#he doesn’t have his way and doesn’t come further

[plutotheplum]

Blush Wine

zayne x fem!reader

summary: a pressing personal issue has you turning to zayne in desperation. he is a doctor, after all.

cw: nsfw (18+) - mdni!!, smut, fluff, kissing, masturbation, finger-sucking, vaginal fingering, oral sex, p in v, praise kink, confessions

wc: 5.5k

a/n: just a cutesy little idea i had ^^

also on ao3!

“There’s something wrong with me.”

Your words leave you in an exasperated sigh, head tipping back as you stare at the ceiling of Zayne’s office, feeling utterly exhausted.

Zayne hums and the creak of his chair has you looking over at him, brows furrowing when you see he’s already begun to stand, the eartips of his stethoscope in place as he moves towards you.

“Zayne?” you say, huffing out a breath when he presses the stethoscope to your chest, “Zayne, no- not like that.”

“A cold?” Zayne murmurs, gazing down at you scrutinizingly, “I told you to be careful in the rain.”

“What?” you sputter, shaking your head, “no. No, it’s nothing like that.” You squirm a little in your chair, cheeks flushing lightly with embarrassment. “It’s- It’s more personal .”

Zayne stares down at you blankly, draping his stethoscope around the back of his neck. Your fingers tap against the edge of his desk agitatedly and Zayne catches the nervous tic, his eyes narrowing suspiciously.

“Personal?” he echoes, raising his brows.

You nod, biting your lip nervously as you sneak a glance up at him. Zayne stares back at you sternly, his arms crossed over his chest.

“I was going to see a gynecologist,” you blurt out, cheeks flushing further, “but- but you seemed like a better option.”

He tilts his head, leaning back against the edge of his desk.

“What exactly is the problem?”

“It’s embarrassing,” you mutter, casting your eyes downwards.

Zayne lets out a sigh, his finger coming out to tap against your forehead gently. “Tell me,” he coaxes, fingers brushing through your hair for a brief moment before pulling back. “It’s the only way I can help you.”

“I can’t-” you begin, nails digging into your palms. Your voice is a soft hiss when you speak again. “I can’t cum !”

Zayne’s grip on the edge of his desk falters when he hears your words, a choked sound masked as a cough leaving him. You peek up at him shyly when he clears his throat only to find that Zayne’s usual facade of cool indifference has returned.

“I see.”

The only sound for the next several minutes is the tick of the clock in Zayne’s office. You play with your fingers, already regretting your decision to come here.

“Is that it?” you ask finally, “you see ?”

“I’m thinking,” Zayne replies, his hand scrubbing over his face. “Why did I seem like the better option?”

“Because we’ve known each other for years, Zayne!” you say frustratedly, “I figured- figured you might have some valuable input, you know, as a doctor and- and a friend.”

“I see.”

You glare at him when he says those two words again.

“Have you tried clitoral stimulation?” 

You nearly choke on your spit when Zayne says that. He sounds so methodical, so disinterested that it almost annoys you again, but when Zayne stares at you expectantly you realize he’s only trying to help.

“Yes,” you mumble, picking at the loose strand of your sweater, “doesn’t work. I tried my fingers too, but I can never cum.”

Zayne hums thoughtfully, his gaze dragging over you before glancing off towards the clock.

“This Friday, I’m off.”

Your brows furrow, unsure what he meant by that.

“I don’t have work on Friday,” Zayne repeats, “neither do you. I’ll come over, examine you and see what I can do.”

“ What ?” you blurt out, “what do you mean examine me?”

“I have to see what’s wrong,” Zayne replies bluntly, shifting on his feet, “I can refer you to a gynecologist if you’d prefer that instead.”

Truthfully, you’d prefer neither. It doesn’t help that your mind conjures up the image of Zayne spreading your thighs apart, his focused gaze trained on you enough to send a rush of heat coursing through your body.

“It’s fine,” you say finally, standing up, “you can come over. I’ll- I’ll let you get back to work.”

Zayne nods, opening the door for you to leave. “Drive safe.”

You’re long gone when Zayne lets out a shaky exhale in the privacy of his office. He scrubs his hand over his face, his cheeks flushing as he remembers the way you had blurted out your problem . 

Zayne tugs at the knot of his tie, loosening it in an attempt to try and quell the sinful thoughts that were flooding his mind at that very moment.

You were going to be the death of him.

- 

You don’t know what to do with yourself when Friday rolls around.

It’s too hard to sit still, each of your actions jerky and agitated as your mind runs through the potential implications of this entire situation.

Zayne drops in around midday, the ring of your doorbell making you hesitate as your fingers curl around the doorknob. Maybe it wouldn’t be too late to lie and tell Zayne that everything was fine.

The doorbell rings again and you open the door tentatively, peering up at Zayne.

“This isn’t really necessary,” you begin but Zayne shakes his head, stepping inside your apartment before locking the door behind him.

Silence passes over you both and Zayne stares at you for a moment longer, his gaze dipping over you.

“You’ll need to show me,” he murmurs, his fingers loosening the tie around his neck.

“Show- show you?” you echo, cheeks beginning to flush with embarrassment, “Zayne, you can’t be serious.”

He hums, moving to sit down on your couch, his thighs spreading slightly as he gets comfortable. You look away, biting the inside of your cheek to prevent an indecent noise from spilling out when you see how good he looks.

“Are you going to stand there all day?” he asks bluntly.

“You’re being inconsiderate,” you retort, but his words seem to do the trick, making you move towards him.

You turn to sit down next to him, but Zayne’s fingers are curling around your hips, pulling you down onto his lap instead. A surprised squeak escapes you, body squirming as you try to move off of his lap. Zayne holds you in place, his chest pressing against your back, arms wrapping around your waist.

“Z- Zayne?” you yelp, voice pitching up.

“Show me.”

You turn your head incredulously to find that Zayne’s gaze has darkened, his eyes boring into yours intensely. 

“Do you do this with everyone?” you murmur, shaky fingers reaching down to pull your shorts down, leaving you only in a shirt and panties on Zayne’s lap.

“No,” he replies, his chin resting on your shoulder. “Only you.”

You spread your legs, your fingers slipping past the waistband of your panties to circle your clit.

“I- I feel as though you want this,” you whisper, tilting your head.

“I do,” Zayne confesses. “I have, for-” he lets out a long breath, watching the way your fingers move in your panties, “for years now.”

“Oh.” You let out a stuttery, little breath, heart soaring at his words. “So have I.”

Zayne hums, his lips brushing across your cheek fleetingly. His hand reaches out, stopping your movements, pulling your hand free from your panties.

“You should’ve said something sooner,” he says quietly, the pads of his fingers pressing against the fabric of your panties, rubbing gently. “Let me.”

You suck in a sharp breath, fingers digging into his forearm as he rubs a little more, his svelte fingers flexing against your clothed cunt. Zayne taps your hip after a moment and you lift your hips for him, letting him pull your panties down.

“You’re wet,” he murmurs, fingers gliding through your folds, “that’s good.”

“Stop talking like that,” you complain, hips tilting up into his touch.

“I’m simply examining you,” Zayne replies, but you can hear the hint of a smile in his voice, the playful brush of his nose against your cheek.

A soft gasp leaves you when his lithe fingers find your clit, circling the swollen bud.

“Good girl,” he whispers, his other hand creeping up your shirt to find your breasts, your nipples already hardened, “relax for me.”

You do as Zayne says, letting his fingers work against you, your eyes fluttering shut as he rubs your clit for you. Slick has begun to leak from you rapidly, a dull ache settling in your cunt as Zayne quickens his circling, his lips pressing against your neck.

“Inside,” you whisper needily, fingers wrapping around his wrist, “Zayne, I need your fingers inside .”

“No,” Zayne says sternly, squeezing at your breast as he strokes his fingers over your clit, petting the swollen bud, making your thighs twitch. “You’ll cum like this first and then you’ll cum on my fingers.”

You let out a frustrated whine, but the kiss Zayne lands to your cheek soothes your annoyance. He manages to pull more noises free from your lips with the way he rubs your clit, the press of his fingers growing harder when he sees your mouth drop open, head falling back against his shoulder.

“That’s it,” Zayne encourages, the fingers of his other hand pinching and rolling your nipple. “Just like that, love. Fall apart for me.”

A few more strokes over your clit is all it takes, a sharp gasp sounding as your orgasm rips through you, body shuddering on top of Zayne’s lap.

“Good girl,” he praises, fingers not letting up as he rubs your clit through the twitches racking through your body, “did so well, baby.”

You slump against his chest, panting softly, head lolling to the side to blink up at him dazedly.

“You fixed me,” you mumble, nose nudging against his when he lowers his head.

“Seemed a little too easy,” Zayne murmurs.

You roll your eyes and Zayne smiles, his hand turning your head to the side. His head dips and your eyes flutter shut when his lips press against yours for the first time. He kisses you softly, his fingers stroking through your folds again.

Zayne groans into your mouth, deepening the kiss, his tongue licking into your mouth. You whimper, hips rocking into his fingers, feeling the press of them against your aching cunt. He pulls back to press his lips to your jaw, trailing soft kisses along your skin, his breath hot.

He presses one finger inside of you, drawing a moan out of you. Another finger joins soon after and you’re mewling desperately, pressing his hand against your pussy, wanting to feel his fingers deeper.

“Pretty pussy’s tight, love,” Zayne whispers, pushing your shirt up to finally get a good look at your breasts. “ Fuck ,” he breathes out, groping at one your breasts greedily, “you’re beautiful.”

“Zayne,” you hiccup out his name, biting your lip when you feel how hard he is against your ass, “feels s’good.”

Your hips rock back, grinding against his clothed cock. Zayne grunts, his forehead pressing into your shoulder at the feel of you against his bulge.

You writhe when he fucks his fingers into you rapidly, back arching as you moan loudly, feeling the curl of his fingers inside of you.

“I like you,” he rasps, nosing into your cheek, unable to help himself from laying firm, hot kisses all over your cheek and jaw, nipping at your neck gently.

You open your mouth to respond, but Zayne feeds you his fingers instead, keeping you full. A drunken slur sounds from you and Zayne huffs out a low laugh, his thumb adding to the mix when he circles your clit as he thrusts his fingers in and out of your leaking cunt.

You suckle on his fingers, tongue swirling around them mindlessly, eyes rolling to the back of your head. 

“Needy,” Zayne says, slowing the pace of his fingers, drawing out the moment.

You squirm on his lap, hips rocking and rolling, trying to grind against his cock and hump his hand, desperate to cum. Zayne lets out a low moan when he feels the brush of your ass, his hand slipping from your mouth to grip your hip in an attempt to stop you.

“Please,” you gasp, “please, Zayne, wanna- ah - wanna cum!”

“Go ahead, love,” he murmurs, resuming his pace, his fingers fucking in and out of your sloppy pussy. “Cum on my fingers.”

Your eyes squeeze shut, teeth sinking into your lower lip. The tight coil in your stomach snaps when he curls his fingers inside of you again, his lips pressing against your ear in a low groan.

Zayne captures your lips in a kiss when you cum, his hand smoothing up and down your side soothingly as you shudder again, your soft cries muffled by his lips on yours.

“That’s it,” he whispers, kissing you gently, “good girl. Came so good, baby.”

You give him a hazy smile, turning on his lap, straddling him instead. Your arms wrap around his neck and Zayne sinks into the kiss, moaning into your mouth when you roll your hips, grinding your wet cunt all over his trousers.

Zayne moves you off of his lap before long, standing up, his hand pressing against his hard, clothed cock.

“Can I watch?” you breathe out, voice airy.

Zayne flushes, his cheeks and the tips of his ears covered in a pretty pink. You lick your lips when he rubs his hand over his bulge, his eyes fluttering shut for a moment.

“Please, Zayne?” you continue, voice softening further, “it’s- it’s only fair, right? You got to touch me and- and I just want to watch.”

“You’re infuriating,” he grits out, his eyes narrowing into a half-hearted glare.

You smile up at him when he steps closer, eyes dropping down to watch his lithe fingers undo the buckle of his belt. It falls to the floor, along with his pants and boxers and you swallow harshly when you see how hard his cock is.

It’s nice, like all the parts of Zayne, the black hair at the base of his cock trimmed neatly. You bite your lip, hands grasping at the armrest of the couch when you see how thick his cock is, the tip of it flushed a few shades darker than his cheeks.

“Is that what you want?” Zayne rasps, his hand wrapping around his cock, pumping it slowly, “hm? I didn’t think you were so filthy .”

“‘s not filthy,” you mumble, inching a little closer to his cock.

Your lips part, tongue lolling out, trying to taste the glob of pre-cum beading at the tip of Zayne’s cock. He grunts when he sees what you’re trying to do, shaking his head as the tips of his fingers press into your forehead, pushing your head away.

“No,” he says breathily, “you wanted to watch, so watch .”

A soft, frustrated whimper leaves you, a pout settling on your lips. It’s impossible to sit still with the dull ache of emptiness settling in your cunt again, thighs rubbing together needily as Zayne squeezes the head of his cock, more pre-cum leaking from the tip.

“Z- Zayne,” you whine, eyes half-lidded as you watch him stroke his cock, “Zayne, you’re so big.”

Zayne groans, his head tipping back in pleasure. You take your chance, reaching out to grab at his shirt, pushing it up a little to watch the flex of the muscles in his abdomen. It’s making you wet again, the feeling almost uncomfortable as slick drips from between your thighs.

You lean forward, landing a soft kiss to his hip. Zayne’s eyes flutter open, his gaze hazy as he stares down at you. You smile up at him sweetly and Zayne huffs out a breathy laugh, hardly able to believe the sight in front of him.

“Pretty,” he murmurs, his thumb reaching out to brush over your lower lip, “you’re so pretty.”

You hum, mouth opening for his thumb when he presses it in further, tongue swirling around the digit. He groans and your eyelids droop a little further, gaze dipping to find that his grip on his cock has tightened.

“Is this how you get off when you’re alone?” you whisper, words slurring around his thumb as he strokes it over the surface of your tongue.

Zayne nods, pumping his cock faster, his thighs twitching minutely.

“Do you think about me?” you whisper again, biting the tip of his thumb gently.

“Yes,” he groans, “ fuck- yes, all the time. You’re- hah- you’re all I can think about.” Zayne leans down and you rise up on your knees to meet him, lips pressing against his in a slow kiss. “It’s always you , love.”

Your heart stutters in your chest at his words, eyes lighting up at the little confession you’ve managed to draw out from the usually stoic man. 

His brows knit together as he strokes his cock, his lips finding yours again as he kisses you desperately, his hand cupping the back of your head to hold you in place.

“I- hah- I’m close,” Zayne grits out, his hips stuttering.

“Wanna watch you cum, Zayne,” you whisper, nipping his lower lip playfully.

He groans, body hunching over as he fucks his cock into his fist, letting out rasping pants.

“Open your mouth,” he murmurs, fingers stroking across your cheek, “wanted a taste, didn’t you?”

You nod eagerly and Zayne lets out a low moan, his hips jerking as he cums. You hold your tongue out, eyes shutting when you feel his cum splatter over your cheeks and tongue, a soft mewl slipping out of you at the heady taste.

You lick your lips, leaning forward to lap at the tip of his cock. A smile spreads across your face when Zayne shudders, his fingers spreading out across your scalp as he holds you in place, letting you suckle at his spent cock. 

“Good girl,” he whispers, thumb stroking across your cheek, “cleaning me up so well, baby.”

You hum, kissing the tip of his cock, mouth opening for his thumb when he feeds you a stray drop of cum. 

Zayne dips his head soon after, kissing you feverishly. He cups your cheeks, pulling you closer. You sigh into his mouth, arms wrapping around his neck, feeling his softening cock against your stomach.

“I like you,” you whisper against his lips, pecking them gently.

“I know,” Zayne murmurs, his hands petting at your sides, “I like you too.”

Your eyes flutter shut when he kisses your forehead, a contented hum leaving you when he kisses your cheek after. Zayne wraps his arms around your waist and you laugh when he hoists you up, legs wrapping around his waist.

“Bedroom?” you ask, fingers playing with the soft strands of his hair.

Zayne nods, one of his hands squeezing at your ass. You don’t make it very far when his pager sounds.

You pout when Zayne sets you down onto your feet, peeking over at his pager as he reads it.

“Urgent?”

“Seems like it,” Zayne murmurs, his brows furrowing slightly, “I have to go.”

Despite the urge to protest, the urge to make Zayne stay with you for longer, you can’t find it in yourself to voice your thoughts when you see the serious look on his face. Instead, you let him get dressed, helping him redo his tie. 

Zayne lowers his head, his fingers gripping your chin to tilt your head up so he can kiss you again. You melt into it, arms wrapping around his neck, lips working against his lazily.

“Thank you,” you say, kissing his cheek when his hands drop away from your waist, “for helping me out.”

Zayne’s eyes glimmer with mirth, the corner of his mouth ticking up in a half-smile.

“You’re welcome,” he says, his hand reaching out to cup your cheek, “just don’t go to anyone else if you have that problem again, okay?”

You pretend to consider his words, even though you know no one could ever replace the spot Zayne’s carved out in your heart.

“I mean it,” Zayne murmurs when you don’t respond. His body draws near, his thumb smoothing over your cheek. “I want you to only need me.”

His words curl around your heart, squeezing tight. Your mouth opens to respond, but your breath gets caught in your throat and Zayne lets out a soft chuckle when he sees how flustered he’s made you.

“You- you can’t just say that ,” you grumble, face pressing into his chest.

“Why not?” Zayne asks, his hand stroking your hair gently.

“Because!” you say exasperatedly, peering up at him, “you just can’t.”

Zayne smiles down at you, his lips pressing against your forehead. “Well, I did. Let me take care of you, hm? I’ve been doing it until now.”

You nod your assent, kissing his cheek before pushing him towards the door.

“Bye, Doctor Zayne.”

“Bye,” Zayne replies, his eyes roving over you, committing the image of you bare and dazed to mind. “Remember to rest. Eat when you can and drink plenty of wat-”

“Zayne!” you interrupt, pointing at his flashing pager again, “I know .”

Zayne sighs, stepping through the doorway to leave. He stares at you one more time, his voice creeping through the narrowing gap as he closes the door. “I’ll send you a text.”

-

So, Zayne solved your problem. 

But he had given you another problem in return. You couldn’t stop thinking about him or his fingers. Worst of all, the simple thought of it left you hazy, your mind fogging over whenever you remembered the feel of his fingers inside your cunt. 

The following week, you’d missed at least three good shots at the training facility leading to Jenna shooting you a strange look when she saw how off-target your shots were. A wane smile had graced your lips and you’d gone home in a daze.

It’s how you’ve ended up like this, squirming around in bed, hand shoved down into your sleep shorts, brows furrowed. All you could think about was Zayne and how much you missed him. 

A soft hiccup escapes you when you feel your impending orgasm fade, a frustrated noise leaving you. You grasp blindly for your phone, pressing it to your ear after calling him.

“Hello?” 

“Zayne,” you whine, fingers stroking over your clit, “Zayne, I need you.”

You can hear Zayne sucking in a sharp breath when he hears your whine, and the sound of his chair moving.

“I’ll be there.”

-

You’re opening the door when you hear the doorbell ring and Zayne stumbles back as you practically throw yourself at him, yanking him down by his tie to kiss him. 

It doesn’t take long for him to reciprocate, his hands sliding to the backs of your thighs as he picks you up. Zayne shuts the door with his foot, his lips working against yours eagerly.

“Again?” he asks, carrying you into your bedroom before setting you down gently.

You nod, pulling him down for another kiss, fingers working at his tie and the buttons of his shirt. “Doesn’t work if it’s not you.”

Zayne hums, pushing at your shoulders slightly to get you to lay down. You bite your lip when he sinks down onto his knees, arms pulling you towards the edge of the bed, your legs over his shoulders.

“I’ll take care of you,” Zayne affirms, pulling your shorts off.

He groans at the sight of your bare pussy, thumbs spreading apart your puffy folds. Your arousal clings to his fingers and the first brush of Zayne’s thumb against your clit has you seeing stars.

“Please,” you gasp out, moaning softly when Zayne’s hot breath hits your pussy, “want your mouth, Zayne.”

“You have it, love.”

Zayne squeezes your hand, his tongue licking a stripe up your slick folds. You whine, thighs twitching at the sensation, your other hand sinking into his soft hair. He lets out a low noise at the taste, his face pressing between your thighs.

Your toes press into shoulders, hips bucking as Zayne’s tongue swirls through your folds. He makes a few measured sounds as he laves over your clit, sucking the swollen bud into his mouth every so often.

“Taste good, baby,” Zayne murmurs, pulling back to press wet, sloppy kisses onto your inner thighs. “Such a pretty pussy,” he breathes, his cheek resting against your thigh as he stares at the pitiful clench of your cunt around nothing.

“Stop- stop teasing me,” you whimper, back arching and fingers fisting Zayne’s hair when he lands a few kisses to your clit.

Zayne grants your request, his mouth returning to your puffy pussy, lips suctioning around your clit. You mewl, eyes squeezing shut as you feel the press of his fingers inside of you, filling you up.

“Yes,” you begin to chant when he curls his fingers and begins to fuck them out of you, “ oh- yes, yes, please nghh- ”

Zayne slurps at your cunt, the lewd noise filling the air coupled with the sounds of his fingers thrusting in and out of your dripping pussy. You can hardly think straight, the pleasure so mind-numbing that your toes are curling and you’re tugging at Zayne’s hair roughly.

“W- wait,” you mumble dazedly, “Zayne- Zayne, want your cock.”

He peers up at you, his eyes never leaving yours as he laps at your pussy, drawing back before spitting on it.

“Thought you wanted my mouth?” he says, fingers still working in and out of you.

“Need you to fill me up,” you demand, trying to pull him up, “I want you inside of me.”

Zayne is stubborn like you, if not more, denying you as he buries his face back into your cunt, sucking and licking, drinking down your wetness like he’s been starved. 

“You’ve already cum on my fingers,” Zayne rasps, kissing your clit, “cum on my tongue, then you can have my cock, love.”

You glare down at him, not appreciating the subtle edging. Zayne smiles up at you, his mouth opening wider to lap at your cunt before sucking at your folds messily, his tongue swirling around your clit, teeth grazing the sensitive flesh briefly. 

A squeal leaves you when Zayne suddenly holds you in place as he roughly sucks at your clit, mouth suctioning relentlessly. Your body jerks, legs kicking out at the feeling, his fingers grazing the sensitive spot deep inside of you.

“Cum,” Zayne orders sternly, moving his fingers faster, “cum on my tongue like a good girl.”

That’s all it takes, your thighs squeezing tight around his head, back arching as you cum, shuddering gasps leaving you. Zayne hums into your cunt when your thighs loosen, licking over your sensitive cunt gently, his lips pressing against your clit in an affectionate kiss.

You lay there, limbs heavy, staring up at the ceiling hazily. The clink of Zayne’s belt draws you out of the trace post-orgasm, arms wrapping around his neck when he crawls over you, kissing you softly.

“Still want my cock?” he asks, brushing your hair away from your face.

“Mhm,” you nod, and it’s you pushing at his shoulders this time, making him lay down as you crawl up onto his lap, straddling his hips.

There’s pre-cum smeared across Zayne’s abdomen when you look down, his cock hard and thick, the tip flushed dark.

“All yours,” Zayne whispers, his thumb stroking over your lips and jaw when you begin to drag your cunt over his cock. “I’m all yours, baby.”

You smile down at him, nuzzling into his palm before turning your head to kiss his wrist.

“Promise?”

“Promise,” Zayne replies, his hands grasping at your hips.

You lift them for him, rising up onto your knees. Zayne grasps the base of his cock, holding it for you, guiding you to sink down on him. Your mouth drops open in a silent moan when his cock presses into you, head falling forward when you feel how thick he is.

“Take what you want, love,” Zayne murmurs, “use me.”

A soft whine spills out of you, hands landing flat against his chest, your hips rolling. Zayne’s hand drifts, grabbing at the fat of your ass, moving you up and down on his cock.

You’re crying out his name desperately and Zayne groans, propping himself up on an elbow to pull you down, mouthing at your tits. He wraps his arms around your waist and you cup the back of his head, holding his head to your chest.

Zayne’s tongue swirls around your hardened nipple, the sensation of his teeth grazing and biting gently enough to send little twitches through your body.

“You’re- you’re so good,” you mewl, eyes fluttering shut while your nails dig into his broad shoulders. “I- fuck- I like you so much! Zayne- oh- hah- like you!”

Zayne moans in response, tongue flicking against your nipple until you tug at his head back using his hair, your lips crashing down onto his. It’s feverish and unrestrained, Zayne’s hands grasping at your waist, your hips and ass as though you might suddenly disappear.

“Ride me,” he urges, his breath fanning across your lips. “Ride me, my love.”

You nod, unable to stop yourself from kissing him again, widening the distance between your knees, setting a firmer base before you begin to rise and fall on his cock.

“ Shit- ” Zayne gasps, his head tipping back when he feels the clench of your pussy as you drag it up and down his cock.

The sounds of skin against skin fill your bedroom, both of you panting into each other’s mouths, Zayne’s brows knitting together as he stares up at you, his fingers flexing against your waist as though trying to hold back.

“I- I can’t- forgive me.”

Confusion flits across your face when you hear him. “Zayne?”

Zayne doesn’t respond, flipping you over onto your back; drawing a surprised squeak from you. You whimper when he kisses you roughly, his cock slipping out of you for a moment before Zayne pushes it back into you, his hips settling between your thighs.

Your arms wrap around his neck, Zayne’s face pressing into the crook of your neck as he ruts his hips into you with abandon. He tilts your hips up, driving his cock in with deep, rough thrusts, ripping every possible needy noise from your throat.

His back is covered in red welts with how you’ve been clawing down his skin, body writhing under his with every thrust he delivers. His balls are slapping against your ass, the sound making your cheeks flush, but you hold him closer, fingers tangled in his hair.

“Z- Zayne!” you hiccup, hardly able to form words, mouth hanging open with how he’s mouthing at your neck, his teeth grazing your skin. “Zayne, ‘m gonna cum!”

“You’re mine,” he hisses, shifting to peer down into your eyes, his hand coming to cup your jaw. “Only mine,” Zayne repeats, stealing a kiss from you, “all fucking mine.”

You nod rapidly in agreement, your thumb brushing over his lips before pushing into his mouth. A soft mewl leaves you when Zayne sucks, his tongue swirling around your thumb, his teeth biting gently.

“Cum,” Zayne slurs, his hips beginning to move unevenly, “cum for me, my love. Give it to me. Give everything to me.”

You seize under him, cunt clenching around Zayne’s cock and he moans deeply, trying to bury his cock as deep as possible inside of you. His cock twitches as he cums, thick ropes of his hot cum spilling into you, your cunt clenching around his cock weakly.

Zayne nuzzles into the crook of your neck and you let out a content hum, hands smoothing down over his broad back when he slumps over you.

“I can’t feel my legs,” you mumble.

Zayne lets out a hoarse laugh, kissing your cheek before moving off of you, laying down beside you instead.

He tugs you into his side, his warm palm moving down the side of your waist, caressing your hip soothingly as he kisses your temple. You sigh, moving closer to him, pressing into his side, eyes slipping shut as he squeezes your thighs slowly, relieving the dull ache that’s settled into your muscles.

“You’re beautiful,” Zayne whispers, cupping your cheek, tilting your head to look into your eyes when they blink open. 

A light flush covers your cheeks, a shy smile spreading across your face as you lean in, pecking his lips sweetly.

“You’re wonderful, Zayne.”

“Such high praise,” he murmurs, nose nuzzling against yours affectionately, “am I really so deserving?”

You roll your eyes, poking his chest in response before sitting up.

“Where are you going?” Zayne grumbles, his arms wrapping around your waist and tugging you back into his chest.

“I have to clean up,” you whine, eyes slipping shut when Zayne squeezes your breast.

You bare your neck to him a little more when he begins to plant soft kisses here and there, his hands petting over your spent body. A quiet moan spills from you when he kisses the shell of your ear, his breath hot against your skin when he speaks.

“Not so fast, love. We have to make up for lost time.”

[luveline]

𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐝

You try to break up with your boyfriend. Aaron just wants to know why. (And what he can do to fix it.) [4k]

c: fem, stripper!reader, angst, hurt/comfort, fluff epilogue, suggestive themes mdni. requested here 

˗ˋˏ ♡ ˎˊ˗

I don’t want to see you anymore. 

The text doesn’t compute at first. He reads it twice. Reads the sender’s name, his heart stopped clean in his chest. 

He puts down his pen.

The idea that the text wasn’t meant for him crosses his mind, but that might further break his heart. He knows you have clients, but you don’t contact them outside of the club. 

His second thought is that he’d been a client unknowingly, but he made it clear to you those few months ago that he liked you as you, not as a service provider, and not as something to be bought. You thought he was trying to acquire you as a private escort. He explained it as what it was truthfully, if vulnerably.

He’s being broken up with, he surmises. Over text. By a woman he adores, who he’d thought was happy. Aaron opens his phone to call you, clicking your contact, bringing it to his ear. You don’t answer. He calls again and he’s clearly declined three rings in. 

He puts his phone down and has a few minutes of unbreathable heartbreak. Just a few minutes, his hand to his stomach, trying to think of things as reasonably as he can. 

Aaron doesn’t care that you’re a stripper. He might’ve at first. Denied his attraction to you, because of course he had feelings for you when you were standing against the side of the club in your dancing lingerie, who wouldn’t fall in love with you? Every fool lucky enough to see you undressed must assume the same thing. He thought it wouldn’t work, and that you’d never be interested in a man like him. 

Interviews for information lended themselves to rare moments of conversation. He liked how you talked, how your eyes moved to his, the way you watched his mouth. Your unusual friendship with Spencer drew you closer, and activated a rare seed of jealousy within him that helped him place you in his life. He had real, tangible feelings for you. 

And now it’s over. 

He scrunches his eyes closed and gets up from his desk. Puts his coat on, but leaves his things where they are on his desk. 

“Hotch?” Morgan asks as he descends the steps down from his office into the bullpen. 

“I’m not sure when I’ll be back.” 

“What happened?” 

Aaron turns to Morgan, hiding his panic as well as he’s able to. “I have a small emergency. It’s fine. Can you make sure things are okay here?” 

“Hotch?” Morgan asks again. 

Aaron keeps on going. He tries your number again on the way down. Three times, a fourth by the time he’s at the parking garage. 

The fifth time, you answer. 

He almost breaks the phone, its plastic body creaking in his hand. “Honey?” he asks. 

“I don’t want to see you anymore, Aaron. Is it hard to understand?” 

He’s taken aback. Some part of him had held onto the hope that it was a mistake. “Yes,” he says slowly, struggling to pull his keys out as his car comes into view, “it is.” 

“I don’t want to be with you.” 

“Have I upset you?” 

“Would that make it easier?” 

“No. I don’t think anything would make it any easier. Honey, this feels so sudden. Can’t we talk about it?” 

“I don’t want to see you.” 

“Please.” He can’t imagine never seeing you again. Just a few days ago he was sitting at the dinner table with you laughing opposite, your socked toes brushing his ankle. “Please, give me the chance to fix this.” 

“Aaron, it’s not really fixable. Please don’t call me again.”

“Y/N,” he says, firmer now. Anger leaks into his tone —what’s going on? “Let me come over. We need to talk about this.” 

“No–”

“It’s not fair to me for you to do it over the phone.” 

“…Okay. Fine. I’m at home, but I have work at six.” 

“I’m on my way.” 

He hangs up. Your terse allowance is all he needs to get in the car and drive, checking his watch. There’s plenty of time between now and six. He can figure out what’s wrong and hopefully change your mind.

He thinks about it more seriously as he’s parking outside of your place. Perhaps he doesn’t want to change your mind. You aren’t acting like you, none of your kindness can be found in such a swift dismissal, but he thinks of your foot under the table, your sock rubbing along his ankle without comment. 

