#i want to do things but my brain is full of brick walls!!!!!!! it's a labyrinth up in here!!!

[bogkeep]

untangling my neurodivergence is such a trip like

- first time they tested me for autism i got a negative which is so funny in hindsight considering how Very Obviously Neurodivergent i was as a kid, so i had to return like OK I KNOW YOU SAID I DIDN'T AUTISM BUT CAN SOMEONE EXPLAIN WHY I AM IN CONSTANT SENSORY HELL LIKE I'VE BEEN TOLD BY RELIABLE SOURCES WEARING CLOTHES IS NOT SUPPOSED TO FEEL THIS AWFUL ALL THE TIME and on second try i got an "hmmm ok you TECHNICALLY qualify but it's SO mild you are VERY high functioning like it's very vague. barely there. but you can have the diagnosis juuust in case you want accomodations someday" <- definitely didn't carry this assessment with me for years, no sirree, definitely didn't let other people's perception of "i'm not THAT autistic" color the way i viewed and treated myself well into adulthood,,

- the odd disparity between "but i'm so helpless i don't think it's possible for me to live on my own, i don't know how to do anything, i'm going to be a child forever" and "HUH living on my own is SO nice and easy?? i'm handling adulthood so much better than i ever thought i would????" because it turns out having control over my own environment frees up so much space in my brain

- the autism nerf becomes very apparent the moment i Return Home and suddenly the old brick walls in the brain are back. suddenly somehting as easy as making a little cheese toastie, a food that i've been eating almost every day for most of my life, becomes a strenuous task because i have to navigate a now unfamiliar territory, just choosing a cheese is hard enough because some of these belong to someone else and are off limits, if i open a new cheese when there was another one already open i will be berated for it, if i use the wrong cheese that is too fatty and melty i will be berated for picking the wrong cheese, and the fridge is very full and confusing and maybe i'm just missing the most obvious cheese, i'll just ask, and of course i can always ask, i am not afraid of asking for help but i'm always so tired of being made to feel stupid and clueless for needing to ask, but if i just assume i will always make the wrong assumption, and IS IT ANY WONDER SO MANY OF US DEVELOP ANXIETY

- anyway yes i'm absolutely THAT Autistic.

[clockwayswrites]

@redghostbirdy Dick/Danny, skeleton shaped sugar cookies cw blood and stitches

Of course Dick still had to take his trash out after getting back from patrol. He was exhausted and wounded, but the trash had really gotten untenable and now had bio-waste in it. He had to take it down to the dumpster. It was almost a compulsion at that point to get it taken care of, or he knew he wouldn’t sleep well. As much as his family teased him about the state of his apartment he had his limits.

So, Dick tied up the bag, tugged it free of the bin, managed to slip on some shoes after a few attempts, and headed out into the hallway. And right into his neighbor.

His hot, brick wall of a neighbor that could totally bench press Dick in all the meanings of that phrase that Dick had totally been thinking a little too much about for the last few months.

“Whoa, careful there, darlin’,” Danny drawled, steadying Dick with large hands on both of Dick’s shoulders. “What are you doing wandering around out here at this time?”

“Um, trash?” Dick said ineloquently and raised the bag a little. The bag which apparently was leaking because his hand was wet.

Dick looked down at his hand and the red blood that coated it. Did his stitches pop?

“Ah, fuck,” Danny cussed and stepped back a little.

(Embarrassingly, Dick almost swayed after him.)

Danny lifted up the edge of his shirt, which may have killed what was left of Dick’s brain functions, to show blood flaked skin and—

“Is that a menstrual pad covering a wound?!”

Danny shrugged. “It’s just a little knife wound and Jess, the bouncer, hand one handy.”

“Oh my god. Just, come on, we’re getting that stitched up or at least bandaged properly,” Dick said. He set his bag of trash down by the door and grabbed Danny’s hand with his clean one to drag the bemused man into his apartment.

Luckily the first aid kit was still out on the little island counter and Dick all but pushed Danny onto one of the stools. Dick peeled the offending pad off maybe a little more harshly than was necessary and found a plastic bag to drop it into.

“I can’t believe that’s what you were using. And you call that little? How did you even get that? You’re the bartender! You’re supposed to be behind the bar.”

Danny just shrugged, an easy going and not at all repentant grin on his face. “I had to stop someone from being a creep.”

Dick just glared, mildly, at him as he washed his hands. He couldn’t really argue with that. He snapped on some gloves instead and set about cleaning Danny’s wound.

“I think this could use some stitches. I can do them, but I can also just get you patched up enough to go to urgent care if you’d feel more comfortable with that.”

“You can do them.”

“…yeah?” Dick asked just to be sure and glanced up at Danny.

Danny shrugged again. “I mean, you do have a very well stocked first aid kit on your counter already. Why was that?”

“Hush.”

Dick covered the area around the wound with a numbing agent while Danny chuckled at the non answer.

“If I promise to be a better patient than your students, do I get a cute bandage?”

Dick smiled despite himself as he threaded the needle. “All the cute bandages are at the gym. Stay still now.”

“Damn,” Danny said, and then waited until after Dick had started the stitches to ask, “What about a lollipop?”

“I might have some jelly beans still,” Dick said, grinning now. He kept his eyes on his work though, not wanting to give Danny uneven stitches.

Thankfully, Danny didn’t need that many and Dick was soon tying them off and taking a step back.

“No fun bandage, no lollipop,” Danny sighed, “what about a kiss to make it all better?”

Dick’s gaze shot up to look at Danny and his cheeky little smirk.

“Or did I miss read things completely?”

Dick rolled his eyes at Danny’s confidence, though it made him smile. “I think a kiss to make it better I can do.”

Danny’s smile turned into a full on grin. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Dick said and leaned in to press his lips to Danny’s.

He tasted like spice, lime, and sugar.

[justaaveragereader]

Double The Fun

Pairing: Bang Chan x Reader x Hongjoong

Word Count: 2.6k

Warnings: Dom!Chan, Switch!Hongjoong, Sub!Reader, Double Penetration (2 Ds in 1 P), Spit, Both Chan and Hongjoong are Bisexual, Unprotected Sex, Cock Warming, Marking, Thigh Smacking, Clit Play, Creampie, If I Missed Anything…Lemme Know👀👀

A/N: Hello my lovelies, so this fic is apart of the lovely @whatudowhennooneseesyou 2024 Kinktober! This is my first time writing for a member that wasn’t in Ateez, I will make sure I add a link for the masterlist as the masterlist is a straight MASTERPIECE, I hope yall enjoy the fic, make sure to go check out the masterlist, and give the other writers lots of love! Now onto the fic👏!

Kinktober 2024 Masterlist

Fu-fuck!” You moan out, back completely pressed against Hongjoongs naked chest. Legs spread wide open for Bang Chan to get a full view of his friend being nestled inside your dripping cunt. With your feet hiked up on the small loveseat sofa, sweat dripping down your naked frame, and Hoongjoong practically being attached to your skin, you knew it was going to be a long night.

“She’s got such a dirty mouth.” Hongjoong says, voice muffled as he kisses the side of your neck, cool hand brushing the side of your body while you are trying to catch your breath on his lap.

“I know…you should see what she’s able to do with that dirty mouth.” Chan says, seated in the chair closest to the studio setup. You came to drop off lunch to both of them. One thing led to another, and now here you were, naked as the day you were born, panting like a bitch in heat in front of both men. Chan was a selfish man, but sharing you with Hongjoong had always been a secret fantasy of his. With his own hardened cocked bricked up against his thin sweatpants. You can’t help but gawk at the print, the material becoming damp with how much precum he had been leaking for the past 30 minutes.

“Please, please, please!” You begin to beg, head rolling back on Hongjoongs shoulder. Eyes blown wide with lust. You had been cockwarming Hongjoong for what felt like forever. Pussy dripping down Hongjoongs cock, wetting the material of the couch underneath you each time Hongjoong shifted his body, the top of his cock brushing right against your spongy spot.

“She’s really pretty when she begs.” Hongjoong says, fingers moving from your side to brush against your clit. The small sensation has you almost jumping out of his lap. A small chuckle leaves both men. As their laughter fills your ears your cunt flutters around Hongjoong making him cup your pussy. Your arousal immediately sticks to his cool palms. As Chans eyes flicker over your whining figure he can’t help but let his patience hold on by a thin thread. Standing from the chair you hear the plastic creak as he stands up. Your eyes try their best to focus on his figure that is coming close but with Hongjoong rubbing the heel of his palm against your clit, your brain begins to turn into mush. Letting his thumb rub against your lower lip, he watches you babble out nonsense with each rough rub Hongjoong gives you. Placing two fingers in your mouth, he watches as you immediately wrap your lips around them. Warm tongue darting out over his thick fingers.

“She’s so obedient.” Hongjoong says, leaving small marks amongst your neck. Nodding his head, he watches as you continue to suck on his fingers.

“Don’t let her fool you.” Bang Chan says, pulling his fingers from your mouth. Popping his own fingers in his mouth, savoring the taste of you on his tongue.

“She’s a brat when she wants to be.” Locking eyes with you, each word that flows from his mouth has you clenching down on Hongjoong letting out pathetic whimpers.

“Sh-shit!” Hongjoong moans out, pausing his attack on your neck. His hand grips your side tight, as your warm wet walls squeeze down on his throbbing cock. This was beginning to become torture for him.

“I don’t think I can wait any longer.” Hongjoong groans out, head falling into your neck. Warm breath leaving your body littered with goosebumps.

“Please, please..” you whimper out, pussy clenching down on Hongjoong once more. A wide smile spreads across Hongjoongs face.

“Come on Chan, don’t make us beg.” He said through a fake pout, bringing a hand up to squish your face between his fingers. Tugging down the fabric of his stained sweatpants he watches as your gaze lingers on him with each second he pulls down the fabric, mouth moistening you let out a muffled groan, face still being squished between Hongjoongs grip. With your lips in a tight pucker, drool begins to leak out of your mouth splashing coolly on your naked chest. Toes curling with excitement, as you feel Hongjoongs cock throb inside of you, he was just as excited as you were. Kissing the side of your neck, Hongjoong keeps his eyes on Chan. The atmosphere grows hotter by the second, your attraction to Hongjoong was no secret, Chan knew you had the hots for him, and while Chan was a selfish man when it came to you, him learning about your attraction for Hongjoong had made him curious as to what it would be like if he shared you just this once. Would it be a reoccurring thing? Or would it be something that was a one time only?

He thought his jealous side would’ve kicked in by the first kiss Hongjoong gave you, yet it did nothing of the sort. If anything it fueled his need to see your eyes fill with tears while your cunt stretched around Hongjoongs member. While you slid down Hongjoongs member you cried, and whined for Chan. Fueling the hunger he had for you, another man brought you pleasure but you were calling for him.

“Go on baby, touch him.” Hongjoong whispered in your ear, teeth nipping at your earlobe. Gathering some of the spit in his hand, he watches as you aid in pulling Chans sweatpants down. Your hand immediately touches his leaking cock. You watch as it bobs against his lower stomach, a thick vein running along the side of it, while the tip is cherry red, oozing in precum. While you stroke one side of his cock, Hongjoong cups your cunt with his spit filled hand, the cool saliva making you let out a breathy moan, with your eyes locked on Chan, each stroke you give his cock, the more precum drips down his tip, pearly white streams leaking more and more by the second. The tension in the room grows heavier, while Chans dark stare is igniting your body, tiny flames prickling at your skin, Hongjoongs hands venture across your body, tweaking you in a way you never knew you could tick. As your thumb rolls over the tip of his leaking cock, his head rolls back, a breathy moan leaving his pretty lips. As Hongjoong whispers nothing but dirty words in your ear, Chans cock jumps at each syllable that leaves Hongjoongs lips. Snapping his head forward, he grabs your throat, causing you to let out a loud mewl, Hongjoongs eyes grow even darker watching the scene in front of him, his own member throbbing hard in your warm, wet, slippery walls. Leaning back, so you are perched right on his lap, his back brushes against the soft pillows. With his hands firmly on your hips, he pushes you back slightly, the further you lean back, the more firm Chans grip grows.

“You going to be a good girl and take us both?” Hongjoong whispers out, watching as your fleeing hand slowly moves off of Chans cock, hand shiny with his pre cum. Your eyes bore up at Chan, clenching on Hongjoongs cock, your eyes flutter slightly as your cool back feels Hongjoongs warm chest. This was truly a wet dream, you had dreamed about this multiple times, you crying over Chans cock, while Hongjoong strokes your insides. Nodding your head thoughtlessly, Chan smacks the meat of your thigh, eyes growing just as dark as Hongjoongs.

”You know that’s not how you reply, do it properly.” A small whine leaves your throat, and his thumb comes to rub the center of your throat, where Hongjoongs dick had been nestled in earlier. With a pathetic whine you verbally respond to Hongjoong, turning your head slightly to the side..

“Yes, I’m going to be a good girl, I want you both..” you say quietly. If you weren’t sandwiched between both men you doubt anyone would’ve been able to hear you as your voice had been so small when responding.

As you get comfy against Hongjoong, you perch your foot on one of his knees while the other is set against Chans strong bare thigh. Your pretty pink toes contrast against both men’s skin. Gripping your ankle, Chan leans in closer, holding his breath slightly, the excitement chewing him up like he was a piece of gum. As Hongjoong nestled into the cushions further, trying to put as much space between both of them so Chan had room to freely move. His leaking tip rubs between your folds, you moan quietly. The feeling of finally being able to get what you had been dreaming of fuels the lust in the small area, skin littering with goosebumps. Gripping the meat of his other thigh, your breathing picks up. Eyes fluttering with each stroke between your puffy lips, tip catching on your clit with each swipe through your slick folds, gripping the base of his cock, he looks up at you and Hongjoong through hooded eyes. Taking in both of your forms, Hongjoong looks beyond fucked out, the sweat beads that are pooling against his temples, and you who looks like she just ran a marathon.

With a firm grip on the base of his member, he swipes through your folds once more, before poking his tip at your already stuffed hole. Your body immediately goes lax, you had been waiting for this exact moment. You try your best to relax your cunt, as it’s throbbing with excitement with each slow inch he gives you, your body grows hotter against Hongjoongs. Sweat littering your back, making you stick to the man underneath you.

“Fu-Fu-Fuck..” Chan whispers, while trying his best not to slam into you, with each inch he enters you with, he pulls back out adding another inch forward. His eyes dance back and forth between your face and Hongjoongs who looks just as spent. As your hand grips Chans thigh a bit tighter, as he continues to enter you, the loud squelching noise fills the quiet studio. Feeling the warm arousal drip down onto his own bare thighs, Hongjoong lets out a small whimper. Hand gripping the cushions of the loveseat tighter, the cross between your warm walls, and Chans warm, stiff cock was almost too much for him to bare. His own toes clenching with each stroke Chan gives, with a stuttered breath he lets his head fall lax against the edge of the couch. Bottoming out into you slowly, Chans body towers over both your and Hongjoongs frame. Taking a couple seconds to gather his thoughts, he continues towering over the both of you, cock snug against Hongjoongs, looking down he watches as your pussy swallows the both of them while bubbling clear strings of arousal.

“I’m not going to last long at all.” Hongjoong says through deep breaths trying his best to hold onto his orgasm. Not wanting to blow his load so soon, as he continued to pant, your pussy flutters around both of them, making both men let out a small whine. Nodding his head slightly, Chans heavy pants fill both of your ears. Pulling his hips back slightly, Hongjoong followed along, not fully pulling out before stroking back in, making sure to deliver deep, powerful thrusts to you. After the initial sting of both of them inside you subsided, you couldn’t help but let out loud moans. Toes curling with each precise thrust from each man that was sandwiching you. Hongjoong and Chan were a tight fit, yet it only made things more pleasurable for each person. While both men were nested in your wet cunt, the warmth from each of their cocks brushed against one another, heightening the experience. Your back arches off of Hongjoongs moist chest, eyes crossing before rolling into the back of your skull. You had been cockwarming Hongjoong for quite a while, your body was already pent up, full of a fueling orgasm. As you bite your lip, your toes clench against each man’s thigh. Squeezing your eyes shut, taking in each stroke they deliver to your cunt. Hiking his hips a bit extra to aim for that spongy spot inside of you, it becomes a race between both men to see who can stimulate that spot just enough to push you over the edge. As tears fill your eyes, your head tilts back against Hongjoongs shoulder, with each stroke of their cock, the sopping wet noises of your cunt fill the small studio.

