hate him… hate them enough to do something like this…

He knows he’s not strong enough to handle it.

“I think he’s dreamed of making all of you pay for what you’ve done to him for years. And with this Megamycete within him, I say he’s more than a match for you and the children.”

“You’d think he’d attack us?”

“When I held Master Y/N in my arms, I could see the fury beneath his tears. Master Damian use to take delight in giving Master Y/N a demonstration in his combat prowess. There’s no doubt in my mind that Master y/N wishes to return the favor.”

He won’t allow that. He’s hurt his children in multiple ways and his children have hurt one another in multiple ways over the years and every time it happened it created a rift that was never truly repaired, merely covered over. There’s been enough pain and misery in this family to last several lifetimes.

He’s fought tooth and nail to keep his children together and he’s not about to let one slip away.

He understands you want nothing to do with him or your siblings, but like it or not, you’re his son and his children belong in Gotham, under his roof.

“Have the tests on the root samples finished yet?”

“Yes, they were finished just a little while ago. I’m afraid to say that none of the toxins you have in stock had any noticeable effect on them.”

He curses at the news. He had hoped the toxins he keeps so deal with Poison Ivy would be as effective on the Megamycete, but that is unfortunately not the case.

“What about the in-depth analysis on the blood sample?”

“From what the analyzer could tell, the Megamycete seems to behave like a benign cancer, slowly eradicating Master Y/N’s native cells in order to replace them with unstable mold versions, which are able to be manipulated and altered into whatever he desires.”

That certainly makes coming up with a strategy on how to counter your abilities; sure, he has a few ideas based on a few villains and heroes that have similar abilities to you, but until he sees what you’re capable of firsthand, he won’t have anything concrete.

The thought then leads to him having an idea, one he’s eager to act on.

“I’m going out, Alfred.”

“And where are we off to, Master Bruce?”

“I’m going to see my son.”

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#from gold to mold #yandere batfamily #male reader #batfamily #batfamily x male reader #batman #dc x male reader #yandere batfam #yandere bruce wayne #yandere barbara gordon #yandere cassandra cain #yandere damian wayne #yandere dick grayson #yandere dc #yandere jason todd #yandere tim drake #yandere alfred pennyworth

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darlingdaisyfarm · 2 months ago

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Spicy chatting with Stan and Ford? Consider this ask my vote for that ❤️💙

(Love your writing, I've lurked for a while and finally remembered to follow)

sexting Stan and Ford headcanons

2 part of this

also thank you so much <3 im so glad to know you enjoy my writing !

tagging : @nekovmancer

˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚ Stan Pines

✧ he tries. god, does he try. but his texts are a combination of filthy and absolutely unhinged, it’s straight to “doll im sittin' here thinkin’ 'bout how good you’d look bent over my desk.”

✧ typically sends a blurry pic of his bare chest, captioned, “betcha wanna get your hands on this masterpiece, huh?" and you’re just staring at the picture like. . . gosh, Stan, who took this? did he set a fucking timer? he looks hot though

✧ so yeah Stanley sends you photos, usually unprompted and always blurry because he’s just an old man, dear, what did you except?? his clothes half-open, pants unzipped just enough to give you a peek of what’s underneath and next message is: “betcha wanna see the whole thing, huh? be a good girl and ask nice.”

✧ texts you in the middle of the day: “gonna bend you over the kitchen counter tonight babe. make you cum on my fingers before I even think about putting my cock in you. whaddaya think?”

✧ he loves it when you’re bold, you send him something like: “what if I sit on your face instead?” and he’s instantly typing back: “doll, don’t threaten me with a good time. ya know I’d keep ya there till your legs give out.”

✧ Stan worships your photos. you send him a quick pic of you in bed and he replies immediately: “FUCK look at you. LOOK at THAT body. im gonna make you regret sending me that when im back. you better be ready for this cock, doll, ‘cause im not holding back.”

✧ a huge tease tbh, he wants you to beg. “tell me what you want, sweetheart. you want me to spread those legs and eat you out until you’re shaking? or maybe you want this thick cock filling you up?“

✧ “you’re touching yourself right now, aren’t ya? cant stop thinkin bout me pounding into you, huh? go ahead, baby. lemme know how bad you want it.”

✧ he’s got no shame about jerking off while texting you, you say one dirty thing, and he’s already: “jesus fucking christ, you’re killin me here, doll. im so fuckin hard right now. If you were here, I’d have you on your knees, taking care of me like the good girl you are.”