He takes the stairs to your apartment. It’s not the nicest place to stay, but it’s far from a slum, either. He doesn’t worry about you when you’re home beyond the usual everyday fears: Is she eating? Sleeping? Having a good day? 

Now he’s thinking, What did I do? 

He gets to your apartment and pauses at the threshold. After a moment's deliberation, he knocks. 

“Come in, Aaron.” 

He pulls down the handle and lets himself in. You’ve mail piled on the sideboard and your shoes tucked under it, a coat rack further in bragging scarves and coats and jackets of all different colours. He’s always liked the interior of your apartment. It doesn’t feel as cold as his own, parts of your personality peeking in through everything, from the flowered tiles in the bathroom to the glass lampshade in the bedroom. 

You’re sitting in the kitchen with the light off. “Hey,” he says, voice already laden with relief he doesn’t mean to share. 

“Hi.” 

“Can I sit down?” 

You gesture for him to do as he likes. 

Aaron sits down at your table. It’s a small square just big enough to share dinner, plain wood edged in a darker slate grey outline. Sometimes when you’re feeling especially pretty, you’ll lean heavily on an elbow and grin at him, enticing him in for a kiss.

“What’s this all about?” he asks quietly. 

“I just think we’re… at the end of our relationship.” 

You don’t sound truthful. He knew there was something strange in your voice over the phone. 

“What’s making you feel that way?” 

“Does it matter?” 

Again, avoiding and evasive. 

He meets your gaze unflinchingly. “I care about you. I love you,” he says. “I know I can’t be who you pictured for yourself, and if you really can’t see a future for us, then… I’ll have seen it alone. I just wish I could understand this sudden change. Did I do something wrong?” 

“You’re not who I picture for myself,” you agree. 

“No?” he asks. 

“No. You didn’t do anything wrong, but I can’t see us together. We’re not the right fit.” 

You twist a ring around your middle finger. He thinks he’s starting to understand. “Do you think we’re not the right fit?” 

“Please don’t use your psychoanalysis on me.” 

“It’s not psychoanalysis, sweetheart, it’s– I know you.” He grimaces. “I’d like to think I do. And I’m allowing myself the audacity to believe you were happy with me just a few days ago. What happened between then and now to change your mind?” 

You stare at your two-toned table. Your mouth opens to talk, little but air making it out. Your shoulders begin tightening like you’ve been keyed between them, twisting and twisting. 

“What do you want me to say?” you ask. 

Dramatic, he’d hope you could say you don’t love him, or don’t care about him enough to let him convince you the rest of the way. “Is this really what you want?” he asks instead. 

Your staring turns to squinting. With a start, he watches a small tear drip from the corner of your eye to your nostril, to your cupid's bow. 

“No,” you say carefully, “it’s not what I want. I don’t like you being against me.” 

“Then what’s making you feel this way?” 

You cover your eyes with one hand. “I wanted to do this over the phone,” you say in a squeeze. 

He reaches for you but doesn’t touch. “I couldn’t let you.” 

“I just want you to be happy,” you say, so high he can barely understand you. “I’ll never be like you, Aaron. You’re so smart, and you’ve done so much. You’re a hero, and you must look so stupid with me. What do you think people say when they realise what I am?” 

“It doesn’t matter to me what they say. I know you, and they don’t.”

“What about what I think?” 

“What do you think?” 

You wipe your face roughly, eyes lit with an anger he’s unprepared for. “I told you, don’t psychoanalyse me. I don’t want to have to explain it, I just want to say what I have to say. I don’t want to be with you because you won’t be happy, and neither will I.” 

Aaron isn’t too prideful to recognise when he needs to fight for what he wants. He reaches over the table and takes your arm into his hand, picking it up, feeling down The length of it until he’s curled his hand over your smaller fingers. “We are happy,” he says softly, giving your hand a small shake. “I understand where you’re coming from. When we first met, I couldn’t have predicted that I’d be here with you now. I do wonder what people think when they ask me what you do and I tell them you’re a performer. I know we agreed to it, but there are moments where I feel like I’m being cruel to you. But just because there’s a stigma surrounding what you do, it doesn’t mean that you’re any lesser than me. You’re not less intelligent, or less accomplished. We chose different paths and I’m glad we did. If you weren’t a dancer I never would’ve met you.” 

“Do you know how it feels for me to come home to you sometimes?” you ask weakly. 

“I’d hope it feels as it does for me. Every time I see you, I’m relieved.” 

“Aaron, I get this rush of safety, like you’re– I’m finally safe. I can take care of myself, you know that, but now I have you it’s that I don’t even want to. And that’s stupid. I know that that’s stupid.” 

“What I’m thinking,” he says, soft, not as worried about being without you now as he is of the horrible way you’re feeling, “is that you’ve thought about all of this a lot. I’m glad you’ve taken time to reflect on us and your life, but I wish you’d thought more about what we both want.” 

“I want you to be happy,” you argue, as you had a few moments ago. 

“And I’m never happier than when we’re together.” He shrugs. “Love isn’t about work. Your job shapes you as mine shapes me, but you have to know that who you are is what’s important.” 

“I don’t know who I am…” 

“I know exactly who you are,” he says, rubbing a loving thumb over your knuckles. 

“I’m… I’m sorry for the way I spoke to you, on the phone. I knew if I talked to you like this I’d be too much of a coward to really see it through.” 

“I see. You’ve planned my heartbreak weeks in advance.” 

You shake your head sadly. “Aaron, we’re not good for each other. You make me this awful, weak version of me, and I’m no good.” 

“We have been nothing but happy since we met.” Aaron pulls your hand up and kisses the side of your wrist. He isn’t ashamed of you. He doesn’t make you weak, you aren’t. “I don’t know how to explain it. Sometimes it feels like we’re from different worlds, but it’s not that melodramatic. You’re my partner. I love you. It’s hard not to think about what others think of us, but I know exactly what I think of you, and I know what you think of me, too.” 

You share a look. 

“I’ve never heard you talk so much,” you say, your frown fading. “I’m sorry.” 

“You haven’t done anything wrong.” 

“When I thought I couldn’t get any more embarrassing,” you mumble. 

“You aren’t embarrassing. Please, put the thought out of your head.” 

“Thought out of my head,” you repeat, still mumbling as you flex your fingers, pushing them between his and intertwining your hands. You bring them linked to your forehead and take a heavy breath. 

“Do you really want to break up?” he asks softly. 

Your breath warms his arm. “No.” 

“You can have the things you want, you know? I imagine that there are people who laugh when I tell them about you, but you have to know that their opinions would never matter to me.” He pulls his hand from your head to encourage you to meet his eyes. “No one else matters but me and you. We don’t have to factor in other people. We can just be together.” 

“I’m not worth all the fuss,” you say under your breath. 

“What, this fuss? Honey, a few weeks ago you cried in my lap because I got you that cake from the bakery. And you know what? I didn’t want you to cry, but getting to rub your back?” He chances a smile. “That made my night.” 

“You like making girls cry.” 

“Yes,” he says, trying not to grin like a fool as you stand from your chair and put yourself in front of him. He is no saint. He pulls you onto his thighs and wraps an arm around the small of your back, your legs either side of him. “That’s my goal in life, sweetheart.” His voice falls to a whisper as you hang your head against him, tip of your nose to a rough cheek. “Making you cry…” 

Your arms creep to his neck. Resting on him, rather than hugging. He doesn’t mind, he’ll do the hard work. 

“I’m sorry,” you murmur. 

“It’s okay.” He turns your face with his to press his lips to your cheek. “It’s alright, honey, bumps in the road happen with everyone.” 

“All my fault.” 

“Maybe next time, if you feel so strongly about something, you can just extend me that little bit of faith and… know that I’m here for you. Even if it did mean we wouldn’t be together, it doesn’t have to be that you’re alone, making such a big decision. Valiant,” he adds, enjoying the warmth of you seeping into his shirt, his face, his neck where your wrist is laid against it. “You’re not a coward. But I wish you wouldn’t be this brave about breaking my heart.” 

“Stop making me feel guilty.” 

His laugh is a breath against your cheek. “No, it’s fine, isn’t it? Use me and abuse me.” 

“Shut up. Stop, what is this weird guilt tripping you’re doing?” You laugh at his absurdity. “I’d never abuse you.” 

“I know. Just step on me a bit.” 

“Stop, stop,” you mumble, your voice turning slowly from self-pitying to honey, all that love for him he knew you still had like threads of gold shooting through it, “I don’t wanna step on you, I never would…” 

“Just rough me up a little.” 

“Never.” You press your face to his neck. “Thank you for not letting me do it.” 

“I won’t let you go so easily.” His hand trails up your back, feeling the softness of you beneath your t-shirt. Fat, muscle, all of it familiar, and treasured by his touching. 

He squeezes you rather tightly, then, but you don’t complain, you just sigh. 

“It’s not that you’re not who I picture for myself, like I said before,” you confess, leaning all your weight against him, barely held up by your legs either side of him. “You weren’t, but I didn’t realise that I could have you. I didn’t really know men like you existed. I should’ve known I was looking in the wrong age bracket.” 

“That’s not very nice. In my line of work they call that a feedback sandwich, honey. Something cruel between nice things to distract me.” 

“Sorry. Just had to get it in.” 

He considers your teasing a return to normalcy, guiding your head away from his with a hand to the back of your neck. “If this was a ploy to make me leave work early, consider it successful.” 

“I know your attention usually falls to other places, Mr. Hotchner–” You burst into giggles as he pinches the back of your neck, but it’s only to pull you in for a kiss, smiling against your parted lips as your laughter fades away.

You scrunch his shirt in your hand and kiss him nicely. 

“Sorry,” you say. 

“Forgiven.” Even if he did almost go into cardiac arrest at his desk. “I like begging to stay. It builds character.” 

“How long will you be like this?” you ask, shaking your head slowly, your smile poorly hidden. 

You’d needed a reminder, is all. Aaron isn’t solely business and sternness, he’s an idiot, your idiot, who likes to tease you, and doesn’t care who knows that. When he’s working he’s one person, and when he’s with you, he’s another. Both have their qualities and faults, but only one version is the one he needs to be with you. 

“At my age it’s perfectly normal to have a young and beautiful wife,” he says. “You’ve seen some of the other Section’s worker’s wives.” 

“I’m not that young,” you say. 

“So you admit it?” 

You reward him with a tired sigh, cuddling into his collar. 

—

…I'll never be your beast of burden. So let's go home and draw the curtains…

Aaron’s humming from the bedroom. He knows every classic rock song to exist, every word to every Beatles song. When the chorus comes, he sings under his breath, but you can hear him regardless. “Am I rough enough, am I rich enough? I’m not too blind…” he fades off. 

The music hums under your feet. Record player open on the floor, his Some Girls vinyl on the plate. 

You press a hand down your side. 

To inspire less worry on your part, you and Aaron are trying to be more open about the other sides of your lives. His work feels alien to you, and you worry that yours is dirty to him, despite reassurance that a job is a job. You know that already, but you can’t make yourself believe that he’s as happy as he could be if you were, say, a checkout girl. 

You’d make a cute checkout girl, he’d said. 

This is cute, too. Babydoll lingerie with feather edgings, starkly white against your skin. You fluff out the ends and neaten the crotch of your panties. Nothing is on show that shouldn’t be, but it’s still lingerie. It’s meant to excite. 

“Honey,” he says, dulcet tone carrying to the bathroom, “are you stuck again?” 

You laugh. “I bet you hope so.” 

“That’s accusatory in nature.” 

“I’m coming.” You give it a last glance in the mirror and head into the bedroom. 

Aaron’s sat against your headboard, flowery pillowcases behind his head and back. He discards the little figurine he’d been playing with out of boredom and looks you up and down, corners of his lips curling. 

“Home only,” he says. 

“I knew you’d say that.” 

“You look stunning.” His eyes seem darker. All pupil. 

“I have to wear some of these at the club, Aaron, that’s why I bought them.” 

Something in your voice makes him smile. “You said I could veto the ones that are too beautiful.” 

“I said too slutty.” 

“Honey, they’re all revealing in their ways. And I don’t have a problem with it…” He takes a breath. “Much. But some of these are meant for…” 

“The man who loves me?”

“Exactly.” 

He’d said something similar about the light blue set with darker flowers, the black set that showed the curves of your chest, and especially about the pink one-piece with white ribbons. That one gave him pause. 

“Spin?” he asks. 

One day it might bother Aaron that you dance, but for now he’s gently approving. Just wants you to be happy. So you do a little spin without any attempt to be sexy and beam when he whistles. 

“Beautiful. Really, honey, that’s the nicest so far.” 

“I have a confession.” 

“Yeah?” 

“This one was for you.” 

He’d know if you were lying. “For me?” he says, in that tone bordering stern, as much of his professionalism as you’re used to hearing these days. 

“Yes, sir.” 

“Don’t,” he says, seductions gone as he tips his head back into a pillow patterned with lavender and peony. “Unless you’re done trying those on, I don’t want to hear it.” 

“This is the last one.” 

“In that case.” He covers his face with a cushion. 

You look down. Your stomach is a little bloated from lunch, and you have a shaving rash on your left knee, but Aaron won’t mind. He never does. Without worry, you tread to the side of the bed and climb onto it, one leg over his lap. The last time you’d been sitting in his lap, you’d been teary-eyed and regretful. Fuck, what was I thinking? you ask yourself, slipping a hand under his rising shirt to feel his abdomen. It’ll never not be weird, the FBI man and his stripper girlfriend, but it doesn’t have to make sense to anyone but him and you. 

You ease the pillow down his face. 

“Are you blushing, Aaron?” you ask. 

“Not purposefully.” 

“You look a little… hot.” 

“That makes two of us.” 

It starts slowly. The heat of you atop him, the pillows moved out of the way. You didn’t expect him to stay unbothered as you paraded your new spoils, but his willpower is remarkable, and he only breaks when you let yourself settle on his lap. His big hand cups your face. 

“That’s funny.” You lift up enough to be in kissing range, but don’t kiss. You just wait for him to react, holding your weight off of his chest. 

He finds the small of your back and drags. Your gasp isn’t your own, a breathy, excited thing as he brings your face to his for a kiss. Your lips almost immediately part in anticipation of his eagerness, of his hand on the back of your neck, and the unflinching heat of his mouth as he turns his head. Your noses brush. He wades in deeper, his own breath already failing him as the bridges of your nose press hard. 

They aren’t rough kisses, but there’s something desperate there. He holds you to him until he can’t, ushering you onto your back, his weight bearing down sudden and steady. 

“I can’t believe I nearly lost you,” he utters, stroking your cheek, edging back in to kiss you before you can reply. 

You wrap an arm behind his back and hike your leg, soft thigh naked and waiting for his touch. You didn’t nearly lose me, you think. To be lost, you’d have to be something worth losing, and you’re not sure you are, but Aaron? 

“I don’t think you could,” you mumble, forcing him to kiss your cheek, your jaw, the line of your throat. He nips at your neck, a shudder racing through you. 

“I have no intent of letting it come that close again, sweetheart.” 

His hand dances up your side to the soft hill of your chest. 

You hold the hair from his face and let him kiss you. He’s here to stay, no matter how odd a pairing you might make. You love him. That’s all he cares about. 

“Want me to do that thing you like?” you offer softly, mildly playful. 

He laughs into your neck. “No,” he says, “I think tonight is about you, hm? You’re all dressed up. I think that deserves a reward.” 

You knew he’d like the white babydoll. 

˗ˋˏ ♡ ˎˊ˗

[highvern]

Red Card

Pairing: Kim Mingyu x f!reader

Genre: smut/fluff, non-idol au, 80s au (aesthetics only), childhood friends to lovers

Warnings: drinking, weed use (not reader tho), skinny dipping, non-graphic injuries (sprained knee), mingyu gets a booboo and reader kisses it better, oral (m & f receiving), face sitting, penetrative sex, protected sex. all of em's biases in one fic

Length: ~12k

Note: HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO THE WIND BENEATH MY WINGS MS @gyuswhore EVERYONE TELL HER HAPPY BIRTHDAY thank you for dealing with all my tomfoolery on a daily basis. i hope this is a nice treat after the trenches of academia. thank you @haologram and @tomodachiii for beta reading!

Summary: Mingyu's been there through everything. From childhood to now. What happens when he gets hurt and someone else has to step in and play the hero?

m.list

This blog is intended for 18+ only! Minors/blank blogs will be blocked.

You’re going to kill your roommate.

Maybe not this second, when you’re still waking up and the sun has barely started to filter through the blinds and the alarm clock is blaring in your ear. It’s difficult to strangle someone when he’s smothering you with his entire body weight, completely unaware of the fact you can’t breathe because of it.  There's heat and then there's sweating out of your skin because your roommate doesn’t understand ‘what’s mine is yours’ only extends to the food in the fridge.

You’ll strangle Mingyu one day, but right now you’re late for work. 

“Get off!” you fume, pushing at his shoulder with all your strength. 

Mingyu smacks his lips sleepily and burrows further into your neck. You pinch his nipple between your finger and twist.

“Ow! What the fuck?” he screams, shuffling off you and into the wall, eyes wild and clutching his chest like a scandalized old woman

Rolling off the mattress, you navigate the dark of your room looking for your work clothes. “How many times have I told you not to sleep in here?”

“My room is so hot!” Mingyu whines, digging his face into the pillow.

“Yeah, well now my room is too.” You find the floral green and pink dress of your Pier Club uniform. Facing away from Mingyu, you swiftly change into it and look for the matching skirt. It’s offensive, even in the dim predawn. “Do you have work today?”

Mingyu stuffs himself further beneath the blankets, only the very center of his face visible. “Yeah. Covering for JJ.”

“Get up then. We’re gonna be late.”

Mingyu scrambles to his room to get dressed. The bathroom is wedged between his room and Soonyoung's, so you hear a thud, and a curse followed by another louder thud and a grunt of pain. He joins you in the bathroom, dressed in his uniform: pink polo, white pants, and white golf shoes. Like an incredibly tall and sleepy flamingo.

Two people becomes four in a blink, each of you reaching over and under for whatever is needed from the small shelf in the mirror. Your elbow meets Dokyeom’s eye, and someone steps on your foot. 

Soonyoung is pouring coffee into a mug in the kitchen, foot tapping against the linoleum while Dokyeom rushes around trying to find his pants. You’ve lived like this for two years. It doesn’t even phase you.

“If you’re not in the truck in five you’re walking!” Mingyu calls and disappears.

One by one you file out. You detour for the kitchen. The toaster takes two minutes and the coffee pot four but you’re still faster than the other two and get an actual seat in the cab of the truck. There's really no decent way to get in and out of a truck in a skirt anyway so you take the small blessing that comes in the form of cracked leather seats and a door you have to roll down the window to open from the outside.

Dokyeom chases the green Ford down the driveway six minutes later and Mingyu slows down enough for him to hop into the flatbed next to Soonyoung. You’re only two minutes late in the end.

The club is packed with guests all day. By the time dinner service is over and you’ve counted your tips, all you want is to go home and pass out but it’s Seungcheol’s birthday. Despite what he explicitly asked everyone for (an Atari 7800), there’s a bonfire at the beach and if Mingyu is there then you are too. Someone has to pile him and the other boys into the bed of his truck and get them home.

The private section of the beach reserved for locals only is packed. Someone blasts a Bowie track, drunk party goers dancing around the massive bonfire while others relax on logs or sit in the sand and watch. A few people stroll down by the water, splashing through the shallows in the dark.

You stay planted in one of the few real chairs, sipping on a beer while your roommates do who knows what. It’s not that you don’t like parties; but your feet hurt and more than a few people stiffed you today so you’re tired. And now, after a few drinks you’re tired and drunk. But no one is ready to leave so it’s either wait or walk and the five miles back to the house is daunting enough you stay firmly planted.

“Ooo, got any more of those for me?” Jeonghan plants himself in the sand next to you, reaching for the cooler.

You slam the lid down on his hand and pull it out of his reach. “Fuck off, you still owe me for last time.”

He tries cozying up to you; pretending the arm around your shoulder is meant as a sweet hug and not a means to get his hand back in the ice box behind you. “Look, I didn’t drink your vodka. But if I did, it tasted like shit.”

“I’m not talking about the vodka, I’m talking about when you fucked some bimbo in my bed!”

He’s already drunk on someone else’s booze; Seungcheol’s no doubt.  

“Oh. That.” Jeonghan scratched the back of his neck. “Listen, it was a big misunderstanding.”

“What misunderstanding? Your dick couldn’t stay in your pants for three more feet to fuck in Soonyoung’s room?”

Jeonghan balks, eyes glazed in the fire light. “Have you tried having sex on a waterbed? It’s not easy.”

Mingyu, as always, is honed in on your bad mood and comes up the beach smiling, hair a mess in the wind. You don’t stare and focus on slapping Jeonghan’s hands away. “Everything okay?”

“I’m gonna kill Jeonghan,” you mumble. 

“I asked her for a beer.”

Mingyu arches a brow. “Didn’t you fuck some girl in her bed last time we had a party?”

“You’re focusing on the wrong thing. She is drunk and acting like the beer czar. Where is the hospitality?”

“If I give you one will you leave?”

“Yes,” Jeonghan responds immediately.

Mingyu passes him two beers and snaps the cooler shut before the older man can get greedy. Jeonghan salutes Mingyu and then sticks his tongue out at you before leaving for the other side of the fire.

“Eat shit and die!” you call. You love Jeonghan but he’s got a way of grating on your last never. Especially after the girl he hooked up with stained your sheets with fake tan even if he offered to buy you a new bed and sheets.

Jeonghan waves the hand full of beers over his head. “Eat shit and live!”

“Alright, let’s get you home,” Mingyu chuckles. 

In his truck, the radio hums one of his fifty million cassettes. He only breaks the comfy lull at a deserted intersection. “One to ten, how mad would you be if we took a detour?”

“At least five, but it depends on where.” You eye him sceptically. Truly, all you want is to get home, shower, and sleep. But Mingyu had a way of convincing you to go along with whatever plan he’d cooked up.

“Chocolate shakes at Joe’s and then the lookout.”

It’s hard saying no to that. Even harder when Mingyu stares at you like a hopeful puppy. 

Your eyes roll. “Okay, maybe like a two.”

“I’ll get you chili cheese fries.”

“Negative one.”

Mingyu turns right, humming along to the next song the entire way to the drive in diner. Your eyes are heavier each minute but greasy food sounds fantastic and your grumbling stomach keeps you from falling asleep against the door. 

Joe’s sits in all its neon glory, like a little beacon of light in the otherwise quiet beach town. Most of the picnic tables littered outside are covered in people; out of towners, teenage locals with sun bleached hair and frizzy perms, old couples who’ve been coming since milkshakes were invented. Almost all of the workers rushing through the diner in red polos are still in highschool and then there’s Vernon manning the cash register at the window like the captain of a ship. He doesn’t even look like he works here; white cut off tee and neon green swim trunks don’t really match the fifties aesthetic but no one says anything, even the owner.

Vernon doesn’t bother ringing the order up, yelling at the line cooks it’s on the house. He thrusts two paper cups and a greasy paper bag across the counter and greets the next customer in line.

Twenty minutes later Mingyu is parking his truck on the side of the road and trailing across the dunes to the even more secluded beach, one only the most local townies know about. Since most of those are few and far between, it’s just you two planted in the sand, chilli cheese fries and chocolate shakes filling your bellies in no time.

“I think I’m gonna get Joe’s logo tattooed on me.”

“He’ll probably leave the place to you if you did.”

“Vernon is literally named in his will, I’ve seen it.” Mingyu lays back in the sand and closes his eyes.

The waves crash on along the shore, the perfect soundtrack to lull you closer to sleep now that your belly is filled. Beneath you, the sand is just warm enough to be cozy against the chill rolling off the ocean.

“Wanna swim?” he asks.

Sinking deeper, eyes closed, you’re only thinking about how amazing your bed would be right at this very moment. “I want to go to sleep.”

“Studies show you sleep better after swimming.” Mingyu rolls up to his feet, grabbing you in an attempt to get you to agree. He knows you will. Wherever one is the other is sure to follow. It’s been that way since you two were in diapers and Mingyu started walking seconds after you only to chase you around the living room.

You’re deadweight in his arms as you respond,“How would you know? You didn’t go to college.”

“I’m just academically inclined.”

“My apologies,” you gasp. A swim does sound nice for your aching muscles. It’s been so long since you just enjoyed the water. Last time you swam was when you picked up a life guarding shift and an old man screamed bloody murder because he didn’t know how to swim; never mind he was in the shallow end of the pool. 

You finally rise to your feet and shrug off your shirt.

Mingyu joins. He doesn’t shy away as he drops his pants, his shirt floating to the ground next to it. You don’t stare. There’s no need when you’ve seen him nearly naked a million times. But you do catch him staring when you bend over to fold your shorts.

“What?”

Blinking out of his daze, Mingyu bolts for the ocean. “Last one in the water is a rotten egg!”

“You fucking cheater!” you scream and sprint after him. 

He’s far out by the time you catch up, where the waves are just starting to curl in on themselves. You both bob along to their rhythm as the tide pulls in and out. 

Mingyu dives beneath the water, breaching with his hair sticking to his face. His lips are wet and slick. Mingyu pulls you a little, brings you into his chest so the next wave you coast over together. 

You want to kiss him. 

It’s not a new thought; doesn’t surprise you one bit. His mouth probably still tastes like that last sip of chocolate shake. The first and only time you’ve ever kissed Mingyu you were both two out of it to actually appreciate it. It was poetically cruel to give your first kiss away to your best friend only for him to forget it the next day.

It’s easy to ignore the urge to kiss him. You’ve wanted to kiss him again for years. Touching him is an entirely different matter. You can touch Mingyu as much as you like, he likes it when you do and pouts when you don’t. You rarely shy away from a chance to let him touch you either. It’s never enough though.

You twist around him, clinging to his back. Ankles locked across his stomach, Mingyu pulls your hands in front of him and holds your hands; his thumb traces the knob of your wrist over and over in tiny circles. He definitely feels the way your nipples harden through your bra but has the courtesy to ignore it; lets you hide from the cold water in the curve of his neck.

“You need a haircut,” you say. You tug on one of the long locks hanging at eye level, and Mingyu shivers. With so much bare skin pressed against each other you feel the goosebumps blooming on his skin, and when you pull again to see what’ll happen he snatches your hand away and changes the subject.

“Are you gonna be good for the Open this weekend?”

“I’ll be fine,” you yawn. Mingyu pulls your legs tighter around his waist, bobbing you both amongst the waves. It’s dangerously relaxing. “I’m not losing to Seungkwan again this year.”

“We’re not losing to Seungkwan this year.”

“Damn straight.”

You float in silence. Mingyu keeps both of you above water. When you signal you’re ready to go he carries you out of the water, right up to where your clothes lay. He doesn’t let you down as he scoops them up and goes for his car. 

“Show off,” you mumble.

“What was that?”

“Nothing!”

You’re deposited on the ground next to the driver’s side door. Apparently he can’t hold you and dig up the spare towels he keeps packed beneath the seats. There’s no point in putting your clothes back on over your wet underwear so you ride back to the house wrapped tightly in a towel and Mingyu’s around his waist, chest completely bare.

You blast through a shower, done before the crappy water heated even has time to reach full potential which isn’t much because rent is cheap and your landlord cheaper. But you’re clean and that’s all that matters before you dress and crawl into bed, the door of your room still open. You catch Mingyu passing by on the way back to his room, towel around his neck and the cut sweat shorts he swears don’t need to be thrown out hanging low on his hips. 

“Where are you going?” you call. 

His head pops in, covered in shadow from the hall light. “You said, literally this morning might I add, ‘sleep in my room one more time and I’ll kill you.’”

“Yeah well,” you huff. “My feet hurt. So you can sleep in here if you give me a massage.”

He does and he doesn’t even complain while doing it. Mingyu closes your bedroom door, locks you both in the dark; sits at the foot of your bed, tugging your feet across his lap and setting to work. His thumb digs into the arch of your foot, malting all of your muscles into straight goo. You’ve never been more happy for his overly abundant body heat as he works his hands up your calves. He’s frustratingly attentive as you shiver and wiggle in blissful agony.

In the dark of your room, brain hazy with fatigue, you don’t care you’re moaning at the pressure of his palms working the knots out of your muscles. Mingyu doesn’t acknowledge it but he does knead a little bit hard and you sigh from relief. And then the bastard digs his thumb into that place behind your knee that's painfully ticklish.

“You asshole!” you scream, scrambling away. 

“What’s wrong? I thought you wanted a massage?” he laughs. You try to kick him but he catches your foot and pins it to his stomach. 

“I swear—Mingyu! Stop!”

Thankfully, he does after a few more pleas. You can’t even see him in the dark except for the reflection of the moon through your blinds that clues you into his silhouette. But you know he’s satisfied because he starts humming while massaging once again. It’s nice. You start nodding off to the soft strength of his hands and the rich sound of his voice.

Mingyu prides himself on doing a thorough job in everything so once your ankles and calves are worked into submission his hands reach higher. Almost like he doesn’t realize exactly where he’s going; who he’s touching as he grips just above your knee. Your legs part and Mingyu keeps going. 

Your best friend is beautiful and you love him. Of course, you do. Like every other time you’ve been turned on by him, you staunchly pretend it isn’t happening. Make up some excuse; biology, you’re in love with him. the fact you haven’t been laid in nearly a year, you’re in love with Mingyu, you’ve been drinking, your best friend has his hand beneath the hem of your pajama shorts and you’re in love with him.

“Good?” he asks.

Mingyu lingers there for a second. Then another one. You decide feigning sleep is the less awkward option than begging him to finger you until you can’t see straight. It doesn’t take much pretending; you’re bone dead tired and the second you let it filter in it takes control. Ever the gentleman, Mingyu removes his hands and climbs up to lay next to you.

You actually fall asleep curled against his back. It’s still too hot even with the ceiling fan on high so you both lay above the covers. 

The next morning you wake up the same as always, legs tangled, his chest to your back because Mingyu doesn’t understand personal space – especially your personal space. It’s fine. You’re used to it. It’s your day off which means it’s too early to be awake because it’s still dark in your room. If you try really hard you know you can fall back asleep until noon.

But then you feel exactly what woke you up.

Mingyu has a boner.

You reach back and pinch his side to wake him. You know he’s at least semi-conscious because he whines and tries to hide in your hair as you admonish him. “Get your dick off me.”

“Ignore it, he’ll go away,” his lips smack next to your ear.

“Mingyu,” you whine. “It’s gross.”

He falls back asleep without moving anywhere. If you had pushed at him he would’ve rolled over and given you his back to cuddle up against but you don’t so he doesn’t. You try not to think about how big he is. Or how your underwear are still a little sticky from last night. Or the fact your shorts rode up during the night and the only thing separating your ass from his cock is those damn threadbare sweatshorts. There is also the placement of his hand just below your boobs. Over your shirt because the universe isn’t that cruel.

It’s fine. It’s not the first time he’s gotten hard while sharing a bed. The first place you two rented - freshly eighteen and just starting to have a world without parents breathing down your necks - there was only enough money between you to split one bedroom and have enough money to afford a bed. Thankfully, Mingyu is the cleanest person you know so it worked without bloodshed but it left some very uncomfortable moments in the morning when you’d wake up from dirty dreams about your childhood crush only to find his face a few inches away. Or the other, more awkward, days when Mingyu’s body reminded him he was a hormonal teenager sharing a bed with a girl with zero supervision.

You both refuse to talk about it. Or the times either of you walked in on the other masturbating. 

True to his word, his dick softens against your ass and you try not to be a little disappointed. A world of possibilities if you weren’t terrified of ruining a life long friendship. You could roll over and kiss him. And if he let you kiss him then you’d want to touch him. If you touched him then he’d probably touch you back. In all the years you’d know him you didn’t take Mingyu for a selfish person; or a selfish lover. If he reduced you to a puddle with a simple massage last night then what else was he capable of? 

But you don’t want meaningless satisfaction. You want Mingyu. Everyday, all the time. One hundred percent completely yours. 

Eventually your alarm clock blares and Mingyu rolls out of bed; leaving you all alone as he heads out to work with the other two. You fall asleep once the front door slams shut.