“Sh-she’s leaking onto my thighs.” Hongjoong says through scattered breaths, Chan pulls back slightly continuing to deliver deep, precise blows to your cunt. His pupils blow watching as your cunt drools down to Hongjoongs thighs, pooling into the crevice of the couch. Letting out a feral groan, he hunches his body over both of yours. His muscular form, towering over the both of you, before catching your lips in a kiss, gripping your hip, his fingers brush over Hongjoongs stomach, before giving you one harsh thrust, making you and Hongjoong moan loudly, as Chan begins to speed up his thrust, his warm cock dragging against Hongjoong whose hips stutter, as he’s nearing the edge while your cunt vice grips onto both of them, he grips the back of your head, your tongues fighting one another, as he continues to hammer into you, your jaw falls lax. Small pathetic moans leave your body, as Hongjoong begins to whine out to Chan that he is close. Eyes squeezing shut you, bite Chans bottom lip, whimpering into his mouth, pulling away from you he grips the back of Hongjoongs head, bringing him in for a messy kiss. Letting out a shocked squeak, Hongjoongs hand comes up to strum at your clit, as Chan pulls back slightly nipping at Hongjoongs bottom lip before sticking his tongue down his throat once more, the intense scene of both men making out right by your face, with the mixture of Hongjoong strumming at your clit like he was playing the harp tosses you into your heated orgasm. Thighs shaking as your toes clenched tightly on both of their meaty thighs. Your cunt squeezes them tightly as you are going through the motions of your orgasm, Hongjoong tosses his head back from the steamy kiss him and Chan shared before letting out a loud groan, jerking his hips sloppy, he announces in a whiny tone that he’s cumming as well. Quickly pulling his cock out, Chan pumps his own, watching the scene unfold in front of him. Mouth dropping into a large O as your eyes are screwed shut letting out a high pitched whine, shooting his load all over your spent cunt. He falls forward even more, his chest weighing down on you, as Hongjoongs thumb comes to a slow stop. You let out a whine at the feeling of Chans warm cum dripping down to your hole, swirling with Hongjoongs cum that’s now leaking out of you. Lifting you slightly, Hongjoong pulls his cock out, feeling the warmth of both of their cum dripping out of you and onto his own thighs he lets out a happy sigh. With a deep smile on his face, he sucks his teeth before tapping the side of your body. Legs dangling on top of his legs, while Chan is resting the majority of his body weight on you both.

“So…who's going to clean that up?” Hongjoong asks, practically purring into your ear. As Chan shifts slightly, he runs two of his fingers through your folds, gathering the mixture of all the cum that was leaking from your body, your body almost doubling over at the feeling of over stimulation. He brings his fingers to your mouth, popping them onto your tongue, letting out a satisfied hum. He pushes his body up with one arm, watching as you suckle the cum off of his fingers. While your eyes dance between both men, eyes huge and doe like. Chan and Hongjoong let devious smiles dance on their faces.

“She will of course.”

[honeyhotteoks]

this night together - in their hands (j.yh, s.mg, p.sh, c.sn)

a 'this night together' deleted scene: in their hands

summary: chapter twelve of this night together from the boys perspectives, if you haven't read that yet, go here and read that first.

warnings: every warning that applies to chapter twelve, plus a lot of violence. blood, fighting, descriptions of body parts breaking, ideations of killing, and a lot of internal panic and emotion.

notes: this deleted scene is entirely dedicated to the person who commented and said it would be interesting to see chapter twelve from the boys perspective. i've never written from their povs before, so i hope this still flows well and feels good, but i couldn't get that thought out of my mind. i pretty much wrote this in one sitting and only edited it once..... so i hope it doesn't disappoint but i really just wanted to share it with you all.

there are some things that will be covered in chapter thirteen that are getting lightly spoiled here, but for the purpose of consistency i'm going for it.

pairings: alpha!yunho x alpha!mingi x omega!reader plus alpha!san x alpha! seonghwa

genre: smut, a/b/o/omegaverse, angst, fluff, romance, polyamory

word count: 7.8k

Yunho feels the hair on the back of his neck stand up and the air around him shift just enough to make his stomach tight about three seconds before he hears your scream. He doesn’t need to think through if it’s you or someone else, he feels it in his gut like a brick and he’s scrambling to his feet so fast his brain feels sluggishly behind. 

“Something’s wrong,” He manages as he starts to move, but Mingi is already gone like a flash and he follows at  breakneck speed behind his best friend. 

His heart feels heavy in his chest, his mouth is dry, and in the seconds it takes to run from the back office to the far studio rooms, he starts to realize that there is something very, very wrong with his omega. 

Footsteps behind him don’t deter him, his eyes are steady on Mingi’s back. 

“What the fuck was that?” San. 

“y/n,” Seonghwa, but Yunho stops listening the minute he watches Mingi push in the door to the practice room, the sound of it as it swings back on its hinges and collides with the wall stark and sharp. They take in so many little things at once before adrenaline pumps through their brains and throws them all forwards into action.

Mingi catalogs Minseok’s hands, one sunken into the back of your hair and pulling your head to the side, the other pressing you back into the wall at your chest. His knee is pressed between your thighs and the straps of your top are roughly wrenched to the side to bear the length of your throat. 

All Yunho can see is your face and everything in him is suddenly so full of cold fear. You look so blank, your body unmoving against the mirrored wall and palms upturned in submission. For a single second he thinks he’s lost you already, that the strange metallic taste in his mouth is the scent of your blood from Minseok’s successful claim and something strange and panicked bubbles out of his chest. It takes him a moment for his brain to catch up and to realize it's you, the metallic taste isn’t iron at all; it's ripe tannins, over-steeped tea, bitter and sudden and pulsating your fear and panic through the room. 

Mingi moves first. “Get the fuck off her!” His hands close over Minseok’s neck and shoulder, wrenching him backwards with a curt jerk of his arms. 

Your body tips sideways, but your face is still empty and Yunho’s mouth is so full of dry, acerbic chamomile and he can’t catch you, he can’t do anything. Everything goes absolutely silent in his mind. 

His fist connects with Minseok’s cheek first, but it doesn’t feel good enough. Mingi hauls him back up and Yunho throws a cross hard and with sure direction and then he feels the crunch of bone under his knuckles as Minseok’s nose snaps, the blood quick as he shouts and reaches to clutch at his face. 

If there’s one thing alphas typically aren’t good at it’s de-escalation, and whatever primal release of hormones his broken nose unlocked, Minseok shoves Mingi off and comes back up swinging. 

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” Yunho narrowly misses the return shot, dipping to the side, and hands once again close down on Minseok, the combined weight of San and Seonghwa pressing him down towards the floor. 

“You broke my fucking nose!” Minseok scrambles against them. 

“Stay down,” San presses his knee square between Minseok’s shoulder blades and drops his weight. 

“Fuck you!”

Yunho drops fast, locking his hand over the back of Minseok’s neck to press his face into the wood floor and help hold him down. 

Mingi stumbles forwards after being pushed off balance, but then his eyes flick up past the scuffle and he sees you. You’re lying flat on your back on the practice room floor, eyes vacant and unfocused on the white ceiling, your leg bent in a strange position, one that can’t be comfortable but still you don’t move. 

He knows it all at once. 

“Oh, God,” His stomach turns as he ignores the writhing alpha on the floor and the others doing their best to pin him down so he can skid to your side and drop to his knees. 

Yunho can’t see you from his vantage point, he’s holding Minseok and facing the opposite direction and that wall of the practice room doesn’t have any mirrors to guide him, “Mingi, what? What’s going on?” 

“Baby,” Mingi’s so quiet as he shifts forwards, but Yunho hears it. 

“Is she alright?” Yunho can’t wait, he twists around and loses his steady grip on Minseok, but he has to know, “Mingi! Seriously, is she,” 

Mingi’s hands cup your cheeks, and he studies your empty expression for a moment but he doesn’t need to, “Jesus,” he manages, “he put her in subspace,” 

“He did what?” Seonghwa’s voice is sharp. 

“I’ll fucking kill him,” Mingi’s something else entirely when he’s angry, really and truly angry, and he has Minseok right where he wants him in a second. He cuts through the other alphas in a flash, rolling Minseok onto his back and straddling the smaller man’s hips to pin him in place. His fist has never felt as good as this moment, cracking across this coward’s teeth and splitting his skin again, and again, and again. 

The sound of your whimper only makes it feel better. 

Yunho suddenly and with perfect clarity knows what to do. In this moment you need him, even if you’re not in the presence of mind to ask, he knows. He looks you over fast as he slides close to you, relief flooding him when he sees the unbroken skin of your neck. He’ll process the redness later, the wet glisten of saliva over your gland, but his first conscious thought is that he’s strangely grateful for Minseok’s sadistic approach to claiming you against your will. He thought he had time to savor you, and those seconds of his carelessness saved your life. 

Despite your blank eyes, tears slip from the corners and snake down into your sweat-damp hair, and Yunho watches the quiver of your lip, the way your whole body seems to tremble right from its very center despite how still you really are. He drops his head to the side and calls back to the others, “Calm down or get out of here, do you understand me? You’re scaring her,” 

“Mingi,” San is wrapped around his friend’s back, trying to pull his arms into his chest, “Mingi, stop! Mingi, you’ll kill him, man, stop!” 

Minseok groans, spitting blood onto the practice room floor with choke, “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, fuck,” 

“He,” Mingi’s voice is tight, “you saw what he did,” 

Minseok whines again, “Rut, it’s my rut,” 

Mingi’s nose crinkles at that and he has half a mind to keep swinging but San’s arms tighten, banded around him now and he lets him keep him still. 

“I know,” San soothes, ignoring Minseok and staying focused on his friend, “but she’s safe now,” 

“I,” Mingi breathes, but a voice breaks through the fray. 

“I called the police!” Everyone’s heads snaps up at the sound of Dahan in the doorway, her eyes shining and terrified, “they’re on their way…. I… I’ll get an ambulance too,” 

“Good,” San nods, “go wait for them out front, Dahan, tell them to hurry,” 

Her sneakers squeak on the hardwood as she darts away, her cellphone pressed against her ear. 

“We got him,” Seonghwa interjects, locking his hands down on one of Minseok’s arms, “San, help me get him to the office,” 

Everyone hears the soft, panicked noise that bubbles from the back of your throat. 

“G-go,” Mingi pushes himself back off Minseok’s hips and San finally releases his arms, “get him out of here,” 

San yanks Minseok up off the floor and winds an arm under him to hold him steady, Seonghwa on the opposite side so they can drag him up the hall to the back office. 

“Mingi,” Seonghwa manages, “please take care of her,” 

He nods once, annoyance bristling under his skin. Of course he will, you're his omega and no one, no one will ever care for you like him and Yunho. Even if you never want to talk to him again, even if he has to watch you go and let you live your life some other way with some other alpha, somehow he knows that truth down to his very soul. 

As Mingi returns to your side, Seonghwa allows his eyes to wander. He’d been trying to look anywhere else but you since he made it into the room, too afraid that he’d see the evidence of a violent claim on one of his best friends, too afraid he’d lost you. He’s never put an omega into subspace before, not even when they’ve wanted to be there, and now he doesn’t know if he’ll ever see anything but your empty eyes when he thinks of it. 

The last thought he has as he rounds the corner is that the man in his arms used to be his teammate, but now he thinks he’s as good as dead. 

Minseok groans between him and San and he can’t help but tighten his grip on the man just to make it hurt a little bit more. 

He groans again, but this time San’s the one who stops dead, “Stop whining,” his voice is cutting, “you don’t get to complain after what you’ve done,” 

A little huff of air passes through Minseok’s lips, “Some alphas you are,” 

“Excuse me?” San’s fingers tighten on Minseok’s arm where he still holds him upright. 

“There’s nothing wrong with taking what’s on offer,” Minseok says it like it’s obvious, “isn’t that right, Seonghwa?” 

Seonghwa’s stomach goes icy and he’s not really the type to get into a physical fight, but this? This is something altogether different. He has him back up against the wall of the hallway with a sharp knee to his gut, and then his mind goes absolutely blank. He’s never felt rage like this, true and deep compelling retribution singing through his blood and he just can’t help himself. 

“She’s a person,” Seonghwa lands a swift kick to the man’s ribs as he lets him drop to the floor, “and you’re a fucking waste of an alpha,” 

“Hwa,” San’s voice is low and calm, but he ignores it. 

Another kick, another. He feels ribs give way to make space for his rage, “Stand up if you’re such a big man,” 

Minseok groans again. 

“You’re alpha enough to terrify an omega,” Seonghwa spits, “come on, get up, try and terrify me,” 

He’s coughing now, fingers gripping the cold hard floor beneath him, “P-please,” 

“What was that?” Seonghwa lands a stiff punch to his gut. 

Minseok curls in on himself with a cry, “Please, you know what, I’m sorry, I’m sorry for what I said,” 

“I’d keep your mouth shut,” San again, but Seonghwa can’t conceive of where he is or what he’s doing, his eyes are so singularly focused on this man. 

“It was,” Minseok coughs, blood across his lips, “the rut, I just lost it, you know how the haze is,” 

“I don’t know a thing about how you are,” Seonghwa drops another punch. 

“No, no!” Minseok shrieks at the sensation of another rib popping. 

“Hwa,” 

Minseok’s voice is getting threadier, “y/n, she,” 

Seonghwa’s hand redirects, a sharp strike across his face as he descends on the man in earnest, “Keep her name out of your fucking mouth,” 

He loses count of the number of punches it takes for Minseok’s jaw to pop and his eyes to roll back, and San knows he should have stopped it all sooner, but there’s a part of him that wanted to watch this man suffer too. 

Seonghwa is shaking, blood spattered across his gray sweatpants, smears darting up the sleeves of his white shirt. The soft skin of his knuckles is split open and angry, and San thinks if it was possible to love someone’s hands more, he does. San curls his body around Seonghwa from behind, but unlike Mingi, Seonghwa allows his arms to be pulled in by his sometimes lover. 

“Jagi,” San whispers low in his ear so only he can hear, “come back,” 

Minseok is still, his eyes closed, “Sannie,” Seonghwa’s voice cracks, “w-what did I do? Is he dead?” 

“No,” San squeezes him, “he’s just knocked out. An ambulance is coming, you did nothing wrong.”

“What did I do?” Seonghwa asks again, his voice small, and San knows he has to take care of things now. 

San pulls Seonghwa up to stand, turning him physically away from the bloodied man on the floor, “Jagi, come away with me, alright?” 

“What did I do?” 

“You’re in shock,” San says softly, “but I’m here,” 

“What did I do?” He repeats, empty as San steers him towards the back office. He’s never been in a fight, he’s never hurt someone like that in his life. He’s not prepared for the way that the feeling of a body under his angry hands replays on a loop in his mind, he didn’t know he was capable of things like that. 

“Shh,” San bids him as he gets him directed into a seat, “I’ll be right back, baby, but I need to take care of something first.” 

Seonghwa is vaguely aware of a shout from the far practice room, and down the length of the hall he finds Minseok’s body again with his eyes. 

San steps cleanly into his eyeline to break his gaze, “Stay right here, just breathe.” 

He manages to nod, and then San is gone and the door is shut. He wants to cry. 

________________________________________________________________________________________________________

Tone is not something Mingi has ever enjoyed using. He’s tried it, of course, every alpha has even when they say they haven’t. It’s natural, it’s a part of growing up, he just always hated the way tone seemed to change every boy around him. Mingi remembers the first time he ever tried it, in the mirror in the emptiness of his childhood home. His voice broke a little later than the other boys around him, but when it did it dropped fast and deep in the smack center of his chest. 

He remembers his middle school teacher’s eyebrows drawing high when he said hello to her the next day. He remembers how she smiled and the way she said - Maybe you’ll make a good alpha afterall. 

He started to speak less and less after that. He practiced at home in the mirror just to understand the shape of his voice like that, but unlike some of the other boys who couldn’t help but torment with their tone, he knew what it could do. Yunho was the first boy he ever met that didn’t need to use it to command respect on the school yard, and when Yunho swung an arm around Mingi’s shoulders and said he was with him, he got respect too. No one asked why he was so quiet after Yunho, they finally just let him be. 

Mingi hasn’t used tone since he was maybe sixteen, joking around with Yunho to make each other laugh trying to stay up late on a summer’s night. But an alpha never forgets how to do it, and Mingi just has to let it come. 

He’s crouched over your prone body now, his hands holding your face steady as he tries to get your eyes to focus on his. Yunho is practically a knot of panic next to him, but he can’t focus on him when he knows he has to focus on you to pull you out from under. He doesn’t know what Minseok said to you to put you this deep into headspace, but he knows he should have killed him for it. 