✧ Stan’s aftercare starts in the texts. so after he’s talked you through your orgasm, his messages turn soft. “that’s my girl, bet you look real pretty all flushed and satisfied. get some rest, doll you’re gonna need it when I get home.”

✧ Stan LOVES it when you play hard to get. “cmon, baby, don’t leave me hangin’. I swear, I’ll make it worth your while when I get my hands on you again.” but when you finally cave and give him a little, just a little, taste of what you want, his reply is “yeah that’s better, let me see that pussy of yours. you know I can make you feel good. let me prove it.”

✧ as you have already understood, this man is shameless, and he knows he’s good at getting under your skin.

“been thinkin’ about that pretty little cunt of yours, doll. what’s it gonna take to get my face buried there tonight?

✧ if you send him something back, it’s over. he’s going to double down with something that makes your toes curl. “you don’t know how badly I wanna fuck that smart mouth of yours until you forget your own name.”

✧ the man is a sucker for dirty talk. he loves it when you tease him back, but he’s the most eloquent in his replies

✧ “If I was there right now, you wouldn’t be able to get a single word out. id have you moanin’ so loud they’d hear you down the street. you like the sound of that?”

✧ “you know I could really go for you in that tiny skirt of yours right now. make you bend over and fuck you while you’re still wearin’ it.” damn

✧ he’s a man of action. his texts are short and right to the point. “im gonna make you scream my name tonight, sweetheart. better be ready.”

✧ sends you something filthy right out of the blue. "you’re really makin' it hard for me to concentrate on work, baby. every time I close my eyes, all I can think about is the way you looked last night, riding me till you couldn’t walk.”

✧ if you send him a picture, especially if you’re in lingerie or something that shows just the right amount of skin, he goes wild. “WOAH, sweetheart. you’re gonna make me LOSE IT. I wanna tear that off you and fuck you right here RIGHTJ NOW.” the author's spelling has been preserved.

✧ a lot messages like: “tell me, doll, what color are those panties you got on right now?“

✧ but the minute you call him on his antics in person, he’s all cocky smirks and “ya can’t blame me for wantin’ to spoil my favorite girl, can ya?”

bonus

Stan: hey doll, you up?

You: it’s 1 AM Stan

Stan: exactly

Stan: perfect time to talk about what you’d look like on top of me

You: …smooth

Stan: c’mon don’t act all shy

Stan: you were thinkin’ it too. bet you’re wearin’ somethin’ cute right now, huh?

Stan: or nothin’. nothin’s good too! 👍👍👍

You: why are you always texting me at the most unholy hours?

Stan: unholy?? c’mon sweetheart i’m just here tryna spread a little late night joy

Stan: i was thinkin’ about you though

Stan: well. you. and about how that sweet little mouth of yours looked last night

You: oh my godd

Stan: what?! it’s the truth

Stan: bet you’d look even better right now

You: you’re horrible

Stan: and you’re fuckin’ gorgeous

Stan: now be a good girl and tell me what you’re wearin

You: literally in my pajamas Stan

Stan: cute

Stan: betcha look sweet all wrapped up in blankets… though you’d look sweeter wrapped around me instead

You: fuck

You: Stan!

Stan: what? i’m just bein’ honest. you want me to lie? fine! i’m thinkin’ about taxes. there. happy?

You: oh, shut up old man

Stan: nah i’d rather talk about how soft your thighs are. how they’d feel so good squeezin’ around my head. c’mon, sweetheart, gimme somethin’. don’t make me do all the heavy liftin’ here

You: only if you promise to return the favor

you smirk, biting your lip, already excited because god you love playing hard to get with this man. so you let the moment linger just long enough to make him squirm before snapping a photo, of course you were lying bout pajamas and Stan damn knew, he felt

you send the picture: lacy panties of your favourite colour barely covering anything, paired with an oversized sleep shirt that’s slipping off your shoulder

Stan: holy fuckin shit

Stan: you’re gonna make an old man’s heart give out

You: what, you don’t like it? :(

Stan: don’t like it? baby i’m gonna FRAME this picture and hang it on my wall

Stan: better yet i’m gonna print it out and carry it around so i can show off what’s mine

You: wtf that’s absurd

Stan: no what’s absurd is how hard i am right now. fuck, baby, you’re gorgeous. every inch of ya