Ten hours later, Mingyu isn’t home. No problem. He probably got roped into doing an extra shift or the last group he caddied for insisted on treating him to a drink. It happens. Often. 

You don’t worry until hour twelve rolls around and Soonyoung and Dokyeom aren’t home either. The restaurant  is closed by this hour, the last tables cleared out and reset for the next day. The pool is closed too. One of them should be home.

The house is too quiet without them. You try reading. Watching TV. Listening to music. Cleaning the kitchen. You try everything you can think of to make that horrible feeling in your stomach go away but it doesn’t.

Then the phone rings.

“Hello?”

The line cracks with a familiar voice. “Hey, it’s DK. Umm…”

“Where the hell are you guys?” you ask.

“Promise me you won’t freak.”

“You saying that pretty much guarantees I’m gonna freak.”

“Okay, listen, everything is fine. Mingyu is okay but—”

“But what?”

“He hurt himself on the course today and we’re at the hospital. Hoshi is on his way to get you right now.”

“What the hell happened?”

“Something twisted wrong or something, I don’t know I flunked out of med school.”

It takes Soonyoung fifteen minutes to get to the house but once he does you feel a little better. You don’t even get to ask before he’s talking.

“He’s fine,” he promises. “Just doped up on painkillers.”

“Did they say what’s wrong?”

“Something with his knee, nothing super serious but he’s supposed to stay off it for like a month or something.”

Soonyoung looks guilty as you take the keys and leave him behind but he has to be up in four hours when the rest of you don’t.

The hospital is nearly deserted this late at night, a few nurses in the parking lot smoking during their break but otherwise you're pretty much alone. Inside the reception area is all sterile lighting and pleather chairs in pastel pink and teal.

A woman in scrubs and feathered blowout sits at the desk answering phone calls and scratching through paperwork.

“I’m here for Mingyu. Mingyu Kim.”

“Room eight.”

You thank her and head back to search for wherever your best friend is holed up. It takes only a few walks around the corridor because unless he aged fifty years, the elderly woman in room eight is not him.

You find him and Dokyeom with their eyes glued to the TV, Scooby Doo reruns stealing their attention. You hover in the doorway.

Mingyu has his leg wrapped from mid-shin up his thigh, knee resting on a stack of pillows. His eyes are glazed from whatever pills the hospital staff gave him before your arrival.

Someone clears their throat behind you. By the scrubs you assume she’s the doctor. “Another friend of Mr. Kim’s?” 

“Yeah,” you nod. “Is he okay?”

“He sprained his knee. Nasty work but not fatal.”

“How?”

She shrugs, pen clicking in her hand. “Over use, stretched too far either side. Good news, he doesn’t need surgery.”

“So he’ll be okay?”

“Since he didn’t tear any ligaments I’d say a few weeks until he recovers, longer if he doesn’t rest properly. And I mean actually rest. At least a week in bed, and then two on crutches. Maybe three but he’ll be okay.”

Mingyu is fine. As fine as he can be with a bum leg for the next few weeks but fine nonetheless. You feel like you can actually breathe again, the anxious part of your brain proclaiming the worst finally silent.

“Alright, thank you.”

Weight off your chest, you enter the room. Dokyeom sees you first and bows out. He knows you’re planning to rip Mingyu a new one. Or cry. You don’t really do well when he’s hurt or vice versa.

Mingyu only notices your presence when you’re standing next to the bed, arms crossed, breath shaky.

“You’re mad,” he whispers, chin tucked to his chest like an upset toddler.

“I’m not mad.”

“Really?” He sounds hopeful, dumb puppy eyes round and wet like he’s ready to cry at the first sound of your disapproval.

“I was mad when you broke your arm because Jungkook talked you into boogie boarding drunk. I was mad when Wonwoo gave you a black eye from his Atari controller. I was mad when you, tweedle dee and tweedle dumb almost flooded the house. Now, I’m furious. What the fuck were you thinking?”

You’re mad because he’s in a hospital bed and you thought he died. And it terrified you.

“I didn’t do it on purpose!”

You break, shoulders sagging in defeat. It isn’t his fault. Freak accident, an overdue inevitable. “I know, I’m sorry. I just… you really scared me.”

“Do you want a hug?”

“Your leg is broken and you’re offering me a hug?”

He stares at you, eyes pretty and dark with huge pupils. “Dude, I’m so high you could tell me you crashed my truck and I wouldn’t care.”

“A hug would be nice.”

It’s uncomfortable to bend at the waist but Mingyu makes it worth it. Sweeps you into his chest, doesn’t comment on the hot tears that damp his neck and shirt but that might have to do with the fact he’s out of his mind. But he also brushes his hand through your hair and kisses the top of your head so it isn’t so bad.

“You didn’t crash my truck, did you?”

“No,” you snort.

You soak in it for a few minutes, let Scooby Doo fill the silence while you sniffle into his collar for a little while longer. And then you're shoving it all away with the realization Mingyu can’t work if he can’t get around the resort.

“Doctor said you’re out of work for at least a week. And after that you’ll probably be stuck in the laundry room because I doubt Jin wants you hobbling around the cabana with crutches.”

“Fuck,” he whispers.

“Yeah. Fuck,” you agree. “I’ll figure something out, take more shifts. Josh needs more surf instructors too so I can pick those up. Hoshi probably owes one of us money.”

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine. It's just gonna be a tight winter is all.”

“What about the Open?”

“Jungkook can fill in for you. If we win, he takes half of your share. It’s better than nothing.”

He mutters something you don’t hear. Probably more high protests and apologies. It smells like antiseptic.

“Come on, let’s get you home.”

It takes three nurses, Dokyeom, a wheelchair, and an infinite reserve of your patience to get Mingyu in the bed of his truck. His knee is bandaged in the split so thickly he can’t move it and he’s too tall to sit in the passenger seat with his leg straight so the truckbed is the only place for him to go. You try to drive responsibly but it’s late and you're burnt out from a long day.

Back home, Hoshi is passed out in his room, the stink of weed warning you not to wake him. Dokyeom offers to help but thankfully, even high on painkillers, Mingyu acclimates to crutches enough to get from outside to his room.

“You smell,” you say to cut the tension.

“How am I supposed to shower like this?” He gestures to his leg. You know the warning signs of his temper. Mingyu will pretend it doesn’t bother him but it clearly does; having to ask for your help to do something as simple as shower.

“I could hose you down in the yard.”

He pouts. The meds must be wearing off at this point. “I’m sure that would make you feel better.”

“Nah, I’d be the one who has to clean you off the driveway afterwards.” You shake your head. The bathroom is small, the shower stall smaller but Mingyu needs a shower. “Give me a second.”

One of the plastic lawn chairs from the back porch fits perfectly in the stall. You lay out everything he could need: soap, towels, a trash bag to wrap over the stint. Then you head back towards your room to get him.

“Alright, let’s go.”

Mingyu hobbles alongside you, easily maneuvering the hallway but the bathroom is more difficult. There isn’t space for his crutches so he slumps into your side, way heavier than the time you had to drag him home higher than a kite. 

It’s claustrophobic with him basically on top of you but he’s capable of underdressing when you park him against the counter and focus on angling the shower head so he doesn't end up accidentally waterboarded. 

“Underwear stays on. I don’t want to see your dick.”

“Yeah, well, he’s pretty scared of you right now anyway.”

After helping him into the chair you leave him to his business with strict instructions to yell for you when he’s done. You use the time to clean your room. Clothes off the floor, bed made so he can sleep with a few extra pillows you snagged from his bed where you’ll be sleeping.

He’s got a bum leg, the least you could do is give him the better room.

You do everything the nurses told you. An ice pack and a hot water bottle all sit on the side table ready for Mingyu after you fish him out of the tub.

A yell of your name is your cue.

Mingyu sits soaked and pathetic. He couldn’t reach the towels you laid out, so you have to hand them to him. Turns out it’s also more difficult getting him out than in, you have to touch and pull and push him. His skin lingers with warmth from the water and a little slippery so it’s even harder. Mingyu is no help at all. A Great Dane who thinks he’s a Chihuahua.

He’s out like a light once he’s in your bed. Dead asleep beneath the covers with his leg sticking out to the side. You tuck him in extra tight, snagging the forgotten provisions and returning them to the kitchen. 

You come back to grab clothes and leave but Mingyu sits awake with the covers pulled back for you to join.

“Come on,” he beckons.

“I’m not sleeping in here.”

His eyes shoot open, attempting to sit up, “Why not?” 

“Your knee—” you start.

“Let me worry about my knee.”

Sure. Like that’ll happen.

“Physically impossible for me not to worry.”

“The doctor said it’s bad for me to be lonely.” He pulls the covers back again and your chest aches. 

“She did not.”

“She did too,” he grunts. 

“Fine. Close your eyes, I need to change.”

He zips them shut. Throws an arm over his face for dramatic effect. You rush into a clean shirt (his) and shorts and dive beneath the covers.

“You’re so far away,” Mingyu whines. 

“Mingyu stop!”

He doesn’t. He uses all those muscles against you and drags you up his chest. “Come here.”

“Happy?”

“Yep.”

Your head is cradled heavy on his chest, the argument dying out. He falls asleep quickly and you follow right behind.

In the morning, Mingyu complains about his leg until you leave for the last minute shift you begged off Chan. The next two days are the same. Mingyu stays on the couch or tucked away in your room while everyone else scrambles around him. Until the weekend comes giving all of you time off.

Saturday is the Open. The biggest doubles volleyball tournament on the beach, boasting a first place prize of two grand. Seungkwan and Seungcheol won the last two years and never let either of you forget it for standing a foot below them on the podium, firmly in second and a thousand dollars poorer than them.

Two years in second place buys you into the semi-finals. Thank god, because Jungkook and you haven’t played together in years and he’s an even bigger ball hog than you remember.

“Talk!” Mingyu calls from his chair like a washed up coach. You argued with him for hours over whether or not him coming to the beach was a good idea given he’s done everything but what the doctor recommended. But he’d be damned if you beat Seungkwan and he wasn’t there to gloat about it.

Dokyeom and Soonyoung serve as his assistants, hitting over the net while you and Jungkook scramble to dig every single one up like it’s do or die.

“That one was clearly mine!” Jungkook argues.

“It was going out of bounds!”

“It was close!”

It’s been like this all morning. While the other courts are playing to qualify you and Jungkook try not to rip each other's throats out. It’ll take a miracle to win a single point let alone the two matches you need to win.

You just want the day over with so you can drown your sorrows in a chocolate shake and think about how satisfying it would be to launch it at your friend’s head at warp speed.

The first game is hard and fast. Jungkook saves your ass more times than you can count, committed to winning even if it sends him crashing into the line of spectators sitting courtside. It doesn’t help you win the first set one bit. Jaehyun successfully blocks nearly every attempt Jungkook makes at the net and the ones that do slide through fly out of bounds.

You don't take well to failure and neither does Jungkook. 

Somewhere around the third rally of the second set you two find a cohesive back and forth. Jungkook digs a cut shot, you set him up and he’s there with a kill. It happens again. The third time Jaehyun gives up on sending it deep and drops the ball right over the net and the miracle you needed happens because you get it up enough for Jungkook to return it and earn the point. 

It starts to feel good. Adrenaline lifting you to the next level, vision narrowed down to you and the game. Lung straining, muscles burning, your skin hot from the sun. Your swimsuit leaves plenty of skin exposed to collect more sand with each impact on the ground. The wind picks up slightly, and turns the sound of waves and the crowd into one dull murmur..

You and Jungkook win two sets to one.

He’s sweaty and covered in sand when he sweeps you into a hug, a victory cry loud on his lips. It isn’t the final match but it’s the small victories that count. Jungkook loves winning, he only likes you and mostly for Mingyu’s sake. The friend of my boyfriend's friend is my friend too, or something like that.

Mingyu and Jungkook are the boyfriends.

On the side lines, Mingyu looks happy. Tired but happy. He’s like a king holding court, friends and strangers circling around him for an ounce of attention. Most of the people at the resort haven’t seen him since he busted his knee and check he’s okay. The others are out of towners attracted to a pretty boy with a sad cast and tendency to talk a mile a minute with anyone who’d listen. 

You push them all out of the way and celebrate with him.

“We did it!”

“Yeah,” he nods. That’s all the celebration you get from him before he’s on to the next game set to start in five minutes. “You and Jungkook need to keep Kwan from hitting. Serve short, hit deep.”

It's weird but you don’t focus on it. You need water and to get back on the court.

“Got it.” 

Seungkwan doesn’t shit talk. It’s mostly Seungcheol at the net trying to bait you into an argument while Jungkook readies to serve.

“How’s your boyfriend?” he jabs.

“How’s yours?” You focus on the sand beneath your feet, the breeze off the wave. He’s been trying to get under your skin with that line for years. It won’t work now. 

First point, you and Jungkook.

The next five, Seungkwan and Seungcheol.

The score goes back and forth, a slim margin for error as the number climbs closer to twenty-one. 

You hit the next set, aiming for the wide gap between Seungkwan and the line. The ball sliced across the net, Seungcheol misreading it by just a hair and the momentum of his block swinging him the opposite direction. It’s perfect. It heads straight for the line and lands without Seungkwan able to save it in time. 

The crowd breaks into applause. The official blows his whistle…

And calls it out.

“That was a touch! Are you fucking blind?” Mingyu yells.

You wince at the next whistle as she flashes him a yellow card.

Fuck. 

He’s up at the perimeter of the court fuming, hands on his hips through his crutches. You march right up to him, identical scowl.

“Mingyu, I swear if you get a red card, I will shove my foot so far up your ass—”

The whistle blows and Seungkwan serves without waiting for you to be ready. It’s a rocket right where you should have been standing.

Seungkwan and Seungcheol take the first match by four points.

The second match starts worse. You’re out of rhythm, fuming at blowing the last set. Jungkook fills in the best he can and keeps you two from totaling blowing it. Fifteen to seventeen with your serve.

You pop it over the net, Seungkwan reading it easily. But a last second gust pushes it of course.

Ace.

Lucky isn’t as strongly on your side for the next serve but it’s good enough. Jungkook passes. With a quick set, he rises above the net, hanging midair. A quick snap of his arm delivers a hit neither opponents on the other side of the net can reach. The ball slams into the sand right before the line.

It’s tit for tat. One up one down. Your body hurts, covered in bruises from diving over and over again but you don’t stop. Jungkook doesn’t either.

Match point comes swiftly. Seungkwan tosses the ball in the air and unleashes a deep serve. It’s fast but you’re underneath it but the angle is wrong. Jungkook dumps it over the net out of Seungcheol’s reach but Seungkwan is there. 

No one’s giving an inch. Just when the ball nearly drops someone picks it up. Everyone plays ugly, scrappy. 

A break comes when Seungcheol passes too high, right on the net. Seungkwan knows it, you know it. You race to joust. Pushing with everything you’ve got until the ball gives. It falls to the sand.

On the other team's side.

Everything blurs. You tackle Jungkook to the ground, cheering. Your friends race onto the court shouting. There’s a dog pile someone has to pull you out of because you can’t breathe underneath them all but you don’t care. Your ears ring, eyes nearly shut from how wide you smile.

You’re carried away for the podium ceremony, Mingyu nowhere in sight. It feels pretty damn good being on top. The heavy weight of the gold medal keeps you grounded. But your best friend is missing and a part of you is gone with him.

You don’t find him until the after party at the locals only beach. He’s got a red cup and a scowl on the tailgate of his truck. 

“Where’d you go? I didn’t see you at the podium.”

“You seemed fine on your own.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Nothing, I’m fine,” he mumbles into his cup.

“Why are you being such a Debbie downer? We won!”

“You guys won. I got to sit there and watch.”

“Okay? You’re still five hundred richer than this morning.”

“Party over here?” Jungkook interrupts. He’s got a joint between his fingers and a beer bottle. “Before I forget, this is yours.”

He shoves an envelope into Mingyu’s hand, taking the open spot on the tailgate next to him before laying back and looking at the stars.

“I’m gonna grab another beer.”

Mingyu moves surprisingly fast when he wants to. Even with crutches on loose sand he’s back by his truck and waiting for you to leave.  

“What’s got sand in his swimsuit?” Jungkook asks. 

“He’s just… bummed about not playing. It’s fine.”

Jungkook snorts in disbelief. “You think that’s why he looks like a kicked puppy?”

“Then enlighten me, wise one.”

“Why do guys do anything?”

“Because you all lack basic brain function?”

Jungkook rolls his eyes and takes another drink. “To impress girls.”

“I’ve seen your belching contests. Not exactly panty dropping material.”

“Okay obviously not that.”

You had no idea Mingyu meant to impress anyone today. He hadn’t mentioned it, usually he doesn’t need to. Some tourist in for the summer hanging off his every word gave clear intention where his interest laid but since his knee you saw all of zero prospects.

“You two are so fucking stupid,” Jungkoook snorts. “You, YN. He wanted to impress you.”

“That makes no sense.”

“He hasn’t had a real girlfriend since you two started living together.”

You take a long sip before answering.. “So? You haven’t had a real girlfriend ever.”

“Bitch.”

“Slut.”

“Mingyu wanted you two to win. Together,” he emphasises. “Because guys want to impress the girls they like.”

“Oh…oh.”

“Get it now?”

“How do you know?”

“If I have to have one more bro chat with him on how to tell you I’m going to take his crutches and beat him to death with them.”

“Got it.”

You despise the tiny part of you that screams like a little girl finding out her playground crush knows her name. He likes me! He likes me! She squeals, bubbling around your stomach like champagne. 

Drunk on the power itching at your fingertips, you turn to find Mingyu. He’s right where you know you’d find him, a log near the fire, tossing in tiny sticks and watching them disappear in the flames.

“Ready to leave?”

Mingyu nods and gets to his feet, crutches carrying him to his truck. You take the driver's seat and peel out of the lot. 

“How mad would you be if we took a detour?” you ask.

“I wanna go home,” he grunts, staring out the window.

“I want to celebrate with just you,” you share. “Please?”

He melts but clings to the stubborn tone. “Okay.”

Another night at the lookout except this time you’re the one cheering him up. You park his truck closer to the water, he can’t very well get in but you want him to be able to at least see the ocean. He hobbles around to the flatbed and plants his ass on the tailgate.

“I think I’m gonna swim.”

“Okay.”

You tug off your shirt, then your pants. Then your bra.

That’s what freezes Mingyu with bug eyes. “What are you doing?”

“Swimming,” you shrug. He catches your swim bottoms as you launch them at his chest. 

“Naked?” he squeaks.

“Who's gonna see?”

“Uhh, me?”

“So? Maybe I want you to.”

You step closer, hands on his spread thighs and squeeze. 

“What?”

Mingyu doesn’t look beneath your collarbone and you smirk.

“A little birdie told me you have a crush.”

His lips form around words but no sound comes out. Maybe you’re being unfair by standing between his legs completely naked, eying him expectantly.

“Do you?”

“I…” he chokes.

“Think about it,” you whisper. His lips are warm against yours, soft and yielding. Then, you turn to sprint towards the ocean.

Mingyu apparently comes back to himself quickly, sputtering and laughing as you disappear beneath the waves. “You can’t just do that!”

Late night swims aren’t as fun without him around to keep you warm. You dip under the water and come up with soaked hair. You only last five minutes before heading back to where he waits, all your nudity on display but Mingyu keeps his eyes on yours, beaming like an idiot.

The second you’re close enough he tugs you into his chest and kisses you. For real this time. There's more to it than simple payback. He kisses you long and hard, pours all his want into it and takes what you give him in return. His tongue rolls across your lip before you open your mouth, a moan bubbles from one of you.

“I can’t believe Hoshi got to kiss you before I did,” he sighs.

You nestle closer. Right into the warmth of his chest, the soft fabric of his baggy shirt and cologne better than anything else in the world. 

“What do you mean Hoshi kissed me before you did? You were my first kiss dingus.”

“What?”

“Ninth grade, Dokyeom’s parents went out of town and we raided the liquor cabinet.”

He stares back at you blankly. You’re still naked.

“You literally begged me to kiss you because you thought you had alcohol poisoning and would die.”

“Oh my god.”

You kiss his cheek and he loves it, pushing into your lips for more with a happy smile. 

“I knew you didn’t remember.”

You nuzzle down his neck, savoring the warmth of his skin against your mouth; nipping until he shudders. You want him as naked as you. But despite the beach being secluded it’s very much public and you don’t need to be caught the first time you get to kiss him.

“In my defense, I thought that was a dream.”

“How often do you dream of me kissing you?”

“Pretty often.”

“How often is that?”

“Almost every night.”

“You’re such a sap.”

He doesn’t deny it. He’s too busy cupping your face and kissing you again, less tongue and yearning; slings an arm around your waist forcing you infinitesimally closer. It’s sweet at first, lingering touch against your naked back. Catalogues the knobs of your spine with painstaking slowness. Lower. Your waist, the sway of your hips. Then he’s got his hand on your ass, a gentle squeeze of exploration, and you feel a little bit guilty such sweet kisses turn you on so much.

“Come on, let’s get home.”

You back away, snagging the blanket he pulled out earlier and hiding your body as he trails behind. “Are you gonna drive home naked? Because that’s a new fantasy I didn’t know I had.”

“How many fantasies do you have?”

“Where do you want me to start?”

“Calm down, Casanova,” you snort. You tug on the spare clothes collected in his truck; a holey, oil stained t-shirt and a pair of sweats. They smell like him.

“Hey.” Mingyu tugs your hand across the center seat and brings it to his lips. He’s blushy but it might just be from a long day beneath the sun. Or from the boner he’s not even attempting to hide. It’s cute. 

“Hey.”

“I do have a crush on you.”

“I kinda figured.”

“Since like high school.”

“Good,” you comment. “Same.”

An anticlimactic confession but it fits between the two of you. You’ve always been the black cat, a little more out of reach in terms of affection but Mingyu has enough words of affirmation for the both of you. You’re much more adept at showing him how you feel anyway. It’s why you’ve been playing nurse for the past week. 

He keeps your hands tangled the entire way home, slides closer on the bench seat so his side heats against yours. There aren’t many stop signs on the way home but the ones you do hit last longer than needed because Mingyu uses it as an excuse to tilt your face towards him and kiss you again and again. Your lips, your nose, between your brows; slowly, savoring every second.

He’s used to his crutches so getting into the house and locking the door takes only a blink. The other two aren’t home which is a blessing in a curse because in the dark of your room you realize it’s just you and Mingyu. No more barriers in the way, no one to interrupt. It’s unbearably awkward in a way it’s not been since you were nineteen and walked in on him rubbing one out of your shared bed at four in the afternoon.

“Um…”

“Yeah—”

“So,” you stutter. 

Mingyu takes it on himself to reign things in.

“You like me, right?” He doesn’t wait for a response. “And I like you. Well, love you and not just as my best friend but I probably shouldn’t say that—wait! Shit! I didn’t mean that. I mean I did mean that but I didn’t mean to say it.”

“Gyu.”

He collapses onto the corner of your bed, freaking himself out. Ripping his hands through his hair, continuing to panic. “Of course, I love you. You’re my best friend and—”

“Gyu.”

“And if you don’t want to try dating me that’s fine! I’d never make you do something you didn’t want to. I don't think I could, you’re pretty stubborn. Which I like! But—”

“Mingyu!”

“What?”

“Take a breath,” you command. You’re freaked out too but Mingyu’s worse at hiding his feelings. Always has been.

“Sorry.”

“It’s fine, just relax a little. Please. You’re freaking me out.”

A crash echoes from outside the door. Glass breaking and some loud curses of one drunken roommate and a decidedly sober sounding Dokyeom shushing him. 

“Sorry,” Mingyu whispers.

“So you love me, huh?”

“I—” he chokes, and then cuts himself off to nod.

Mingyu, who likes to pretend he’s cool and smooth, reduced to a tight bundle of nerves as he sits on the edge of your bed and waits for your response. He looks at his hands. They flex anxiously together as the silence stretches on. You decide on mercy.

“It’s okay. I love you, too.”

Mingyu’s head shoots up so fast you’re afraid he gives himself whiplash. All you can do is smile, embarrassed by the way he stares at you in awe.

“Really?” He’s already pulling you closer

Biting your lip to control the grin attempting to split your face in half, you nod gently. In his lap, you wrap your arms across his shoulders and say it again. It’s quiet outside the bubble you two have made for yourselves but you like his childish giggles as the only thing tickling your ears.

Innocent touching turns lewd in slow measures just like the beach. Your both more deliberate because getting Mingyu out of his pants is a team effort, underwear firmly in place because you haven’t decided if you’re going to fuck him yet. You want to. But they serve as reassurance you don't rush to a good ending. 

Your shirt comes off, then your pants. You shepherd him to the headboard. Fully naked in his lap, Mingyu traces his fingers over your softest parts. It makes you squirm enough you kiss him to break the itch in your gut from nearly innocent touching. But it only makes it worse. He kisses you with just enough vigor to tease; pulls you closer, a tight grip on your waist you’d struggle to break out of if the thought crossed your mind. A tug encourages your rutting against the hard tent of his underwear.

It’s so much better than anything else before. Mingyu seems to agree, panting and grunting against your throat. You could just do this. It’d be enough to come; more than, as Mingyu sinks down further in the pillows and sucks your nipple gently between his lips. His tongue rolls flat and hot against it before switching to the other one. Your jaw slacks, mouth dry from heavy breaths.

“F-fuck, Gyu.”

He sucks harder and your hips follow, the line of his cock beneath his boxers nothing short of incredible. You’re a little embarrassed from how wet you are. Wet enough to soak his briefs a shade darker. But Mingyu takes charge, manhandles you across his cock with painful friction that makes you limp and pliant.

“Oh my god, Mingyu,” you taper off in a moan. “Why didn’t we do this sooner?”

“‘Mingyu, it’s gross!’” he mocks and then hisses from your teeth on his neck. “Not exactly a confidence boost.”

“Yeah, well, I only said that because I wanted to you to—fuck—fuck me.”

Fishing his cock out from his underwear, you lazily jerk him to full mast which takes only seconds. Mingyu bucks into the swipe of your thumb. You move to suck away the mess collecting there.

“Shit! Ow! Ow!” he winces.

Immediately, you’re off him. “What’s wrong? Is your leg okay?”

Mingyu grits his teeth, head falling back against the pillows. “You hit my leg.”

“Oh, shit. I’m sorry!”

“This isn’t sexy.” He sinks into the mattress, hands hiding his frustration. 

He’s laying in your bed, in only his underwear and the pale moonlight sneaking through the window. You couldn’t disagree more.

“I don’t know.” You kiss his cheek. “It's kinda hot.”

“Oh yeah, it’s great that the first time I get to do anything I can’t even make it good for you.”

“Now, that’s just ridiculous.”

“Stupid fucking leg.”

“Alright, calm down.” You can’t help but laugh. You try to stifle it but he hears it before you do and pouts even harder. “Maybe we should wait.”

He's got you back in his lap, wincing through the sudden pressure on his knee. “No, it's fine! I promise!”

“If it hurts it’s not fine,” you admonish. Mingyu doesn’t let you go though. You don’t really want him to. “Just lay back and relax, okay?”

“What are you gonna do?”

“I’m gonna blow you  and then I’m gonna fuck you.”

You say it like a promise. Mingyu’s eyes widen, jaw dropping at your lewd threat. His cock twitches against your palm and you soothe it with a quick stroke. He ruts into it again.

“Oh.”

“Sound good?” you ask, another slick glide across the leaking tip. He’s shaking.

“Sounds great.”

You kiss down his front, raze a nipple with your teeth until he whines. Even with the order to relax his hands can’t stay still. On your back, in your hair, pulling at the sheets as you tongue across his abs. You’re nearly sent crashing to the floor while bruising his hip bone. 

This time, you’re extra careful when kneeling between his sprawled legs. Your ass high in the air for his pleasure, him sprawled out on the pillows for yours. He’s pretty. The moonlight slipping between the blinds casts him in a pale glow, lines of light crossing his body and illuminating all the best parts: tangled hair from your hands, swollen lips from your kissing, a splotchy hickey on his hip claiming him as yours.

His cock spills from the band of his underwear, hard and waiting. You keep watching as you suck the tip of it. His eyes open at that, watching you watching him and he can't decide if it's heaven or hell right there beneath you on the mattress.

“Oh my god.”

It’s slow work to roll his underwear down without jostling his bad knee but you distract him with teasing caresses of every newly revealed inch of skin. There isn’t much you haven’t seen but you’re eager to get reacquainted. Fingers, then lips, then soothing the sting of your teeth with some wet pecks. And then you draw his cock across your tongue for the first time and he jumps.

“Holy shit.”

“What?” you garble around a mouthful of cock. 

There isn’t really a good angle with his knee in consideration so the rhythm of your hand is lackluster at best. You make up for it with hollowed cheeks he can’t look away from, and he actually throbs between your swollen lips as your tongue traces every ridge and vein meticulously. Each time he starts to answer your question you suck the head until he whines.

“You’re…” he sighs. “this is gonna sound weird but I’ve only dreamed of you doing this since we were like sixteen.”

A brief break for the sake of your jaw gives you time to joke, “No pressure.”

“It’s already better than I thought if that means anything.”

“Stop being cute, I'm trying to suck your dick.”

You cut off his rebuttal with a swallow and his eyes nearly bug out from his skull at the sight. His hand rests on the back of your head, gathering your hair to keep it out of the way. “Is this…”

You nod enthusiastically before he even finishes his thought, mouth watering at the possibilities. You ache for it. You want him to call the shots and let you follow merrily behind, bent to his whim.

“Open your mouth, baby.”

You open wide for his cock to brush the back of your throat softly. Not too much just yet while he gathers the confidence to maneuver you the way he needs; the way he’s apparently been dying to for years. 

He’s got one hand on the back of your head, the other tangled in the sheets as you suck him rigid. Brace for a gentle gag, just enough for him to hear, and the taste of sticky pre-cum floods across your tongue. You get a few more drags of your tongue up the head of his cock before he leverages to grip in your head and pulls you off.

“Okay, okay. Stop.”

“What’s wrong? Is it your leg?”

Mingyu ignores your question. His only response is a sloppy kiss with too much tongue but you can’t fault him for it with the pleasant heat of his hands on your ass once more. 

“Wanna eat you out,” he grunts.

You snort at his optimism. “I can see some issues with that.”

He lifts you up his chest. It’s horrible that someone with a face like his is also a muscle pig who can bend you anyway he wants even with an injury; Jungkook fully to blame for too many workouts on the beach. Mingyu has you up his chest before you realize where this is going.

“Sit on my face.”

“I—” you blink. Porn isn’t a good reference for sex, not that you’ve seen much since the only TV sits in the living room. You’ve seen the magazines your friends buy as gag gifts though and the thought of Mingyu smothered in your cunt makes you sweat. “Are you sure?”

Apparently it’s a stupid question because Mingyu just pulls you further up until you’re kneeling over him and he’s got enough room to deliver soft licks to your core.

You don’t care how loud you’re being or the fact you share a wall with Dokyeom who doesn’t deserve to hear your pathetic moans in surround sound. Mingyu abuses your clit, sucks and licks and kisses with lewd vigor until you rut down into it.

You need a break. Just a second to regain sanity but Mingyu isn’t that generous. He holds you by your ass, palms it so hard you squeak as he moves you against his mouth, drops one hand when he’s confident you aren’t planning to run away again. The stretch of two thick fingers crook just right to have you seeing stars.

“Th-there.”

Mingyu hums into the sloppy mess of your cunt, holding steady as you fuck yourself along his face, tongue out to swipe messily at your clit. His head shakes back and forth and makes you whine to the ceiling fan. You savor the rhythm he sets, thick fingers working to prep you, stretching and spreading until your stomach dips. He knocks every tight noise in your chest out with each rush.

“That’s…Just like that. Gyu, please.” You nails scratch against the wall aimlessly. He stretches and stretches, molds you to him and every one of his whims. 

Until all you can do is snap.