He watches tears track silently down your temples and over his shaking fingers as Yunho begs him, “Why isn’t this working?” 

“I’m not sure,” He answers quietly, but he knows exactly why, he just doesn’t for the life of him want to do it, so he tries one more time with his normal voice, “y/n. Omega. Listen to me now,” 

People respond to their designations, it’s natural, and in a state of submission like this the possibility that you’d be able to latch onto the word ‘omega’ alone is certainly possible. The noise you make is thready and tight, but at least Mingi knows he has your ear now.

  “Come up now,” He repeats, “right now. Listen to me, omega,” 

He might be able to get you up without using tone, but he doesn’t know for sure. You don’t make a single sound in response to his last plea, and suddenly he can’t stop it, he can’t lose this one chance of your conscious mind floating close enough to the surface. 

He takes a low inhale, letting the otherworldly calm fill his chest, the familiar feeling of his alpha tone building in his lower throat and then he says it, “Don’t disobey your alpha.” 

Your eyes finally flick to his, pupils dilating as you focus on Mingi’s face. 

Yunho draws in a sharp breath. 

Mingi remains passive, he doesn’t let himself feel the joy yet of knowing you’re okay, he has to get you there first. He needs you awake, talking, crying, screaming, anything to tell him that you’re here. He holds your eyes steady, “When you’re given a directive, you follow it.” He hates this part, the way an alpha’s bark can make an omega snap to attention, but he almost has you back. Shifting closer he levels his voice more and gives you a clear and present order, “Come. Up.” 

Mingi watches your face break from cold blankness, grief and panic etched into the lines on your forehead and by your eyes, your hands reflexively jerking up to defend yourself like it was your last thought before you lost the ability. 

“I’m sorry,” You choke out, and he watches you start to curl in on yourself. 

He’s not thinking anymore really, he just can’t let you hide away from them, and he pulls your body up into his shaking arms, “You’re here? You’re with us?” 

His name on your lips. 

Your body is vibrating with panicked sobs, and he feels you claw against him like you want to crawl into his chest, pushing your body against his with desperate heaving breaths. For a moment he’s so worried that his own use of alpha tone might have hurt you more than helped you and his mind spins. 

Yunho drops a heavy hand on Mingi’s thigh, a steadying comfort bringing him straight back to center. 

Mingi drops his face to your hair and strokes your back, “Shh,” his body rocks naturally to soothe you, “we’ve got you, we’re right here, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry,” 

“She’s bleeding,” The edge in Yunho’s voice scares him, and Mingi snaps to attention. 

His hands search over your body, looking for the source of pain, trying to find the problem that he can fix so you’ll just stay whole and here and with him. 

“Here,” Yunho says, stopping Mingi’s frantic movements, “it’s not too bad.” 

It’s not, rationally he knows that by the small amount of blood smeared across Yunho’s fingers, but Mingi’s never seen you bleed before and his stomach knots up tightly in rage. 

Mingi holds you while Yunho steps in, talking you through the moment as you come back to your senses. He can barely breathe at the way your body shakes in his arms, your nails digging into his thigh where you grip him unconsciously, and he hears your fast breath and the quick step flutter of your heart, but he can’t move. His hands keep making fists, he wants so badly to stalk down the halls and find this man. Nothing he did was good enough, not now that he’s hearing you cry. You were never supposed to be afraid like this, not ever. 

He comes back into his body when you pitch the contents of your stomach into the little plastic trash can that Yunho pushes into your hands, the sound of your tight wretch shocking enough to pull him back down. 

He gathers your hair back, “Okay,” he tries to soothe you, “you’re okay,” 

“He touched me,” You manage, and Mingi’s mind flashes with static images. His hand in your hair, on your chest, lips, tongue, teeth. 

Mingi and Yunho both hold you steady while you heave again, “The things he said,” 

“Shh,” Yunho tries now, “you’re safe, none of that is true.” 

“He talked to me like a dog, and I couldn’t move, he told me not to move and I just let him,”

Mingi finds his voice too quickly, “No.” 

The way you twitch under his hands makes him sick and he softens his voice as best he can despite the curl of anger in his belly, “He used alpha tone on you, he wanted you to stop fighting and he said it in tone until you couldn’t hear anything else.” 

Yunho’s hand lays over his on your back. 

“You didn’t let him do anything,” He needs you to understand. 

“I’ve never,” You heave again, nothing in your body this time. 

Mingi’s ears are ringing, but Yunho’s soothing you now like he’s so good at doing and you’re pushing back the plastic bin, but then you slide out of his arms and onto the wood floor and he doesn’t know if he should reach for you or not. 

“I’ve never been in subspace,” He hears you say. 

“You’re not there now,” 

“I don’t remember, it’s so muddled, I can’t remember,” 

Mingi watches you frantically check your body and he wishes he had had the foresight to fix your shirt from the way that it was pulled to the side over the cap of your shoulder because maybe you wouldn’t have had to remember that and he could have saved you this one small thing.

  Yunho dips lower in front of you to meet your eyes when he says, “What can’t you remember?” 

Mingi watches you reach up your hand, desperate to know. He remembers suddenly the moment in his bed all those months ago when you mistakenly thought in the haze of heat Yunho might have claimed you. Rage and sick guilt swirl in his gut and then he hears you ask it, soft and terrified, “Did he… did we?” 

“No,” Yunho brings you right out of that terror spiral and back to the moment, “absolutely not.” 

Mingi hates the smell of your fear and he’s learning that he hates the way you look when you’re scared. He never wants to see you like this again for as long as he lives. 

“All I can smell his him,” 

He has to get out of this room. 

“I can’t even breathe,” 

Mingi knows you need someone calm right now, someone centered and capable, but if he has to feel you shaking on his lap again he might just snap. His eyes flick to Yunho, “Take her,” 

There’s a question in his friend’s eyes but Yunho’s careful not to say it out loud. 

“I’m getting water,” Mingi says, and then he’s moving. 

In the hall his breath comes back in heaving gulps and he nearly slips in a little pool of blood on his frantic way to the locker room. 

San is up the hall, in front of the closed back office door with his cell phone tucked tightly against his ear but at the sight of Mingi he drops it immediately and presses it to his chest, “How is she?” 

“Awake,” Mingi responds, “alert,”

“Herself?” San asks. 

Mingi nods, “Where is he?” 

He’s not sure it’s actually best for him to know that information at this time, but he had to ask anyway. San nods his head to the right towards a smaller studio space, “He’s unconscious, don’t even think about it.” 

“I’m… I’m not, I,” Mingi feels dizzy, he needs to sit before gravity makes him. 

“I have to,” San shakes the phone, putting it back to his ear, “she’s okay, I’m telling you, she’s okay.” 

Mingi can’t be here, he can’t be anywhere. He pushes himself to the connecting hallway that leads to the locker room. 

“Wooyoungie,” He hears San say from behind him, “listen to me, she’s okay, I promise you.” 

Mingi cannot understand how this day went from normal, hopeful about Saturday, to catastrophically terrible in every way imaginable. 

In the locker room he collapses on one of the wooden benches, his mind pulsing with questions. He needs to get back to you, but he can’t let you see him like this, he knows he’d scare you after everything you’ve just been through. He wonders if this is a panic attack. 

The thought that presses into him sideways and buries deep in his brain is sickening. He left you alone with that man for three months. He was traveling, and laughing, and dancing, and eating stupid junk food thinking his biggest problem was whether or not you might be into Seonghwa. He was so selfish. He blanches when the next thought occurs to him. Have you been afraid of Seo Minseok this whole time, afraid in ways you felt you couldn’t tell them? 

Mingi rips open his locker and pulls out anything he can find to muffle his bubbling voice, a sweatshirt and a towel stuffed tightly against his mouth to capture his angry scream. He has to get this out of his body, and he has to get back to you, but he’s so, so angry in a way that feels uncontrollable. 

His body collides with the locker door, denting the middle inwards enough that it no longer properly latches shut, but he doesn’t care. The pain spiking up the side of his arm is good, it’s real, and it pumps his brain full of all the chemicals he needs to focus. 

He puts any thought of going across the hall into the practice room where Minseok lays unconscious. He ignores the little voice that says he would be justified in finishing him off. He forces himself to think about your face, your smile when he saw you at the party for the first time in months. 

He holds that image while he moves quickly, grabbing a few water bottles and turning right down the hallway towards you and away from every impulse flicking through his body.  He stops short at the door when he hears Yunho’s voice, “I’d put him on the floor faster than you could blink. Mingi and I both would.” 

He breathes through the spike of anger as he hears your soft voice in response. He hates that you’re still afraid, even with him here, but he knows he has to show you for you to believe it. 

“You are completely safe,” Yunho says, and at this moment Mingi is so grateful for Yunho’s steadfast calm. 

He takes one more deep, deep breath, and pushes through the doorway with as much softness as he can muster. 

________________________________________________________________________________________________________

San ignores his phone. He’s told Wooyoung everything he can about what happened and that you’re safe and now he has other problems to deal with. 

As Mingi disappears into the locker rooms, Dahan races back through the hallway, her eyes darting down at the puddle of blood, “Oh, god,” 

“It’s his,” San assuages her fears immediately, “are they on the way?” 

“Yes, I told them to hurry,” She nods, “does he need an ambulance too?” 

“The ambulance is for him,” San says, clearing his throat, “can you wait for them and show them where to come? I need to,” he jerks his head towards the back office. 

“Yes, yes, of course,” 

“And Dahan,” He remembers himself, “don’t go into studio two, okay?” 

Her eyes flick to the door, “Is he in there?” 

San nods, “He’s hurt, but still, he’s not safe to be around, okay?” 

Dahan might be a beta, but he’s not taking any risks where Minseok is concerned, not after he heard the way he talked so casually about what he did to you. She nods, stepping backwards down the hall once more. 

With everything taken care of, he can finally focus. 

San pulls open the door to the back office and Seonghwa jumps, his eyes going from unfocused to focused in a second. “It’s only me,” San says softly, “I’m here now,” 

“San,” Seonghwa’s eyes well up with tears, “I’m so sorry, I don’t know what’s wrong with me,” 

San shakes his head, dropping to crouch in front of him, and he gently lays his hands on Seonghwa’s knees, “There’s nothing wrong with you at all,” 

“I should be helping,” Seonghwa swallows tightly. 

San shakes his head again, “Everything’s handled,” he says, brushing his hand over Seonghwa’s long black hair, “there’s nothing to do right now.” 

“y/n?” Seonghwa murmurs. 

“She’s awake,” San repeats Mingi’s words from a few moments ago, “alert, and she’s herself,” 

“Thank god,” Seonghwa’s breath hitches, “and she’s alright? She’s not alone?” 

“They’re with her,” San soothes him, cupping his cheek, “she’s right where she needs to be,” 

“Good,” Seonghwa sinks back into his seat. 

San lets his hand drop back to Seonghwa’s thigh, his phone once again buzzing incessantly in his pocket. He’s sure Wooyoung is frantic, but right now he needs to focus here on the man in front of him. Wooyoung will have to wait. 

“Who’s calling?” Seonghwa nods towards San’s pocket. 

“Woo,” 

“You told him?” Seonghwa surmises. 

“I thought she might need him,” San confesses softly, “I don’t know what an omega would want at a time like this… I wouldn’t know what to do,” 

“You’re doing it now,” Seonghwa corrects, “you’re doing better than me,” 

San squeezes Seonghwa’s knee, giving him the smallest shake of his head, he never was one to accept that kind of self deprecating talk and he’s not about to start now. 

“I should,” Seonghwa starts to shift away from San and put space between them, but then he actually looks down at himself and his chest starts to pound, “oh, Jesus,” 

He hadn’t properly looked, he hadn’t really taken it in until this moment. He’s never seen so much blood before, and his hands are shaking as he turns them over to see his stained palms. 

“Shh,” San covers Seonghwa’s trembling hands with his own, “I’ve got you,” 

“H-he’s alive, right?” Seonghwa can’t think of anything except the way Minseok’s jaw felt coming loose under his fist, “Sannie, did I kill him?” 

“No, no,” San dips closer, pressing a warm kiss to Seonghwa’s forehead, “he’s fine, it looks worse than it is. You didn’t do that, you’d never do that, I know you,” 

Tears pool in Seonghwa’s eyes, tracking down his cheeks quickly as he drops his head against San’s clean knuckles, “I thought about it,” his voice is tight with tears, “what does that make me?” 

“Hey,” San moves in, pressing quick kisses along Seonghwa’s temple, any part of him that he can reach, “no, it makes you a person, alright? He did something awful to someone we love.” San squeezes his hands tight, “He hurt her, he could have claimed her, we all know what that means, okay? You were protecting her, you did nothing wrong,” 

Seonghwa stills, letting his words sink in. He thinks about what an unwanted claim would have done to you, who you would have become. 

“It wasn’t his rut either,” San leans his head against Seonghwa’s, his thumb caressing the back of his hand, “you know that’s just what these alphas say when they try to do what he did,” 

“I don’t understand why he would try it here,” Seonghwa lifts up, shaking his head in disbelief. 

“He thought we were all gone,” San says quietly, “I’m sure he thought y/n and maybe Dahan were the only ones working late. Yunho and Mingi had the back office door closed, I was in the gym, and you said you were leaving early. It was quiet,” 

“He planned it, then,” Seonghwa’s stomach rolls. 

“I think so,” San nods, “we just need the police to believe that.” 

“They’re coming?” Seonghwa murmurs. 

“Mhm,” San smiles, close lipped and then sighs, “jagi, I need you to do something for me,” 

Seonghwa studies his face, he hasn’t heard San call him that outside of bed in so long, “Why are you being so nice to me?” 

San sighs, eyes flicking away, “You know why,” 

The feeling sits between them for a moment, and then Seonghwa nods, “What do you need me to do?” 

“We need to get you out of these clothes,” San cups his cheek again, “and you need to wash your hands,” 

“San,” Seonghwa’s jaw tightens, realizing what San is pushing him to do, “I’m not lying to the police,” 

“It’s not lying,” San presses, “you’re just changing after work,” 

“If I get in trouble for what I did, I’m not going to get caught lying on top of that,” Seonghwa murmurs, “I know what you’re trying to do, but think it through.” 

San’s jaw tenses and relaxes and then he nods, “Alright, but I’m cleaning your cuts, and you’re not going to argue about that.” 

Seonghwa smiles softly and nods, “Okay,” 

San ignores the phone in his pocket again and finds the first aid kit in the cabinets, pulling out a pack of alcohol wipes and gauze. He doubles back for a water bottle and some paper towels, and then he pulls a chair close to Seonghwa to sit and take his hands back in his. 

Seonghwa is quiet while San works. He uses the water and the paper towel to effectively wash the blood away from his palms and the alcohol wipes to clean the broken skin of his knuckles. He works on him quickly and quietly, and he fights the urge to kiss his broken skin when he’s finished, he’s gotten away with too much today already. 

He holds Seonghwa’s hands in his, so much softer and more delicate than his. He thinks that after today he’ll have to take care to make sure he never has to use them in violence again. San thinks the next time he will do better, if Seonghwa ever has to kill, San will be the one to kill for him. 

San smooths his thumbs over the backs of Seonghwa’s hands, and this time he does give into temptation. Dipping forward he presses a kiss to each of his palms. 

“San,” Seonghwa’s voice is soft, “we’re alright,” 

“I know,” He whispers into the soft skin of the hands he misses so deeply, hands he aches for. If anyone ever touched him the way that Minseok touched you, he can’t even conceive of what he wouldn’t do. 

His phone rings again, and this time he answers it. 

“Now you answer?” Wooyoung’s voice is taut, “I’m downstairs,” 

“I had things to take care of,” San sighs, standing and giving Seonghwa’s hand one final squeeze. 

“I’m coming up,” Wooyoung ignores his excuse, “he better be in a fucking body bag when I get there,” 

The line goes dead, and San steps into the hall. He takes quick stock. Minseok is still unconscious in studio two, he can hear the tone of your voice from down the hall mixed with Yunho and Mingi’s. The slick patch of blood on the tile is gone, and San wonders if Dahan had the same idea he did about cleaning up before the police arrive. 

The door to the access stairs by the elevator swings open, Wooyoung looking wild and full of panicked rage, and San dives back into the chaos. ________________________________________________________________________________________________________

For the first time in his life, Yunho wishes he wasn’t the designated driver for everything. He wishes Mingi had a license. He wishes that after the most uncomfortable and awful hospital trip of his life he could have tossed Mingi the keys and told him to drive and climbed in the backseat with you. Instead he’s stuck in the driver’s seat again, trying to focus on the road but finding himself glancing up every few seconds to check his rear view mirror just so he can see you asleep with your head in Mingi’s lap. 