You: your turn, old man

You: prove it

you don’t expect him to actually follow through, but then your phone buzzes

Stan: look at what you’re gonna get, babe. and it’s all yours

a photo. exactly what you imagined: poorly lit, shot from a slightly awkward angle, but still breathtaking and so damn hot. his cock is thick and heavy in his hand, flushed and glistening at the tip, veins are prominent, pulsing down the shaft, and his fingers, broad, calloused, strong, wrap around it like he’s ready to ruin you as he strokes himself

your mouth goes dry, you blink at the screen, your lip caught between your teeth. hell, you’ve seen him before, touched him, tasted him, but this photo is something else entirely. your fingers twitch like they want to reach through the phone because you’d crawl through the damn screen if you could

your fingers hover over the keys, trying to think of something clever to say, but the words won’t come. thighs clenching instinctively as you just stare at the screen.

You: okay, not bad, old man

Stan: NOT BAD?!

Stan: sweetheart, you’re lyin’ through your teeth. i know you’re sittin’ there soakin’ through those little lace panties of yours

You: please, you think one dick pic is enough to faze me

Stan: oh, is that right? big talk comin’ from someone who’s gonna be beggin’ for it by the end of this

You: you wish old man

Stan: nah I know. let me paint you a picture, sweetie

Stan: you, spread out under me, that pretty little pussy so wet i can hear it every time i slide in. your legs wrapped so tight around me like you’re scared i’m gonna pull away. and me, fillin’ you up so deep you can feel me in your fuckin’ throat

and there your smugness falters

You: oh god

You: Stan

Stan: what’s the matter?

Stan: cat got your tongue? betcha you’re soaked right now, huh? sittin’ there with that pretty little pussy all wet, wishin’ i was there to fill ya up

Stan: admit it, baby. your fingers aren’t even enough. you’re mine. every inch of you belongs to me and i’m gonna remind you of that the second i get my hands on ya

You: you’re not winning this old man

Stan: heh sweetheart, i already HAVE

your fingers fumble on the keyboard as you type, cheeks burning

You: please come

Stan: there you go, now that’s my girl

˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚ Ford Pines

✧ he starts out so awkward it’s painful. you’ll send him something suggestive, and he’ll reply with: “Oh. Well. That’s… intriguing.” Intriguing, Ford? seriously?

✧ as we all know, Ford overthinks everything! it takes him forever to hit send because he’s convinced he’ll say something wrong and he’s so fucking nervous

✧ but as soon as he feels comfortable, he’s sending you long, well thought out messages full of science-y talk about how he wants to make you feel, because of course he’s analyzing you in a way. “I’ve been reading up on the physiological responses of the body during… how should I put this?… intimate interactions. Your body would likely respond most positively to the—” and then he gets really filthy without realizing it

✧ but Ford, dear sweet Ford, doesn’t always realize just how much of an effect his words have on you. if he’ll start spouting off his deep thoughts, you’ll send him, “Ford, I swear to god, if you don’t stop talking, I’m going to need to change my sheets.

✧ absolutely loves when you tease him, but he also knows how to turn it back on you. “Good girl, now tell me exactly what you’d like me to do to you, in vivid detail. I’m taking notes.”

✧ "I’d have you on your knees, darling. Holding you by the hair while I take you deep, slow. You’d love every second of it, wouldn’t you?"

✧ Ford LOVES playing the “I’m going to ruin you slowly” card. It gets under your skin every time. “You won’t be able to think about anything else when I’m done with you. I’ll have you begging for more.”

✧ you’ll send him a flirty text and two minutes later, he’s sent back an entire paragraph detailing how he’d peel your clothes off and worship you from head to toe

✧ as I said, he’s so damn descriptive, I mean bro literally wrote 3 journals, it’s easy for him. “I’d kiss my way down your stomach, slow enough to make you squirm. My fingers would trace your thighs, spreading you open so I could take my time tasting you, savoring every—” you’re already screaming into your pillow

✧ surprisingly filthy when he gets really needy and horny. long messages about exactly what he wants to do to you or what he wants you to do to him

✧ Ford is a huge fan of getting into your mind before he even thinks about touching you. he wants to know what makes you tick, what gets you wet, what turns you on mentally first

✧ he tries to stay composed, but the second you tease him, his composure shatters. you send him a pic, maybe just a peek of your thighs and he’s breathless: “What are you doing to me, darling? Do you have any idea how hard I am right now? I can’t stop imagining those legs wrapped around me while I’m making love to you, God help me.”