You’re wobbly on jelly knees, clit numb even while Mingyu suckles against it softly for your come down. You roll off carefully to sit bubbly and golden back in his lap. Eyes closed, you lean blindly into his space and squish his cheek with yours.

He’s just as messy as you feel. Face wet, choked breaths and racing pulse, you deflate against each other. The bloodlust for satisfaction lulls to a simmer. You use it to enjoy all the warm skin on skin contact.

Aftercare comes in the form of lips dragging over wherever either of you can reach, no energy for real kisses just savoring the lazy motion. The hands that plucked you into a whimpering mess massage your thighs, your back; pull and tangle his fingers between yours.

“When my knee is better I’m gonna do that for an hour.”

“Lucky me,” you huff. 

You find his mouth, suck his bottom lip between yours until he demands more. His cock rests against his stomach, hot to the touch. Gentle at first. Teasing with a light brush of your fingers. Then getting a tight grip around him until he bucks.

“Want you,” Mingyu groans, pulling you further up his thighs. “Wanna fuck you.”

On your knees, you position over him to do just that but he stops you.

“Condom?” 

Good thing at least one of you is thinking because you didn’t even think about it. Your nightstand drawer is barren, not even an empty box left. Not a single condom wrapper in sight.

“Fuck. Do you have any in your room?”

He doesn’t. Which means you’re at the mercy of your roommates and their ability to practice safe sex.

You tug Mingyu’s shirt over head but even if it hides your nudity you smell like sex and have the glow on your features to back it up. There’s flaking pre-cum and spit against your chin.Whatever, you’ve heard your roommates howling like dogs enough times to earn your own night of debauchery.

“Hosh.” You rap on his door but he doesn’t answer. When you open it he’s face down in the pillow, trash can close by. You watch just long enough for his chest to expand to make sure he isn’t dead before prodding him in the side.

“Wha? What?” he mumbles through drool.

“Condoms?”

He stares at you with all the sentience of rock before answering. “I can’t sleep with you, Mingyu will kill me.”

“You stupid bitch,” you sneer, slapping him with his own pillow. “Where are your condoms?”

Soonyoung buries himself back into his sheets. “I don’t have any.”

“Oh my god.”

You fly out of his tiger den and to Dokyeom’s door down the hall.

“Kyeom?” You knock. “Dude, are you awake?”

He actually answers the door. His bedside light is still on, some comic book left open on his bed. “Is someone dead?”

“No. Do you have a condom?”

“For who?”

Your eyes roll. “Me, dumbass.”

“Who’s the guy?” Dokyeom looks at you like he doesn’t believe it. Maybe the walls are more soundproof than you thought.

“Mingyu.”

“Wait, really?”

“Yes, really! We can have girl time later, but I need a condom. Now.”

He forces his entire stash, an unopened 32-count box, into your hands before pushing you back into the hallway with a quiet ‘good luck.’

Your roommates are fucking weird.

Tucked back in the dark of your room, Mingyu is waiting.Blanket wrapped around his waist, propped against the headboard just like you left him.

“Hi.”

“Hi,” he smiles. He looks a little pathetic. 

“Did you know Dokyeom keeps a thirty-two pack in his room?” You hold up the evidence as proof.

“Apparently, he’s seeing some waitress at the Kellerman.”

“Enough times he needs a bulk box of rubbers?”

“Clearly not if he gave them to you.”

“I think it’s more like a ‘congrats on finally getting together’ present.”

“How thoughtful of him,” he snorts. “Now come over here. I missed you.” 

“Can’t have that, can we?” You kneel on the bed next to him. His hand sneaks up the back of your leg, beneath your shirt to cup your ass.

“Yeah, the doctors said it was bad for me.”

“Well if the doctors said…” You lose the thought in a gentle sigh against his mouth. Mingyu peels your shirt - his shirt - over head and banishes it to the floor. You're naked in his lap and he’s naked beneath you; it makes you clench.

He covers every inch of your naked skin in soft kisses, puffs of breath heating your neck as you stroke his cock hard enough to slip the condom on.

“Fuck, you’re so hot.”

You balance on shaky knees, sheathing him inside you in a slow descent. He wants to fuck up into you so badly. You can feel it in the way his hands squeeze on your hips, his stomach dips as you take more. Everything about Mingyu is big, including his cock. Big enough you could sit there all night and never get used to the stretch, or the way he whispers sweet praises into your temple.

Good girl. My favorite. Perfect for me.

When you finally bottom out, ass flat to his thighs, pressed tight to his chest, you whimper, “M-Mingyu.”

He groans into your cheek. “Love how you say my name.”

It’s all on you to make this good. You rock forward, instantly dissatisfied with the emptiness of your core and immediately moving to end the feeling. You grind on him and that feels better. He wedges deep and stays there; presses your buttons from the inside out as he mouths across your shoulder.

You’re so wet, soaked from his mouth, and his thumb takes advantage by gluing to your clit, tight circles that make you spasming. He guides you while nipping back up to your mouth, one hand heavy on your ass. 

“Oh, keep doing that,” he moans when your nails dig into his chest. 

The slap of skin against skin is background noise to grunts and groans and pathetic whines that meld between your mouths. Lightheaded, you aren’t even kissing, open mouths brushing against one another with narrowed vision. 

“Is it,” he gasps. “Is it bad if I ask you to turn around?”

“D-depends why you’re asking.”

“Wanna fuck you from behind. Wanna watch you take my cock.” He squeezes your ass to punctuate the request.

“Watch me like this.” You lean back, carefully to balance on the mattress and not his legs. Mingyu glues onto the unobstructed view down your front: your throat, your breasts, the way your cunt clings to his cock on the upstroke. “You like it?”

Hips finding a jilted rhythm, Mingyu snakes a hand up your chest and twists your nipple until you nearly collapse. “So good, it looks so good.”

“Next t-time,” you hiccup. “You can fuck me however you want. Want you to…fuck me from behind.”

He tugs the back of your neck. You collapse with the strength of his muscles and land nose to nose with him. 

“You’re so good— fuck, so tight for me. For me, yeah?”

You give a dumb nod, voice mute with the deep rhythm battering your walls.

“Say it. Say you’re mine.”

You can only nod again. Hair sticks to your sweaty face, a few rogue tears joining the mess Mingyu’s left on it.

“Say it, wanna hear you say it. Please.” He’s lost somewhere. Some desperate place that needs your validation.

You chant exactly what he wants to hear. Yours, yours, yours. A second duller bolt flashes through you, tensing every last muscle. Mingyu jolts from the tight squeeze gripping his cock. You give him the last sweep of your energy, bouncy wildly, fucking him quick and hard until your eyes cross.

“I’m—Mingyu, oh,” you whimper. You don’t stop even though your muscles object. Thrashing as you seize and come hot and wet. 

Mingyu’s got his hands to move you when your joints lock, a desperate race to his own end. He rubs you raw and red right to the core. You let him; still sobbing through the last pulses while he manhandles you over his cock roughly, slick with no resistance.

“Baby, fuck, feels so good,” he grovels, fucked out of his mind.

Your legs try to close, run away from the rush of even more stimulation, but Mingyu keeps you firmly pinned in place. He bites your neck, your shoulder, coming in thick breaths, hips stuttering while you sit there and take it. His fingers take advantage of the mess of your core but there's nothing left for you to give. Maybe later.

Mingyu gasps for air like he just did a deep dive. “Holy shit fuck.”

The touching doesn’t stop. You sweep your hands over his shoulders, cup his face, trace fingers of his stomach. Mingyu’s got one hand to keep you from pulling off his just yet, the other glued to the dip of your spine. Places forbidden to touch as just friends, now unlocked.

Condom in the trash, tissues for a quick clean up. You’re sticky in all the worst places but it’s a problem for later.

“So…when's our first date?” you ask him, cuddling back into the crook of his neck for the rest of the night.

“You. Me. Patty’s tomorrow morning.”

“Are you actually gonna pay for our food this time?”

Mingyu squeezes at your side, lips against your hairline. “You’re the one rolling in dough, Ms. Champion.”

“So I’m your sugar momma now?”

“That’s hot.”

The rebuttal dissolves on your tongue. You’re both deadweight. Sweaty and glowing in a pile of limbs, shivering beneath the ceiling fan. Mingyu is happy as your pillow, sweeping his hand over your back and hair as you crest sleep.

Turns out your room doesn’t get too hot with Mingyu sleeping in it if you’re both naked.

taglist: @cvpidyunho @miniseokminnies @ddaengpotate @arycutie

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@missminhoe @toplinehyunjin @crvs4vldtn @prettygyuuu @sliceofwoozi

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@wonrangwoo @xchaenx @nuttywastelandmentality @champagnenoona @kyeomofhearts

[soaps-mohawk]

Pre-Dinner Activities

Summary: Simon is horny for his wife. That's it. That's the plot.

Pairing: Simon x fem!reader

Warnings: NSFW, 18+ explicit sexual content, p in v sex, unprotected sex, creampie, oral sex, Simon is a little shit

A/N: I saw a post about writing filthy smut and posting it today so people have to read it while at dinner with their families. So Happy Thanksgiving for those of you in America, and for those of you not, uh Happy Thursday/Friday whatever day it is for you. This is shit, I wrote it yesterday, but enjoy!

MASTERLIST

“Simon, we’re going to be late.” 

“There’s traffic this time of night.” He says, ignoring your protest as he kneels down behind you. “Can come up with a believable excuse.” 

“I’m not going to dinner with your parents looking like I’ve been fucked three ways to Sunday.” You say, finishing your mascara. 

“That’s what makeup is for.” Simon mumbles, hiking your dress up around your hips. 

“I already did my makeup.” You say, grunting as he pushes you up against the bathroom sink.

“You can touch it up.” His lips brush your inner thigh, his fingers slipping around the hem of your panties. 

“I wouldn’t have to if you didn’t get turned on every time we go out to dinner.” Your voice gets breathier as his face pushes up between your legs. “Guess this is better than fucking in the parking lot after.” 

Simon hums, the sound vibrating against your pussy as he mouths at your folds. “That’s definitely happening too.” 

Your complaint is cut off by a breathy moan as he drags his tongue through your wet slit. Despite your protests you can’t deny how wet the anticipation of his mouth on you has made you. 

“Fuck.” You breathe, leaning further over the counter as he pushes further between your legs. “You’re going to suffocate yourself.” 

“Good.” His voice is muffled as he presses further between your thighs, sucking your clit between his lips. 

Your panties are looped around one ankle, giving you room to spread your legs for him. Those big hands wrap around your thighs, pulling you back against his face. His lips suckle at your clit, and you know he’s getting absolutely drowned by the slick dribbling out of you.

He offers up no complaint though as he drags his tongue across your clit, his nose pressing against your folds. He draws circles around the sensitive bud, his mouth slurping at the slick starting to seep out of you. 

“Fucking hell, Simon.” You moan, your legs jerking as he scrapes his teeth against the underside of your clit. 

He lets out a muffled grunt, his tongue alternating between circles and teasing flicks against your clit. You’re going to cum and fast with how worked up he’s making you. He loves eating you out, his head between your thighs every chance he gets. He just loves you in general, but he also loves your pussy. 

“Fuck,” You moan as his tongue flicks across your clit. He’s groaning into your pussy, the sound vibrating through your slick folds. 

He pulls away just slightly from your clit, just enough to drag his tongue through your folds again. “Gonna cum?” He asks, his voice still slightly muffled. 

“Yeah,” You breathe, dropping down onto your arms on the counter as you push your hips backwards into his face. 

He uses the new position to his advantage, sucking hard on your clit. Your hips jolt from the pleasure, needy moans leaving your lips as you lay there against the counter. 

Your knees buckle as he continues to suck hard on your clit, his pleased groans vibrating through the sensitive bud. You're so close, your orgasm rapidly approaching. 

You’re right there, right on the edge of your orgasm when he pulls away, completely withdrawing himself from between your legs. You let out a disgruntled whine, lifting your head to stare at him in the mirror as he pushes himself up to stand. 

“What the fuck Simon!” You say, watching him as he frantically undoes his belt. 

“Can’t stand it any longer.” He shoves his pants and briefs down, his cock rock hard and angry red. 

He doesn’t give you any warning before he’s pushing into you, splitting you open around his thick cock. His hand pushes against your upper back keeping you pinned as he begins to snap his hips against your ass. 

“We’re really going to be late now.” You gasp, pushing your hips back against his, meeting his thrusts. 

“Can’t show up to dinner with my parents with a raging boner.” He says. 

“I could have given you a hand job in the car on the way.” You whine. 

“Can’t show up with cum on my pants either.” He grunts, pushing his cock as deep as he can inside of you. “Much prefer this anyway.” 

“Damn it, Simon.” You groan as he shifts his hips, dragging his cock against that spot inside of you. 

“You fucking love it.” He grunts, his hands dropping to your hips. 

He's not wrong. 

His thrusts are rough and sharp, pointed with a purpose. His cock drags along that spot inside of you with every thrust, pushing you closer and closer to the orgasm you were denied just a few moments ago. You’re not going to last much longer, not with his cock bullying itself into you like that. 

“Fuck, fuck-” Your back arches, pushing your hips back against his. He keeps the pace, thrusting into you hard and fast as you cum around him, gushing all over his cock. 

“Fucking beautiful.” He groans, his eyes cast downward at your ass as his thrusts start to get sloppy. 

You watch in the mirror as he gets closer and closer to the edge, his eyes still cast downward, his lips parted as he breathes. There’s sweat beaded on his forehead, dampening the edges of his hair. You’ll have to fix that. 

His head tilts back as he cums, exposing the column of his throat. You want to sink your teeth into his skin, but that’ll be for later. He cums inside of you, filling you up with hot spurts of his seed, his hips pushed right up against your ass. He grinds against you a couple of times before folding himself over you. 

His hands come to rest on the counter on either side of you, his gaze locked with yours in the mirror. “Think it’s too late to cancel?” 

“Yeah.” You breathe, reaching for a tissue to dab at the sweat beaded on your own forehead. “We’ve already cancelled twice.” 

“Fuck,” He breathes as he slips out of you. “You’re right.” 

“We need to leave like five minutes ago.” You say, quickly fixing your makeup as he helps you back into your panties. 

His hand cups your pussy as he pulls them up, his fingertips applying gentle pressure to your clit. “Keep that in there for later.” He grins, nipping at the skin behind your ear. 

“Fine,” You give him a pointed look through the mirror. “But we’re going to dinner with your parents, so no fingering me under the table this time.”

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[splishfish]

Toys (NSFW)

Tomura Shigaraki x AFAB Reader

Tags: PiV, Use of Vibrator, Overstimulation, Squirting, Unprotected Sex, Pre-Established Relationship, Slight Dacryphilia

WC: 1.5k

"C’mon…don’t cry…let’s do it again…”

Sex with Tomura is amazing. Truly, it really is! Although he can be very rough in bed, he’ll always make sure your comfortable and enjoying yourself. If you ask him to change positions, he’ll always shuffle around just for you, even if he’s grumbling under his breath about how needy you are.

He’s an amazing partner in bed. Really…it’s just that…

More than half the time, he can never make you cun during sex.

That doesn’t mean the sex isn't good! No, of course not! It’s amazing! His cock curves so sweetly into your hot cunny, rubbing up into that squishy spot just a few inches deep inside you. And he loves to pound into you like his life depends on it, his heavy balls slapping against your ass / clit depending on your position, and his fingers so tenderly rub against your aching clit, causing your sweet little pussy to clench around him…

But it’s never enough

In the end, once he finishes, he’d have to use his long slender fingers to plunge inside you, desperately finger fucking you into oblivion until you cum. He doesn’t care if you cry and sob against his fingers, begging ‘Please! No more! ‘s too much!’  with your sweet little voice, he’s determined to make you cum.

Whenever you fail to cum during sex, he always seems so grumpy. So mad and upset at himself for failing you. It’s gotten so bad that he’d even end up scratching at his poor neck until it bleeds, beating himself up for disappointing you. All of this makes your heart ache, and eventually, you bring up the prospect of using toys during the bedroom.

When you first bring this up, he stays silent during the conversation, his mind whirring with different thoughts.

Were you seriously thinking of replacing him for some silicone dick? Was he not enough? Were you that unhappy with your sex lives? Would you break up with him? How fucking dare you try and replace him?! He was going to fucking kill-

Before his thoughts delved deeper into hatred and despair you quickly explained to him that no, this wasn’t a way to replace him, and that you were happy with your sex life. The conversation lasted a long time, the both of you sharing your opinions and thoughts on the matter.

Tomura was blunt about his thoughts on the matter. He refused to let you bring any dildo’s or toys that would require any sort of insertion into the bedroom. No, that was his job, only he belonged deep inside your weeping cunt, not some plastic toy.

He also didn’t want any toys to be used on him either. He was already upset about bringing in toys to begin with, so even bringing up using toys on him would cause him to start scratching his neck.

Eventually, the both of you reached a conclusion. You’d go out together, and buy whatever toy would suit his merit and your needs. 

When the day finally came to go shopping, you were absolutely buzzing with excitement! Not only would you be able to go shopping for something for your sex lives, but also you’d be able to spend time and help Tomura understand your needs.

Entering the sex shop hand in hand, you dragged Tomura towards the first few toys you saw, holding them up and explaining their function to him. At first, he didn’t really pay attention, his eyes darting throughout the store, his body stiff and his hands constantly coming up to tug the black hoodie further down his face.

You weren’t too sure if he was embarrassed, or maybe paranoid of being recognized, but eventually he managed to calm down enough to actually help you browse throughout the store. He scowled at every dildo or phallic item you passed, and he even spent a few seconds gazing at the wall of monster dildos in the corner.

For a moment, he imagined you struggling to take such a monstrous cock, and how your pretty little cunny would squelch and cry at such a big size. But he quickly pushed those thoughts away.

Eventually, after spending around an hour or so of browsing, you both decided on what you thought was the most basic purchase, yet best item you could have gotten. A hitachi wand.

As you two warped back, you spent the first few hours unpacking and letting the wand charge completely. Once it was finished, you took it back to Tomura’s room, holding it up like a prized possession as you spoke.

“Let’s try it out now!”

As you laid on your back, your legs spread wide as Tomura stood between them, his cock sliding between your puffy folds. Your slick mixed with his pre, your body buzzing with lust and excitement. Tomura grabbed the base of his cock, slowly sliding it down your slit until the tip of his cock nudged your eager hole.

You sighed in relief as he slowly pushed in, the head of his cock sliding in with a small squelch as you reached over the bed to grab the vibrator. You could see his lips twitch into a small frown, but he didn’t comment on your actions as he bottomed out.

Once you felt the familiar slide of his cock moving inside you, you turned on the vibrator, the buzzing noise causing his hips to stutter as he pulled back far enough to watch you place the bulbous head against your clit.

Instantly, a breathy curse escaped your lips, eyes fluttering shut as your hips bucked up in response to the intense vibrations against your needy bud. You could hear Tomura whimper from above you, his hips beginning to move as he spoke.

“Oh fuck…I-I can feel it even when i’m inside you…”

From above, Tomura felt chills of pleasure run down his spine. Everytime he moved, he could feel his cock buzzing from the pleasure, and everytime he pulled out far enough, the force of the vibrations would go straight to his tip. He groaned, his cock twitching as he moved faster, your slick causing his light blue pubes to stick together, a small string connecting the both of your bodies every time he moved away.

You could feel your pussy begin to drool, your tits bouncing with every hard thrust of his hips. His grunts became louder from above you, his hands coming up to grip at your thighs, the plush flesh pooling out of his fingers as he rammed himself deeper into you.

“Fuck…you feel so fuckin’ good…hah…so tight, you gonna cum already?”

You didn’t even notice the way your cunt so desperately clung to his cock, the coil in your stomach forming so quickly you could only babble a whiny ‘yes’ as you pressed the vibrating head even harder against your clit.

Your throat burned as you screamed out in pleasure, your orgasm ripping through you in multiple waves, both the vibrator and his cock drawing it out until you were nearly crying. You pulled the vibrator away from your overstimulated clit, gasping out as he grasped your wrist and forced the toy back against your nub.

You yelped, a searing pain that felt way too good suddenly coursing through you, your body squirming under him as you sobbed in response to his actions.

“No! Aagh! Tom-Tomura! W-wait wait wait! It's too much!”

He giggled from above you, a breathy moan escaping him as his hand pressed the toy against you even harder as he spoke in a dark tone, his hips stuttering against your pulsing cunny.

“Fuckk…feels so good baby…I can feel the vibrator against my cock-shit! Oh god…mhn…just a bit more..!”

You couldn’t stop the tears from falling from your face, your clit burning from overstimulation and pain. It felt so painful but with every second the vibrator was held firm on your clit the more you could feel another tight coil forming, ready to burst once again.

But this one was different.

Your legs began to tremble involuntarily, loud sobs escaping your throat as your cunny began pulsing against his cock in an almost painful vice. You didn’t even notice the sudden gush of liquid that squirted out of you, hitting Tomura’s pelvis and forcing his cock out of your gushing hole due to the intense pleasure of your second orgasm.

Tomura groaned in surprise as a sudden force caused his cock to pull away, watching as your sweet little cunny quivered and pulsed as you squirted against him, the strong yet short stream eventually dying down to a dribble, falling onto a pool of your fluids beneath you.

He couldn’t tear his eyes away from the sight, and only after a few moments of staring, laughter began to bubble up in his chest, leaving his mouth in small manic giggles as he trailed his eyes back to your face.

Oh, what a beautiful sight you were. All sweaty, flushed and wrecked. Fat salty tears escaping your eyes as you shook, small pretty sobs escaping your lips as you laid out all blissed out and messy.

He leaned down to lick the salty tears off your face, his cock pulsing and throbbing with eagerness as he grinded against your sloppy pussy.

“Oh fuck…that was so fucking hot…holy shit..eheh…c’mon…don’t cry…let’s do it again…”

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[verstappenf1lecccc]

Long one shot for Jealous!Toto Wolff with wife reader. With how many celebrities and famous people at the Las Vegas GP, it's no wonder how many times she has been hit. Toto and their son, Jack saved her. Fluff/suggestive. Anything, I don't mind. Thanks!! :)

With prompts : Are you jealous?” “No, I’m not!” “Oh, you really are jealous! Wait, why would you be jealous?”, "I trust you, I just don't trust them." & “Jealousy doesn’t suit you. I like to see you smile more.”

Pairing: Toto Wolff x Reader

i loved writing this fic!! i have a serieus one coming out soon with a rather similar plot just more angst it is toto based!!

Jealous!Toto Wolff - One-Shot

The bright lights of the Las Vegas Grand Prix shimmered like a thousand stars on the Strip, illuminating the desert night sky as the paddock buzzed with excitement. The air was filled with the sound of revving engines, the chatter of celebrities, and the occasional laughter of fans mingling with drivers and team members. But for you, the night had started to feel overwhelming, your patience tested by more than one unwelcome encounter.

You had come to the race with your husband, Toto Wolff, and your young son, Jack. The plan had been simple: enjoy the thrill of the race, soak in the electric atmosphere, and have a good time with the family. But as you wandered the paddock, admiring the sleek cars and waving to some of the familiar faces in the crowd, the attention you were receiving started to feel less flattering and more intrusive.

It wasn’t uncommon for people to approach you—many of them were fans of Toto, or simply curious about the wife of the Mercedes team principal—but tonight, with the who’s who of the celebrity world filling the stands and the paddock, it seemed like everyone wanted a piece of you.

It started innocuously enough. A few polite conversations, quick photo ops with fans, the usual pleasantries. But soon, it became clear that a few of these “fans” weren’t as well-meaning as they appeared. A touch on the arm here, a lingering gaze there—nothing outright inappropriate, but enough to make you feel uncomfortable. And when you tried to escape back to the hospitality area, a certain well-known actor had greeted you with a lingering kiss on the cheek that, while nothing more than friendly in appearance, sent an uncomfortable chill down your spine.

It was at that exact moment that Toto appeared. His sharp eyes, usually so focused on the race, were now locked onto the scene before him with an intensity that made your stomach flutter—though not in a good way. He was standing by the entrance of the hospitality suite, his gaze fixed on the interaction, his posture stiff and controlled.

“Are you alright?” he asked, his voice calm but with an edge you had never heard before.

You nodded, attempting to brush it off. “It’s fine, Toto. Just… a lot going on tonight, you know?”

His eyes narrowed, and he took a few steps forward, the crowd seemingly parting for him as if they could sense the subtle shift in his demeanor. He turned to the actor, his expression cold and polite. “Excuse me,” Toto said, his voice flat and even. “I’m afraid my wife is not interested in further conversation.”

The actor blinked, startled by the sudden intervention, and gave a half-hearted smile before backing off, muttering something under his breath.

As the actor walked away, you felt the warmth of Toto’s hand on your lower back, a gesture meant to reassure but also to stake a claim. You glanced up at him, catching the faintest flicker of something in his eyes—something between possessiveness and concern.

“Toto, you didn’t have to do that,” you said, trying to lighten the mood. “I was fine.”

His expression didn’t soften. “Are you sure? Because it didn’t look like you were fine.”

“I’m fine,” you reassured him, offering a small smile.

He didn’t return the smile. Instead, he took a deep breath and spoke slowly, as if carefully choosing his words. “I trust you. I just don’t trust them.”

You blinked, caught off guard by the admission. “Wait, why would you be jealous? It was just a kiss on the cheek.”

Toto’s lips pressed together in a tight line. “Jealous? Me?” He raised an eyebrow, as though the idea was ridiculous, but the tension in his voice betrayed him. “No, I’m not jealous.” He ran a hand through his hair. “Okay, maybe a little. But only because I don’t like how they treat you.”

Before you could respond, Jack appeared, holding a toy car in his hands and grinning from ear to ear. His innocence broke the tension in the air, and Toto’s stern expression softened. He crouched down, scooping Jack up and planting a kiss on his cheek.

“Are you having fun?” Toto asked, his tone much lighter now.

“Yeah, yeah! It’s so cool here, Daddy!” Jack exclaimed, looking between you and his father. “But I think Mummy’s getting bored.”

You chuckled, even as you shot a playful glare at Toto. “I’m not bored, Jack.”

But Toto wasn’t letting it go. “I think you need a break,” he said, glancing at you with an unreadable expression. “You’ve been dealing with a lot tonight. How about we get some privacy? Just the three of us. We can go back to the hotel, away from all this madness.”

His suggestion caught you off guard, but it was exactly what you needed. A moment to breathe, to relax, to remember why you were here in the first place: for each other. And maybe, just maybe, Toto needed a little time away from the chaos too.

Later that evening, after the race had ended and the crowds had dispersed, Toto had whisked you and Jack away to a luxurious suite in one of the quieter corners of the Strip. The moment you stepped inside, the world felt miles away. The chaos of the paddock, the glittering distractions of celebrity and competition—none of that mattered now. It was just the three of you.

You sank onto the plush sofa, feeling the weight of the day lifting off your shoulders. Jack immediately jumped into your lap, grinning as he showed off the race car he had “won” from one of the games in the paddock.

Toto, still standing by the door, watched the two of you with a soft, almost tender smile, his earlier frustration completely dissipated. “Jealousy doesn’t suit you, you know,” you teased, leaning back into the cushions and catching his eye. “I like to see you smile more.”

Toto’s smile grew, but there was still a playful edge to it. “I’m smiling now,” he said, walking toward you. “And I don’t want to see anyone make you feel uncomfortable again. You’re mine, and I protect what’s mine.”

You laughed softly, reaching for his hand as he sat beside you. “Toto, we’ve been together for years. You know I’m not going anywhere.”

He squeezed your hand, the unspoken words between you both speaking volumes. “I know. But I still don’t like the idea of anyone else thinking they can have you.”

You leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to his cheek. “Well, they can think whatever they want. But the only person who gets to be close to me, in every way, is you.”

Toto’s smile turned into a grin, and he wrapped his arm around your shoulders, pulling you close. “Good,” he whispered, resting his chin on top of your head. “That’s the way I like it.”

There was a long, comfortable silence between you, the kind that only true intimacy can bring. Toto leaned in, placing a soft kiss on your lips, the kind of kiss that spoke more of reassurance and love than anything else. When he pulled back, his eyes softened, and you could see the shift in him—the guard he’d been holding up for so long had finally come down.

“You know,” he murmured, his fingers brushing your cheek as he traced a gentle line along your jaw, “you’ve always been the one to make me smile the most. But tonight… tonight you’ve made me feel like the luckiest man in the world.”

A blush crept up your neck, and you ducked your head, feeling a flutter in your chest. “Stop, Toto,” you whispered with a shy smile, but your heart was racing, his words making you feel cherished in ways you hadn’t expected after a long, chaotic day.

He grinned and kissed the top of your head. “I’m serious. You’re everything to me. And I just want you to know… no matter what happens, you’re the only one I care about.”

You looked up at him, your heart swelling. “And I’m the only one who’ll ever have you,” you said softly, your hands moving to his chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart beneath your fingers.

Toto’s grin softened, and for a moment, he just looked at you—no words, just that quiet understanding that had always been the foundation of your relationship. His lips hovered over yours again, but this time, instead of kissing you immediately, he lingered, savoring the closeness.

“Let’s not think about the world outside for a while,” he whispered. “Just us. Here. Together.”

You nodded, a sense of peace settling over you as his lips finally met yours, slow and deliberate. The kiss deepened, and in that moment, everything else faded away—the buzzing, the noise, the world outside your hotel suite. There was just him, and you, and the soft, perfect rhythm of the love you shared.

As you pulled back, Toto’s fingers gently traced the line of your collarbone. “We need more moments like this,” he murmured, his voice low and intimate.

“Then let’s make them,” you replied, smiling up at him, knowing that no matter how chaotic life could get, moments like this—just the two of you—were the ones that would always matter most.

In the quiet of the hotel room, the two of you drifted off to sleep, wrapped in each other’s arms.

[bitchesuntitled]

Three Months

Dieter Bravo x F!Reader wc: 4,490

Summary: Dieter wants to sleep with you, so you propose a deal. Warnings/Tags: MDNI 18+, best friends to lovers, mentions of drugs and alcohol, Dieter being well... himself, Dieter getting sober, fingering(f!receiving), unprotected PinV(be smarter than this IRL folks), I believe that's it but if I missed anything let me know! A/N: This would be my submission for my own Get Dieter Sober challenge! Don't forget peeps there's still time if you wanna submit something! Thank you @beefrobeefcal and @jennaispunk for lending their eyes for this one!

Masterlist||AO3||Get Dieter Sober masterlist

divider provided by @saradika-graphics

“Dee,” you let out a frustrated sigh, flinging yourself back on his bed, “We’ve been over this!”

“Oh, come on!” Dieter whines, “You’re hot, I’m hot. What would be the big deal?”

“Just because you want to fuck someone doesn’t mean it should be me!” You huff, rolling your eyes. Dieter flops beside you on his bed with a frustrated groan.

“It’s not fair,” he whines, laying on his side and propping his head up with his fist. “You’re my best friend! Why wouldn’t I ask you? It wouldn’t change anything just because we sleep together.” He tries to argue. “Plus, it’s not like we haven’t fooled around some.”

“We were both drunk,” you bark out a laugh, “I don’t think that counts. All we did was make out on your couch and you fell asleep dry-humping me.”

“Could try again.” He suggests, wiggling his eyebrows. 

You’ve lost count now of how many times he’s tried this during your years of friendship. Dieter gets this wild hair up his ass convinced he wants to sleep with you, only for someone else to come along and occupy him. You roll on your side to face him. Eyes roaming the features of his face: his pouty lips with his bottom lip stuck out further as he begged, the aquiline shape of his nose, and lastly, his big brown eyes, bloodshot and wide pupils from whatever substance he took today. Pills, coke, booze, you name it, Dieter Bravo snorted or ingested it. You smirked, an idea forming in your head.

“How bad do you want to fuck me, Bravo?” You ask in a sultry tone, your fingers scratching through the scruff of his jaw, leaning into him, tracing your nose softly against his.

“Really fucking bad.” He breaths out, his lips ghosting over your own, stretching his neck, attempting to slot his mouth over yours.