“Green light,” Mingi murmurs with a nod of his head, and Yunho breaks his eyes away from the mirror to watch the road again and press the gas. 

“Sorry,” He manages. 

“I get it,” Mingi replies, his fingers slowly brushing along your temple, “I can’t believe she’s here either.” 

“Is she sleeping?” Yunho checks. 

��Mhm,” Mingi nods, “she’s out,” 

Yunho breathes a sigh of relief, he hated having to wake you up with Mingi every few minutes on the way to the hospital when they weren’t sure if you had a concussion or not, he’s just happy you can actually get some rest if you need it. 

“Yunho,” Mingi says quietly, a question in the lilt of his voice, “what did the police want to ask you?” 

“Um,” His eyes flick to the mirror and then back to the road, “they wanted to talk to the owner, but Jaemin obviously wasn’t there,” 

“Right,” Mingi nods. 

“I don’t know,” Yunho admits, “San gave them my name and said I could give a statement about what happened,” 

“Which was?” Mingi asks. 

Yunho watches your face for a moment, but it’s clear you’re still deep asleep and he shrugs, “The truth, that we heard a scream and that when we went into the room we saw him attempting to hurt her. It was clear he was trying to force a claim and that she was in subspace, and that Minseok fought us while we tried to subdue him.” 

“Do you think they believe that?” Mingi murmurs. 

“They have to,” Yunho won’t let that thought enter his mind, he knows what Mingi’s implying, they both heard the way your conversation with the police went at the hospital, but he can’t entertain the thought that the police would side with anyone but you. 

“Do they?” 

“Not tonight,” Yunho shakes his head, “not in front of her, she’s been through enough.” 

Mingi stays quiet, and Yunho drives on. 

When they pull into the alleyway that leads to their apartment, Yunho watches you start to stir. It’s like you have a sixth sense that the energy in the car is changing, and you make soft, sleepy noises as you come out of it. 

Mingi runs a hand soothingly up and down your back, “We’re home, okay? You’re with us,” 

Yunho watches the way you don’t respond. Your eyes look vacant again, unfocused and distant and when he pulls the car to a stop he watches the way you don’t wait to just step out yourself and start the familiar walk up to their front door. 

He exchanges a fast look with Mingi, and they follow you at a little distance to keep the pressure off until the door’s unlocked and you’re stepping over the threshold. Everything about this is wrong. Not you back in their home, that’s never felt so right to Yunho in his life, but you look glassy and scared and he wants nothing more than to take it away. 

“Hey,” He tries, waving a hand across your field of vision, “are you alright?” 

Your eyes flick away from his, a pregnant pause between you before you look back up, “I’m fine, sorry, it’s just been awhile.” 

He feels heat flood his cheeks, his ears warm. Of course you’re not alright, and he feels stupid and small at even asking the question. He feels foolish about every little thing until you walk down the hall and shut yourself away in the bathroom. 

“I don’t know what the fuck to do,” Mingi says suddenly, running a hand through his hair before moving towards the couch, “I still want to break something.” 

“I know,” Yunho nods, sitting next to him on the sofa, his knee bouncing nervously. 

Mingi shoots him a glance, his eyes flicking down to his knee, and Yunho freezes. They settle into the quiet of their apartment, and they listen. Yunho expects to hear you cry, something more than just the steady spray of the shower, but he doesn’t and that scares him more than anything. 

“Should we call the others?” Mingi clears his throat after a while, “Woo or,” 

“Seonghwa?” Yunho finishes his thought for him and then swallows tightly, “No, I, I wouldn’t know what to say.” 

“Me either,” Mingi nods. 

“She wants to be here,” Yunho remembers the way you clung to his shoulders at the studio, begging for home, and maybe tomorrow you’ll regret that decision but he’s done trying to think for you. 

“I know,” 

“Let’s just let her be here then,” Yunho murmurs. 

Yunho knows that Mingi doesn’t want to lose you just as much as he doesn’t. They agreed one night after just enough alcohol on tour how they felt, everything finally out in the open between them. They had never stopped and imagined a pack together, but they both know it feels right. 

“We’re her friends,” Mingi reasons quietly. 

“Friends,” Yunho nods, “and the fact that we’re both stupidly in love with her can wait,” 

“Yep,” Mingi sighs, “I think we’ve gotten pretty good at that,” 

Yunho huffs, a short breath of laughter through his nose and nods, “Yeah,” 

The sound of the shower turning off draws both their gazes up and down the hall, and then Mingi stands, “I’m going to make up my room in case she wants it,” 

Yunho watches him go. He listens to the stillness of the apartment around him. 

Mingi comes back and you’re still in the bathroom. They make themselves scarce. They listen as you come out of the bathroom and go straight into Mingi’s bedroom. The door shuts tight. Yunho listens but he doesn’t hear the turn of the lock. The bed creaks, sheets rustle, and then all is quiet. 

“What do we do now?” Mingi asks quietly. 

Yunho’s eyes flick over the closed door down the hall, “We wait.” 

Being pulled from sleep at four in the morning is never a good thing, but Yunho would put seeing you struggle through a night terror and a flash back at the absolute top of his most awful moments list. The way it took so much to get you to snap out of it and come back to them, the pile of Mingi’s bedding in the corner, the way your muscles stayed locked tight for minutes even with their arms around you. 

Holding you now with Mingi he keeps thinking of the purple bruises that litter your skin from where you rubbed your glands raw. He’s a swirling mix of emotion, but the worst part of it is that there’s nothing left to do. He can’t channel it anywhere, there’s no threat except the one in your mind now, and he doesn’t know how to make that kind of threat recede. 

He remembers the way you shrank back into his chest at the hospital at the glimpse of Minseok’s name on the hospital room door as you passed through to the exit. All he could do was wrap an arm around your body and try to steer you away, and he doesn’t know if that was even close to good enough. 

His mind turns it all over as light starts to spread in the sky outside, and he feels the way you’re shifting in the bed getting closer and closer to sleep. He hopes you can all get a few more hours before the reality of whatever tomorrow is going to bring. Your lips move against Yunho’s chest and he doesn’t risk shifting a muscle so he can hear your quiet words in the dark. It’s faint, but he hears it when you whisper, “Don’t let me go,” 

Yunho’s throat constricts, his eyes flooding with tears. He presses his eyes shut tight, trying to keep his breathing even and low so you don’t know he’s still awake. The weight of the night sinks into him, pushing against his chest and there are so many things he wants to say to you heavy on his tongue. 

It doesn’t take long for your breathing to level out and your body to unspool and relax, they both feel it when you do, and Yunho takes a shaky wet breath now that he knows he can. 

When he opens his eyes again it’s straight into Mingi’s and for some reason his friend’s unwavering gaze makes the tears come faster. 

Mingi waits, and Yunho looks away in discomfort at the raw moment of exposure. 

Quietly, and careful not to wake the woman in his arms, Mingi shifts closer to you and Yunho, his arm stretching across you both and settling on Yunho’s side. 

“It’s okay,” Mingi murmurs quietly. 

“How is this okay?” Yunho manages, getting his moment of overflowing emotion under control. 

“She’s here,” Mingi says simply, “even if it’s just tonight,” 

Yunho’s arms tighten around your sleeping form and he nods, “She’s here,” 

Mingi presses a kiss to your hair and squeezes Yunho’s side just once, “Sleep,” 

“What if she has another nightmare?” Yunho murmurs. 

“I’ve got her,” Mingi assures quietly, “you sleep,” 

You shift between them, winding your way deeper into Yunho’s embrace, and he passes a hand up and down your back until you sigh heavily against his skin. If this is all he has, he’s going to take it. He nods to Mingi, and despite the growing light leaking in through the curtains outside, sleep pulls him under. 

Mingi stays awake for as long as he can stand watching over you both, but held in their arms you barely stir. There are no nightmares, no subspace to hold you under. With the birds starting to sing, Mingi falls asleep. 

He wakes to the sound of a fist on their front door and the sinking feeling that last night might have really been their last with you. He hopes to god he’s wrong. He so badly wants to be wrong. 

[bugboybuck]

i dont have time to write something proper for day one of @bucktommypositivityweek but i wanted to share a lil drabble/ramble anyway in the spirit of things, so: what tommy loves about buck

tommy grew up in a stiflingly oppressive environment, a household full of anger and coldness. he lived in fear about who he was, what he wanted. he was threatened by his father, his army COs, gerrard, and his survival response was to hide himself away, lock up parts of himself, bury the things he could get hurt for.

his first thought upon getting to know evan wasn't 'wow, here's a perfectly adjusted guy who hasn't had any struggles.' frankly, between his adorably awkward jokes, casually mentioning getting struck by lightning, and trying to kill his best friend with mind lasers over tommys attention, evan seemed like a bit of a hot mess.

but what drew tommy to him so strongly was seeing someone who'd clearly had a lot of weird, difficult life experiences still be like - that. bouncing around on his feet with energy when tommy showed him around the hangar, making dumb jokes, throwing himself headfirst into a basketball game he didn't even like. bringing a brand new date to his sisters wedding. folding tommy into his family nearly immediately, every one of his actions screaming I'm serious about this; no reservations, no holding back.

it only got worse - better - as they got to know each other. it felt like every date they went on, evan dropped some insane piece of lore from his life. his injuries on the job, his disastrous track record with romance, the wild travels he'd been on while finding himself. not too long into knowing each other, the whole thing about his brother, and his parents, and his sister - which explained a lot of the abandonment issues tommy could have seen from space.

and whenever he says something like that, tommys first thought usually isn't marvelling at how ridiculously unlucky Evans life has been. it's how amazing he finds it that evan is still open and happy and throws himself into everything he does head-first, like he's trying to trust the universe to, this time, not let him down.

tommy knows evan isn't all sunshine and roses. he gets downright snippy when he has a to-do list, is more than a bit neurotic, over-anxious about pointless things when tommy's more a 'go with the flow' kind of guy (a 'sure I'll fly into a hurricane for an old friend' kind of guy, a 'I've come out the other side of the shittiest time of my life already, so what have I got to lose?' kind of guy). but evan is - so open. even when he's being annoying, he doesn't try to reign it in. his brain is like a steel trap for facts, he's far from dumb, but when he doesn't know something, he openly and instantly admits it. he's free with hugs and affection but also with a bitchy comment if someone deserves it. he over-shares with no shame. he over-everythings, really. he's so much. and tommy has spent most of his life with not-enough. depriving himself; being deprived. he wants to gorge himself on evans too-much-ness

tommy feels like evan lives his life wide open. and he knows evan has been hurt a lot, for it. but for tommy, who spent thirty years stuffed into a cramped closet space - who felt claustrophobic, trapped, like he couldn't see the sky - Evans openness gives him the same feeling as flying. awe.

so that's what tommy loves most about him. the fact that he's a badass and a blowjob savant who cooks and is built like a sexy brick wall are all just bonuses.

[dwntwn-strnlo]

friendly fire. [m.st.]

── ⟡˙ ̟ matthew sturniolo x !reader

↳ synopsis. — drunk confessions!

↳ a/n. — thank you to the talented @sarosfilms for letting me use this idea! ella is so freaking creative and you should definitely check out her work :))

↳ requested? — no

↳ cw. — use of alcohol, verbal argument

you tilted your head back, beer spilling out of the red solo cup and past your lips. every reasonable nerve in your body was telling you that it's okay, no big deal. it was fine.

but yet, as your knuckles gripped the trashy plastic, you couldn't tell what emotion you were feeling. whether it was sadness, or anger—no. infuriation. you honestly couldn't tell.

eyes locked on your boy best friend, you want to absolutely lose your shit.

leaning against the wall, matt talks to a pretty girl. the way she's watching him speak, gaze glued to his lips and the way you fell in love with his smile? it made you want to burst into tears.

downing the rest of you stale alcohol, you turn around and toss your cup in the trashcan by the dishwasher. closing your eyes for a mere few seconds, you breathe. in through your nose, out through your mouth. trying to compose yourself and cope with the idea that it's just matt. friendly, easy to talk to matt. and he's not going to do anything that would remotely hurt you.

but why, oh why— did you feel like you were going insane?

when you realized that you were falling way past the silly schoolgirl crush for him, the idea of commitment bit you in the ass. though eventually, you wrapped your head around it and now you're head over fucking heels for the goofy influencer who's face haunts your insta feed.

by the time you open your eyes again, your heart is pounding. you weren't one to be so jealous and angry,—if that's even what your feeling right now—especially over a stupid little conversation with a stupid little tiktoker with stupidly big tits. so you have no clue what's gotten into you. besides maybe the 7 cups of beer you've downed in the last hour...

you pull out your phone, needing to get away before you actually lost your head.

you send a quick text to matt in the awkward case you were to get roofied or jumped or whatever frat/influencer thing the guys decide to do, that he'd at least know where you were. no matter how upset you were.

he's quick to react to your text, but you chose not to elaborate before shoving your phone back into your pocket and step outside.

immediately you feel a rush of relief wash over you when the pounding music is no longer rattling your brain, and now just bleeding through the front door.

quickly you wrap your arms around your torso, the night time air hitting you like a brick. closing your eyes again, you breathe in and out. in and out. in and out. trying to steady your keonigsegg of a heartbeat.

now that you're alone and away from the half naked dancing, sweating young adults, you can finally focus. and you soon realize how absolutely full of rage you are.

you want to scream and cry and-

"y/n?" you turn around to your name being called as the glass door slides against the rusty metal. "what are you doing out here?"

matt quirks a brow as he speaks, staring at you with confusion and concern stapled across his face.

"i uh-" you cover your mouth with your palm. trying to figure out what to say. you wanted to blow up at him, but you couldn't do that. he's just matt. just your friend. just your friend that your madly in love with. who cares? "no reason?"

the boy scoffs, knitting his brows as he looks at you in disbelief, "really?"

your eyes rake over his body as you search for something to say. noting how he's in just a simple black tee and baggy designer jeans. "who was the girl?" i snort, "she was really pretty!"

matt's eyes widen, still seemingly shocked by what your going on about. "huh? what girl?" he stuffs his hands in his pockets, shifting on his heels and the balls of his feet. "i wasn't talking to anyone."

you scoff, "i'm not stupid." crossing my arms over my chest. "i saw you talking to her, matt. blonde, big tits, you remember?"

he laughs, but there's not much humor in it. "you can't say shit like that."

"oh so you do remember, hm?" you bite, narrowing your eyes at him.

he puts his hands up defensively, waving them in the air between the two of you. "that was nothing. she was no one."

"you weren't nobody to her." you snort. "did you not see the way she was all goo goo ga ga over you? she was bout ready to flash her colorful feathers and do a mating dance."

"why do you care?" matt mirrors your body language, crossing his arms over his chest too.

your heart skips a beat or two... hundred. your face freezes at his words, and suddenly you're a deer in headlights. "because... i'm your friend matt."

"friend!?" he fires out, barely letting your words roll of your tongue. he looks exasperated, his blue eyes dark and wide.

his swords send you into a string of confusion. raising a brow at him, you snicker. "why are you so shocked?"

"because i love you, y/n."

what?

"yeah i love you too?" you mumble, uncrossing your arms.

matt scoffs. he scoffs. and it makes you even more exasperated then you were before. "are you fucking stupid?" the words make you rebuild the wall in your body, crossing your arms again and standing up a little taller. "i love you." he mutters again. this time unable to hold eye contact with you.

undeniably your breath hitches. this time as he says it, the words hit you a little harder. pressing into you like a body blow, threatening to knock you off your feet. "i don't understand.." you mumble, voice barely above a whisper as you swallow the lump in your throat.

"you are not my fucking friend, y/n. you are the person i aspire to be the most." he reaches out a hand to touch you, but drops it almost instantly. as if his body wasn't with his mind. "i want you so bad. i want to take you out and hold your hand and-" his breath hitches, eyes boring into yours.

as his words slip off his tongue everything seems to hit you like a train. "and what?" your voice cracks. as he finally goes silent, you realize your biting at your nails. picking recklessly at the skin around them. dropping your hand, your fingers fidget, waiting and waiting and waiting.

"i wanna be your boyfriend."