✧ “i would love to feel the warmth of your skin beneath my fingers as I slowly undress you. I’ll start by trailing kisses down your neck, your chest, until I reach the sweet spot between your thighs. Would you let me do that, darling?”

✧ embarrassingly vocal about how much he needs you. you’ll get texts like:

“I can’t concentrate on anything. I keep thinking about how tight and wet you felt around me last night. We need to make love again.” and then, seconds later:

“Please tell me you’re touching yourself right now. I need to know you’re thinking about me while you do it.”

✧ “God, I’d give anything to have my cock inside you right now.”

✧ If you send him a spicy picture, he just about short-circuits. “You’re exquisite. I need to see more.”

✧ “You don’t even realize the effect you have on me, do you? I’d ruin you in the most wonderful ways, darling.” you’re a puddle in seconds.

✧ Ford loves when you’re explicit with him. if you’ll text him something like: “I want your cock so deep I forget my own name,” you’ll get: “Careful what you wish for, darling. I’ll have you screaming it by the time I’m done with you.”

✧ If you ever send him something too really dirty, all your fantasies and wishes, expect him to stare at your text, blink for a second, then type back: “That’s... unexpected. But I’m very intrigued. You must have an incredible imagination.”

✧ sometimes Ford gets real quiet after a particularly hot conversation, nervous even. “I shouldn’t have sent that… I’m sorry if I…”

“Ford, don’t you dare apologize. I love it.”

bonus

Ford: Are you still awake, darling?

You: what do you think?

Ford: Well, considering you’re answering me, I’d say yes. I must say, you’ve been a distraction all day, sweetheart. I just keep replaying the way your skin felt under my hands the last time we touched… the sounds you made when I kissed you, your thighs.

You: sounds like you’re the distracted one, Doctor Pines

Ford: You’re the most beautiful distraction imaginable. Entirely your fault.

you smirk at the screen as an idea strikes

You: how’s this for distracting?

you send the picture: legs spread wide, your pussy glistening under soft light with two fingers pressing yourself open just enough to expose everything. you know Ford’s obsessive attention to detail, the way he adores every curve and line of you. oh god he’ll lose his mind over this

but. . .

Ford doesn’t reply immediately. one minute. two now. the anticipation builds and your stomach twists.

You: …

You: Ford?

You: oh my god, say something!

You: was it too much? too forward?

five agonising minutes later, your phone lights up.

Ford: Darling… You are beautiful. Utterly perfect. Forgive my silence, I needed a moment to… compose myself.

You: five minutes of silence isn’t exactly reassuring, Ford

Ford: I assure you, I was not silent in my head.

You: damn

You: thought I broke you there

Ford: You nearly did. It’s taking all my willpower to stay coherent.

You: old man ur making me blush

Ford: I’m sorry! I wouldn’t dream of embarrassing you, my dear. I’d rather make you tremble with pleasure.

You: you really like it that much?

Ford: I’m obsessed, love. Now, listen carefully. Take those fingers, sweetheart. Slowly. I want you to trace circles around your little clit, soft and teasing. No rushing.

and of course you obey

You: im so sensitive rn Ford

Ford: Good, honey. Yeah, nice and slow.

You: like this?

Ford: Exactly like that. Does it feel good, darling? Tell me.

You: so good im already so wet for you

Ford: Good. Now, slide one of those fingers inside. Don’t go too deep yet. Just enough to feel it.

You: fuck, Ford

You: feels amazin

Ford: That’s my girl. Now, add another. Stretch yourself out for me, darling. I want you to imagine it’s my fingers instead. Feel how I’d curl my fingers to touch you just right, all your sweet spots. Don’t stop until I tell you to.

You: :((

Ford: Sweetheart? What’s wrong?

You: it’s not the same

You: you’ve got six fingers, i can’t make it feel like you

Ford: Ah, my darling… that’s terribly unfair of me, isn’t it? You’re right. No one else can touch you the way I can. But I promise, when I’m there, I’ll make it up to you tenfold. For now, let’s keep going. I want you to use your fingers, sweetheart. Make yourself feel good for me, pleasure yourself. Please. Slide them deep and tell me how it feels.

#gravity falls #x reader #gravity falls smut #gravity falls x you #ford pines x reader #stan pines x reader #ford pines smut #stan pines smut #ford pines x you #stan pines x you #grunkle stan #stanley pines x reader #stanford pines x reader

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