“Then I’ll make a deal with you,” you smirk, running your fingers through his thick brown waves, pulling his head away from you.

“Okay.” He giggles giddily as you loosen the grip on his hair, “What are you thinking?”

“Three months — no drugs, no booze, no sex,” you let out breezily, “Then I’ll let you fuck me.”

“What?” Dieter all but shrieks, eyes widening at your proposal.

“You heard me,” you say, booping his nose with your index finger, “You want to fuck me so bad. Need to be sober for three months.”

“What am I supposed to do for three fucking months?” He asks, flopping onto his stomach on the bed.

“Be sober.” You shrug, letting out an evil cackle, and gently pat his back.

“Deal,” Dieter grumbles into his comforter. “Three months will fly by.” He huffs, shrugging. “I’ll be fine,” he mumbles more to himself.

—

He looks up from his phone, watching the party around him. Women and men gyrating on the makeshift dance floor. A week into this deal with you and he feels fine. He won’t cave. A handsome brunette offers him some random pill but he declines, making his way through the house.

“Hey, Dieter!” someone shouts from a room off the hallway he’s been walking down.

“Hey man,” Dieter said, popping his head in through the door. “Guess I found the chill party, huh?”

“Have a seat.” A skinny redhead with tits trying to spill out of her top says, patting the spot next to her, “We can have fun in here.”

Dieter gulps, nodding his head as his eyes take her in, making his way to the spot next to her on the couch. When he sits down, he feels his phone vibrate in his palm. He looks down to see you sent him a message.

I know you went to some party tonight. Don’t forget our deal.

Dieter: Why do you hate me?

I don’t hate you. 😘

Dieter: At a party with a redhead sitting next to me with tits the size of bowling balls. You hate me.

You can back out at any time.

Dieter: NO! Why’d sex have to be off the table?

“Want some?” The redhead asks, offering Dieter the joint in her hand. He shakes his head with a polite no thank you, redirecting his focus back to his phone. He chuckles, reading your message.

You got tested, doofus. I’m not going to sleep with you if you’re not clean. 

Dieter: What if I get tested before we fuck?

No.

With a sigh, he pockets his phone, trying to pick up what is being discussed around the circle of people passing the joint around. He spends the rest of his time at the party in this small room, trying to steer clear of greater temptation down the hall. Dieter wouldn’t have even come to this party had his manager not forced him to. Something about socializing with some model and trying to get on a director's good side. Who the director and model were, Dieter had no idea. All he could think about was you, wondering what you were doing, if you were even serious about this deal. 

“Are you sure you don’t wanna hit this?” The redhead purred, leaning into his side, her breasts brushing against his arm.

Dieter clears his throat, trying his best to avoid looking at her cleavage. “Nope. I’m good.” He murmurs with a shake of his head.

Since the moment he laid eyes on you, Dieter knew he wanted to fuck you and wasn’t about to lose his chance now.

—

“Being sober is so fucking boring!” Dieter whines, sitting on the opposite end of his couch, snatching the open KitKat off his coffee table. “I don’t get why people do this.”

“Dieter. It’s been a month.” You huff, rolling your eyes as he takes a giant bite off the chocolate bar.

“I’m jus-“ he continues to chew, “I’m just saying, it’s boring! I don’t know how you do this.” He says after swallowing the sweet treat.

“Find a different hobby,” you say, shrugging your shoulders, picking the lint off your leggings, “I don’t know what to tell you, ya big baby.”

“I’m not a big baby!” Dieter huffs, tossing the KitKat back onto the coffee table. “I don’t have any hobbies besides fucking, drinking, and drugs!” He says, leaning towards you, his arms caging you in against the arm of his couch. Your throat feels dry suddenly, taking in his steely expression, “How am I supposed to release all this stress?” He asks, quirking his brow, his mouth so close you can smell the chocolate on his breath. Dieter gently kisses the corner of your mouth, his lips making a soft trail from your jaw to your neck, “Hmm?” He asks, waiting for a response before his teeth gently scrape that spot behind your ear.

You let out a soft whine feeling his hard length against your thigh.

“No!” You bark out, gently pushing him away from you, attempting to catch your breath. “Not the deal, bucko. It’s only been a month.”

“Fine,” Dieter huffs, sitting back on the couch and folding his arms across his broad chest. “Then what the fuck am I supposed to do with this?” He asks, nodding his head towards the tent in his pants.

“You’ll be fine.” You say, giving him a pointed look and grabbing the TV remote to turn something on to distract you after whatever that was. “Do we need to watch The Lion King?” You ask, a grin spreading across your face.

“Why? So I can be even more confused about my feelings for Scar?!” He laughs, grabbing his crotch and adjusting himself. “He’s a bad guy but maybe he’d be fun.” He adds with a shrug

“You’re so fucking weird.” You laugh, shaking your head, nudging his shoulder with your own.

“Fuck off,” Dieter grumbles, scooting his hips down to get more comfortable and stretching his arm across the back, “Actually, no. Come here,” he says, wrapping his arm around you and pulling you closer to his side. You lay your head on his shoulder, breathing in his scent with a smile. He lets out a sigh, laying his cheek against the top of your head. “I like this,” he whispers as you find a movie to watch.

“What?” You whisper, scooting closer to him.

“New hobby.” He hums, placing a kiss on your head, “Cuddling.”

You roll your eyes, biting your lip to keep from smiling. You are really beginning to like this Dieter. Sober Dieter is a lot sweeter.

—

Dieter sits in his art studio, contemplating what to paint. The drugs tended to spark that creativity in him, his hands moving mindlessly until some weird fucked up masterpiece was sitting in front of him. Except now. Now he sits wondering what he’s even doing in the room he’s avoided for weeks upon weeks. Unable to make that same spark come to life, staring out the window to his backyard. Maybe I could do a landscape, he thinks.

“What the fuck am I thinking?” He groans, throwing the paintbrush down in defeat, “I’m not fucking Bob Ross.”

He grabs his phone, opening it to the first thing he sees, a message from his dealer.

Hey Bravo. Been a while man, you good?

His palms begin to sweat, fingers itching to respond. What would he even say?

Sorry, your highest-paying customer is sober.

Hey, yeah everything’s great!

Actually everything is really fucking bad.

Can I stop by?

Then a notification pops up that you shared something on Instagram, deciding to click on it, his focus is immediately on you. He smiles, seeing the selfie you posted. You, with your soft lips, your sweet smile, your eyes twinkle like you’ve got a secret you’re not ready to share. Just you.

Dieter had a hard time admitting to himself that he loved you. Not the kind of love shared between friends but more. 

The first time it popped into his brain had been during a drug-fueled bender when you took care of him during and after, reminding him to drink water, laying in his bed with him because he didn’t want to be alone, scratching his back, and putting up with his demanding whines of discomfort.

The second time had been during a drunken night where he was trying to forget about his feelings. Only for him to wind up banging on your apartment door at four am, when he cried himself to sleep on your couch about how much he loved you, while you softly exhaled and shook your head with a pitiful face and told him  - Dieter, you’re drunk.

The third time and when he finally accepted it was the following morning, waking to the sunlight shining brightly into your living room. His body and head feeling so achy, slumping off your couch, making his way to your room. He smiled watching you deep in sleep, comforter wrapped around your shoulders and legs sprawled out. He let out a soft sigh, his feet slowly padding to your bed, nudging your shoulder when he was close, softly whispering - scoot over - before slipping under the covers as you created space for him, observing the crease of your eyebrows as you moved, the little pout of your lips, and the twitch of your nose as you slept. This is what he wanted to see every morning for the rest of his life. You.

He let out an exasperated sigh, putting his phone down to stare at the blank canvas again.

“Fuck!” He exclaimed, quickly grabbing some paint and squirting red, yellow, blue and white to his pallet. Not even noticing the joint he’d left last time he was in this room on the side table as inspiration finally struck.

—

“Dieter!” You call out as you open his front door being met with silence as you make your journey further into the darkened foyer, “I got those tacos you like!” Trying to coax him out of wherever it is he’s hiding.

You’re certain he’s changed his mind on the deal you’d made. It’s been weeks since you heard from him, past the three month mark now and the only reason you’re here is because he hasn’t been answering his phone and worry was getting the better of you.

“Dee?” You try again, flipping lights on in each room you pass until you come to the kitchen, “This isn’t funny dude.” You shout, setting the bag of food on the counter before going in search of him.

Making your way deeper into his home, you notice a light shining from under the door to Dieter’s studio. You can hear movement on the other side of the door.

“Dieter?” You ask hesitantly, tapping the tips of your fingers against the door. “You in there?”

You hear a groan before distinctly hearing something plunk to the ground. Taking a deep breath, you push the door open to see Dieter lying on the floor in front of a blank canvas. Paint is splattered all over the place, his paint brushes skewed about, and a cup he kept close by lies on the floor, surrounded by a murky puddle of paint-infused water.

“Dieter,” you hesitate, approaching his still form. “Hey, man. Get up,” your foot reaching to kick against his leg lightly. His speech is slurred as he grumbles, something you can’t decipher. Well - at least he’s still breathing, you think, furrowing your brow.

“Come on, Dee.” You sigh, feeling defeated. Hunched over his form, “Let’s get you to bed.”

“No,” he murmurs as you turn him flat on his back. “Stay here,” he groans out, eyes tightly squeezed shut like a toddler who just got woken up from his nap, reaching his arms out towards you, waving them in the air until his hand makes contact with your arm. Dieter moves on his side pulling you down with him, wrapping one arm around your shoulders and the other around your waist, a satisfied hum leaving his chest.

“Dieter,” you let out an annoyed huff, “This is great and all, but uh- why the fuck are we on the floor?”

“Sleep,” he murmurs into your hair.

“I am not sleeping on the floor.”

“Shut up,” Dieter whines, tangling his legs with your own. “I want sleep.”

You let out a soft laugh, shaking your head against his chest as he holds you against him. His breathing calms as you lay there in silence on the floor of his little studio, wondering what it might have been that he took this time. 

“I made it,” Dieter huffs against your hairline. As if the thoughts in your head were seeping through like osmosis into his brain. “Three months. No drugs, no booze, no sex.”

Your head tilts up, eyeing him suspiciously.

“You’re beautiful, you know that?” he grins, bleary eyes raking across the features of your face.

“Flattery will get you nowhere, Bravo.” You give a teasing glare. “So you really made it three months?”

“Mhm,” Dieter hums with a shit-eating grin. “Bet you didn’t see that happening.”

“No, I did not.” You comment, quirking your brow.

“I need to…” Dieter pauses, worrying his bottom lip between his teeth, “I need to show you something.”

He gently moves you away, propping himself up to stand. “Ew,” he fusses, looking down at his soaked sock standing in the murky puddle of water. “Why’d you let us lay so close to that?!”

You scoff, rolling your eyes, giving him a pointed look.

“Right.” Dieter says bashfully, extending his hands to you, “Come on.”

Dieter gently pulls you to stand with him before taking a deep breath and leading you to the spot, the place he always puts his latest project to admire and contemplate, on the wall.

“So, I realized something during this three month stint.” He starts, clearing his throat before continuing. “I uh… Well…” he steps forward, turning on the singular light above the darkened spot on the wall, revealing a painting of you.

“Oh my god,” you gasp, shocked that this is what Dieter has been working on. A galaxy seeping into a meadow surrounding your face. The blues and purples of the galaxy blend in beautifully with greens and yellows of the meadow. The expression of your face stunning against the canvas. Is this how Dieter sees you?

“I’ve been working on this for weeks now.” Dieter mumbles shyly, scratching the back of his head, “I don’t know how to do this or how to make you believe me but…” he pauses, taking in a deep breath, “I love you.”

“Dee,” you murmur, taken aback by his confession, surging forward, wrapping your arms around his neck, one hand gripping the back of his neck to bring his lips to your own in a desperate kiss. Your fingers weave through his hair, gripping him to you tighter, sweeping your tongue against the seam of his lips he opens his mouth to let you in.

Your mouth trails down his jaw to his neck. “A- and not just like a friend but more than that. I know you’re probably gonna be all Dieter, you didn’t stick to the deal but I swear I did.” He hisses as the pulse in his neck thrums wildly against your lips, “I just-“ he gasps, feeling you lovingly bite against his pulse point, arms wrapping around your waist in a tight grip, “You initiated the bet - for me to get sober, and then I did. All these years I was doing all that shit to try and drown the noises inside my head but they aren’t so loud once I actually hear what they’re saying and the main thing they’re saying now is I’m an idiot for not being honest with you.”

“Dieter,” you let out an annoyed huff, looking into his melancholy russet eyes, “I love you too, okay? Now shut up.”

“Amazing,” he breathes out with a dopey grin, leaning forward to meet your lips again. You groan as his tongue slips between your lips, exploring your mouth with fervor. He guides you backward until the desk that sits in his studio bumps the back of your thighs. His hands glide down, cupping the back of your thighs, lifting you on top of the desk.

“Fuck,” you yelp, letting out a breathless laugh as his lips meet yours. Your hands reach for the bottom of his shirt, slipping underneath to feel the warmth of his skin against your palm.

“I love you,” Dieter breathes against your jaw, lips trailing down to your neck, “So fucking much.”

“Love you too,” you moan, bunching the shirt he’s wearing up his torso. He breaks away, letting you sweep it off him with a toss to the floor. Dieter grins, tugging your shirt off, reaching behind your back to undo the clasp of your bra with one hand, slipping the thin material off your shoulders to expose your chest to him.

“Nice,” Dieter hums, massaging your tits in his hands, brushing his thumbs across your nipples, “Always wondered what these bad boys looked like underneath.”

“Fucking christ,” you huff, rolling your eyes, “So fucking weird.”

He smiles devilishly before nipping your pert nipple gently, sucking it into his warm mouth, swirling his tongue around it. You let out a soft moan, feeling the ache between your thighs become more persistent. Fingers carding through the soft, wavy curls on his head, pushing at his shoulders.

“Off, " you demand as your hands grip the waistband of his pants, trying to push them down, “Off.”

“Easy,” Dieter smiles, slowly pushing his pants down, cock springing free and standing proudly.

“Fuck me,” you whisper in shock, taking in the sight of his length. Thick and long. You had a good idea, considering how many mornings you’d woken up with the thing poking you in the ass, but to see it hanging heavily between his thighs was monumental. He grunts when your hand reaches to touch him, squeezing him firmly at the base.

“Your turn,” Dieter hissed, grabbing your leggings. You let go of him, helping to lift your hips as he quickly tugged them down your legs. “Fuck me,” he utters, taking in the dark patch of your underwear, his hands rubbing up your thighs, teasing the soft skin of your inner thigh.

“Dieter,” you gasp, gripping his bicep, his thumb making tight circles around your clit against the cotton of your underwear. He hums, laving his tongue against your collarbone, licking a line up your throat as his fingers push the gusset of your panties to the side.

“Fuck,” Dieter pants, feeling the wetness between your folds. His fingers sliding up and down your seam, coating his fingers in your slick, teasing your entrance with the tips of two thick fingers.

“Dee,” you whine, breath hitching as your hips squirm on top of the desk when he pushes his fingers in torturously slow. “I need more.”

“You’ll get more,” he rasps, his fingers continuing their slow movements. In and out. In and out. In and out. His thumb moves to that bundle of nerves, alternating between sweeping back and forth and drawing firm circles around your clit.

You feel the pool of arousal building at the end of your spine, warmth spreading through your limbs like a wildfire. Your breath quickens as your walls tighten around his digits.

“Oh god,” you moan, gripping his bicep firmer, “Fuck. Dieter, you’re gonna make me come.”

“Come for me, baby.” He whispers against your ear. Fingers scrubbing against your walls faster, deeper until they hit that spot inside that feels impossible to reach on your own.

“Oh fuck!” You cry out, throwing your head back as the flames within consume you whole. Your back arching, pushing your chest against his, “Dieter,” you whimper, head resting against his shoulder as his fingers work you through your orgasm.

He scoops you up, flipping you over his shoulder, carrying you out the door of his studio, down the hall to his room.

“Dieter!” You shriek, giggling knowing he must be a sight to see right now. His heavy member bouncing between his thighs as he marches with you over his shoulder. “What about your back?!” You ask, grinning, taking notice of the walls of his room.

“Don’t fucking care,” he says, flipping you onto his bed, pushing your legs apart, creating space for him between your thighs. He crawls up the length of your body, arms resting on either side of your head. His cock pressing against your thigh, realizing what is to come next. “You sure you wanna do this?” He asks, his lips barely touching your own, breathing each other in, causing a dizzying arousal to pool in your tummy.

“Yes,” you breathe, hands trailing up the expanse of his back, gripping his shoulders. He grips his shaft; a breathy moan escapes you as he slowly strokes your seam with his tip. “Dieter,” you plead, nails creating half-crescent moons into his shoulders when his tip catches on your entrance.

“I got you,” he croaks, repeating himself as he pushes in, “I got you.”

“Oh fuck,” you gasp, feeling your walls make space for him inside your warmth. He lets out a hiss as your nails dig deeper into the skin of his shoulders, definitely leaving marks he’ll see tomorrow.

“Oh my god,” Dieter groans, his head coming to the crook of your neck, pushing his cock in deeper until you can’t decipher where you begin and he ends. You moan, feeling so incredibly full. You never knew sex could feel like this, and it’s barely even started. He holds still, allowing both of you to get used to the feeling of one another.

“Dieter,” you pant, squirming against him, “I need you to move.”

“Fuck me.” He grunts, feeling your walls clench around him. He slowly pulls out before thrusting back into your heat, his hips creating a slow, deep rhythm. “You’re so fucking perfect.” he whimpers, tongue flicking across your sternum. “So,” thrust, “fucking,” thrust, “perfect.” thrust. You release a broken moan into the room, the sound of skin slapping filling the air around the both of you.

“Harder,” you beg, “Dee, please. Harder.”

He releases a shattered breath, sliding one hand down your side and around your hip, bringing your leg up to rest against his ribs before snapping his hips into you.

“Dieter!” You scream out, back bowing off his bed. It feels so intense. His cock shredding up into you at this angle, hitting that spot perfectly just like his fingers. Your muscles begin to tense, thighs shaking as he continues thrusting into you at a frenzied pace.

“I’m not gonna last long,” Dieter admits, sitting up on his knees, grabbing your ankle to place your leg against his shoulder, staring down at you, watching your tits bounce with every firm thrust he gives you. “So fucking hot,” he groans, his hand sliding down your leg to your center. You let out a ragged moan as his fingers lightly pinch and pull your bundle of nerves, the impending wave of your orgasm getting closer and closer. “Need you to come, baby.” he all but begs, the muscles in his stomach tensing, trying to stave off his own orgasm, “I’m so fucking close.”

“I’m close,” you pant, nodding your head, “So fucking close. Kiss me.”

Dieter wraps your leg around his waist, collapsing on top of you, capturing your lips in a bruising kiss. The band in your stomach tightens more as your tongues massage one another, your walls fluttering around his cock, beginning to milk him for all he’s worth.

“Fuck,” Dieter whines, hips stuttering, feeling him pulsate inside of you, painting his come against your inner walls, pushing you over the cliffs edge as your pussy squeezes around him tighter. “Fuck fuck fuck fuck!” He whimpers, slumping against you, head resting between your breasts, trying to catch your breath.

“That was the best sex I’ve ever had,” Dieter murmurs against your sternum, placing a chaste kiss before peering up at you. “Worth the wait,” he adds with a wink.

“Was pretty good, Bravo,” you sigh with a nod. He lets out a hiss as you clench around him.

“Stop that,” he says, pulling out with a groan and flopping beside you on the bed, lying on his side, arm propping up his head, facing you. “Ya know, I really wasn’t looking forward to the whole being sober thing.” He admits, with a mock frown, “But it isn’t that bad.” he adds with a shrug.

“No, it’s not,” you laugh softly.

“I thought it would be worse than it was, but I kinda like it,” Dieter smiles, hovering over you, “Especially since it led to this.” He places a kiss against the corner of your smiling mouth, “And if I stay sober… will this keep happening?” He asks in a whisper, hesitantly awaiting your response.

“Dee,” you hum, “You got me. Just gotta take it day by day.”

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Study Buddy 3

Warnings:this series will include dark elements which may include bullying, noncon or dubcon, or violent behaviour. Mind the warnings.

Summary: a group project leads to a tense partnership.

Character: Walter Marshall

Big thanks to those who read! Feedback always helps inspire and you know I’m always happy to chat about possibilities! Please reblog and comment ❤️

Despite his prickliness, Walter doesn’t shy away from contributing to the work. You watch him thumb through his well-worn copy of the novel, notes scribbled in the margins and tabs stuck to different marks. The only difficult part is making yourself heard. 

“Hmm,” he shifts his chair closer to you, dragging it around the sharp corner, “I like how you worded that but I think you should move it.” 

He points to one sentence then shifts his aim further down. You reread and nod. “I guess that makes more sense.” 

He grumbles. Even agreeing with him seems to disappoint him. You sit back and stretch out your fingers. 

“Do you mind if I use your bathroom quick?” You asks. 

“Sure, down the hall,” he gestures over his shoulder. 

“Thanks, uh, won’t be long.” 

You get up and step around him, his chair leaving only a narrow path between him and the wall. You hook around into the hallway and make yourself as small as you can, afraid to disturb anything. Somehow, you think he’d no if you only dusted off a shelf or tugged on a curtain. 

You find the bathroom and as much as you want to hide, you don’t waste your time. Or his. The quicker this is over, the better. You figure, once you get a full draft done, you can agree to edit in the shared doc. 

You dry your hands with the plain waffled hand towel then flip back the lock. As you emerge, a rattling cough greets you from just beside the doorway. It’s that girl, Faye. His daughter. 

“Ooh, sorry, I wasn’t meaning to...” you begin as she leans heavily on the frame and shivers. She has a blanket around her shoulders as she chatters, he skin clammy, and her eyes about to roll back. “Um, Faye, was it? Are you alright?” 

“Mmmm,” she hums. “Mom?” 

You wince as she murmurs something else you can’t make out. She slips down the wall and you barely manage to catch her. She’s thin but tall. As you hold her up, you feel the heat radiating from her. 

“Here,” you help her through the door and sit her down on the closed toilet seat. She hunches forward and shakes uncontrollably. You touch her forehead. She’s as hot as a kettle. “I should get your dad...” 

“Mommy?” She whines and you flinch again. Walter didn’t mention a wife but she must have a mother, rigiht? 

“Okay,” you turn and search the small cupboard mounted behind the door.  

You take a wash cloth and delicately fold it, then wet it in the sink with cold water. You wring it out and spread it over her forehead. You guide her hands to the edges and have her lean back as her head tips. 

“Stay like that, okay? I’ll be right back.” 

“I’m so cold,” she babbles. 

“I know,” you wring your hand around a single finger. “Um, one sec.” 

You watch her for a moment, making sure she doesn’t slide one way or the other, then leave her. You hurry back down the hall. You find Walter jabbing the keys on his own. 

“Uh, Walter?” You eke out. “Faye uh...” 

“What?” He looks over his shoulder, a crease in his forehead. 

“She’s not feeling very well. She has a pretty bad fever,” you say. 

He sighs and stands up. You back out of his way and let him past. He heads down the hallway and you keep your distance. You stay a few feet away as you watch him approach the bathroom door. He looks inside and you hear Faye’s monotonous drone. 

“Shit,” he growls as he enters. 

You don’t want to intrude. You hesitate, wavering on your feet, then turn back. It’s none of your business. Not until your name stops you. You turn back to the hall. 

“Um, yeah?” 

“Can you come here?” Walter calls. 

It’s not so much a question as an order. You slowly advance down the hall and peek around the frame. Walter kneels before his daughter as she slumps forward and mutters senselessly. 

“I need you to hold onto her or she’ll fall.” 

“Okay,” you move into the tight space and he stands, holding her by her shoulders. You grab her and she leans into you. 

He looks down at her and shakes his head, “goddamnit. I got night shift...” 

His voice trails off and he turns, stepping around you to get to the door. He strides out heavily and you look down at the girl quivering against you. She reaches to cling to the front of your sweater. 

“Do you want some water or something?” You offer. 

“My head hurts,” she whines. 

You ease back and bend to come to a level with her. You stretch your arm across her shoulders to support her. She coughs, “my belly hurts.” 

You sniff. You’re not equipped for this. You have a hard enough time taking care of yourself. 

“Alright.” You take the cloth from her hand. You get her to lean back again and run more water over the cloth. You bring it back to her forehead. “Do you want to lay down?” 

She gurgles and nods. Before you can go get her dad, she latches onto you. She pulls herself up and you can only help. You don’t know what else to do. 

You let her lead you to her room and you get her into bed. You fix the cloth over her head and she moans. You frown. 

“What are you doing?” Walter startles you and you turn to find him in the doorway. 

“Do you have Aspirin? And ice?” You ask. “She needs to stay hydrated. The aspirin should break her fever.” 

“I don’t... know. Maybe in the car.” 

“I have some in my purse,” you insist. “And ice? You have that?” 

“Sure,” he answers as you approach him. He watches you with that stoic sense of disapproval. “I’ll get some.” 

“Yeah, er, thanks.” You utter, confounded how a study session turned into this. 

[midnighthazee]

Greenridge ABO Series

a/n: Sorry for the late post!!! Writer's Block got to me this weekend and I had to push through!! ENJOY!

Series Masterlist Masterlist

Warnings: explicit language, fear, mentions of past abuse/trauma, violence, alphas loosing their temper, abuse, blood

WC: 5823

Chapter 12

Felix decided to come upstairs to nap after eating. He was about to go into his room when he looked down the hall and saw your door cracked. You never leave it cracked - usually fully open if you weren’t in there. He goes to your room, knocking. No answer so he pushes the door fully open.

“Y/n?” he calls out.

Silence.

He steps inside, noticing a paper at the foot of the bed. He picks it up and reads. He reads it nearly four times, his mind reeling. He panics, running down the stairs to find Minho. 

Minho had been in the living room trying to figure out the unsettling feeling he had in his stomach. It started nearly an hour ago and he’s been nauseous ever since. But why? Could it be nerves? But he never got nervous like this before. 

He was so caught up in what it could be when Felix came in, interrupting his thoughts. The other packs came around after hearing Felix yelling.

“Minho!” he calls out. “Minho!”

“What? What is it Felix?”

“Y/n. She left.” he answers, holding the paper out as he pants.

“What?” Minho snatches the paper and reads it. “Shit. How did she find out?”

“She overheard someone talking about it.” Jeongin shrugged.

“How long ago since she left?” Minho asked.

“I don’t know. She told me she was going to shower after we told her she couldn’t come with us. But that was almost three hours ago.” Felix looked at his watch.

Minho shook his head. “Assuming she found her way, she would be there by now.”

“So then let’s go. We can leave now.” Jungwon spoke, standing up. His pack stood with him, ready to fight.

The other packs stood as well.

Minho nodded. “Okay. Let’s go get our pack back.”

They all headed out, getting into cars and driving over to the Nyko territory. It didn’t take long and soon they were driving up the long driveway to the pack house, parking in the front lawn. Getting out they all hurried over to the house.

“It’s awfully quiet.” Changbin whispers.

Minho nodded as the two of them walked up to the front porch. They kicked open the door, hurrying inside. A mix of the other pack members flanked, coming inside as well. The rest stayed stationed outside. 

They weren’t confronted with any hybrids as they made their way through the house. It didn’t take long for them to declare it empty. 

“It’s clear.” Minho called out.

The Greenridge members and all the alphas came inside.

“Where could they be?” Seungmin asked. 

“Alpha Minho, you might want to see this.” Mingyu said, leading Minho to the basement, the rest of them following.

They were all quick to cover their noses at the smell, the smell of rotting flesh now mixed in with the foul smell of the basement.

“Oh my god… Our y/n was down here? Living in this her whole life?” Felix looked on in horror at the cells. They were worse than he had imagined. 

Minho clenched his jaw, pushing onwards. Mingyu led them to the torture room, allowing them to look in. Changbin peeked but was quick to turn away, pushing Felix back from view. He knows Felix’s sensitive nature and doesn’t want to upset him further.

“What? What is it?” Felix asks, trying to push past him.

“It’s Lewis.” Minho says, walking past them and back up the stairs.

Felix froze, his face perplexed.

“He’s dead.” Changbin explains.

Felix’s eyes go wide.

They all go back upstairs, exiting the house. Minho’s fuming as he comes out of the house. The rest of the packs come over, wondering what happened inside.

“Lewis is dead. No one’s inside.” Seungcheol announced.

“Alpha, sir, I think I might have found something on the side of the house.” Niki said.

Minho was quick to follow.

“At first I thought it was graffiti, but I think it’s a message,” he explained when they got there.

“Blackmane?” Jeongin questioned. “They have our people?”

“Let’s hope.” Minho said. “Let’s go. We’re going to regroup and get ready for the drive.”

The packs headed back to Greenridge Manor, prepping for their travels. They didn’t know if that’s where their people were, but it was the only lead they had.

Your head was pounding, each pump of your heart making it throb. You groan, turning over and pushing your face into the pillow. The smell wasn’t familiar at all. Where were you?

You open your eyes and take in the room. The room was bigger than yours back at the pack house, having two double beds, a desk and chair, dresser with a tv on it, and a couch with a coffee table. There were curtains shutting out all but a sliver of light - just enough to tell you it was daytime.

The memories of last night come back to you, making you lean forward and massage your temples. Maybe you should have trusted them and stayed put. But then again, they would have been captured instead. Or killed. 

You sigh, swinging your feet off the bed and padding over to the window. Squinting, you open the curtains more and look out. Your stomach dropped, making you stagger backwards. Why were you so high up? 

Two little beeps made you whip your head around, a door opening on the other side of the room. It was then you noticed another door with a shower beyond it.

“Oh good. You’re awake.” a man said, coming inside and walking over to you. “Hungry?”

You scurried over to the side, only for him to place the plastic bags he carried on the desk. You caught his scent - another alpha. He turned to you, seeing your fearful expression.

“I’m not gonna hurt you.” He chuckled, as if your fear was silly.

You didn’t say anything as he turned back and began emptying the bags. You eyed the door, wondering if you would manage to get out before he got to you. Even then, you didn’t know what was on the other side of that door - what you would be running into.

“You can run, but I doubt you will get far,” he said condescendingly.

His back was still to you as he spoke. You roll your eyes, finding an ounce of courage to question him.

“Who are you?” 

“Oh, sorry. How rude of me. I’m Reed.” He smiled warmly at you.

You looked away from him. 

“Are you hungry, y/n?”

“How do you know my name?”

“Uh, I was there the day you were born…” He said as if it was obvious.

“Wh-what?”

He turned around, brows furrowed. “Did mom and dad never talk about me?”

You stared at him in bewilderment.

“I guess that’s fair. Why would they talk about me after they sent me away?” he rolled his eyes.

“I don’t have an older brother.”

“You do actually… Me. And we have a younger brother apparently. Hudson, right?”

Your heart started to beat faster. Who was this stalker?

“Please eat. You’ve been unconscious for a while. Not to mention, you threw up before that.” He says, sitting down on the couch and placing your food on the coffee table. He sat down, taking a bite of his own food.

You didn't move or say anything.

He sighs, putting down his food.

“Y/n…what’s it going to take for you to trust me? I mean you no harm.”

“Where’s Chan? Was he there with Hyunjin and Jisung?”

“Chan…? Oh, you mean Chris?” he asked.

You furrowed your brows.

“Did he not tell you his name was Chris?” Reed sat back. “How long were you with them anyways. Lewis wouldn’t shut up about you being stolen away.”

“I wasn’t stolen…” you cross your arms.

“Please don’t tell me you got Stockholm syndrome with that foolish pack,” he joked.

You felt anger course through you at the way he talked so negatively about your pack.

“They aren’t fools, they are my soulmates…my pack.” You growl. “Lewis lied, abused, and falsely marked me.”

Reed is quiet as he thinks this over. He studies you, smelling the anger and fear off you. He squints his eyes before finally going back to eating. He motioned for you to eat your food. “It’s good.”