TAGLIST

@thetriplets3 @stxrniqlo @ifilwtmfc @iha8you @20nugs @gracietaylorsversions @fenoy7 @mlimmm @prettysturniolo @ssturniolo @gabbylovesreading @oh-toseewithoutmy-eyes @matthewmurdockswife @jellybeanbby @slaysturniolo @iheartshifting @mxqdii @luvsturniolo @lvrsparadise @partoftoofuckinmanyfandoms @sstvrniololuvr

[st1llwthyou]

fandom ꕀ zb1

pairing ꕀ sung hanbin x afab!reader

applicable aus & genre ꕀ friends with benefits, smut

synopsis ꕀ drastic situations call for drastic measures — like babytrapping you, so you don’t leave him.

warnings & tags ꕀ language, toxic!hanbin, he’s possessive AND jealous, dom/sub dynamics, unprotected sex, rough sex, dirty talk, dumbification, dacryphilia, breeding kink, mentions of babytrapping, creampie — RATED E for explicit content.

word count ꕀ 703

notes ꕀ don’t read if it’s not your cup of tea :] see the warnings before proceeding. hello, btw~ it’s my first time around here 😳! enjoy ♡

thinking about fwb!hanbin who’s gotten a bit obsessed with you. so much so that he wants to babytrap you into staying with him… 

He actually doesn’t remember how you guys got into this whole “friends with benefits” thing. Maybe because why or how he got here didn’t really matter to him. On the other hand, Hanbin can vividly recall being the happiest bitch on the planet while fucking you for the first time. It’s etched into his memory – the way you cried because it felt too good, your sweet pussy squeezing his cock, milking him dry. 

And since then, Hanbin has found himself falling deeper and deeper into the rabbit hole of you. How the fuck could he not? When he’s seen you in the rawest, swollen lips crying about how big he is, glossy eyes looking at him like he’s your whole world. 

Maybe that’s why Hanbin saw red while you laughed and put your hand on Euijoo’s shoulder. He noticed the way your glinting eyes travelled across his friend’s figure. All that did was make his chest feel uncomfortably tight, sirens going off in his head. 

Mine, all mine. 

Hanbin is in a frenzy, his hair sticking to his forehead, lips parted as he pounds into you. You’re babbling incoherent words, brain empty as he fucks you to oblivion. Your gummy walls are snug around his rock hard cock, pussy leaking copious amounts of your sweet juice. The wet sounds of your bodies meeting increase with each passing second. 

Oh, the way he loves to see you like this. 

“Tsk, can’t even utter a goddamn word properly. Am I fucking my baby dumb, hm?” His voice is gruff, lips quirking up in a satisfied smirk. “You know that I’m the only one who can do this to you, right? Fuck you so good with my cock that you forget how to talk?” 

The way you nod your head while making the cutest noises makes him feel delirious. Tears have wet your temples, lips wet with drool. Fuck, he could literally knock you up right now and you’d just lay there, overstimulated and unaware. 

The fleeting thought hits him like a ton of bricks. Hanbin can get you pregnant. Oh so conveniently, he’s doing you raw today because he was too impatient and forgot a condom. His cock twitches at the thought, his thrusts getting rougher. 

He looks at you with his newfound goal in mind, eyes falling upon your beautiful breasts that jiggle and bounce around with each movement of his hips. Hanbin leans down to catch your left nipple in his mouth, earning a whiny cry from you. Your tits would be full of milk for his baby, he thinks, feeling his lower stomach tighten. 

His gaze falls upon your belly bulge next, the outline of his cock pumping into you looking as pretty as ever. When you get all round with a baby inside your tummy, he won’t be able to see this anymore. Hanbin gently puts his left hand on your belly bulge, groaning curses as he feels the continuous movement of his cock inside you. 

“Look at your cute, little pussy greedily devouring my cock. I bet it’s so hungry, if I give it my cum, will it be satisfied?” His words make you clench, legs tightening around his waist. Hanbin swears that’s his last straw. “Fuck, you’d love that, huh?” 

He knows you’re probably not in your right mind — overstimulated and buzzing with pleasure, maybe thinking that he doesn’t mean it literally. 

Except that he does. If he puts a baby inside you, you’ll have to stay with him, right? 

He reaches for your swollen clit, eager to feel your walls clamping down onto him. You cry out his name, trembling as he rubs your sensitive bundle of nerves. Your over-sensitive body doesn’t take too long to convulse into waves of ecstasy again — triggering his own release. 

Hanbin moans, pushing himself as deep as possible with one last thrust. He shakes and twitches, emptying his balls and painting your inner walls white. A deep satisfaction warms him up as he leans down to rest on top of you. 

His arms wrap you up in a hug. He’s going to hold you like this for a long time, making sure that not a single drop of his seed is wasted.

˗ˏˋ ★ extended notes ˎˊ˗

i need him biblically 🫠

thanks so much for reading ❤️‍🔥! hope you enjoyed it >.< (pls ignore typos or other mistakes, english is not my 1st language) ; i’d love to hear your thoughts about this! please reblog, comment, or even send me asks, feedback is very much appreciated!

psssst, my inbox is open for suggestions and hard hours 👀! please check this and feel free to drop by 🩷!

[whumpninja]

Anyone remember my moments of peeking round the door into pet whump and yelling a prompt and then scampering away like a horrible gremlin? And how I kept saying that was the extent of my interactions with that genre? Yeah. Me too. I lied. I really wanted to push myself out there with Whumptober, so I promised myself that I would try it. I didn’t go very far in- I used historical instead of full-on BBU, and I toned it way down for this just so my brain didn’t entirely freak out- but my toesies are officially wet!

@painonthebrain here it is!!

Prompts used: Whumptober, nowhere else to go

Featuring: pet whump (have I EVER used that tag before?!), historical whump, alternate history, mentions of abuse, pipe smoking

Whumptober Day 17: A Quiet Evening at No. 14 Fettle Street

The best time of day is that peaceful, gray evening-time when the sun has gone down but it is not quite dark. The time when families are beginning their suppers, when ladies are brushing their hair a careful one hundred times, when the door opens and whoever has been out that day comes home.

It was just that time of night, on a relaxed sort of Saturday, at the red brick flat on Fettle Street whose outer wall bore a plaque that read No. 14. Inside, the fire crackled pleasantly in the hearth, and the parlor of had an air of quiet evening calm to it. The master of the house had draped his lanky frame over a plush red armchair, an empty teacup on the table by his side and his face obscured by the day's newspaper. Mrs. Merry the housekeeper bustled about, fluffing pillows and rearranging knickknacks and poking at the coals. Presently she broke the companionable silence. "Your slippers are all warm now, whenever you're thinking of retiring. Will that be all for the night, Mr. Thorn?"

"Oh, yes, I think that'll do for me, Mrs. Merry," replied the aristocrat from behind his newspaper.

The housekeeper bobbed a curtsy and turned towards the kitchen door.

"Oh, Mrs. Merry," said Mr. Thorn. "Just one more thing."

"Of course, sir."

Mr. Thorn set his paper down. One of his eyebrows was arched toward his hairline. "You might tell me why there's an unfamiliar young man asleep on my settee."

Mrs. Merry bit her lip. "So you...noticed."

"He's across from me, Mrs. Merry. If I'd missed him I would be in need of an emergency appointment with the optometrist. Now, do you want to explain who he is and why he's here?"

Mrs. Merry came to the fireplace again, stirring up the embers even though they didn't really need to be stirred. "You've seen him before, sir, though maybe you didn't notice. That traveling tailor fella you had a meeting with a few months ago?"

"Didn't much care for his boasting," remarked Mr. Thorn. "He did have a boy with him, didn't he?"

"His pet, sir."

Mr. Thorn scoffed. "Whoever came up with that particular system of dealing with criminals ought to be institutionalized. But anyway, what's the boy doing here?"

Mrs. Merry had a fine temper when she got it stirred up, and it was good and hot now. "I knew that tailor was a bad 'un," she huffed, mostly to the fireplace. "That poor lad showed up on the kitchen doorstep this afternoon, thrashed within an inch of his life and too frightened to look me in the eyes. Near as I could get out, that tailor beat seven bells out of him and then left him behind on the road when he couldn't keep up." Mrs. Merry snorted. "I'd like a chance to introduce the brute to the handle of my broom, see how he likes it-"

"Mrs. Merry, of course that's all very unfortunate, but what on earth is he doing in my house?" Mr. Thorn broke in.

"Didn't have nowhere else to go, I s'pose." Mrs. Merry stopped her bustling to brush a black curl from the boy's forehead- he really wasn't a boy, exactly, he seemed to be about twenty. It was only that he looked so small and pale that she kept calling him one. "I was kind to him when you had that fitting with the tailor. Must have remembered." She shook her head. "I certainly didn't expect it, but how could I have just left him in the street? Brought him inside and did what I could for his back, and got him a good meal- that's what's put him to sleep so heavy. He looked as if he hadn’t had a bite since last Sunday.”

Mr. Thorn leaned over to light his pipe. His face was complicated, and for several moments he did not speak. “You might have asked me," he said at length. "I don't like strangers in my home."

"I didn't think you would object."

"I certainly don't object to helping someone in need. But, Mrs. Merry, what do you propose to do with him now? Or if the tailor turns back up looking for him? Have you thought about that?"

"That's the sort of thing you work out later, when somebody's in trouble," Mrs. Merry said firmly.

Mr. Thorn took a long drag of his pipe, blowing out a ring of smoke and watching it dissipate. "I'll be the first to admit I don't approve of this whole pet business. I didn't think much of their other proposition- what was it again, sending criminals off to Australia?- but this whole matter of altering the brains of people so that they're hardly able to think for themselves leaves a bad taste in my mouth." He blew another smoke ring. "Still, we can hardly expect to tear it down in one day. If that tailor comes, I suppose we'll have to give the boy back."

"I'd hide him first," Mrs. Merry replied fiercely. "I'd not be responsible for sending him back to that monster, even if I did lose my place for it! Sir," she added, after a moment.

Mr. Thorn sighed, tapping out his pipe. "I couldn't get on without you, Mrs. Merry, never fear. The boy may stay, for a few days, at least. Though I would prefer if you made him up a bed that is not my settee." He took up his newspaper again. "And we may not have to wait long for this whole debate to be over. It's being challenged in Parliament soon." He snorted. "Though of course they've got an excuse all ready. They're saying now that even if they did shut it all down, the way they've altered the brains of those involved, they'd never be able to rejoin "polite society." And they used that term, too."

Mrs. Merry bent down to spread a blanket over the boy, who was still quite dead to the world. "If you don't mind me saying it, sir," she remarked quietly, "you seem to have come out all right."

Mr. Thorn looked up sharply, but the housekeeper had already gone. He glanced over at the settee, and something in his face softened.

Before he went up to bed for the night, Mr. Thorn slipped to the settee and tucked the blanket a little more securely under the young man’s shoulder.

[elliebyrrdwrites]

Marriage Law Trope part 6

I don’t know why it matters. I don’t even like to eat.

I get up every day and I put my body into clothes that are growing increasingly baggy on me. I put these clothes on my body and I attempt to waste time.

Every day, while Granger is away, I pick at the white paint on the wall. I pick at the paint with a brush and colors I tore out of the studio in my personal quarters inside of the manor. I pick at my colors and I carry them all into the empty room across the hall from where all of Granger’s boxes are. the boxes are full of bits and pieces of her and I spend my time going between the two rooms.

I open her boxes and look through her life. It’s a stripped down, rudimentary version of who she is, but I take it.

I find pictures of her from when she was a child. Muggle photos, where nothing moves. It’s a still shot of a moment and you know it’s not an accurate representation of life because its just this micromomentary snippet of a moment within a moment within a world that you’ve never been in.

All day, I do this until I get too wound up.

When the ants have taken over my body and my brain can’t quiet down, I floo over to Theo’s.

Mother shoved Theo into my life shortly after I got engaged with Astoria. She took him and shoved him to fit into my life and I’ve taken to him. He seems to understand me without me having to say a word.

When I floo into his home, usually around dinner time, he pours me a drink and then we find our way into the muggle littered streets of London.

Together, Theo and I watch the automobiles amble by. Muggles like engines that combust with little explosions and they’re loud and they make the road shake and my skin to vibrate and I like it.

Theo and I pick fights with whatever smarmy asshole who hits on anything with tits and two legs. I don’t want the women they flirt with. I just want to have a wife who will sit at he table with me and have a cup of tea. I want a wife who will come home at supper time and tells me what is going on in her head.

I want a wife who doesn’t fuck a Weasley.

By the time Granger finally gets home, the alcohol has turned my body into mush, my mind is aching and it’s all wearing off. It’s the reprimand for altering your mind again. My mind is nearly always altered, but with alcohol, it hurts my head and with the potions, it hurts my chest.

And so when Granger finally gets home, I am still bored and I grow frustrated with the room that is now where I paint, because it’s too white, but I’m afraid to put any color into it. Because that would be distracting.

And so I just pick at the paint and I wait.

“So you paint.” Granger says, her eyebrows knitting together.

We’re sitting at the dining table inside of our little home and there’s a plate of food in front of me and there’s a plate in front of her.

She’s made us lunch.

Something simple. Sandwiches with cucumbers and cheese and dill. There’s a salad with cranberries and spinach and something else, I don’t know. I don’t care.

Because, Granger asked me what I do all day.

So I tell her all of that.

I shrug and poke a fork at the green leaf on the plate. “I can’t work at the ministry and I like using my hands,” I shrug and avoid the way her eyes pierce into the walls of my mind. She’s not a Legilimen’s. I know this. But she might as well be something like it. Something worse.

She’s breaking down the walls just by staring at me.

Because, it’s oddly comforting and its unnatural and somehow, Granger’s eyes can peel back the layers of brick I’ve stacked and solidified.

I hate how much she sees with those big, dumb eyes and I hate that I can read her face, too.

She’s let some the cracks in her wall deepen and spread and soon, her bricks will fall because I think if I can touch her, then I can break her.

So, I tell her that I like to paint and that I look through her things.

I tell her about Theo and about breakfast with my parents. I tell her that I do laps around the property. I run and I run until my legs feel like they’re going to detach from my body.

What I don’t tell her is that I spend most of my day thinking about her. What I don't tell is her that I am tired of eating alone. What I don’t tell her, is that I sometimes play with her hair products just so that her scent can linger in my nose.

And I hate it. She’s like this parasite that’s dug itself into my life and it’s feeding off of me. But the weird thing is that I need this parasite, because it makes me something more than before. With this little parasite surviving off of my blood, I am more than nothing. I am something that’s giving a piece of myself and it’s taking and taking but it never gives me anything in return. It’s terrible and I wish she’d disappear. I wish I could wrap my hands around her neck and force her to fade away, as if we never existed.

What I don’t tell her, is that when she is gone, I spend most of my time wishing she was around.

...

The following Saturday, I wake up before Granger. I might not have even fallen asleep. Because, the potions aren’t working anymore. I’m always on edge. I’m always twitching. My mind wont shut up. It’s always chattering and I can never sit still anymore.

So, I paint. I paint this vision in my head that has been slowly building since Granger re-entered my life.

There’s the sun rising over a crowded city, but the buildings are mere specks on the horizon. Because there’s so much smog, so much bullshit in the air that they are barely visible. And the sun is setting over this dirty city and the rays of sun are blending with all of the crap and all of the impurities and all of me as it casts its warm glow over the world.

The blend of gold and brown creates this beautiful shade of topaz.

It reminds me of Granger and her eyes.

She finds me early that morning in the empty white room as I fill one of the walls with color.

“You’re up early.” She says it like I’m some kind of animal who is liable to bite her at any moment.

And I am.

All I do is think about biting her. All I do is think about how terrible it would be if I was to want her. How horrible it could be if I could just bite and suck at her throat and at her perfect tits.

She’s dressed in her stupid baggy sweater and her little blue shorts and as I look over at her, my hand holding a paintbrush at my side, I want to punish her. Because she's never around but she still manages to be everywhere.

With a sigh, I run a hand over my hair, shoving it out of my face before I turn to face her fully.

Her eyes are doing that thing again. As she leans against the doorjamb, her eyes are sweeping over my body. She’s looking at my naked chest, streaked in paint, and the way my pants hang loosely on my hips.

Her walls are weak right now.

“I couldn’t sleep.” I tell her. My eyelids feel heavy as I run my own eyes over her body, up her bare legs, over the way the sweater hangs over her breasts. she isn’t wearing a bra and despite how baggy the thing is, it doesn’t hid the peeked tips of her breasts.

We’re eating each other up with our eyes and the words we’ve exchanged mean nothing at all. And maybe if we just get this consummation out of the way, out of our system, we can go back to hating each other.

But, I’m not sure Granger even hates me. Because she hates my father, and I know, I know, that to be true because the hatred is palpable. When she sees my father meandering around the property, or they cross paths, her buoyant curls seem to come to life with all of the agitated magic that suddenly enteres her system. She turns into some sort of mass generator of energy and it’s all angry and it’s all bad. And it’s all aimed at father.

I need her to tell me what the fuck she is thinking. And I need all of her attention on me.

“What are you doing today?” I ask, tossing my paintbrush onto the floor before I move closer to her. I move, slowly, careful not to scare her off.

She takes a step into the room. She shrugs and pushes a lock of hair behind her ear. “I am going to go to brunch with Harry and Ron.”

That ancient thing inside of me stirs. It feels like an old friend and it’s slowly spreading from the center of my belly, into my chest and out to my limbs.

Granger’s eyes narrow in on me, because I’ve stopped moving. My feet are stuck to the floorboards, my eyes are dead, vacant as the beast takes over.

My teeth clench together as I finally lift my chin and sniff.

“You’re not going anywhere with Weasley.”

“Draco,” She sighs but I cut her off. with the flick of my wrist, the door slams shut and locks.

Granger jumps, startled, and looks to the door before she looks to me, her wide eyes full of fear. She turns to open the door, but it wont budge. She tries some wandless magic, but my hold on the door is firm. And I don’t really know what the fuck I am doing. All I know is that I’m breaking.

I am crumbling into something I don’t recognize and it’s unstoppable. I couldn’t stop this disaster from happening, even if I tried.

Trust me, I know.

“Let me out.” She demands as she turns to glower at me. “Draco, let me out.”

“Shut up.” I hiss, running a hand over my face. “You’re always saying my name. Stop saying my name.”

“Why?” She lifts her chin, defiantly, and it’s too much. Her stubborn chin is taunting me. Her defiance is irritating and it is addicting.

I close the gap between us and I wrap my hands around her throat. But I don’t choke her out, like I dream about. Instead, my fingers are gentle as I cradle her head.

“It does things to me. Why do you do it?”

Granger is trembling and all of her walls are crumbling as her eyes stare up at me with fear and...relief. Tears are quickly gathering and welling up in her eyes and her golden-brown topaz eyes sparkle.

But she says nothing. She just stares up at me, waiting for me to hurt her.

“You’re my wife.” I remind her. “Not Weasley’s.”

Her jaw tightens and she looks guilty and all the more defiant.

“You want him?” I ask her, tilting my head to track my eyes up her face, over her forehead and across her nose. This close up, I can make out all of the little faint freckles that line the bridge of her nose, the curves of her cheeks. There’s some on her forehead, near her hairline that are even fainter. Like those are the newest batch of freckles gifted to her by the sun.

Her voice is rough and quiet. “I don’t know, anymore.”

She’s telling me the truth. So I ask her something else.

“Do you want me?”

Something incredible happens. Grangers shoulders slump as her entire body gives in. Her eyes pinch shut and her lips press together because she is unable to keep her walls up around me. She’s just as helpless as I am.

“Granger,” I bend my knees and peer down into her face. “Do you want me?” If I sound incredulous, it’s because I am.

Because my wife wants me as much as I want her. And the point is, I’ve wanted her for ages. Lifetimes have spanned and in my mind, it's always been her. All I think about is her big, dumb eyes and her rose pink lips and gods, I want her.

I’ve kept this little nugget of gold in my mind, protected. It’s been so heavily guarded that I sometimes forget it’s even there. It’s this tiny little truth that has been so sinful, and such a betrayal to my father, that I've locked it away. It’s just been hiding there, collecting dust and now it’s been exposed and it’s been cleaned off and it’s so bright and shiny, I can on longer ignore it.

“Things are too complicated, Draco.”

There she goes, again.

“Granger,” I’m pushing her back, guiding her body with my hands on her throat and she lets me. She lets me walk my fingers up to her jaw. she lets me force her head back against the door with a thud. “Tell me the truth. Tell me you want me.”

She’s so fragile in my hands, I’m afraid I might break her. I hope that I do.

And I’m all wound up. All of that energy that begs to be let out of my body is slowly releasing itself into her and I can barely breathe. I’m panting and panting, gobbling up bits of oxygen and forcing it out through my mouth before it can even turn into carbon dioxide.

“Draco.” Her lips are trembling, and my hands are shaking and she needs to shut the fuck up, already. She has to stop saying my name like I’m hers.

I can’t wait for her confirmation, anymore. Because she keeps whimpering out my name, like its some sort of an explanation for some sort of terrible deed she has committed. She says it like its exposing the depths of her soul, unwillingly. Like I’m pulling it out of her, slowly and painfully, like bits of stubborn string.

She opens her mouth to say it again and I stop her.

She opens her mouth and I close my own over it. I taste the syllables of my name that are muffled by my lips and my tongue as I kiss her.

My name turns into a whimper and all of my anger turns into a groan and together, our sounds mix together as our mouths mold together.

There is so much heat between our bodies that it feels like a fire. This entire room could be on fire and I couldn’t stop myself from continuing to gobble her up.

Her hands are on my chest, the tips of her little fingers pressing into my skin. She’s desperately trying to hold on as we fall into whatever this is.

This is chaos and bliss all wrapped up into a kiss. Because I’m unstoppable. This is the classic paradox out in the open, exposed for the entire world to witness. What happens when an unstoppable force meets an immovable object? And just like the fox and the hound, the gods turn us into static constellations. Which in itself is a paradox because stars are never static. We're great forces of energy that are always shifting.

And we're creating all of this energy that is finally colliding.

And now, I am kissing her like it's the only thing I’ve been needing and I didn’t know. I have just stumbled upon it, and now I’m saved and doomed all at once.

My hands are firm on her jaw, the tips of my fingers digging into her cheeks as I press harder against her body.

I’m going to squeeze her between my body and the door and I’m going to force her into some kind of liquid that my body can absorb and then she will be all mine.

Only mine.

I pull my mouth away, gasping for air. “You’re my wife.” I growl and she responds by pressing her fingernails into the flesh on my chest. “You’re mine.”

“Draco.” She says it again, like a warning.

But I just take it as permission to proceed.

I kiss her again and again and again.

I kiss her until her body grows weak and my arms have to wrap around her waist. they have to hold her up and she’s wrapping her arms around my neck while the tips of her toes drag across the floor as I move her to the center of the room.

Because I need to kiss her forever. I need to pin her to the floor and never let her out of my sight. Because she belongs to me. She was forced to be my wife, forced to take me and I don’t understand how I got so lucky.

Laying her on the floor, I crawl over her and pin her down with my body. My knee is wedged between her thighs and my hands are on her hips as I kiss her again and again.

Again and again, I kiss her while my hands move under that stupidly baggy sweater of hers and I feel the warmth of bare skin at her stomach.

She shudders under my touch and I can tell she’s conflicted. Because she thinks we’re making a huge mistake but how can it be a mistake? She’s mine.

I am hers.

Fuck.

I am hers.

My hands are slowly, greedily, palming her flesh as they make their way up to her breasts.

When my fingers finally graze the swell of them and she arches her back and my eyes are practically rolling into the back of my head as I feel the soft texture, like velvet and they feel like something I’d like to snack on.

“Draco.” She whimpers into my mouth as my thumbs move over her nipples. I want to tease her, torture her. I want to make her pay.

Because no witch should feel this good. Especially not the mudblood I was programmed to hate.

But she owns me, now.

Her lips, her breasts, the warm space between her thighs own me. And I will be forced to obey them and their needs and wants.

And so I rip the sweater off of her, exposing her upper body and I can feel my face crumble. Because it isn’t fair.

It isn’t fair, how lovely she is. It isn’t fair for me to want her as badly as I do.

And the way she looks up at me, needy and desperate and full of confliction? That isn’t fair, either.

But she’s asking me, with her eyes, to take her. She’s asking me to put my mouth to her breast, to run my tongue over her nipples, to pinch them between my teeth as my hand slides up the leg of her shorts. As my fingers sweep taunting strokes against her wet cunt. They’re asking me to pull those stupid little shorts off and to strip off my stupid pants. They’re asking me to pin her down with my hands as my cock slides into her. So that we can sigh and groan with the fucking release and the pressure that are happening and building all at once. Because that is all we need.

Our bodies are crying out to touch and to take all of the tension between us and stuff it into our bodies until we’re wound up tighter and tighter.

Until we finally explode into the sky like stars that grow too hot, that accumulate too much pressure from all of the gases and chemicals that make up the entirety of our universe.

And when we finally explode, we break up into little debris of rock and matter so that a new world can form from all of our broken pieces. And isn’t that all we are? Just bits of energy that also makes up the rest of everything?

And so I do. I take all of my energy and I pour it into her as we fuck like two ancients gods that only know the power of pleasure and pain.

And when we finally fuck until we burn into a supernova that births a new beginning, Granger stares up at the ceiling like she couldn’t believe the inevitable finally happened.

And I stare at her like I might die if I don't somehow find a way to do it again and again. Like it's the thing I've been waiting for, in order to cure this terrible disease that has long ago been afflicted upon me.

Granger is the cure to the illness that has been my life.

[oliversrarebooks]

Febuwhump Day 1: Helpless

tw: forced drugging, restraints, medical whump, forced brain surgery, implied mind control, stun weapon

It was like hitting a brick wall.

One minute, Toshiro was slamming into henchman after henchman, taking them out at a speed faster than the human mind could comprehend. The next minute, his face was rapidly meeting the floor.

His ears were ringing, his vision blurring as his eyes threatened to close on him. His muscles were weak, and it was if someone had pulled the plug on the nerves connecting his brain to his body. The tile floor was cold against his cheek as he fell to the floor with an embarrassing thump, as gracefully as a sack of potatoes, and equally able to move.

Some kind of stun gun. Stunning... thing. Vibrations. His newly fogged mind tried to reason through the situation. He was in the middle of Dr. Moon's lair, and although he'd cut a wide swath through her armored goons and lab interns, he hadn't spotted the good doctor herself yet. 

Which meant that this was probably all a trap, and he had obligingly raced into it at top speed.

Fuck. Whatever that weapon was had rendered him helpless. Unless he could recover quickly, he'd be screwed.

He struggled to regain his bearings through the dizziness, managing to force his weakened arms to push him up off the floor, when the low, strong vibrations racked his body again and knocked his tenuous grasp on control far away.

"Well, now, I'd call that experiment a rousing success," said a familiar and infuriatingly smug voice. 

Toshiro struggled to focus on the clean white sneakers that stepped in front of his face. Dr. Moon crouched down in front of him, grabbing his chin and directing his blurred gaze into hers. 

"Did you enjoy it as well?"

"Fffff..." Toshiro tried to get his mouth to cooperate enough to at least tell her to fuck off.

"Fantastic? Fabulous? Is that what you're trying to say? I think that's what you're trying to say," she said, nonchalantly snapping thick metal restraints on Toshiro's wrists. 

Oh, this situation was getting better and better, wasn't it? He could probably use his supersonic vibration to break these cuffs, but it would take some time, and that was at full power, which he most certainly was not. He was still stunned enough that he felt like he might pass out at any moment.

"Don't worry, you're in good hands now, my dear little hero," she said, running a hand through his hair. "Katie, can you get my guest his little party favor?"

A young woman in a lab coat looked confused by the request. "Party favor...?"

Dr. Moon sighed. "The IV. I'm talking about the IV I had you prepare."

"Oh, yes!" she said. "Right away, doctor."

"And let's make him more comfortable! Can two of you get him onto the surgical table?"

"Yes, doctor."

IV drugs? Surgical table? Toshiro's blood ran cold. What the hell was she planning? Her experiments had roughed him up many a time, but she'd never done anything like this. 

"Whaaaa..." he slurred pathetically, flopping like a dead fish as a couple of henchmen lifted him onto a padded table. He was still too numb and dazed to fight, and his window of escape seemed to rapidly be coming to a close. As a couple of scrawny scientists effortlessly held him down on the table -- humiliating enough that his embarrassment fought with his growing fear -- Katie returned with a large bag of translucent blue liquid on an IV pole.

"Oh, you're going to just love this, Toshiro," Dr. Moon said, brandishing the IV line's needle with theatrical flair. "You never get enough breaks, do you? I'm about to give you a nice long one."

Toshiro couldn't help his composure breaking slightly. It was one thing to be injured while fighting, or even to be captured and tortured. It was another thing entirely to be rendered unconscious, completely defenseless against whatever the mad scientist wanted to do with him.

"No need to look so upset. This won't hurt at all. You're just going to get very, very sleepy. You'll be just a bit drowsy and slow for the next, oh, let's say the next while. I wouldn't operate any heavy machinery."

She was bringing that IV needle closer to his elbow. He summoned all of his strength to try and pull away, knowing that as soon as he had that drug pumping into his body, it'd all be over. Unfortunately, his muscles were still largely unresponsive from the double stun just a few minutes ago.

Damn it, he had to -- !

The doctor effortlessly got the IV into his vein with a practiced hand, taping it down securely. He looked on in horror as the light blue liquid snaked down the tube and into his arm, willing the drug to somehow stop before it reached him. His arm felt cold and heavy at the injection site as the sedative began to flow freely into his system.

"That should kick in long before you get your bearings from my wonderful stun weapon," she said, stroking his cheek and looking down at him with malicious glee. "And I want to drink every last drop of your fear as you go under."

Toshiro glared as best as he could, testing his powers. Maybe if he could get his supersonic speed working, he could dislodge the IV from his elbow before he absorbed too much of the drug. His fast metabolism meant it took a lot to put him down, anyway.

He was already so groggy from being stunned, and so focused on forcing his uncooperative body to move, that he didn't even notice the buzzing in the back of his skull until it was too late. In seconds, the buzzing transformed into a deep drowsiness, muffling his thoughts like a blanket of fresh-fallen snow, draining him of energy, making his eyelids droop.

"And there it is!" said Dr. Moon with a cackle. "Isn't that the most delicious feeling of helplessness? You look so tired already. Don't fight it, now. Just let my beautiful drugs sing you to sleep. A nice little lullaby..."

Toshiro's efforts to try to shake the IV off had turned into a desperate struggle against the urge to give in and go to sleep. He was so exhausted, and he could feel his mind zoning in and out, his eyelids threatening to close. But he couldn't give in. 

"Don't worry, you'll be sedated, but not entirely unconscious. We can't have you fully under for brain surgery, you know."

The shock of adrenaline forced his eyes back open. Fuck. Anything but that.

"No need to panic, it's not a lobotomy. We don't use ugly words like that here. And my methods are far more precise," she said, as Toshiro's heart raced. "I'm just going to... slow you down. Make you more malleable. Easily influenced, let's say. And at only a small cost to your intelligence."

His half-asleep mind woke up enough to panic. Suddenly, he could move. He felt strength in his arm again, enough strength to try and shake free of the IV line that would be the end of him.

He had to get it out at any cost. If he didn't, when he next woke up, he might be some stupefied henchman to his archnemesis, his faculties cut out and left on the floor of her lair. A fate far worse than death -- at least in death, he'd be remembered as a hero. Not remembered as a drooling, dull-witted minion who used to be a hero, cut down by one of his former comrades.

No, he couldn't allow that.

His powers responded, and he willed his super speed to vibrate his arm hard enough to loosen the tape, to dislodge the needle. As soon as he got rid of the threat of the drug, he could break free of the bonds and escape.

"Oh, dear," said Dr. Moon. "Katie, be a dear and take the fight out of our guest again."

Toshiro's eyes widened just before he felt the stun weapon rumble through his body. His hold over his power slipped, his limbs sinking back onto the table. Disoriented and unable to move, the sedative quickly took hold of him once again.

"There, there." The doctor replaced the tape on the IV line. "Just relax, go to sleep, and it will all be over soon. Poor, helpless hero."

He groaned weakly, Dr. Moon's evil grin fading from sight as his vision tunneled.

"He's almost out. Finish preparation in the operating room," she said over her shoulder, before turning back to him. She leaned in close and whispered in his ear, running a hand through his hair. "If all goes well, you won't be waking up as yourself ever again," she cooed. "You're going to go to sleep, and I'm going to win."

Her voice sounded muffled, from far away, and his tongue was too thick and clumsy to respond back.

"Go to sleep. Just go to sleep..."

----

I've been struggling a bit with writing and the Febuwhump prompts looked delicious, so I decided to do a few of them!

New Bookseller chapter soon, promise.

[welcometothejianghu]

Welcome to another round of W2 Tells You What You Should See, where W2 (me) tries to sell you (you) on something you should be watching. Today's choice: 民国奇探/My Roommate is a Detective.

My Roommate is a Detective is a 2020 drama about the Jazz Age shenanigans of a terrible OT3: a useless noodle boy, a spoiled journalist girl, and a handsome thug-turned-cop, who together solve Agatha Christie mysteries in 1920s Shanghai.