“Where’s Chan, Hyunjin, and Jisung?”

“Safe. With the Hybrid Association.”

“Where is that?”

“Why? Do you plan on going there?”

“If I need to in order to get them back.”

“You won’t get through without clearance…which I have. So are you going to indulge me for five minutes to eat? Or keep playing hard to get?”

“How do I even know you’re my brother?”

“You were born twenty three years ago on a full moon. It was a Friday night when the moon was highest in the sky. Mom’s name is Haneul. Dad’s name is Walker. Hudson is…wait I know…five years younger than you. I don’t know that much about him considering I was sent away before you were even six months old. We lived in a little house on the hill, five minutes from town where they had the best fish cakes. Does Ms. Daisy still make them? Or did her daughter Daphne take over?”

You glare. He clearly knew a lot. 

“Why’d mom and dad send you away?” you question.

“Why did they send you away?” he rebuttals.

You don’t say anything.

“They sent you away for the same reason they sent me away. Money. The packs paid them.”

“But you’re not an omega…”

“True. Omegas do go for way more, but I was sold to a pack that desperately needed an alpha heir. And they paid a handsome price for that.”

“How old were you?”

“Ten.”

“What was the pack like?” You ask, sitting on the bed.

“The pack was great. They became my family, and I took over when the old alpha passed. I am now in charge of them, leading them into years of success. You’ve heard of the Blackmane pack…”

You shake your head.

“Really? That’s a first. Everyone knows us. It’s one of the oldest and largest packs still around. We have over a hundred members, twenty subpacks under us. The Nykos included.”

“The Nykos are under your rule? Did you know I was there?”

“We don’t monitor the packs like the police. They do their own thing, but all packs under Blackmane are automatically in an alliance. So it’s against our agreement to start fights with another sub pack. That’s about as far as regulation goes. As for you, they never listed they had omegas like they should have. Now I know why. So no, I didn’t know you were there.”

“Is Greenridge one of yours?”

“No.”

“So if you don’t monitor them, then what were you doing there?”

“With my help, Blackmane climbed the rankings and became privileged members of the Hybrid Association. There was a tip called in about Lewis and his treatment of omegas a few days ago. I took the responsibility to follow up and see if it was true, seeing as they were under our pack. When we arrived, Lewis was quick to butter us up, but I saw right through him. My men rounded up the immediate members and went through the house. It was then we found a female omega, Chris, and his betas.”

“How did they look?” you stepped forward.

Reed titled his head at you. “They were beaten and bloody but fine. They could walk out on their own so I sent them and that girl to the Hybrid Association with a couple of my men.”

You breathe a sigh of relief, thankful that they were okay. “Why send them to the Hybrid Association?”

“To give a statement of what happened so the remaining Nyko members can be dealt with.” Reed went back to finishing his food.

“Why’d you kill Lewis then? Instead of giving him to the Hybrid Association?” you asked warily.

“I couldn’t bear for him to weasel his way out of a death sentence after what he did to you. So when that girl told us what he did to you three omegas, I had him chained in the basement. My men dealt with him, I gave the final blow.”

You shudder, remembering the way his body looked.

“Let’s get one thing straight. I’m not Lewis. If I hurt or kill, it’s with intention and reason, not for fun.” He sat straighter, speaking with so much authority. “I’m not a threat to you.”

You nod, thinking over his words.

“Please eat.” Reed insisted.

You finally caved, sitting down and eating. It was so good you scarfed it down. Once you both finished, he offered you a chance to shower. You showered quickly and got dressed in the clothes he left you to change into.

Once dressed, you emerged from the bathroom. He was sitting on the couch, typing on his computer with a serious face.

“Can you take me home now?” you ask, brushing your hair.

“No.”

“No? Why not?”

“Because you’re going with me.” he said, still not looking up from his computer.

“I don’t want to. I want to go home. The rest of the pack is probably so worried about me.”

“They’ll be fine.” He reached for his phone, still barely paying attention to you.

“No. They won’t. Did you forget the part about us being soulmates?”

He finally looked up. “You need to give a statement at the Hybrid Association for what you have been through.”

“Fine. After, will you take me home?”

“Yes.” 

You figured you wouldn’t press the matter further and fell back on the bed. You laid there for a few more minutes until Reed declared it was time to go. You followed him down the hall, two men in front of you, two men behind.

They stopped in front of three sets of doors and pushed a button. There was a light above each door with arrows pointing up or down, flashing in time with a beeping sound. One of the doors opened, revealing a small room. They led you inside, and you looked around nervously.

“Never been in an elevator, I’m assuming.” Reed smiled over at you.

“No.” you mumbled,

The doors shut and you felt the room shake. You nearly jumped out of your skin, grabbing Reed’s arm tight. 

“It’s alright. It’s just lowering us to the ground floor.” Reed said, resting his hand on yours that was gripping his bicep. “We are going to have to work on your exposure to the world.”

“Blame your minion.” you grumble.

“Oh I do. I just regret not making him suffer longer.” 

Part you wished you had been here. Sure you might not have stomached it but to see him struggle and get what he deserved…it would have been satisfying.

The room finally stopped moving, bouncing slightly before the doors opened. You stepped out, seeing a whole different area. It felt like you had teleported.

“Come.” he beckoned with a small smile.

You followed Reed to the car, climbing in the backseat of the Escalade. As the suv peeled away from the hotel, you looked out the window. You didn’t recognize anything around you and it made you wonder.

“How far from Greenridge are we?”

“Couple hours.” Reed shrugged. “But it’s about to be more.”

“More? But I need to tell them I’m okay. That I’ll be back.”

“Do you have their number to call?”

“No…”

“Then how did you plan on telling them?”

You shrug. You had no way of reaching them.

“State your name for the record.” a man said in a bored tone.

“Bang Chan.” 

“Please tell us what happened last night to the best of your knowledge.” he muttered, two other gentlemen sitting on either side of him.

“Of course. Well, it actually started earlier that morning when I-”

“Mr. Bang, we are just here to collect your testimony as to what occurred at the Nyko Pack’s main house last night.” the man interrupted.

“This is important information relating to last night’s events, sir.”

“If we need the extra information, we will ask for it.” the man stated. 

Chan cleared his throat. “Last night, Hyunjin, Jisung, and myself were locked in cells in Lewis's basement. We had been sedated and were just coming to. Lewis pulled me from my cell, chaining me to a wall in a separate room. He had a cattle prod that he used to shock me repeatedly. He wanted us to suffer, but also wanted to use us as bait for y/n to come back.”

“Who’s y/n?”

“She was an omega he held captive in his basement, tortured and abused for years.”

“Why would he treat his omega like that?”

“She’s not his omega. And it wasn’t just her he abused. There were two others treated the same. I don’t know what compelled him to do such heinous acts.”

The three of them began to scribble on their papers.

“And how do you know this to be true?”

“She came onto our property. I saw the scars and injuries first hand.”

“What injuries?”

“His brothers liked to hunt her for sport, which they did the night we found her. She had silver and cobalt pellets embedded in her skin from them using her as target practice.”

The men scribbled more notes.

“Is she still in your care?” the man on the left asked.

“Yes.”

“And you didn’t return her, why?” the center man asked.

“She’s our soulmate.”

“Our?”

“All of my pack felt the soulmate bond, myself included.”

Jotting notes once more.

“What happened next?” The man to the right asked.

“We had our pack doctor, Doctor Quinn assist our medic, Felix, in caring for y/n. They removed the pellets, gave her an IV and let her heal. Slowly she learned to trust us. We helped her settle in, make a nest and now she’s feeling like part of the pack.”

“Is she marked?”

“Not by us.”

All three men looked up, confused. “Elaborate.”

“Lewis marked her.”

“Was he a soulmate as well?”

“Y/n said she never felt the pull with him the way she did with us.”

They wrote down more notes, shaking their heads.

“We’ve gotten a little sidetracked. Let’s get back to last night. After Lewis tortured you, what happened.”

“His brothers, Hayes and Milo came down as well…”

“Well well…look at the true alpha now.” Hayes taunted.

“Not so tough now, are you?” Milo snickered.

Chan was panting and shirtless, now suspended from the ceiling by his wrists. His skin was sweaty and bloodied from the lashes Lewis just delivered.

“Got nothing to say?” Milo asked, circling Chan.

Chan spit at the ground right in front of Milo. Milo punched him in the ribs, smiling at him.

“That wasn’t very nice, Chris.”

“Stop calling me that.” Chan growled.

“Look, Hayes. He’s getting angry.”

Hayes smirks, coming closer. He gets directly in Chan’s face, forcing him to look up at him.

“Such a pathetic alpha…” Hayes taunts. “You can’t even protect your pack.”

As if on cue, the cries of Hyunjin and Jisung echo down the hall. Their pained screams tug at Chan’s heart. 

“And soon enough…that little omega will be ours once more. I do enjoy fucking her sweet little cunt. Tell me, have you had the pleasure yet?” Hayes tilted his head at Chan.

Chan was seething, his chest heaving as he took deep breaths. His eyes were bloodshot, pupils red with fury. His jaw was clenched and his hands bawled into fits. The chains above him groaned as he pulled down on them. Hayes threw his head back, laughing.

“She’s quite a prude if you ask me. So if you really want a taste…” Hayes leaned into Chan’s space once more, whispering, “you’re gonna have to take it. And when you do, those sweet sounds she makes…..ugh the tears and whines as she begs you to stop. You know she secretly loves it. She gets so wet and-”

SNAP.

The chains holding Chan’s wrists snap apart, leaving a few links dangling from his wrists as they drop. His hands are immediately around Hayes’s neck, forcing him backwards to the stone wall. Milo was quick to jump in, attempting to pull Chan off his brother. Haye’s eyes flash panic as he feels the strength in Chan’s iron grip.

Chan releases one hand to shake off the pest that is Milo, shoving him to the ground. Hayes grips Chan’s remaining hand with both his hands, still not strong enough to pry him off. 

Chan now gets in Hayes’s face, gripping his neck so tight his face was starting to turn purple.

“You will never….ever get to touch my girl again.” Chan growled through gritted teeth.

With a flick of Chan’s wrist and a crack sound coming from Hayes’s neck, it was done. Chan threw his limp body to the ground, turning around and seeing Milo standing there in shock. 

“How dare you!” Milo charged at Chan

Chan was quick to duck out of the way, quickly turning around to face Milo, hand grazing the table. Milo yelled, turning around and lunging at him once more. Chan lifted his arm and stabbed a knife into Milo’s neck.

Milo froze. Chan yanked it out, blood spraying out. Milo was quick to clutch his neck, looking dumbfounded at Chan who just watched emotionlessly. Chan’s face and chest was splattered in blood, Milo dropping to his knees as blood poured from his neck. Toppling over, Milo too was now dead.

The room was silent.

“It was then some of the men from the Blackmane pack came in, rescuing me and my betas. They also rescued the omega girl left behind, and sent us all here.” Chan continued.

“I see.” the one in the center said. “And you’re aware of the laws we have in place, correct.”

“Yes, sir. I know it sounds bad. But I only acted in self-defense. They were hurting me and my betas. Plus they also-”

“Unfortunately, Mr. Bang…” the man on the right sighed, removing his glasses. “We know your history with these kinds of things. You are a power hungry alpha and many have fallen at your hands.”

“Sir, I-” “Christopher Bang. Did you think we didn’t know your last name? Or your alias ‘Chan’?” The gentleman on the left spoke, rising from his chair. “You killed your own brother and now two members of a neighboring pack - one being an alpha. Our first law is ‘Thou shalt not kill one’s hybrid brethren’ or did you forget?”

Chan swallowed, before shaking his head.

“Take him away.” the one in the center waved his hand.

Two guards from the back of the room stepped forward, grabbing Chan by the arms.

“Wait. Please, this is a misunderstanding.”

“You would do well mind your manners and go willingly. Any protest will not help your case.” the man on the right cautioned.

So Chan left willingly, the two guards leading him to a holding cell. It looked more like an interrogation room, having a two way mirror on one wall. There was, however, a cot on the opposite wall, a toilet and sink with a smaller mirror next to it. 

Once they were gone, Chan groaned. He looked into the small mirror, seeing the blood still decorating his skin. His eyes flash red and he punches the glass, shattering his reflection. Pulling his fist back, he plucks a few shards of glass from his knuckles. His hand bled a little so he turned on the water to wash his hands, splashing water on his face in an effort to wash off the remaining blood.

Hyunjin, Jisung, and the omega named Piper all gave their statements of what happened as well. Hyunjin managed to convince them to allow a phone call to their pack. They knew everyone was probably worried sick and needed to hear from them. On top of that, they desperately wanted to get back home. He held Jisung’s hand as they called together, luckily remembering Minho’s cell number.

“Hello?” Minho asked warily.

“Min? It’s Hyunjin.” They hear him let out a big exhale.

“Where are you guys? Are you okay?” Minho asked in a serious tone.

“We’re okay. We’re at the Hybrid Association headquarters.” Hyunjin answered.

“What are you doing there?” 

“A pack rescued us. They sent us here to explain what happened last night.” Jisung said.

“They wanted you to explain Lewis’s death?” Minho questioned.

“Lewis is dead?” Jisung nearly yelled.

“Yes. You didn’t know?”

“No. We were here because Chan killed Hayes and Milo.” Hyunjin whispered.

“He did?”

“Yes. They had us in chains and were torturing us. But Chan snapped, breaking free and killing them.”

“I bet y/n is relieved. She didn’t witness it, did she?” Minho asked.

“Y/n? She’s not with us.” Jisung stated.

“She’s not with you?” Hyunjin asked.

Minho was silent, clenching his jaw.

“Min?” Hyunjin looked to Jisung.

“She ran off last night to rescue you guys. We came shortly after, but we were too late. The house was empty. We found Lewis’s body though. We…we assumed she was with you guys.” Minho explained.

“We never saw her. It must have been the pack that found us that has her.”

“They probably killed Lewis too.” Minho said. “Where’s Chan?”

“Um…in a holding cell.” Hyunjin admitted.

“What!?” Minho yelled, making them jerk from the phone.

“They won’t let us see him.” Jisung whined. “Maybe it has something to do with Hayes and Milo?”

Minho was silent. He wondered if the real reason was Chan’s past coming to haunt him once more. After a few moments, Minho spoke. “We will be there shortly to get you. Then we are heading to the Blackmane pack. We believe they have y/n.”

“Blackmane? That was the pack that helped us.” Hyunjin noted. “They were nice people.”

“Then why haven’t they returned y/n?” Minho asked, doubting the kind nature of the Blackmane pack.

“Our time’s up. See you soon.” Hyunjin said.

“We are on our way.” Minho assured them.

Hyunjin and Jisung then followed a gentleman down the hall. They headed down the hall which opened up to a corridor that was well lit with natural light from all the windows. The ceiling was ten stories up from the bottom and glass with a huge chandelier hanging from the center. The halls opened up to the sides, walkways that wrapped around the corridor in a circular design. The center was open through all the levels, the walkway inclined to bring you up to each level. 

They headed up the walkway to the upper levels from level three which overlooked the reception desk below. The employee led them up to level four and they turned down the hall.

Downstairs, Reed and you walk in. He smiles at the receptionist, guiding you up the walkway. You get to level three and Reed leads you down a hall towards a small room designed like a courtroom.

“I’ll be right here when you’re done. You can do this.”

You take a deep, nodding. You step inside, standing in front of three gentlemen.

“State your name for the record.” the man said.

“Um… y/n y/l/n.”

“What are you here to discuss?”

“Alpha Lewis and…um…his mistreatment of omegas.” you say, twiddling your fingers.

“Y/n…as in the omega who escaped the Nyko pack?” the one on the right asked.

“Ym…yes?” you say.

“Speak up, honey. We can barely hear you.”

“Yes.” you speak louder.

“Okay. Where would you like to start?”

It took nearly an hour to go over everything he did to you while in his house. They questioned you about a lot of details, some hard to talk about. They asked you about your time and treatment during the period you were with the Greenridge pack as well. You confirmed the soulmate connection and talked very highly of everyone. The men just nodded, taking notes to look over later. 

Chan paced restlessly in his cell. Of course they knew who he was. And now they had him trapped, soon to face trial most likely. What was he going to do? He had to find a way to prove he didn’t kill his brother. He wouldn’t have become a true alpha if he had.  

Plan after plan swirled around his head as he tried to figure out how to get back home to his pack - to you. It was then his thoughts were interrupted, a voice speaking into the intercom.

“Well, well.” The voice taunted.

The hairs on the back of Chan’s neck stood tall. He froze, eyes wide. He knew that voice.

“Seems the alpha finally got caught.”

“You.” Chan growled.

“What about me?”

“You were there. You’re the one who killed my brother.” “Still spilling that lie? What makes you think it was me?”

“I know your voice.”

“Do you? It would be wrong for you to falsely accuse an innocent person.”

“You’re not innocent.”

“And neither are you, I hear.”

Chan glared at the two way mirror, being only met with his reflection. The man's words rang true as Chan took in his reflection.

“Tell me Chris…or Chan if that’s what you prefer now.” the voice continued. “How much longer do you think your pack will follow you when they learn the truth of what you’ve done?”

Chan’s hand balled into fists, rage coursing through him. Only Minho knew the truth about his past. How his brother was killed right in front of him. How the killer ran off before anyone else showed up, Chan being left there looking guilty. No one wanted to believe the alpha who always boasted about having his own pack. Instead, they called him greedy, power hungry, and ruthless. He’s never been able to prove them wrong, not having seen the face of his brother’s killer. But one day, he always dreamt, he would expose the truth.

“You’re a murderer. They aren’t going to follow a murderer.” the man continued.

Chan growled, banging his fists on the glass and causing the man to just laugh.

Once you finished your statement, you came out to see Reed working on his phone. Okay, not working. More like nodding off. You smiled, coming over and shaking his shoulder. He jumped awake, looking around frantically.

“Oh. You’re done?” he asked, putting his phone in his pocket.

“Yep. They said I was free to go.”

“Great. Let’s go.”

You followed him back down the walkway and out the front doors. You got in the suv, eager to go back to your pack. You missed them terribly and felt a deep need to see them. You wanted to assure them you were okay and hopefully get Minho to stop blaming himself. 

“Hungry?” Reed asked.

You shook your head.

“You don’t eat much, do you?”

You shrug. “I just want to get home.”

“Suit yourself.” Reed shrugged too, going back to his phone as the driver peeled off from the Hybrid Association.

Not even five minutes after your departure, Minho pulls up. The packs wait outside while Minho and Changbin go inside for their people. The receptionist directed them to level two. They followed her directions, finding themselves in a lounge. Off to the side, they located their boys.

“Jinnie, Ji!” Minho calls.

They both come rushing over, jumping into their waiting arms. They hug each other tight, Minho pulling back to examine them.

“I’m okay.” Hyunjin says.

“Good.” Minho says, kissing him briefly before checking over Jisung as Changbin holds him close. 

Changbin kisses his check, rubbing his back as Jisung relaxes into his hold. Minho then ushers them to the car, staying behind at the desk as they walk off with Changbin.

Minho turns around, his smile gone from his face. He marches up to the front desk, all pleasantries gone.

“I want to visit someone.”

“What’s the name?” the older lady asks.

“Bang Chan.”

“I’m sorry, son. He’s not allowed visitors.”

“What?! No, I’m his right hand alpha.”

“I’m sorry. Your rank doesn’t matter here.”

“Is there someone I can speak to about this?” Minho asks, exasperated.

“That would be Mr. Park. His office is on level three.”

Minho marches up the walkway, and finds his way to Mr. Park’s office. He knocks on the door, but no answer.

“Can I help you?” a gentleman asks, coming up from behind Minho.

“I’m looking for Mr. Park.”

“That’s me. What can I do for you?”

“I’m here to see Bang Chan.”

“I’m afraid he’s in lockup, pending trial.”

“I know. I want to visit him?”

“Those pending a trial are not allowed visitors.”

“He didn’t do it. His brother was killed by someone else.”

“I’m afraid I cannot discuss the case with you.”

“I’m his second in command, current Alpha in Greenridge until he returns, Lee Minho.”

“Sorry Minho. Those are the rules.”

“Your rules are bullshit!”

“You’d do well to watch your tone.” 

Minho grabbed the man by his collar, shoving him back into the wall. A nearby security officer stepped forward but Mr. Park raised his hand to stop him.

“Let go or you will be in a holding cell of your own.”

Minho growled, releasing the man and storming off. He flipped a stack of chairs in the process, scaring those passing by. He was livid to say the least.

Upon exiting the building, Changbin turned to see his mate. 

“What happened?”

“He’s pending trial. So no visitors.”

“Pending trial for what?” Seungmin asked.

“Killing Hayes and Milo probably.” Hyunjin said in a quiet voice.

“And his brother.” Minho added, face void of emotion.

They all looked at him confused.

“We should talk.” Minho sighed, deciding it was time they knew the truth.

You were in fact hungry, but didn’t want to admit it now after you told him no thirty minutes ago. Unfortunately, home would be another three ish hours of a drive to get to. Ugh you were going to have to speak up.

You turned to Reed, who was typing on his computer next to you, but noticed a giant mansion out the window. The car turned, stopping at a large gate that opened.

“Where are we?” you asked.

“Home.” Reed said.

“This isn’t Greenridge. You said you would take me home.”

“Yes, I did. I didn’t say to your home.”

You stared dumbfounded at him as the car pulled up under a carriage and stopped. Reed moved to get out, noticing you not moving.

“Come on. I’ll show you to your room”

“No.”

“No?”

“You tricked me.”

Reed sighed. “Come inside. I have some things to tend to. You can eat while I do that. Then we can freshen up and change clothes. Then I’ll see about taking you home.”

He winked at you before exiting the car. Groaning, you get out. You were hungry so you’d allow him to feed you first. He will be taking you home to your mates after that.

TAGLIST:

@estella-novella @lxvxchxrlxttxbxrsx22-blog @butterflydemons @readr1221 @gaby105-skz @notevenheretbh1 @bah2004 @sinfulfic @bowsnbang @just-a-blackthorn-cookie @dreamerwasfound @motheraiya55 @m00njinnie @writeuntilthebitterend @jutdwae-flower @staytinyluv @emmxxsworld @galaxy4489 @wolfo2027 @iknow-uknow-leeknow @thatgirlangelb @fr34k4c1dr41n @stwq2349 @rylea08 @sang-09.

Shout out to my lovely beta @cherry-erii

[an-unrecognizable-face]

One thing I’ve noticed is that the only way House can get his feelings out is through projecting them onto other people, most commonly his patients. He can’t open up to anyone about all the shit he goes through everyday, so he resorts to bluntly telling everyone about the shit he thinks others go through. From what I’ve noticed, the more he sees himself in a patient, the more likely he is to tell them and his colleagues exactly how horrible they have it (they’re dying from an incurable disease, they’ll never be able to walk again, etc etc). It’s not like he does this intentionally, though, it just happens. His self-loathing, pain, depression, loneliness, addiction, and insecurity manifest themselves as hatred for others and for the world. Someone or something must be held accountable for his suffering, everything as a logical reason behind it and this is no exception. When he can’t find a force to blame, he becomes angry and resentful, taking it out on the whole world.

The bottom line is that he can’t accept the fact that he needs help, so he insists that everyone he knows has an issue he can figure out and solve. There’s always something more to be found, a new symptom to treat, another test to be done, something he could dig into further, one last pin to push so the lock will click open. Deep down, he hopes that discovering his friends’ issues or solving another patient case will reveal the key to his own problems. When this doesn’t work, he continues to grow more and more resentful, further perpetuating this cycle of hatred.

Thank you for coming to my TedTalk.

[my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction]

Cete

Vampire!Anselm Vogelweide x Blue Jones x Vampire!afab!Reader • Rating: 18+ pals • Masterlist• ao3• want to be tagged? | request info • ko-fi •

Summary: You and your husband are enjoying entertaining a guest.

A/N: For @oddballwriter and their wonderful thoughts about Trine but vampires, you're so correct. (I'm sure this fic is 10000% only going to interest me, but there we go.)

Trine Masterlist

Warnings: Anselm and reader are married, Blue not realising he's in a relationship with vampires, blow jobs, hand jobs, biting, blood drinking, not beta read, please let me know if I have missed a warning!

Word Count: 2132

Blue opens his eyes groggily, his head throbbing. 

He groans and rolls over in bed, away from the early afternoon sunshine that’s cutting into his eyes. It stings. Burns almost. 

He must have a hangover. That was it. That must be it. 

Blue sits up slowly, pulling off the golden silk sheets that have become wrapped around his body while he slept. 

There’s a pitch of water and an ornate glass on the bedside table. But suddenly his mouth is so dry that even the thought of bothering to pour the water into a glass irritates him. He takes hold of the jug and downs it in three long glugs. 

He dresses quickly, but stands up too fast and has to lay down again for a few minutes until the wave of dizziness passes. 

When he looks at himself in the surprisingly small mirror on the vanity he looks pale, drawn, with dark circles under his eyes. He tuts, rubbing his hand over his skin and the stubble on his jaw. Really, he should bathe and shave. Maybe after breakfast. 

Before Blue heads downstairs he adjusts his shirt, it’s loose, billowy and starch white with a low deep collar. You and Anselm always seemed to lay out a similar style for him. 

He doesn’t run into anyone on the way, which he has grown used to. It’s like the mansion comes alive at night, especially with all the parties and soirees you and Anselm throw, your staff are practically on a permanent night shift. 

He walks softly into the smaller, more private dining room, about to go further on into the kitchen. He was hungry and not above making his own food, when your hand on his shoulder startles him. 

He jumps, whipping around. 

“I’m so sorry,” You smile kindly, “I didn’t mean to surprise you.” You stroke his cheek, the rapid thump of his heart echoing in your hand. 

“It’s… it’s alright.” He smiles back. Blue was sure there were secret passages in the house, the way you and Anselm always seemed to just appear. Silent and poised. 

You look perfect, growing and radiant and Blue shifts his shoulders a little self consciously, here you were looking like an angel and while he felt like he needed a week in bed. Maybe he was coming down with something. 

“What’s wrong?” You frown a little, your head cocked to the side as if you could read his distress. 

He shakes his head, “Nothing, just hungry.” 

You nod, though you don’t believe him, and guide him to the table. Blue watches you as you move, almost hypnotised by the feel of your hand on his arm, how you seem to glide across the floor. 

You baby him a little as you sit him down and push in his chair while you kiss the top of his head. But he adores it. 

“I’ll speak to the kitchen.” You smile and stroke his jaw, dragging your nails over his stubble. “Is there anything you’re hungry for?” 

“I can make it myself, I don’t want to be a bothe-”

You hush him quickly, bending down and pressing a kiss to his lips. Blue groans softly and tries to follow you when you pull back. Lightly, you tap his nose with your forefinger and he beams at you.

“Is there anything you want to eat?” You repeat, a little firmer this time, but still teasingly kind. 

He bites his lip for a second, “I know it’s early… but…” He relaxes a little when you nod reassuringly. “That port you have, I don’t know why, it’s so nice… maybe a small glass?” 

You grin, “Of course” and kiss his cheek before you leave. 

You move so quickly, seemingly there one second and at the door the next. Blue shakes his head, he really must be tired. 

“And how did my love sleep?” Anselm’s voice makes him jump again, jolting like he’d been hit by an electric current. “I’m sorry, my love.” He smiles, his eyes sparkling. He leans down and kisses Blue on the temple and cheek before he sits next to him. 

“I swear you do that on purpose.” Blue pouts a little and Anselm grins wickedly. It was always the game: a little bratty, bordering on rudeness for Anselm, while he was a good, sweet boy for you. Most of the time. 

“What, my sweet?” 

“Both of you…” Blue huffs, putting it on a little. “Sneak up on me.” Anselm laughs loudly and the sound warms Blue’s heart. “Maybe we do, my love, maybe we like to see your body jump and heart race?” 

Blue hides his smile, “Horrible, both of you.” 

“Now, now,” Anselm leans closer, pressing his mouth up against Blue’s ear. “I don’t think you want to go around throwing that kind of accusation, do you?” 

Blue shivers, his eyes closing ever so slightly as he leans nearer. 

“Or, I’ll show you, my pet. Just how horrible I can be.” He darts out his tongue and lightly licks over the shell of Blue’s ear. 

He lets out the smallest whine, a truly pathetic sound that makes Anselm’s mouth water. 

Anselm takes hold of his jaw and sucks his earlobe into his mouth, biting lightly. 

As you walk back into the room, you’re greeted with a lovely sight. Blue on his knees on the floor between Anselm’s spread legs. His mouth is full, a light gagging echoing off the walls as Anselm guides him by the hand on the back of Blue’s neck, making him take his thick cock deeper and deeper. 

You smile when your husband catches your eye and beams at you. He holds out his hand as you come closer, taking hold of your own and kissing your knuckles softly. 

“Here I was, going to the kitchen to request Blue’s breakfast,” You tease softly, “And you’re already feeding him.” 

Blue whines softly, looking up at you with glassy eyes. 

Anselm tuts, “None of that now,” and pushes him back down, making him swallow more and more of his length until the tip hits the back of his throat. 

Blue gags a little, his hands squeezing Anselm’s still clothed thighs. 

“Breathe through your nose,” Anselm says softly and bucks lightly, pushing past Blue’s resistance to fuck his throat. “I know what you can handle, pet.” 

You sit down next to Anselm, “Don’t push him too hard.” 

He smiles, “And why not?” 

“He hasn’t eaten yet.” You give your husband a playful tap on the shoulder, “He isn’t used to our level of exertion.” 

“Yet.” Anselm’s grin widens, his canines sharp and slightly elongated. 

You scowl him softly, “Getting too excited,” You mutter in his ear. “He needs to eat first.” 

“Hmm,” Anselm runs his left hand up your arm and to your cheek as he turns his head to kiss you gently, while he pushes Blue harshly further down. “You are correct, my love. He hasn’t acclimatised to our rhythm yet.” 

Blue whines desperately, tears in the corners of his eyes as he swallows and gags. His cock twitches, quickly hardening. Both of you speaking to each other like he wasn’t there always did that to him. 

Anselm pulls Blue back by the scruff of his neck like a kitten. Blue gasps, gulping down air, but gives Anselm a cheeky glare. 

You laugh. 

“And what is that for, my love?” Anselm grins.

“I didn’t tap out.” Blue pouts. 

“Hmm,” Anselm pretends to think. “You’re quite right.” He pushes Blue back down, his free hand around his thick cock so he can quickly force his member past Blue’s lips and down his throat. 

Blue yelps, swallowing and groaning. 

“He makes such sweet sounds,” You sigh. 

“Don’t think I don’t see that look, my love.” Your husband tuts playfully as he strokes your arm. 

“What look?” You smile. 

“You’re the one who said he needs to eat first.” Anselm lets a small moan escape his lips, his eyes rolling back. 

“Maybe I need to eat first?” You tease.

“We, fuck,” Anselm swallows, trying his very best to keep his hips still as he slips deeper. “We took quite a bit last night.” 

“Not that much.” You slip down to the floor, flashing a dangerously charming look at your husband. “Besides,” you stroke Blue’s arms and he whines. The vibrations run along Anselm’s cock and he shivers, his hips bucking. “You’re enjoying him right now, you started without me.” 

“I, ah, I apologise, my love.” He lets his head fall back against the chair as Blue swallows and sucks, bobbing his head deliciously. 

Slowly you trail your hands along Blue’s chest, lightly pinching his chest so that he lets out muffled mewls before you shift down and palm his erection softly. 

Blue gasps, a sharp intake of breath in through his nose before he pushes his back against your chest and sucks harder. 

You quickly dip your hand under his trousers and stroke along his heavy cock, grinning when he thrusts weakly and whines. 

You can practically hear the desperation singing in his blood, the need to please both of you buzzing through his flesh like opium. 

You kiss his neck messily, jerking him quickly as he slurps and swallows. Lightly, you just graze the edge of your sharp teeth along his skin. 

Blue jolts, his eyes rolling back. 