I mean, seriously, have you ever wondered what Hercule Poirot would be like if he were a 6'2" Chinese rubber man? If he had a long-suffering sugar daddy from the wrong side of the tracks and a spunky sugar mommy who owned their shared apartment? The answer is, it would be a laugh-out-loud-funny series about a ridiculous and charming assortment of weirdos solving only slightly believable murder mysteries in charming period clothing.

This is another one of those shows where I'm kind of shocked at how not well-known it is, except I'm not, because I can see exactly the problems that keep fandom from descending on it like horny little vultures. Nonetheless, I think it's a good time that more people would enjoy if they gave it the chance. Here's five reasons why you should:

1. Equal parts smart as heck and dumb as butts

On the one hand, especially given its tone and tenor, this show has many surprisingly clever turns and thoughtful moments, carried along by some talented actors. On the other hand, [.gif of a guinea pig in a rollerskate being pushed merrily down a hallway]

This show is not a complicated intellectual exercise. It's an action comedy about a goofy sleuth, a rich-girl reporter, and the cop who should be the straight man in this trio, except he's as much of a goober as the other two are. If the promotional tableaus are giving you real "cover of a Clue box" vibes, you've understood the kind of pastiche it's pulling off.

The mysteries are preposterous. They're all the kind of thing that exemplify the Doyle line about how, when you've eliminated the impossible, whatever's left has got to be the answer, no matter how ding-dang improbable it may be. You know the type: tons of overly elaborate setups, unbelievably perfect timing, coincidental long-lost relatives, people hallucinating right and left. They're also very short -- most full cases take only 2-3 episodes to introduce, investigate, and resolve, even when interspersed with the larger goings-on in these weirdos' lives. The DramaWiki page for the show lists 23 separate arcs over 36 episodes, so you do the math.

And yet, it's way more thoughtful and clever than its doofy little setup would indicate. Its attention to detail surprised me on more than one occasion. Add to that a bunch of solid performances from an ensemble of real characters, and what you get is definitely more substantive than a junk-food waste of time. You can't turn your brain off while watching it, but you sure can turn it down, and that's great.

It also doesn't hurt that everyone is super attractive and wearing great outfits. The whole show's worth it for the wardrobes.

2. THE GIRL

Fuck the haters, fuck everyone, I am going to climb right up on my little soapbox and tell you all why Bai Youning is awesome.

She is insane. She's a troll. She's a clever little monster. Every other character's response to her is, oh my god, you are literally the worst. And she is! She has been spoiled beyond belief by her incredibly rich Crime Dad, and she has learned to leverage her uwu just a widdle girl status to get her whatever the hell she wants. She simply cannot hear it when someone says the word "no." She will look her future sister-in-law in the eye and point a loaded gun at her own head without blinking. Every ball she has is made of brass.

She's hardly perfect. During the course of the show, there are some times where her entitlement runs face-first into the brick wall of reality. She's not nearly as good at her chosen career path as she's been told (mostly by the people who get paid to tell her she's good). She's rarely prepared to deal with the consequences of her actions, especially when she can't just throw money at the problem.

So she learns, and grows, and changes. She's always going to be a stubborn bitch, but she can become a stubborn bitch with a more accurate conception of her relationship to the world around her.

She's actually a really good romantic foil for Lu Yao, who is equally stubborn and spoiled and obnoxious as hell. It is a pure brat4brat relationship, where each one thrives on comically enraging the other. What this means, though, is that when they actually start showing one another some vulnerability, it's really sweet.

Now: I'm pretty sure that you could not have made a female character in her position that everyone did not hate, no matter how cool you made her, because that is the fate of all girls who theoretically keep the two boys from kissing. (More on that next point.) If she were less outgoing and friendly, she would've been hated for being too cold. If she were less headstrong, she would've been hated for being a pushover. If she weren't as into the boy, she would've been hated for being frigid. I know the "god forbid a woman do anything" meme is a joke, but ... man, god forbid this girl do anything. She gets a level of hate entirely disproportionate to what she's actually like. As I said with Eom Dada, it's not always sexism, but sometimes, yeah, it's sexism.

(Real talk: Her character is also fighting both how she's definitely not written as well as the boys are and how the plot sometimes needs her to be artificially stupid and jealous for Straightness Drama Reasons, so that's a legit problem on a structural level. Also, she's dubbed by someone else and the boys aren't, which gives her voice an annoying not-quite-there quality that's hard to ignore. The deck is stacked against her real hard even before she steps onscreen.)

So here's my advice: Go into this show wanting to like her. Embrace her terribleness as a positive, intentional quality. Don't be mad at her for straightening up an endgame that was never going to be gay, even without her. Welcome her contributions to the chaos. Realize that she is exactly as entertainingly irritating as her boys are.

Truly, this is a story of three terrible people in love. They're all just awful, and you wouldn't want to be in a room with any of them for longer than you had to. Left to right up there, Bai Youning is spoiled and self-absorbed, Lu Yao is arrogant and lazy, and Qiao Chusheng is suuuuuch a fucking cop. If you're into the kind of dynamic that can only be described OT3: You All Deserve One Another, then this one's perfect for you.

3. Do you really miss '00s queerbaiting?

Like, really? Are you just super-nostalgic for being able to see the showrunners go, ha ha, girls, we know you're watching and we know you want these cute boys to kiss, which they never will -- but what if we pretended for just this one scene??? Do you just carnally ache for that with every fiber of your being?

Yep.

Now, why am I calling the occasional really gay moments between these two gentlemen "queerbaiting" and not "bromance"? Because these moments are a) obviously intentional, b) completely sporadic, and c) never spoken of again.

For example: There's a scene (which you can see a gifset of here) where the two of them are at a restaurant frequented by the cop, who brings a lot of ladies there on dates. When the waiter points this out, useless noodle boy says, I'm his date. The waiter looks mildly surprised by this, the cop says not to listen to his bullshit, and that's the end of it. The scene moves on. There is no further discussion of this comment. It does not affect their relationship.

That's the essence of queerbaiting: that little on-purpose nod to the homoerotic tension between the two, in a way that isn't a joke but also isn't not a joke, and either way is never going to happen. (In fact, the show is going to go out of its way to make sure that ship gets sunk, so, uh, get your fanfiction lifeboats ready for that.)

A true queerbaiting move is something that should make a difference in a relationship, but doesn't. It should make a difference that our cop is so comfortable in the noodle boy's personal space that he invades it at will. It doesn't. It should make a difference that noodle boy keeps getting real weird every time the cop has a date with a girl. It doesn't. Those are some real romantic moves the two of them keep pulling, and then nothing comes of them.

I had this show sold to me as being incredibly shippy, to the point of being even more so than its censored-BL contemporaries. And ... well, it is and it isn't. It has textually gayer individual moments, but it is much less pervasively gay. It's clear from the start that it's going to throw all its actual relationship points into its canon het romance. When it comes to these boys, the show is toying with you. It knows you want to see those boys smooch, just as much as it knows (and it knows you know) they're never gonna.

How you feel about this is entirely up to you -- and indeed, it may be a dealbreaker on the whole drama for you. If you are inclined to pitch a fit when your ship does not become canon, you'll be happier somewhere else. If, however, you see this as a delightful opportunity to do whatever the hell you want with the situation as it is presented, all the while enjoying little moments of startlingly blatant homoeroticism between two handsome dudes, well, here you are!

(I mean, if you want my take on it, what needs to happen is that the cop and the girl need to fuck while the useless noodle boy watches with asexual bisexual interest, and then they all need to snuggle with the noodle boy in the middle so they can both annoy him appropriately, but your mileage may vary.)

4. The multicultural extravaganza!

1920s Shanghai had a lot going on in terms of cultures and languages, and this show actually does a fair job of representing that.

By now, I've seen a number of shows set during this era, and they all at least acknowledge the international nature of the city -- usually by mentioning the French Concession and having a handful of evil Japanese characters. However, this is the first time I've seen a show go to such lengths to actually show so many non-Chinese characters onscreen, even to the point of making one a recurring character supporting the main squad.

Salim is the best. Whatever he is being paid, it's not enough. He's Qiao Chusheng's right-hand man, which means he is also the dude who most often has to put up the main trio's bullshit. (The actor himself is also a dude with a pretty cool backstory, which is another great layer.) He's sharp, he's loyal, he's patient, and he looks great with his shirt off. He's got it all!

Other non-Chinese characters include a white Jewish art collector (I'd issue a warning for period-typical antisemitism, except … honestly, it's mostly just confused), a sadistic priest who maybe is supposed to be Italian, a completely different priest who [last episode spoiler], and three whole sinister white dudes behind it all.

It's not just the world coming to China, though! A large number of the Chinese characters are said to have spent significant time outside of China, whether for business or for schooling. Near the end, when some characters are discussing moving away from Shanghai, they consider a number of foreign cities as potential destinations.

Here's a delightful detail: When Lu Yao and his sister speak English, they're dubbed by actors with posh British accents who sound like native (or near-native) English-speakers. This makes perfect sense, because both of the siblings did a lot of their schooling in the UK. When Bai Youning speaks English, she's dubbed by someone who speaks English very well but also has a noticeable Chinese accent, which makes perfect sense for her character's background. And Qiao Chusheng never speaks English at all, because he's a street tough who has no reason to know more than three words.

...This is also kind of weird to say about something literally made in China, but go with me on it: Everything's kind of got that Art Deco Orientalist vibe to it. It looks like China's idea of what Britain's idea of China during that period would have looked like. The result comes across less like what 1920s Shanghai would actually have looked like, and more what an ad for 1920s Shanghai would have looked like. It's a fascinating aesthetic, and more so for how it's mostly pretty subtle. The show isn't some visual extravaganza, but it's always very nice to look at, and I appreciate that in a show.

5. A wonderful horrible protagonist

A lot of mystery-themed prestige television involves an asshole genius detective who gets away with being a dick to everyone because he's sooooo smart, while all his long-suffering friends and colleagues spend a lot of time doing damage control for him because, sigh, he's an asshole but we need him, genius excuses all dickhead behavior, we'll always make exceptions for him because he's just ever so special. (Watch histrionic sage hbomberguy's video on Sherlock if you're unfamiliar with the trope.)

Lu Yao is an asshole genius detective, but one who winds up spending most of his time being an asshole to a) people who deserve it, or b) his horrible friends who will be assholes right back at him. When he is awful to the people who don't deserve it, the show smacks him pretty hard on the nose for it and makes him apologize.

This is a show where you'll figure out pretty quckly if you'll love it or hate it, because if you love Lu Yao, you'll love it, and vice versa. He carries most of the show himself, with his goofy charm and his incredibly bendy slenderman body and his ability to make the one competent person he knows both protect him and give him money.

Like so.

For my own part, I find him intensely charming, and I think a lot of this has to do with Hu Yitian's ability to play him as an affectionately bullyable weenie who needs to get shoved in a locker for his own good. He's the worst, and it's comically endearing instead of offputting because at the end of the day, he really does have a good heart. He's just also lazy as heck and disinclined to do anything that he does not want to be doing, and really, aren't we all?

As I alluded to in point 3, he comes across as real asexual. He's just not that interested in sex, and he is in fact pretty uncomfortable in situations where he finds himself the subject of someone else's sexual desires. He's perfectly capable of romantic feelings! I mean, not only does he get Bai Youning as a love interest, we actually meet one of his ex-girlfriends. He's just not partciularly horny about them -- which is even more noticeable as a sharp contrast to how extremely horny Qiao Chusheng is for just about everyone, but this exasperating little dork in particular.

(Like seriously, 90% of the time, Chusheng is about to explode with sexual frustration at Lu Yao's skinny oblivious ass.)

This isn't to say you couldn't get Lu Yao into bed, because you absolutely could, and he'd probably have a good time. You'd just have to remove all distractions from the room, lest his ADHD ass wind up running off to solve a crime mid-coitus.

Twiggy little nightmare man. Garbage-animal boy. Love him.

sidebar: A word about the ending

I'm going to be vague and talk about general vibes instead of specific events, but you should still skip this section if you want to remain completely unspoiled. Jump to the picture of Chusheng holding the sledgehammer.

Okay, so, a lot of people do not like the ending, and I'm including myself in that number. I honestly don't know if they got rushed and had to wrap everything pretty last-minute, or if they thought they might get a second season out of it and were leaving things open-ended accordingly. Either way, it's incredibly unsatisfying.

I think there's a clue that the show didn't actually want to end this way, and it's not actually in the text of the show itself. Every episode, between the last scene and the start of the credits, you get to see a couple still frames from the episode (usually some of the queerbaity ones). After the very final shot of the series, you get two images: the boys hugging goodbye, and Chusheng's upset face. That's not a resolution! That is at best a "to be continued..." ending!

But no, that's it. That's all, folks.

It's not quite an ending so bad it ruins the rest of the show, mostly because it doesn't feel finished, so it's less like you're watching a car being deliberately driven into a wall because someone thought that was the best route to take, and more like you're watching someone leave a car on the railroad tracks because they figured they'd have time to move it later.

As far as I know, there has been no noise made about a second season. These 36 episodes are the entirety of the narrative. It had the distinct misfortune to start airing in March 2020, which wasn't exactly prime time for planning sequels, and that seems to have been that. (There is a 2022 show called Checkmate that stars the two main guys in extremely similar roles, also adapting Agatha Christie stories, but it's apparently pretty meh? Somebody else who's actually seen it, go ahead and weigh in here.)

I'll say that if you turn off the episode right after Lu Yao gets out the handcuffs, you'll save yourself the worst of it the awkward and unsatisfying moments (though I'm impressed at your willpower to stop watching something five minutes from the end). That's not all of it, though. Structurally, there are several situations rushed to a resolution and loose threads left flapping untied in the breeze. I guess stopping before the last five minutes simply saves you the hope that it'll pull a good ending out of the fire, because it won't.

And let's be real: The more you hate Bai Youning and her romance with Lu Yao, the more you'll hate the ending. (Not that liking those elements will necessarily make you like the ending, of course, because I'm a fan of hers and I still think the ending is butts.) The ending is already like a pair of uncomfortable shoes; if the het romance especially makes you grind your teeth, the ending becomes a pair of uncomfortable shoes that also have a rock in them. A lot of the comments online indicate plenty of people dropped the show when they learned the het romance would be endgame. It's a pretty common dealbreaker.

Oh well. Bring on the fanfic, I say! Those of us who are used to taking a sledgehammer to canon are unafraid.

Smash it, baby.

Still want to see some of these mysteries?

Both iQiyi and Viki have the answer to your sleuthing!

It's not a perfect show -- as evidenced by my digression about the ending -- but it's a lot of fun. If you can handle the occasional foible and some eyebrow-raising moments, you're in for a good time with some attractive people that occasionally tastes very gay.

Every roommate crazy 'bout a sharp-dressed man

[befuddled-calico-whump]

Strike a Deal

cw: manipulation, implied torture, violence, heavily implied noncon, adult language

Wildefire Masterlist (note: this drabble is non-canon as of right now)

•°•°•

After all she'd done to avoid Corp, entering one of their shiniest buildings just felt wrong to Sarah. If she wasn't here to 'work out an agreement’—which she hoped was CEO-speak for ‘we surrender’—she'd sooner brick the windows than set one foot on the polished linoleum.

Annie Rivera, head of Good Knight, was waiting when she arrived on the hundredth floor.

“Spyglass.” She offered a smile warm enough to blow a grandma out of the water, and Sarah had to remind herself that however friendly she seemed, Annie committed all the same atrocities as Uriah. Maybe more. She'd certainly heard this lady was ambitious, and that was CEO-speak for ‘out for blood.’

“I wasn't sure you'd come.”

It had taken a lot of discussion with the others and a lot more internal debating before she'd even considered it. She'd sat on the invitation for days before agreeing to meet. Lately, every little decision set her nerves in a jumble, anxiety firing on full blast, insisting she'd certainly make the wrong choice. Her brain had been working against her for weeks, ever since Lex—

She had to keep from physically recoiling at the thought of him. She was sure he was still alive, everyone was, but no matter how hard they searched, they couldn't find a trace.

Her fault. 

“Wouldn't miss it for the world,” she said.

“We've heard so much about you. Really making ripples out there, huh?” Annie strolled across the room, taking her place behind a huge wooden desk, and gestured to the leather seat across from her. Begrudgingly, Sarah took it.

“You care about people like you. You want to make things better. I think that's admirable.”

Sarah crossed her arms. “Sure. But I have a feeling you didn't call me here to join the cause.”