Anselm thrusts up hard into his throat, his gaze fixed on the both of you. “Do it, my love, he needs it.” There’s a harsh desperation to his tone, a rasp as he speaks. And you know he needs it more, needs to watch you like an itch begging to be scratched. 

Blue whines, agreeing.

With little warning you bite down, piercing his skin with your teeth. Blood wells up into your mouth, washing over your tongue with the sweetest taste as the warmth runs down your throat. 

You clutch his chest with one hand while the other is a blur on his cock. Blue practically screams around Anselm’s cock, every muscle tensing at once as he comes, spurting all over your hand and his trousers. He shivers, shakes, swallows, whining desperately as he rocks in your firm hold, pleasure exploding along his spine and making him lightheaded. 

Anselm growls, keeping eye contact with you as you feed. He thrusts rapidly, nearly cutting off Blue’s oxygen before snarls and comes down his throat, his cock so deep that Blue has no choice but to swallow. 

You pull your mouth off him, the wound is shallow, barely a scratch. You lick it, lapping at his skin as he slumps forward ever so slightly, breathing hard. 

Blue’s eyes are glazed as you let him rest back against you, tilting his head onto your shoulder. His heartbeat flutters under your hands as he floats, weightless. 

Anselm tuts playfully, as he tucks himself back into his trousers, but leads down when you gesture and kisses you deeply. 

He darts his tongue out when you break apart, licking a small tail of blood that has run down your jaw from your skin. He groans lightly at the taste and smiles.

You easily move Blue back into his seat while he’s still out of it, blissed out and weak, while Anselm goes and gets a small port glass from the drinks cabinet and fills it with a little of the drink. He cuts his forefinger on his teeth before he swirls his finger into the port, letting some of his blood seep out and mix in. At the same moment, you slice your thumb with one fang and smear your blood over the cut on Blue’s neck, the wound heals instantly as if it was never there to begin with. 

Blue makes a small soft sound, blinking hard and you lick the last of your blood from your skin before you kiss him deeply.

Blue moans, iron on his tongue and not understanding from where. One second he was on his knees coming and the next…

“Did I pass out?” He mumbles as you pull back, his eyes bright and voice soft. 

“You did.” You smile, stroking his cheek.

“I’m sorry, I-”

“Don’t be.” You nuzzle against him and smile. “You’re probably just hungry.” 

“Here,” Anselm passes Blue the glass. 

“Thank you.” He says quietly and drinks it down in one gulp, almost instantly the exhaustion starts to leave his limbs, the room looking brighter. “I’m sorr-”

“I don’t want to hear it,” Anselm smiles and kisses his cheek. “I probably cut off some of your air when I came down your throat.” He teases lightly, his voice thick and Blue shivers, squirming a little. His cock twitches. “Already so needy.” Anselm laughs and you giggle. 

Blue heats up a little, but nods. 

“Maybe after your breakfast.” You say and Anselm nods. 

Thank you so much for reading!

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[robo-writing]

hiii it’s anon who requested the chronic pain reader x Logan, I love that btw!

Recently, like for the past two weeks, random red spots have been appearing on my skin, and I probably got whooping cough again lmao- The doctors don’t know what the illness is, but they think it’s an autoimmune disease of some kind.

My skin as a result looks… At the very best lumpy. And I really hate how it’s making me look 🥲

so can I request another comfort request, with an afab!reader x Simon Riley with reader who’s going through at least something similar? If not that’s fine, I’m sorry for bombarding you 😭

You have trouble with your self-confidence at the best of times, but looking at yourself in the mirror right now makes you want to cry, truly. The large welts make your skin feel lumpy, irritated, and even under the layers of clothes all you can focus on is the fact they’re still on your body, taunting you.

You know it’s temporary, but every time you think about the deformities you feel the urge to curl into yourself and hide away. You’ve even stopped taking his calls, much to Simon’s annoyance, and after a week he’s had enough, knocking at your door urgently.

“Open up darling, lemme see you!”

“I’m sick!” Your muffled voice calls from your bedroom.

“I know where the spare key is love,” he replies, the tell-tale jingle making your ears perk up. “I’m coming inside.”

“No,” you weakly groan from beneath your covers. “I don’t want you to see me Si.”

Your pleas fall on deaf ears, hearing the lock click into place as his heavy footsteps enter. You can see his shadow coming closer, and the best you can do is bundle yourself in your sheets.

“Love, what’s wrong?”

“I don’t wanna talk about it, can you please leave?”

He shakes his head, moving towards you. “No can do. Just wanna make sure you’re alright.”

Slowly, he pulls off the cover and if you were in better health maybe you could’ve resisted better. You turn your head away from him, not wanting to see the disgust on his face at your blemished skin.

“Oh wow…” he says, and the surprise in his voice makes you shrink away even further.

“I told you it was bad,” you sniffle, tugging the sheets back over you. He hesitates for a bit, trying to find the right words.

“Is it chickenpox?”

You know he’s serious, but you can’t help but give a half-hearted chuckle at his words. “No, the doctors don’t know what it is yet.”

“And is it contagious?”

“No—“

“Then move over.”

You look over your shoulder, confusion written in your face. “I’m sorry?”

He doesn’t repeat himself. He takes his shoes off, throws them into a neat pile by the bed, then worms his way under the blanket, wrapping his arms around your torso much to your surprise.

“You’ve been hiding from me all week, I’m making up for lost time,” he mumbles, pulling you even closer to his chest. “Rest up; I’ll buy you some ointment when you wake up.”

Mouth agape, it takes you a moment to catch up, and when you do you realize two things:

1. You’re not getting out of this bed anytime soon.

2. Simon is the best boyfriend you’ve ever had.

[luckybyler]

I think it’s sure that Eddie will go to Texas and that sooner rather than later he will return to L.A. with Chris, after confronting his parents.

My speculation: The Díaz grandparents are obviously extracting info from Chris, and Chris in his innocence, has probably shown them lots of photos and videos and has had lots of conversations with them about his life and his happy moments with him and his dad, and him and his dad and Buck, and his dad and Buck, and him and Buck, and hey here’s another one of Buck, and, and… and here they are at school, and at home, at Buck’s place, with tia Pepa, during Christmas, doing homework, etc.

So depending on their level of homophobia/civility/willingness to stir the pot or not, we could get anything from :

1. ⁠a simple statement when Eddie tells them they decided to go back to L.A. like “it’s about that Buck fella, isn’t it?” With no further elaboration, or Eddie says “what do you mean?” And they explain what Chris told and showed them, and Eddie doesn’t deny it.

2. ⁠An argument because how come Eddie lets an Unrelated Male have such access to their grandson and have such a grip over his and their grandson’s lives? What do you mean this man has keys to your house and picks our grandson from school? And he babysits him too? And why’s he in your Christmas photos and why does Chris call him his Buck? Why do you have pictures of him in your fridge?

3. ⁠Nothing at the moment, but once in L.A., the Díaz grandparents suing for custody of Chris and alleging that Eddie endangers him by allowing an Unrelated Male to have access to him and to his household and be a Bad InfluenceTM to them both; citing all the previous questions. This would be actually pretty easy to win since everyone (including Chris) would come on to testify that he’s a firefighter who saves lives and a pillar of the community and he loves Chris and he’s a golden retriever etc.

Either way, the point is that Eddie would be forced to confront his reality with Buck from an outside perspective and to really face his feelings about what Buck means to him, maybe even talk about it with people like Bobby or Chim. I think at no point would anyone mention the words “gay” or “boyfriends” or “romance”, but everyone will know what they’re talking about.

[doonalli]

The Dummies, Midori, The Banquet, and what it truly means to "be human"

And here we are at the finale. if you haven't seen my previous analyses on the Dummies I recommend you read them before reading this one since i am going in assuming you have. But if not here they are in order; Why Anzu is Important Hayasaka and how humans change Kurumada and trust in your allies Ranmaru: Doubts in Humanity, and Humanity in Doubts Mai and Humanity in Autonomy Hinako; Humanity in Affection and Connection

With that said, let's start talking about the Banquet, Midori and what that says about the dummies' humanity.

At first the Banquet seems like a strange choice for the finale of the chapter, after all, we just went through a whole chapter about proving the humanity of the dummies, yet here they are all killed of one after the other here for the sake of Gin, a human. It comes off as a bit jarring, even seeming like YTTD is going back on its message a bit.

But I’m here to argue that isn’t the case, that the Banquet not only doesn’t conflict with the messaging of the chapter and the game as a whole, but instead works to push it even further to culminate in a perfect ending.

And to start with that, let's talk about one of the key players in the banquet, Midori. In a way Midori is everything it means to not be human, and he himself revels in this inhumanity. Midori has thrown away his own humanity, and this is shown to us in so many different ways, but the main one is the way he treats his own body.

What's particularly interesting about Midori is how unclear the line between what's real and what's fake is when it comes to him, from his relationships with the participants during their pasts, to the constant lies and half truths the tells over the chapter, to his death itself, it's hard to get a grasp on the reality of the situation when it comes to him.

And this of course extends to Midori himself, as he is presented as a mystery ever since Alice told Keiji about his murder, and in the way we don’t quite know if he is human or not until the banquet itself, and even then we don’t know exactly how much of his body is human.

During the Banquet Midori reveals that he has slowly been replacing parts of his body with doll parts, 

And to Midori this is equal to no longer being human, this mentality can only be achieved if you equate humanity to what you physically are, and it's through this that Midori acts as the opposite of what the dummies all stand for,

Where the dummies stand for Humanity not being tied to the physical truth, Midori stands for the opposite notion, that the physical truth stands above all. In his eyes humanity is a weakness, and we see that in how he treats them and the traits that prove humanity.

And so Midori tries to escape it, to escape his own humanity, no need for allies or connections or doubts or fears, all those "human" traits when you can just stand above it all, as some unstoppable force.

Midori is the perfect example of this because he constantly rubs it in your face just how inhuman he is, he does so when he starts spinning his head and when he rocket punches Yabusame and literally asks

And he furthers this mentality with his actions too, because Midori is denying his own humanity, he denies his fear of death, he constantly berates and betrays his allies like Maple or Hinako, he denies others of their choices and autonomy, laughing at their despair and refusing to connect, and even his “affection” for Sou is a twisted, messed up version of what affection is. All of it to dehumanise himself and others.

It's honestly hard to call Midori human after it all, and that's just what Midori wants. That's why Maple’s last act of defiance near the end of the chapter was so important, because it shows us and to Midori that that's all it is, a facade.

Just one small moment where Midori wasn’t in control and that's all it took to show us that he isn’t invincible, and with that the image of a fearless unstoppable force is shattered, and it shows us that he isn’t as above humanity as he thinks he is.

It's important that this happens here because it allows the cast to fight back during the next section, both himself and his ideals.

Midori’s mentality of humanity being defined by what you physically are goes head to head with the Dummies in the banquet, and that's what it's about, it's a battle between Midori, and the Dummies, who are trying to prove their own humanity, with all the ups and downs that come with it.

The banquet itself plays into this too, the hint system draws a straight, clear cut answer on who is a doll and who is a human, using exclusively what they are physically.

And the cast isn’t exempt from doing this too, with many of the first discussions being centred around “who is human?”, whether it be figuring out what the lights mean, questioning whether Midori himself is human, or questioning who among the Dummies is a human.

And it's only when Mai’s hands are revealed to be Midori’s human hands, that the lines start to blur. 

Does Mai having human hands make her "more human"? What if they aren't even hers? Plenty of people use body parts from others in real life too right? It gets you thinking about the line between human and doll and just how fragile and unclear it can be.

And sure we designate Midori as the human here, but later we find out we were wrong, because trying to designate a human through physical traits is wrong. But before that…

After picking a coffin and killing either Hayasaka or Kurumada the next hint reveals a human, Sara tells Midori that he must be afraid as hypothetically there is a 50% chance he dies, but Midori denies he is afraid of dying and picks the coffin anyways, revealing it to be Hinako

This just blurs the lines even more, since up to this point we thought all the dummies were dolls, yet a human was able to sneak in there entirely undetected. Can you really say they're that different if you didn't even realise it at first?

And importantly, as we discuss who Hinako really was, we confirm her humanity, but not through any physical traits like many people tried to do during the banquet, but through a painting and the connection between Alice and the real Hinako.

During the next section we figure out the truth about Midori, and about how he has more doll parts than human, spinning his head all the way around to prove it. Obviously this isn’t something that any human could do, but more importantly it shows us Midori’s inhumanity in an undeniable way, it's so flashy, bold and in your face, that you’d be hard pressed to call him human.

When Sara then stands firm and states that this proves Midori is a doll and Gin is a human she is agreeing to the line that Midori drew and separates Humans and Dolls even further. This goes as far as to picking a red coffin, picking a doll, just to keep Gin the human safe, Midori even calls Sara out on it if she is really alright with picking one of the dummies, and notably Sara’s internal monologue doesn’t question that fact, but instead wondering why Midori is so confident, and why he doesn’t seem to be scared.

Sara is being pushed even further into believing Midori isn’t really human anymore at this point, Questioning if their logic was even correct. Until…

The surviving dummies inspire Sara through their words, and with that, prove their own humanities in their own separate ways, showing Sara and the player that their lives have purpose, have value, and that they are truly human.

On the surface it seems like Sara is simply making a choice to sacrifice the dolls for the sake of a human, and the tragedy of that is the fact these scenes show the truest form of their humanity. There is a reason these scenes are such a focal point in my analysis of each of those characters (Mai, Kurumada, and Hayasaka) and it's because it shows that they are able to make their own choices, for the sake of their allies, despite their contradictory emotions, and that's something that's inherently human. 

We see this when characters like Mishima, Kai, and Kanna all do something similar, and it all just works to prove that fact the dummies aren’t separate from the humans.

So why does this happen? Well to me it shows that despite their efforts, Sara still couldn’t shake her bias, playing right into what the Banquet and Midori want, by dehumanising the dummies.

But it isn’t over and the dummies still have a chance to show their humanity.

Tragically, Sara misses, not knowing at this point that Midori isn’t even in one of the glowing coffins, and Midori now has a free shot that's basically guaranteed to hit Gin, but Midori gives her a chance to talk to Gin, and that confidence ends up being his undoing.

While talking to Gin he mentions Keiji, reminding Sara of her wish she got from signing the consent form. She demands Midori to change it, and after some arguing, he does. Only he picks the #2 coffin, killing Anzu, and it's here where we reach our lowest point, where Sara herself admits that she undeniably sacrificed a doll for the sake of a human.

However it's always darkest before the dawn, and that's true here too, this is the Dummies’ last chance to prove themselves, and they won’t go down without a fight.

Through a discussion the cast figures out that Hinako swapped coffins with Midori before the banquet even began, meaning he is actually in a non-glowing coffin, and through this they are given an actual chance to fight back, because, as Sara rightfully called out, this proves Midori is afraid of death.

Despite his claims otherwise, Midori is scared of death, and because of that he swapped coffins with Hinako out of a fear he’d die outwise.

Midori claims that this doesn’t matter though as no matter what all 3 of the non glowing coffins have dolls inside, meaning the hit will be red no matter what. 

Regardless Sara presses the hint and it ends up blue, meaning that there is a human inside, much to everyone’s surprise.

The fact that Midori believed so strongly that the coffins would end up red only for it to be blue just blurs the lines between these two options even more. The fact that the contents in this coffin are unknown is just the first step in this counterattack.

Before that however, Ranmaru’s coffin is picked, sending Sara to give up, but Q-taro tells her that it's not what she thinks, as Midori is revealed to be struggling with his next choice.

This goes into the war of words against Midori, and the thing about this one is that compared to the other war of words our goal here is to confuse Midori as much as possible. First we refute his claim that Keiji isn’t in the coffin, despite it being blue. Then when he brings up the victim videos we tell him that the Hinako in the video isn’t even the Hinako of the dummies. He reasons out Maple must have told Keiji about the Banquet, and reveals that the coffins designate between human and doll through the collars, as both dolls and humans would be ashes after being cremated.

All these contradictions are designed to blur the lines between red and blue, real and fake, human and doll.

The way Midori doubts a human is in the blue coffin, or the way we bring up how not all the dummies are dolls of people who died, or how he admits that the coffins don’t even tell the content apart by physical traits but instead by the collar put on them.

And by the end we’ve blurred the lines so much that Midori thinks the coffin contains his collar, despite his own claim that he himself would be counted as a doll. All due to Q-taro's trick.

As if Hinako being a Human among the dolls wasn't enough, there has been a doll among the humans the whole time, and no one could tell, not even Midori, who dies before he ever learns the truth.

The fact that a doll of someone could so easily fit in just shows how vague the lines really are. We see just how much a doll can seem like a human, how they can feel and learn and grow like any human, how they laugh and cry and shout like any human. And at that point... was there ever really even a line at all? And this all culminates in the final act of the Banquet, Midori and Sara’s last choices. Midori is now doubting himself,

struggling between the 2 options he has to target, struggling with his conflicting feelings,

 and Sara thinks to herself that Midori has no allies to rely on now,

because he denied that connection, and killed them all himself.

She tells him to choose, to make his own choices now,

and he does, he picks the non glowing coffin… Missing Gin and ultimately dooming himself.

Sara ends up making her choice, choosing Midori’s coffin, and as the drill goes through Midori, he realises just how scared of death he is, but it's too late for him.

We prove his mentality of humanity being decided by physical traits is wrong in this moment, because here, in his final moments, Midori is undeniably human, and even he can’t run away from that.

"I'm a human. Which is why I don't wanna die..."

Unlike somebody such as Rio, who also spent his last moments as a human, Midori doesn’t deserve any sympathy, because he did that to himself. Just like how he denied that connection to his allies like Hinako, and killed them, Midori essentially killed his humanity, or at least tried to, so when he’s backed into a corner he doesn’t get to rely on his allies, and while we’ve proven that his mentality of humanity isn’t right, Midori himself he only realises this right as he is about to die, when it's far too late to go back now.

Through the Banquet and its final choice we prove to not only Midori, but to the cast and ourselves that humanity can’t be defined with just the physical truth, and that's what victory means for the dummies, because if someone who actively threw away his own humanity, with all his rocket punches and spinning head can still struggle with contradictory feelings, can try to rely on his allies, can still be forced to make his own choice, and can truly fear death, then humanity  just can’t be defined by something as simple as how much of your body is a doll, and the lines that seemed to divide that, ceases to exist at all.

================================================================================================ Afterword: So that's it. This set of analyses is finally done. Some of you all might have noticed that this is being released exactly one year after my first Anzu analysis, and I just wanted to thank everyone for reading this with me, the fact that there are people who like and agree with what I have to say is still unbelieveable.

I started this series because I thought the dummies were an underappreciated part of YTTD and 3-1 was underappreciated in general. To me this chapter is just incredible, my favourite bit of fiction ever, and I just wanted to put it into words why I love it so much, and as I wrote this series I only grew to love it more!

I hope I was able to share that love to whoever took the time to read any of my posts, its been an incredible time, thank you so much! and i hope you're able to love it a bit more too.

Sorry this one took so long to come out, I've been working on a few projects that i'll hopefully be able to drop soon, and if you're a fan of the dummies I think you'll like what I have in store.

Lastly I want to thank Crazy Sunshine for being such an incredible friend and for helping me so much with the latter half of these analyses, they were improved so much with their help!!!!

And I'll try to be more consistent with these posts but uhh i said that before and that hasn't exactly worked out, regardless this isn't the end, i have a few asks to catch up on still and i am not even remotely close to saying all there is to say about this incredible chapter, so I hope you'll be there when it drops. I hope you've enjoyed this era of my blog and moreso I hope you look forward to the future.

Thank you for reading!!! I hope you enjoyed! and I hope I got you thinking about this incredible chapter even just a little bit more.

[estellan0vella]

Sunshine's Guide To Murder│Lee Minho

Chapter Twenty Nine: Narnia: The Bullshit Chronicles SS: 17 (ignore time stamps and dates) Word Count: 3.3 K & 3.1K (it's a long one) Content Warnings: mentions of cravings and relapse, chan being a good friend (this was meant to be a filler but i got carried away) Previous Next Masterlist

The house is unusually quiet, and the absence of Minho, Hyunjin, Changbin, and Seungmin leaves a strange void that Hayun and Chan are doing their best to fill. Earlier, Chan had picked Hayun up after she’d texted him about cravings, not even hesitating.

Now, she’s perched on the edge of the bathroom counter, dumping out bags of supplies from the drugstore as Chan sits on a stool.

“You think I’ll look good with blue hair?” Chan asks, tilting his head as he examines his reflection in the mirror.

Hayun raises an eyebrow, sorting through bottles of bleach and toner. “I have it in writing from Jeongin a few months ago that if you ever dyed your hair blue, you’d get a blowjob every day.”

Chan’s eyes widen before he grins, settling himself more comfortably on the stool. “Fully sold. Even if it looks bad, I’m getting my dick sucked, so I win either way.”

Hayun snorts, shaking her head as she grabs a pair of gloves and pulls them on. “You’re the worst,” she mutters, but her lips twitch into a small smile.

Chan leans back, grinning. “Nah, I’m a fucking genius. Now, work your magic.”

Hayun grabs a comb, running it through his hair as she examines the strands. “Bleach, then tone, then dye. Sound good?”

“Sounds great,” Chan says, spinning the stool slightly before stopping when Hayun glares at him. “Alright, alright, I’ll sit still.”

She mixes the bleach in a small bowl, and her movements are practised and smooth. “Where did you learn to dye hair?” Chan asks, watching her curiously.

Hayun glances at him as she finishes mixing. “The foster home I was placed in when I was sixteen. Etta, sixty-five, covered in tattoos, and bright blue hair. She could’ve probably fought you if she wanted to.”

“Sounds badass,” Chan says, grinning. “Sixty-five and blue hair?”

“She had stories that could make a nun faint and a priest cry,” Hayun replies, her voice warm with fondness. “She taught me how to dye hair, though I go to a salon now. My entire career is in front of a camera, so it has to look good.”

“She sounds cool,” Chan says as Hayun begins to apply the bleach to his hair, sectioning it off methodically. “What happened to her?”

“She passed away a couple of years ago,” Hayun says softly, her focus on the strands of hair she’s coating. “Left me her house on Jeju Island. She didn’t have any kids, so I got everything.”

Chan hums thoughtfully. “Jeju, huh? Nice.”

“Felix, Jisung, Jeongin, and I talked about moving there after university,” Hayun says, stepping back to check her progress. “It was the plan for a while.”

“Still the plan?” Chan asks, tilting his head to look at her.

Hayun shrugs. “Now it’s complicated. You and Innie, Jisung and Hyunjin, me and Minho, Felix and Changbin.”

Chan blinks, his jaw dropping slightly. “Felix and Changbin?!”

Hayun laughs, setting the bowl down. “Well, Felix at least has a little crush on him.”

Chan leans back, crossing his arms. “Huh. Did not see that coming.”

“Really?” Hayun asks, raising an eyebrow. “Pretty Felix and big muscly Changbin? It’s a trope as old as time. Beauty and the Gym Beast.”

Chan snorts, shaking his head as he rests his hands on his thighs. “When you put it like that, I guess it makes sense.”

“Exactly,” Hayun says, smirking as she grabs another section of hair and begins applying the bleach. “It’s practically fate.”

Chan watches her in the mirror, his grin softening slightly. “You’re good at this, you know.”

“Yeah, well,” Hayun says, her voice quieter now, “Etta made sure I had skills to take care of myself.”

Chan doesn’t press further, sensing the shift in her mood. Instead, he changes the subject. “Alright, so how long am I sitting here looking like a science experiment?”

“About thirty minutes, maybe just a bit over because your hair is so dark,” Hayun replies, checking her phone for the timer she’s set. “We’ll tone it after. Then comes the blue.”

Chan leans back on the stool, stretching his legs out. “Thanks for this, Yunnie.”

“Don’t thank me yet,” Hayun says, shooting him a playful smirk. “You might end up looking like a Smurf.”

“Jeongin better keep his promise,” Chan mutters, earning a laugh from Hayun.

"Alright all done and the timer is set," Hayun says. 

"Let's go downstairs," Chan says. "Order some food or something"

The pair of them head downstairs to the living room and Chan settles onto the couch, pulling out his phone to order takeout while Hayun flops beside him, tucking her legs under herself.

The late afternoon light filters through the curtains, casting a warm glow on the cosy chaos of their surroundings. Empty cups, random books, and an assortment of charging cables litter the coffee table, but neither of them seems to mind.

“Non-spicy ramen for us delicate souls,” Chan mutters as he scrolls through the menu. “And spicy ramen for the laughs.”

“You’re gonna regret that,” Hayun says, grinning as she grabs one of the wine bottles Chan grabbed and twists off the cap. She pours a generous amount into two mismatched mugs and hands one to Chan.

“Probably,” Chan agrees, clicking on his choices and finalizing the order. “But it’ll be worth it for the chaos.”

As Chan leans back, sipping his wine, Hayun studies him. “So, big-time producer and music artist, huh? One album with JYPE already, and you haven’t even graduated yet. What’s the plan for you and Changbin once you finish uni? You’re 2RACHA, right?”

Chan raises an eyebrow, smirking. “Yeah, that’s us. We’re working on another album right now. One of the terms of signing with JYPE was that we get to finish university like normal students. After that? National tour.”

Hayun perks up, her grin widening. “You could promote Felix, Jisung, and my podcast on the tour.”

Chan snorts, leaning his head back against the couch. “Done.”

“I was kidding,” Hayun says, laughing.

“I’m not,” Chan counters, sitting up straighter. His eyes light up like he’s piecing together a genius plan. “Wait! Big brain moment! JYPE could sponsor a few episodes of your podcast, right? Then Changbin and I can promote it on our socials.”

Hayun tilts her head, considering the idea. “I mean, it would be good publicity. We’d reach more listeners.”

“Exactly!” Chan exclaims, clearly excited by the idea. “You get a bigger audience, we get to look cool for supporting our friends, it’s a win-win.”

The doorbell rings, cutting off their brainstorming. “Food!” Chan announces, springing up and heading to the door. He returns moments later with bags of steaming takeout, the savoury aroma filling the room as he sets everything down on the coffee table.

They dig into their non-spicy ramen first, the warmth of the broth and noodles a comfort as they chat. Hayun hums happily as she eats, her face relaxed for the first time in what feels like days.

“Alright,” Chan says, pointing at the untouched bowls of spicy ramen. “This was supposed to be funny, but honestly? I’m terrified.”

Hayun nods solemnly, setting down her empty bowl. “Same. But we’ve come this far.”

With exaggerated bravery, they pick up their chopsticks, clinking them together like a toast. “Cheers to bad decisions,” Hayun declares, and they both dive in.

The first bite hits Hayun like a freight train. “Nope,” she gasps, immediately reaching for her wine. “Nope, nope, nope. I’m done.”

Chan, however, stubbornly keeps eating, his face turning red as tears prick at the corners of his eyes. “It’s fine,” he croaks, shovelling another bite into his mouth.

“Just stop eating!” Hayun exclaims, watching him in horror. “You’re going to die!”

“It’s a matter of pride,” Chan wheezes. “I can’t back down now.”

Hayun watches, half amused and half concerned, as Chan struggles through a few more bites before finally throwing down his chopsticks in defeat. He slumps back against the couch, fanning his face. “Holy shit.”

“Was it worth it?” Hayun asks, smirking.

Chan grins through his tears. “Absolutely not.”

“You’re insane,” Hayun says, shaking her head as she sips her wine.

Chan wipes his face with a napkin, grinning at her. “Takes one to know one.”

The shrill beep of the bleach timer pierces the air, cutting through the relaxed chatter in the living room. “Alright,” Hayun says, grabbing her half-empty wine bottle, “back upstairs. Let’s rinse this shit out before your scalp starts a rebellion.”

Chan groans theatrically but follows her, his own bottle of wine in hand. “If I lose all my hair, I’m suing you for emotional distress,” he teases as they ascend the stairs, Hayun rolling her eyes but grinning.

“Please. You’d look good bald,” she fires back, pushing open the bathroom door. “You’ve got the symmetrical bone structure for it.”

“Flattery won’t save you if this goes wrong,” Chan retorts, leaning his head over the edge of the bathtub as Hayun dons a pair of gloves.

She adjusts the showerhead, making sure the water is the perfect lukewarm temperature, and then starts rinsing out the bleach  The water runs milky white, swirling down the drain, and Chan winces as it drips into his ear.

“Could you be less aggressive?” he grumbles.

“You’re such a baby,” Hayun laughs, using a towel to dab his face. “This is nothing compared to the spicy ramen.”

“Okay, fair,” Chan admits, though he winces as she massages his scalp. “But my pride is intact.”

“Yeah, yeah,” she mutters, finishing the rinse. “Alright, bleach out. Now, toner. Don’t move"

“Yes, ma’am,” Chan says, sitting as still as a statue while she applies the toner evenly. Once finished, she sets a timer, plopping down onto the bathroom floor beside him with her wine bottle in hand.

“Timer’s set. Now we wait,” Hayun says, taking a sip.

The door creaks open, and Minho leans against the frame, his sharp eyes scanning the scene. He’s holding a takeout container, chopsticks in one hand. “Hey, princess. What’re you doing here?”

“Avoiding a relapse. I had cravings, so I decided to dye Chan’s hair blue instead.”

Minho raises an eyebrow, glancing at Chan’s hair. “It’s not blue.”

“It’s a process, Min,” Hayun explains, gesturing with her wine bottle. “He had black hair. I had to bleach it, now we’re toning, and then we’ll do the blue. But honestly, Chan? You look good blonde.”

“Thank you,” Chan replies with mock solemnity, though his grin betrays him. “But Jeongin’s terms in that text to you were apparently very specific.”

Hayun snorts. “Oh, yes. Blue hair equals daily blowjobs. I didn’t make the rules.”

Minho smirks but doesn’t comment. Instead, he strides over to the closed toilet lid and sits down, digging into the spicy noodles in his container like it’s nothing. Both Hayun and Chan stare at him in disbelief.

“Wait,” Hayun says, pointing at the container. “Are those the spicy noodles from earlier? The ones that made Chan cry and nearly killed me?”

“Yeah,” Minho replies, completely unbothered as he shovels another bite into his mouth.

Chan stares at him like he’s witnessing a mythical creature. “How are you eating that without dying?”

“Because I’m not a coward,” Minho deadpans, smirking as he takes another bite.

Hayun rolls her eyes, muttering, “Show-off.”

They sit in companionable silence, the quiet hum of the timer and the faint smell of toner filling the bathroom. Minho sets the container aside, watching Chan and Hayun with mild amusement.

“How long will the dye be on once you apply it?” Chan asks, breaking the silence.

“Usually about thirty minutes,” Hayun replies. “But I’ll probably do it for twenty since we’ve already bleached and toned your hair. Don’t want to fry it completely.”

Chan nods, looking at himself in the mirror. “Cool. I trust you.”

“You better,” Hayun says, smirking as she leans back against the tub. She catches Minho watching her, his expression unreadable but soft, and a small smile tugs at her lips.

The timer finally goes off, and Hayun springs into action, rinsing out the toner. “Alright, Chan,” she says, “get ready to be a Jeongin-approved blue-haired hunk.”

Hayun hums quietly as she mixes the vibrant blue dye, her gloved hands precise. Chan leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees as Hayun starts applying the dye. He glances at Minho, who is still sitting on the toilet lid, casually devouring what they’ve now dubbed Satan’s Balls Ramen.

The sight is surreal, considering both Hayun and Chan were crying over the same dish earlier.

“This bitch,” Hayun mutters under her breath, dabbing dye onto Chan’s hair.

“Right?” Chan hums in agreement, side-eyeing Minho. They share a conspiratorial look, then both shake their heads dramatically.

Minho smirks at their antics, not even breaking stride as he takes another bite. “What? Jealous?” he teases, his tone dripping with amusement.

“Nah,” Chan deadpans, “it’s just because you don’t have a soul.”

Hayun snorts, nearly dropping the dye brush as she laughs. “Facts,” she agrees, turning to give Minho a pointed look.

Minho flips Chan off without hesitation, his other hand still holding the chopsticks. “Keep talking shit, just because you're a bitch with the spice tolerance of an infant.”

Chan gasps, clutching his chest theatrically. “Low blow, man. Low blow.”

As Hayun works, she pulls up a playlist and starts playing music on her phone. A soulful voice fills the bathroom, and Chan cocks his head, listening intently. “Who sings this?”

“Ben Barnes,” Hayun replies, focusing on getting the dye evenly distributed.

“Wait,” Chan says, his eyes narrowing as he processes the name. “Like, Prince Caspian Ben Barnes?”

Hayun grins, meeting his gaze. “Yep. My childhood love”

“Same!” Chan says, holding up his hand for a fist bump. Hayun obliges with a laugh.

Minho, however, looks completely lost. “Who the fuck is Prince Caspian?”

The room falls silent except for the music. Both Hayun and Chan turn to stare at Minho, their expressions a mix of shock and horror.

“Excuse me?” Hayun gasps, placing the dye bowl on the counter.

Chan points at Minho like he’s just declared war. “Narnia. Only one of the best movie trilogies of all time.”

Minho shrugs nonchalantly. “Never watched it.”

Chan whirls on Hayun. “Hayun, do not make him your boyfriend until he’s watched those movies.”

“Believe me,” Hayun says, crossing her arms dramatically, “I’m questioning even considering it after this.”

Minho blinks, completely taken aback. “What?!”

“How the fuck have you not watched Narnia?” Hayun demands, waving a hand for emphasis. “It’s a classic.”

Minho leans back, clearly exasperated. “It’s not a big thing in Korea! Chan was raised in Australia. Wait-” He turns to Hayun, his brows furrowing. “How did you watch it?”

“Etta,” Hayun explains, her voice softening slightly. “She was my last foster parent, and she was American-British. She made me watch all her favourite movies. Narnia was one of them.”

Minho rolls his eyes, gesturing at her as if to prove his point. “See? That’s why. It’s not cultural for us!”

Chan shakes his head, muttering, “Unacceptable.”

Hayun takes a sip of her wine, but before she can say anything, Chan drops another bombshell. “Oh, by the way, Minho, Hayun owns a house on Jeju Island.”

Minho’s jaw drops. “What?!”

Hayun shrugs casually, trying to downplay it. “Etta didn’t have kids. I was the closest thing, so when she passed, she left everything to me. Including the house.”

Minho stares at her, stunned. “You’re telling me you just casually have a house on Jeju Island, and I’m only finding this out now?”

Hayun raises an eyebrow. “I mean, we're always busy solving murders and now dealing with your spicy noodle supremacy complex. It didn’t come up.”

Minho shakes his head, muttering something under his breath about “outrageous,” while Chan sips his wine, watching the chaos with a satisfied smirk.

After a moment, Chan sets his bottle down and asks, “So, did you also have a crush on Aslan?”

Hayun pauses mid-sip, narrowing her eyes at him. “Yeah. Why?”

Minho looks utterly baffled. “Who the fuck is Aslan?”

Chan answers first, his tone completely deadpan. “The Jesus allegory lion.”

Minho looks between them, horrified. “You both had a crush on a lion?”

Hayun raises her glass. “First Gil the fish, now Aslan. My tastes are consistent.”

Chan laughs, holding up his hand for another fist bump. “Same. Oh, and animated Robin Hood.”

Hayun nearly chokes on her wine. “Yes! Me and Jisung were obsessed with him.”

Minho looks like he’s questioning every life decision he’s ever made. “The fox? You had a crush on the fox?”

“Obviously,” Chan says as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

Hayun nods in agreement. “It’s like a rite of passage.”

Minho sighs, shaking his head. “You two are fucking weird,” he mutters, though the fondness in his tone is unmistakable.

As Chan leans back against the tub, sipping his wine, he says with a dramatic sigh, “You know who else was hot? Kovu from The Lion King 2.”

Hayun’s eyes light up as she points at him. “Oh my God, yes! Finally, someone else admits it.”

Chan grins and raises his bottle in a mock toast. “Kovu walked so all the bad boys in fiction could run.”

Hayun laughs and says, “You know who my one was? Thomas O'Malley from The Aristocats.”

Chan gasps, his expression pure delight. “Yes! Yes! The original cool cat.”

Minho, sitting on the toilet lid and polishing off the last of the spicy ramen, blinks at them. “Aristocats? What the fuck is Aristocats?”

Hayun freezes mid-sip, turning to him with wide eyes. “I cannot believe you of all people haven’t seen The Aristocats. Minho, it’s literally a movie about cats.”

Minho raises an eyebrow, clearly intrigued. “A movie about cats? Alright, we’re watching it.”

“Oh, we’re not just watching it,” Hayun says, wagging a finger at him. “We’re having a movie marathon, starting with that and all the other cinematic masterpieces you’ve missed.”

Chan smirks, swirling the wine in his bottle. “Honestly, Hayun, you need better potential boyfriends. Minho’s taste is trash.”

Minho immediately sits up, offended. “Yah! The disrespect is unbelievable. I’m a romantic! I’ve taken her on dates! I’ve cooked for her! I even risked my life trying to teach her how to drive.”

Chan doesn’t even flinch. “Yeah, but you haven’t seen The Aristocats or the Narnia movies, so-”

Hayun hums in agreement, raising her wine bottle. “He makes a valid point.”

Minho groans, throwing his head back against the wall. “The slander I endure in this house.”

“Honestly,” Hayun says, leaning forward as if sharing a secret, “it’s your fault. Have better taste in movies. Have you at least seen Harry Potter?”

Minho stares at her blankly. “No.”

The bathroom goes so silent, it feels like time itself pauses. Hayun’s jaw drops as Chan looks genuinely concerned. “You… what?”

Minho looks between them, defensive. “What?!”

Chan waves his hand dramatically, as if trying to process this revelation. “You cannot blame that on being raised in Korea. Harry Potter is a global phenomenon. Global!”

Hayun slams her wine bottle on the counter, gesturing wildly. “I don’t think I can make you my boyfriend after this.”

Minho glares, crossing his arms. “You know what? I’m tired of this slander. We’re watching all the shitty Disney movies, the movies with the sexy lion, and Harry Potter.”

“Duchess,” Chan says with a smirk, leaning toward Hayun. “He’ll 100% find Duchess hot.”

“Didn’t we all?” Hayun replies with a grin.

Chan nods solemnly. “Some things transcend species.”

Minho throws up his hands. “What the fuck is wrong with the two of you? You’re really out here having crushes on animated animals.”

“Oh, don’t act so high and mighty,” Chan says, pointing his bottle at Minho. “By the end of The Aristocats, you’re gonna be head over heels for Duchess.”

Minho shakes his head, clearly exasperated. “Whatever. Who the fuck is Duchess?”

Hayun just giggles, taking another sip of her wine and Chan suddenly changes gears, looking at Hayun thoughtfully. “Hey, what house are you? Like, Hogwarts?”

“Oh!” Hayun sets her wine down, thinking. “I got Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff when I took the quizzes.”

Chan nods. “Yeah, that tracks. What about me? What do you reckon I am?”

“Gryffindor and Hufflepuff. Easy,” Hayun says, and Chan grins.

“What about Minho?” Chan asks, glancing at him.

“Slytherin,” Hayun says immediately.

Minho furrows his brows. “What the fuck is a Slytherin?”

Both Chan and Hayun whip their heads toward him, their expressions full of shock and horror.

Chan clutches his chest as if he’s been stabbed. “You don’t know what Slytherin is?”

“Or Hufflepuff? Gryffindor? Ravenclaw?” Hayun asks, her voice climbing an octave.

Minho shrugs. “Nope.”

Hayun looks at Chan, genuinely distressed. “We’re raising him from the ground up. He doesn’t even know the basics.”

Chan nods seriously. “He needs a full cultural education. Starting immediately.”

Minho groans, leaning back against the wall. “I regret asking.”

Hayun grabs her wine and raises it in a toast. “To fixing Minho.”

Chan joins in, clinking his bottle against hers. “To fixing Minho.”

Minho just shakes his head, muttering, “You’re both insane,” but the fond smile tugging at his lips betrays him.

Once Chan’s hair is dyed, dried, and styled into its new vibrant blue glory, the trio descends to the living room. Chan walks in first, a hand theatrically ruffling his hair as he announces, “Tonight, we’re doing The Aristocats and Narnia. Minho is not ready for Harry Potter yet.”

Hayun follows, snorting into her wine bottle as she flops onto the couch. “Agreed. Muggles need slow introductions.”

Minho groans, falling onto the couch beside her. “What the fuck is a muggle?”

Both Hayun and Chan groan loudly, in unison.

Chan points at him accusingly. “This is why you’re not ready. You need to ease into the magical world before we bombard you with Hogwarts lore.”

Hayun hums in agreement, taking a long sip of her wine. “Baby steps, Min. Baby steps.”

Minho glares between them. “I feel attacked.”

Chan tosses Minho a wine bottle and then settles on the other side of Hayun. Minho, without thinking, pulls Hayun into his side, his arm casually draped around her shoulders. Hayun leans into him, her cheek resting against his chest.

Chan pulls up Disney+ and searches for The Aristocats. “Let’s start with the basics. This is culture.”

As the opening credits roll, Minho leans forward slightly, watching the screen with uncharacteristic focus. “Why has no one shown me this movie before? What the fuck?”

Chan looks affronted. “Honestly? Me, Changbin, Hyunjin, Seungmin, and Jeongin assumed you watched it all the time. You’re literally a cat person.”

Minho rolls his eyes. “And none of you thought to check? Great friends.”

Chan raises his wine. “Cheers to our mediocrity.”

The film starts, and Minho immediately begins commenting. “Why do these cats have a butler? Are they royalty or some shit?”

“They’re rich,” Hayun explains. “French, fancy, and filthy rich.”

Minho watches in silence for another moment before blurting out, “Wait. Edgar wants to kidnap them because they’re in the will? How does a cat get a will? What court accepted that shit?”

Hayun shrugs. “Rich people nonsense. Suspend disbelief.”

“I am trying, but this is wild,” Minho says, taking a long gulp from his wine.

The movie continues, and when the geese and their drunk uncle make their appearance, Minho leans forward, pointing at the screen. “These geese are fucking hilarious. Why is that one drunk? What are they even doing?”

“They’re just living their best lives,” Chan says, nodding in approval. “Be the goose, Minho.”

Minho grins. “Be the goose. Noted.”

As the plot unfolds, Minho’s running commentary only gets worse. “Okay, wait. Why did they make Duchess a sexy cat? This is ridiculous. She has no business being that elegant.”

Chan throws his head back, laughing so hard he almost spills his wine. “I knew you’d find her hot! Welcome to the crushes on Animated Animals club.”

“Do I get a badge?” Minho deadpans.

“Absolutely,” Hayun says, patting his chest mock-seriously. “You’re one of us now.”

The iconic “Everybody Wants to Be a Cat” number begins, and Minho sits up straighter. “This... this is a masterpiece.”

Hayun grins at his enthusiasm. “Told you.”

Minho turns to Chan with mock outrage. “Bang Christopher Chan, you failed me as a friend by not showing me this movie earlier.”

Chan throws his hands up. “Don’t blame me! Hayun didn’t show it to you either.”

Minho waves him off dismissively. “She’s pretty. She’s in the clear. You’ve known me for three years, Chan. Three fucking years.”

As the movie concludes, Minho leans back with a satisfied sigh. “Alright. Aristocats was a masterpiece. Duchess is hot. The geese are iconic. I can’t believe I missed out on this for 20 years.”

Chan claps him on the shoulder. “You’re welcome for introducing you to culture.”

Hayun just leans into Minho’s side, her voice a playful murmur. “One down. Now we just have to get you through Narnia, Harry Potter, and literally every other childhood staple you’ve somehow missed.”

Minho smirks, planting a light kiss on the top of her head. “You’re really committed to this, huh?”

“Oh, absolutely,” Hayun says. “We’re fixing you, Lee Minho, one masterpiece at a time.”

As the opening credits of The Lion, The Witch, and The Wardrobe roll, Minho leans forward, wine bottle balanced precariously between his fingers. “So this is Narnia, huh? Why’s the title so long? Feels like I’m about to read a Victorian novel.”

Chan waves him off without looking. “It’s a fucking classic, Minho. Show some respect.”

Hayun smirks, snuggling further into Minho’s side. “Oh, you’re not ready. Lions, witches, wardrobes. Your brain’s about to implode from the sheer whimsy.”

Minho raises an eyebrow, taking a sip of wine. “Sounds like a weird acid trip. Fine, let’s see where this goes.”

The movie begins, and within five minutes, Minho is already ranting. “Wait, hold the fuck up. Who just sends their kids off to live with some random ass professor in the middle of nowhere? I get it’s wartime, but this is peak bad parenting.”

Chan, already invested in the film, sighs. “Historical context, Minho. Bombings. Air raids. You ever heard of those?”

Minho waves the bottle in Chan’s direction. “Yeah, I get it, but what if this professor’s a serial killer? Or worse, like, one of those dudes who collects dolls?”

Hayun laughs, patting Minho’s thigh. “Relax. It’s a children’s movie. No murderous doll collectors here.”

Minho points at the screen as Lucy discovers the wardrobe and steps inside. “Oh, so we’re just walking into random closets now? No hesitation? What if it’s cursed? What if it’s a demon portal?”

Hayun grins, taking a sip of wine. “It’s magic. Suspension of disbelief.”

Minho scoffs, his gaze fixed on the TV. “I can suspend disbelief, but I can’t suspend common sense.”

Then Mr. Tumnus appears, and Minho visibly tenses. “What the fuck is that? A goat man? She’s just chilling with a fucking goat man? No ‘stranger danger’ alarm bells ringing?”

Chan laughs, shaking his head. “He’s harmless. He’s a faun.”

“Harmless? He’s got hooves and horns. That’s demon vibes,” Minho retorts, gesturing emphatically with the wine bottle. “Lucy’s about to get sacrificed.”

By the time Edmund enters Narnia and meets the White Witch, Minho is clutching a throw pillow, his expression incredulous. “Oh, here we go. This little shit. Look at him, following the first lady he meets. And for what? Fucking candy? He betrays his siblings for Turkish Delight? If you’re going to sell out your family, at least do it for power or cash. Not powdered sugar. Turkish Delight isn't even that good, the fuck?”

The chaos ramps up when Aslan makes his grand entrance. Chan sighs dreamily, his head resting against the couch. “Look at him. Absolute king shit.”

Hayun nods in agreement, her eyes fixed on the screen. “Majestic. So noble.”

Minho stares at them, horrified. “You’re both drooling over a fucking CGI lion. What’s wrong with you?”

Hayun shrugs, unbothered. “He’s got a commanding presence. It’s attractive.”

Chan grins. “Big dick energy, for real.”

Minho groans, running a hand down his face. “This is why aliens don’t visit Earth. People like you two would try to fuck them”

As the battle begins, Minho sits up straighter, his attention caught by the mythical creatures charging across the battlefield. His focus narrows on a minotaur wielding a massive axe. “Holy shit. That’s a minotaur. That’s kind of cool.”

Chan tilts his head thoughtfully. “You know, I think I’d fuck a minotaur.”

Hayun hums in agreement, swirling her wine. “Yeah, they’re hot in a primal, dangerous way.”

Minho nearly chokes on his wine, coughing as he gapes at them. “What the actual fuck is wrong with you?”

“Have you seen their muscles?” Chan argues, grinning. “Pure strength. It’s appealing.”

Hayun smirks, leaning into Minho’s side. “Don’t knock it till you try it.”

Minho shakes his head, staring at her. “If you ever try it, I’m throwing you into a wardrobe and locking it.”

By the end of the movie, Minho looks equal parts emotionally drained and begrudgingly entertained. He leans back against the couch, finishing off his wine. “Alright, Narnia was interesting. But Edmund still deserves more hate.”

Chan clinks his bottle against Hayun’s with a smirk. “Cheers to exposing Minho to culture.”

Hayun laughs, raising her glass. “Cheers to Turkish Delight and bad decisions.”

Minho groans, running a hand through his hair. “I can’t believe you two lusted after a lion and a minotaur. I’m reevaluating this entire friend group.”

Hayun leans her head on his shoulder, smirking. “Admit it. You had fun.”

Minho lets out a long-suffering sigh, but the small smile on his lips betrays him. “Fine. But if anyone asks, I’m telling them I was forced to watch this under duress.”

The living room is a chaotic symphony of wine bottles clinking, popcorn flying, and heated banter as Prince Caspian begins. Minho lounges back on the couch, legs sprawled out like he owns the place, a half-empty wine bottle in hand. The moment Ben Barnes’ face graces the screen as Caspian, chaos erupts.

Hayun and Chan lean forward in unison, their eyes glued to the TV, reverent awe practically radiating off them.

“Oh, hell no,” Minho mutters, grabbing Hayun’s hoodie and gently tugging her back. “Sit your ass down, princess.”

Hayun swats at his hand like an annoyed cat. “Let me live, Minho! It’s Ben Barnes. He’s glowing. Look at that jawline!”

“Unbelievable,” Minho mutters, narrowing his eyes at the screen. “He’s not that impressive.”

Chan smirks, leaning back with his wine glass. “Let her have this, man. It’s Prince Caspian. A once-in-a-generation crush.”

Minho points his wine bottle at Chan. “Once in a generation, my ass. Every generation has a pretty boy with floppy hair. You’re all just easily distracted.”

Hayun gasps dramatically, clutching her chest. “You’re jealous.”

Minho raises an eyebrow, his tone dripping with mock offence. “Jealous? Of him? A dude with an accent so inconsistent it’s a linguistic mystery? Sure. Totally.”

Hayun smirks, leaning closer to him. “You’d kill for his hair.”

Minho scoffs, flipping his own hair with exaggerated flair. “Please. My hair’s better. Caspian wishes.”

On screen, the Pevensies are pulled back into Narnia. As they wander through the ruins of Cair Paravel, Minho sits up slightly, already forming an opinion. “Hold the fuck on. They’ve been gone for what, a year? And the whole place is trashed? Narnia’s got the lifespan of a fruit fly.”

Hayun laughs, curling her legs under her. “Time moves differently there. That’s the whole point.”

Minho gestures wildly at the TV. “Differently how? If I go take a piss and come back, is Narnia gonna be a post-apocalyptic wasteland? What’s the conversion rate?”

“Depends on who’s running it,” Chan says, sipping his wine. “Clearly, these kids weren’t exactly stellar rulers.”

“Edmund’s fault,” Minho says immediately, crossing his arms. “Always Edmund.”

When Edmund actually makes a smart decision for once, Minho groans. “Fine. He didn’t fuck up this time. But I’m not apologizing for doubting him.”

As Prince Caspian speaks, Minho squints at the screen. “What the fuck is this accent? I've been trying to figure it out. Is he supposed to be Spanish? Italian? What is this supposed to be?”

“Exotic and dreamy,” Hayun replies without hesitation, her eyes fixed on the screen.

Minho tugs her back again by her hoodie. “Stop drooling. You’re embarrassing me.”

“And you’re jealous,” Hayun shoots back, grinning.

Minho rolls his eyes. “Of a guy who sounds like he learned European languages on Duolingo? Absolutely not.”

The battle sequences begin, and Minho’s commentary only escalates. When the centaurs charge, his tone shifts. “Okay, this is fucking cool. The centaurs are badass. And the minotaurs? Fucking terrifying. They better win this.”

“You’ve changed your tune,” Hayun teases. “Didn’t you hate them last movie?”

Minho shrugs, his eyes glued to the screen. “Last movie, they were just standing around being noble. Now they’re stabbing shit. Huge improvement.”

The group bursts into laughter, the wine making everything seem twice as funny. When Susan and Caspian share a charged moment, Minho groans audibly.

“Oh, here we fucking go. The doomed love story,” he says, flopping dramatically back into the couch.

“Let them have this!” Hayun protests, throwing a handful of popcorn at him.

“Nope,” Minho says, catching a piece midair and popping it into his mouth. “It’s illegal. She’s from Earth. He’s from wherever the fuck this place is. Interdimensional dating doesn’t work.”

As the climax nears and Aslan finally shows up again, Minho lets out a long-suffering sigh. “Of course. Lion Jesus comes to save the day. What a shocker.”

Hayun gasps, throwing another handful of popcorn. “Show some respect! He’s majestic.”

Chan nods solemnly. “He’s a literal god, Minho.”

Minho groans. “God? He’s just a lion with good PR.”

When the movie ends and Susan and Peter say their goodbyes, Minho sits up, frowning. “Wait. They’re just banned? Kicked out? What the fuck? Why?”

“They’ve outgrown Narnia,” Chan says, his tone almost wistful.

“Outgrown it?” Minho scoffs, setting his wine bottle down. “Sounds like Aslan’s just petty. What’s next? A loyalty test? Is there a Narnian HR department?”

Hayun laughs so hard she nearly spills her wine. “Minho, you’re ridiculous.”

Chan grins, already pulling up The Voyage of the Dawn Treader on the TV. “I can’t fucking wait to see how you react to the next one.”

Minho groans but doesn’t look away from the screen. “If Edmund’s still in it, I’m gonna need more wine to deal with Narnia: The Bullshit Chronicles"

As the opening credits of The Voyage of the Dawn Treader roll, the familiar orchestral swell of music fills the room.

The moment Eustace appears, Minho grimaces, setting his bottle down with a thud. “Who the fuck is this little shit?”

“That,” Hayun says, a grin spreading across her face, “is Eustace. You’re gonna hate him.”

“Gonna hate him?” Minho scoffs, leaning forward to point at the screen. “Look at his face. I already do. He’s got that I-remind-the-teacher-about-homework energy. And that name? Eustace? What the fuck kind of name is that?”

Chan chuckles from his spot on the couch, swirling his wine lazily. “It's a 1940s England name. Just wait. He’s unbearable at first, but he has a solid redemption arc.”

Minho doesn’t look convinced. “Redemption? If by redemption you mean he annoys me slightly less by the end, sure. But right now? Someone throw him overboard. Please.”

The movie progresses, and Eustace’s constant whining tests Minho’s patience to its limits. “I swear to God,” he growls, slumping back into the couch, “if this little shit doesn’t fall off the ship at least once, I’m asking for a refund.”

Hayun laughs, snuggling deeper into Minho’s side. “Keep watching. You’ll see.”

As Edmund exists on the screen, Minho groans loudly. “Oh, here we go. Fucking Edmund. What’s he gonna screw up this time?”

“Hey!” Hayun defends. “He’s grown. He’s not the same Edmund anymore.”

Minho side-eyes her, unimpressed. “Grown? Sure. But the bar for that kid was so low it was buried under Narnia itself.”

Chan nearly chokes on his wine, coughing out a laugh. “That’s harsh.”

“It’s honest,” Minho counters, taking a sip. “Let’s see if he proves me wrong. Spoiler: he won’t.”

Each time, Caspian appears, the room collectively sighs, but for different reasons. Hayun and Chan lean forward, eyes glued to the screen, dreamy smiles plastered across their faces.

“Oh, hell no,” Minho says, grabbing the back of Hayun’s hoodie and gently tugging her back. “None of that. Sit the fuck down, princess.”

“But it’s Ben Barnes!” Hayun protests, pouting. “Look at him. He’s majestic.”

Minho narrows his eyes. “Majestic? He looks like he’s been locked in a dungeon all winter. Wasn’t he bronzed and glowing last movie? What happened? Did Narnia run out of sun?”

Chan bursts out laughing. “Dude, you’re not wrong. He does look a bit... pale.”

“Continuity, people. Fucking continuity,” Minho mutters, shaking his head.

As the ship sets sail, Minho finally shuts up, momentarily entranced by the visuals. But the peace is short-lived. When Reepicheep makes his grand entrance, Minho’s eyes light up.

“Finally!” he exclaims, sitting up straighter. “A character who doesn’t piss me off. Reepicheep is fucking cool. Look at him go.”

“Everyone loves Reepicheep,” Hayun agrees, smiling.

“Well, they should,” Minho says. “He’s the only one who consistently has his shit together.”

Things take a turn for the absurd when Lucy encounters the magical house and the invisible monopod creatures. Minho stares at the screen, baffled. “What the actual fuck is this? Why are there tiny, one-legged men kidnapping her? Who wrote this shit?”

“It’s in the book,” Hayun explains.

Minho points his wine bottle at her. “Just because it’s in the book doesn’t make it any less fucking weird. This whole house situation? Makes no sense. The people? No sense. The plot? Absolutely no fucking sense.”

Hayun just laughs, letting Minho spiral.

When the final climactic scenes roll around, Minho is surprisingly silent, leaning forward as the tension builds. But when the film concludes with Lucy and Edmund saying goodbye to Aslan, he frowns deeply, his expression darkening.

“Hold the fuck up,” he says, leaning forward. “So now Lucy and Edmund are banned too? What is this, a Narnian eviction notice? Do they just kick you out for growing up?”

“It’s bittersweet,” Chan says, his tone soft and nostalgic. “They’re moving on.”

“Moving on?!” Minho explodes, gesturing wildly. “They’re fucking kids! You don’t just banish them because they hit puberty. What’s next? A loyalty test? Does Aslan send them a fucking survey asking how much they love him before he decides who stays?”

Hayun laughs so hard she almost spills her wine. “It’s symbolic, Min. Let it go.”

“I will not let it go,” Minho declares, crossing his arms. “Is there another movie?”

Chan shakes his head, looking amused. “Nope. This was the last one.”

Minho’s jaw drops. “What?! Why? There’s so much more they could do! They could—” He stops mid-rant, turning to Hayun. “Wait. What happens in the books?”

Hayun hesitates. “You really wanna know?”

“Yes,” Minho says, exasperated. “Spill.”

Hayun sighs, setting her wine down. “Okay, so... Susan stops believing in Narnia.”

“Of course she does,” 

“Let me finish,” Hayun says, taking a deep dramatic breath as Minho looks at her with wide, expectant eyes. “And then Edmund, Lucy, and Peter all die in a train crash.”

The room falls silent. Minho stares at her, his face a perfect picture of disbelief. “I’m sorry, what?”

“They die,” Hayun repeats. “And they go to Narnia, but it’s, like, heaven or something.”

Minho sets his wine bottle down carefully, as though afraid he might break it in his rage. “Are you fucking kidding me? This is a kid’s book series! They end it with a train crash and eternal limbo? What the actual fuck?”

Chan nods solemnly. “C.S. Lewis was something else.”

Minho throws his hands in the air. “That’s the darkest shit I’ve ever heard. And this was marketed to children? No wonder the world’s so fucked up.”

Hayun pats his arm, trying to suppress her laughter. “Congrats, Min. You survived three Narnia movies. You’re one of us now.”

Minho leans back into the couch, shaking his head in disbelief. “I don’t know if I should be proud or start booking therapy.”

Hayun grins, resting her head on his shoulder. “You’re gonna be fine, drama queen.”

“Fine?” Minho mutters, glaring at the now-blank screen. “I’ll never be fine again. Fucking Narnia, man.”

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[mooshie-blue]

Why Octonauts and the caves of Sac Actun is Barnacles’ character at its best!!

This thread might be jumbled and not well organized I’m writing this on a whim, sorryy

As we know, Captain Barnacles is the brave Polar Bear leader of the Octonauts. He’s always put others before himself no matter what, he never let himself be weak around his team.

Even in moments where he was needing bed rest (Cone Snail) (Jellyfish bloom) he still found some sort of way to help. Throughout the entire series however, the only time he showed genuine fear (that I’ve seen) was in the Great Arctic Adventure:

And that was when his sister, Bianca and her cubs were swept up under a wave, but even then he didn’t dare hesitate and he swam like hell to get them into the GUP-A and steer the octopod above water.

Even here in Sac Actun when the GUP H crashes and Peso’s parachute doesn’t work, Barnacles immediately holds him and moves himself out of the path of the GUP H as it falls.

Even when he loses his Octo-Compass and can’t call anyone for help, he doesn’t give up, he and Peso follow some birds and they carry Coba over to a cenote.

Okay I’m not gonna do a play by play lol but what I’m trying to say is, nothing really presses Captain Barnacles to worry until he realizes he has to go through a cave to get Coba to the Caribbean Sea.

But even THEN after he sees how sad Coba is he still goes. He doesn’t bring up anything besides the fact that cave diving is extremely dangerous, especially since they don’t have the proper equipment (they actually almost run out of oxygen later in the movie and Peso cracks his helmet not too long after they get inside)

Throughout the movie, Barnacles has a different vibe about him, he’s usually infront of everyone on missions, he’s incredibly focused and as the captain he’s giving orders or suggestions.

He’s still pretty open and friendly as he usually is but the further they go in the quieter he gets, but Peso is pretty good at bringing him back without thinking.

And even when Peso expresses fear Barnacles, as he always has, gently brings him down to earth, even helping him fix his cracked helmet. And when Peso apologizes he tells him not to worry and to keep calm.

However, at one point Captain Barnacles gets stuck in a hole and acts very “out of character” and starts panicking and literally begs peso to pull him out, which is very, very rare for him.

And that’s when he finally comes forward about his experiences with getting stuck after ice collapsed beneath him as a cub and getting stuck for a long time.

And Peso, honestly the other MVP of this movie in his caring heart tells Captain Barnacles that he’ll be brave for him and this time asks his friend to follow him.

Honestly I’ll give Octonauts this, I don’t know any movie for pre-schoolers that tackles things like this. Of course, they touch on fears, but they always tell you to be brave. But as Captain Barnacles says: “You can’t be brave if you’re not afraid first.”

And it’s true! No one is truly brave without experiencing fear, the bravest people ever once cried for someone to hold them or save them when they were scared.

Even if Barnacles hasn’t explicitly said it, I feel like his experiences with helplessness, along with being raised as a polar scout, pushed him into learning to be brave and kind as he is now.

Bravery with the presence of fear is called courage. And that’s something Barnacles learns in this movie. Thanks to Peso of course.

In a later scene, Barnacles has to push a boulder that’s caught in a tight squeeze to help Coba, he hesitates but on the other side, his crew, his dearest freinds are cheering him on. And at this moment, he puts his fears aside, to complete his mission, but especially To help Coba.

And he pushes himself through the tight tunnel and shoves the boulder out with his polar bear strength. letting Coba and himself out. And he thanks the group for their help and Peso reiterates: “You’ve always helped us be brave, and we will always help you too!”

In a lesser movie, they would’ve made fun of Barnacles, or have his fear last for like 5 minutes, he might have gotten over it by the end, but that’s not really clear.

In later media his fear isn’t ever bought up so I’m assuming he’s over it(?) but it wasn’t bought up in previous episodes of the show. (Even in situations that would trigger it)

But in any case, I’ve never seen a preschool show respectfully and thoughtfully talk about trauma and how to help people with it Of course it doesn’t go too terribly deep into it, but imo, it doesn’t need to. Acknowledging it and having characters show support is a very good way to get that conversation started.

Now, as for Captain Barnacles himself, I believe this is him at his best because for once, he’s vulnerable, and he can truly trust the other Octonauts. He already could, but that was with handling other creatures or taking care of missions, but here? He trusts them with his fear, he trusts them by letting his guard down around him, and they stay with him and stay patient, even Kwazii who almost never has patience already knew about his claustrophobia beforehand, indicating that Barnacles has told him before.

Barnacles is able to feel completely comfortable. And that’s because he is a good leader to the Octonauts, he’s gentle with Peso and his fears, never once has he lost his patience with anyone, so why would they do that to him? When he’s always been a safe place for them. for the Octonauts, whether it’s by protecting them from danger or giving them a pep talk.

Another thing I really love about Sac Actun (And all the Octonauts movies in general tbh) is how, they add to the animation, the backgrounds are notre thurough and the lighting is very pretty, the characters are more expressive.

But they don’t change the art style. Infact, they embrace the art style the show already has, they add to it, the characters move more they express more, but they don’t add little bitty gritty details like fur, nothing wrong with movies doing that.

But I like that they take advantage of the new budget while also sticking to what made the original so lovable.

I don’t know how else to say it I just REALLY love this Netflix special, PLEASE watch it!!!