Annie gave a sympathetic smile, leaning forward on the desk. “Unfortunately, you are correct. I'm all for empowering the Empowered, of course, but you must understand the… safety issues such a movement poses.”

“So cut the niceties and tell me why I'm here.” She'd already known Annie wouldn't help them, but if she was pretending to be empathetic, that was a good sign, right? It meant she wanted Sarah's cooperation with something. 

“Ah. I've called you here to offer you a contract with Good Knight.”

Sarah frowned. “You gotta be shitting me.”

The easy, friendly smile didn't stray from Annie's face. “Not at all. I want you and your compatriots working for me. You'll be granted full protection and full immunity, and every one of you will have privileged positions within the company.”

“Really?” Sarah leaned forward. “And what's the catch?”

“There is no catch,” Annie said. “Of course, if you're Corp assets, continuing your investigation and public campaign would be a conflict of interest, but that's just common sense, isn't it?”

That was about what Sarah’d expected, and it made her feel strangely giddy. Maybe they couldn't stand against Corp directly, but whatever they'd been doing, it was working. Corp was scared enough to try and bribe them into silence. Even if it wasn't the surrender pipe dream she'd come in with, this new knowledge was enough to make the visit worth it.

She returned Annie's smile. “Well, thanks for having me. I had a great time. And I hope I never see you again.” She pushed away from the desk and stood. If there were any traps or underhand moves planned, now was certainly the time they'd be sprung, but she'd be ready. She turned up her hearing, listening for footsteps or motion in the walls. All she heard was the buzz of the lights and a slight rustling behind her.

“Maybe you'd like to hear the rest of my offer before you go.”

Sarah turned around, half expecting the woman to have a gun on her, but she hadn't heard anything. It had just been something light, like a sheet of cardstock or a…

A photograph. Annie had laid a photograph on the desk. It was dark, with a single figure in its center, staring at the camera with hollow eyes.

Lex.

Her stomach dropped, and she stumbled forwards, catching herself on the desk, gripping its edge for support. He was alive, Lex was alive, but the joy she felt was undercut by how awful he looked.

Lex’s cybernetics were gone. His head has been shaved, and she could see dozens of injuries scattered across his bare torso. He looked drained; like whoever’d had him for these last weeks had siphoned away all his energy, all his… him. He'd lost so much weight she couldn't say if they'd fed him at all, and his complexion was ashen and lifeless.

But the worst part was his eyes. That empty, defeated look. The wildflower purple seemed to have been drained away with the rest of him, faded to a dull bruised color.

“I found him deep in the bowels of the Tower. Nasty place.”

The Tower. He'd already been through so much bullshit there and Corp had just thrown him back inside.

“I could show you worse if you're still not convinced,” Annie said, pulling another photo from a desk drawer.

“Don't—” Sarah started as she laid it down, but this one wasn't nearly as brutal. It was Lex, curled up on a bed in a sterile-looking cell. There was a blanket draped over him. He looked almost peaceful.

“What is..?”

“I fished him out of hell for you,” Annie said. “Whether his treatment gets better or worse from here is up to you.”

Sarah fell back into the chair, trying to get her thoughts to fall in line and shut up so she could act rationally. It was impossible. They wouldn't stop screaming his name.

“How…” She clasped her hands in her lap. “How do I know you actually have him? That… that this isn't some trick?”

“Thought you might say that.” Annie withdrew a tablet, hitting a button before sliding it over. As soon as Sarah's eyes landed on the screen, she froze, her hand flying to her mouth. It was… it was Lex. Lex with the shit beat out of him, held up only by a hand on his head, angling a bruised and swollen face towards the camera. His breathing was shallow and uneven, his eyes unfocused. The timestamp in the corner was for October 5th. Two days ago.

She'd sat on the invitation for days. If she hadn't been indecisive, if she'd acted sooner…

Onscreen, the guy holding Lex  gave him a shake.

“Hey. Camera's rolling. Talk to her.”

He blinked. “Sa…Spyglass.”

Ice seemed to encase her lungs.

“Don't listen to them. D-don’t do what they want.” He took a shaky breath, his throat bobbing as he swallowed. “I… keep fighting. You have to keep fighting. I…” He blinked furiously, sending a tear rolling down his bruised cheek. “I love you.”

“Okay, that's enough.”

Whoever was holding him shoved him away roughly, and Sarah's stomach twisted as he hit the ground. The camera followed him down, kept rolling as the other man stomped after him, cut to black just as he pulled back his foot for a kick.

“Fuck you,” she whispered as Annie pulled the tablet back across the table.

“Have I convinced you yet?” the other woman asked in a casual tone, not even meeting Sarah's eyes as she fiddled with the tablet.

“Fuck you!”

“You didn't answer my question.”

Sarah clenched her fists, pushing her knuckles into her thighs with enough force it would probably leave a bruise.

I love you.

Lex… She couldn't walk away from him, not now. She never should've left him. She should've told Akeela to run and stayed with him to fight, maybe then…

Maybe then you'd both be in there. Listening to each other scream.

“Let him go.”

“That's not the deal.”

Her nails dug into her palms. “And how do I know you're being honest? How do I know you haven't already killed him?”

Annie cracked a smile at that. “Guess you don't, do you? But do you really want to make that wager?”

“You said you fished him out of hell.”

“Never said I put him anywhere better.”

She pushed the tablet forwards once more. On the frozen screen, Lex was bent over the same sterile bed from the photograph, a person hunched over him, a few others flanking them. At first, it looked like he was just being pinned down. For a frisking or… or something. But then Annie hit play, and the figure above him began to move. 

It took all of a second for Sarah to snatch the tablet and hurl it at the wall. It bounced off, looking relatively unharmed as it hit the ground.

“That was uncalled for.”

“I'll kill you.”

Annie raised an eyebrow. “And what happens to poor Alexei if I'm not around to order them to stop?”

“Stop?” Her lungs were tight.

“That last one…” She extended a neatly trimmed fingernail towards the tablet. “It's a live feed.”

Fuck. Sarah was on her feet, made it halfway to the tablet before stopping cold. She wrapped her arms around herself, squeezing.

“If I agree to your terms… you'll call them off?”

“Immediately.”

���And if I don't?”

Annie shrugged. “Guess they'll stop when the body goes cold.”

Sarah's head dropped. All the triumph and excitement she'd felt just moments ago was gone. They could never win, could they? Corp kept finding a way, kept proving there was no low they wouldn't stoop to in order to keep the status quo.

“I accept. Now stop them. Please.”

Annie casually reached for the phone on her desk, punched in a number. “That's enough on Cinder. We've reached an understanding.”

Sarah scrambled for the tablet, falling to her knees and flipping it face-up, needing to be sure. Thankfully, the others in the cell were backing away, leaving Lex in place, motionless.

“Let me see him,” she murmured. Even just for a moment. He had to know he wasn't alone. She'd get him out, she had to.

“That wasn't part of the deal,” Annie said coolly. “But once you get the rest of your rogues in here, I'll consider it.”

Akeela and Hugo and Rosie… she'd promised she'd keep them safe, and she'd practically delivered them into the clutches of another Corporate power. But what choice did she have when Annie had Lex by the throat?

“You made the right decision,Spyglass.” Annie was beside her. Slender fingers gripped the edge of the tablet, pulling it out of Sarah’s grasp. Lex hadn’t moved; the image of him slumped over the bed—exhausted, hurt, alone—was burned into the back of her eyelids, lingering long after Annie turned off the device. It couldn't be the last image she had of him. She'd do anything to keep this from being the last time she'd see him.

“We'll take good care of you.”

•°•°•

@whumpacabra @enteredin2eternity @kixngiggles @whumpsday @kiichu @whump-for-all-and-all-for-whump @shywhumpauthor

@distinctlywhumpthing , @bloodinkandashes , @fleur-alise , @whumpy-daydreams , @whumpwillow

, @honeycollectswhump ,

[xoxo-sarah]

Can you do a fic where reader has a disorganized attachment style in relationships and robin is confused why reader is always acting weird and like reader says “don’t go away but don’t get to close please”

Disorganized Attachment

↝a/n: I didn't even know what that was, so I went to Google. Sorry if I wrote it wrong, I really tried. Also sorry I wrote this more of a head cannon(?), it was rushed and I didn't know how to write a full one-shot. If you enjoy this, I can try on the one-shot...maybe. feedback is appreciated. Call me out if I wrote this wrong!

↝pairing: Robin Buckley x fem!reader

↝ warning: disorganized attachment relationship(?), angst, negative thoughts, confused Robin, idk

↝⎙ 6.21.23

Robin wasn't really sure what your relationship was... honestly. It had just happened one day.

You two met, went to see a movie, continued meeting up, kissed for the first time. And it seemed like the relationship started there. There wasn't any actual 'hey, will you be my girlfriend?' or anything. But It's not like she minded. She adored you from the minute you met.

But as the days grew, she started noticing the little things you do. Like, how you would just look at her with such adoration, and then the next second, as if someone whispered something bad about her in your head, you looked at her with uncertainty, distancing yourself.

She had asked you about it early on, but you brushed it off.

Robin also took notice of your anxiety and how you deal with it. Out in public, she could see how it affected you, noticing how you would constantly look at her to make sure she was around, but never holding onto her to make sure she never left your side.

When you two got further into the relationship, it was like whiplash for her.

When going to sleep, she wasn't sure what to do. Touch wasn't your thing, but it was hers. She respected you though. She knew you wanted her close, just not too close. What she didn't know was that you wanted her to be so close but the thought of her leaving and never being there for you ever again clouded your mind every second. It was scary to love someone and have the daunting thought that they'll leave in your head constantly. But you were not going to tell her that, absolutely not. Openly discussing your feelings and fears was like willing them into existence.

So you kept these fears to yourself.

A little over half a year into the relationship, Robin had had enough.

"Look, I get it. I get you don't want to open up, but I need you to. For our relationship. I can't keep dating a brick wall." And just like she knew you would, you brushed it off. On the outside, it looked like you didn't care. But you did. Maybe a little too much..

The house was silent, just Robin staring at you as you looked down, keeping your eyes on the floor. "Please talk to me." You hated how her voice was pleading. It wasn't fair to her.

So you opened up, despite your brain telling you to stop.

As cliche as it sounds, your brain was keeping you protected, while also being the one to make up these terrible thoughts, while your heart ached for her. For her touch.

Robin wiped at your tears anytime they rolled down your soft cheeks; expressing your feelings and emotions was difficult. Especially when you avoid it for so long. It starts eating at you.

But Robin would be there.

Every negative thought, she'd be there to shoo it away, replacing it with compliment after compliment.

Going out, she'd stay close, maybe having a hand on the bottom of your back, or hooking her pinky with yours.

Bed time calls for her being close, but not too close. You two would lay facing each other, taking.in every imperfect perfection.

She saw the love you had for her in your eyes and in your actions. She didn't need you to constantly be cuddling or telling her how much you loved her to feel the love.

It would take a little while for her to have you gain control over your feelings and communication. But you get there eventually, or however close you need to get. She'd push you out of your comfort bubble, only because she knew you could deal with it.

•2021-2024 by xoxo-sarah on Tumblr•

•My work is not to be translated, copied, modified, and/or reposted on any other site without my permission. [!I don't give permission!]

[plumsfromyouricebox]

lolol i did it

mike wheeler x max mayfield - 1.2k words

rating: T

summary: in which Max tries to break up with Mike and he’s having none of it.

***

East Hallway Alcove, Hawkins High School, Hawkins, Indiana

“…so, yeah,” Max finished, trying to keep her voice steady as she stared down at her shoes, toes dragging across aged beige linoleum. “Six months was a good run, but I think we’re better off as just friends.”

Her chest felt tight. Getting over him was going to hurt like a bitch, but it was better in the long run. She didn’t fit into his perfect, cookie-cutter life. It hadn’t worked with Lucas, so she wasn’t sure why she’d let herself think it was going to be any different with Mike. He would have realized it himself sooner or later.

There was a heavy silence. She held her breath as she prepared herself for his reaction; for anger or resigned acceptance or even tears.

What she was not prepared for, however, was the matter-of-fact, almost flippant way in which he said, “No.”

“No?” She raised her head sharply. He had a look on his face of mild disappointment as if she’d just told him she didn’t believe in evolution.

Mike shook his head. “We’re not breaking up.”

“What? It–it’s not a two-way street, Wheel–”

“I know what you’re doing, Max. This is all because dinner with my parents was less than stellar and my mom made that asshole comment about the trailer park so now you’re doing your whole self-sabotaging thing and pushing me away,” he said dismissively.

“Well, I’m not letting you.” He shrugged. “So, yeah, breakup declined.”

Max leapt to her feet from the bench they were sitting on, ignoring the fact that he’d just verbalized exactly what she was feeling.

Who the hell did he think he was? He wasn’t allowed to just brush her off like that.

“That’s not– You can’t–”

Mike stood as well, using his height to loom over her. “Look me in the eye and tell me you don’t want this anymore.”

Her hands clenched into fists as she forced herself to meet his gaze. “I don’t.”

Something in her expression must have given her away because he simply tilted his head to the side, brow furrowed. “Maxine. You’re being ridiculous.”

Max bristled at the patronizing use of her full name. “I’m being ridiculous? You’re the one trying to refuse a breakup like it’s a letter of resignation!”

“Because this isn’t what you want.”

“Oh, you think it’s so unbelievable that I don’t want to be your girlfriend anymore?” She scoffed. “Conceited prick.”

“Pathetic coward,” he shot back.

“Presumptuous asshole.”

“Crazy bitch.”

A crack echoed out around the small alcove as her palm connected with the side of his face. Mike blinked and snapped his head forward, expression unreadable.

Clutching her stinging hand, Max backed away from him, shocked at what she’d just done. This wasn’t how this was supposed to go. He just always knew exactly how to provoke her.

He stepped closer, seemingly unfazed by the bright red mark blooming across his cheek. “Why are you doing this?”

“Because I don’t want to be with you!” she insisted, taking another step back in an attempt to keep some distance between them. But Mike just followed, not letting her.

“That’s not the reason,” he said calmly, stepping closer still. “Tell me.”

Her heart beat faster as she racked her brain, trying to think of what else she could say to convince him.

“Because I don’t love–”

“Don’t lie to me.”

Her back hit the brick wall as Mike continued crowding her, heat radiating off of his body. She raised her hands to shove him away but he was faster, grabbing her wrists and pinning them next to her head.

He bent down so they were face to face. “Max.”

Her tear ducts burned as she struggled against his hold, refusing to meet his eyes. Why was he making this so hard? “Let me go.”

“No. Not until you tell me why you’re doing this.”

“Because I–” She squeezed her eyes shut, feeling her resolve break. “I don’t want you to realize I’m not good enough for you!”

His lips descended onto hers, silencing the surprised squeak that escaped her throat. Damn him, Max thought as her mouth automatically softened beneath his. She couldn’t pretend that she didn’t love this. And he knew that, the cocky bastard.

Mike released her wrists, sliding his hands up to interlace their fingers. Their tongues slid languidly together, sending a torrent of sparks throughout her entire being. Their bodies pressed flush together as they nipped and sucked at each other’s lips, and she was suddenly very glad it was after school and there was nobody else in the hallway.

“You’re a dick,” she sniffled when they finally broke apart to catch their breath.

“I know,” Mike said, resting his forehead against hers. “But I’m a dick who loves you more than anything, okay? You think you’re not good enough for me?”

He huffed out a laugh. “Max, I ask myself every day what you see in me. These past six months have been the best of my life. Trust me, if one of us is ending up with a broken heart here, it’s not gonna be you.

“You make me so insanely happy, and I think I make you happy too. So please don’t ruin this just because you’re scared.”

Max blinked back tears as she stared into those dark, earnest eyes she loved so much. She wanted to believe him. She wanted to believe that the universe was finally allowing her to be happy. But it was terrifying how deeply he’d already burrowed into her heart.

If he ever got tired of her and decided to end things she wasn’t sure she could handle the pain.

“If us being over is what you really, truly want then I’ll accept that.” He let go of her hands and pressed his own against the wall on either side of her, caging her in. “So, is it?”

She shook her head wordlessly, somewhat embarrassed by how transparent she’d apparently been. Or maybe he just knew her that well.

“Okay.” He kissed her forehead and tugged lightly on one of her braids before pushing off the wall, digging around in his pocket for his car keys. “Let’s go to the mall. I’ll buy you Dippin’ Dots.”

Max blinked as she watched him start down the hall. She felt glued to the wall, still bewildered at how he’d so easily derailed the plan she’d been agonizing over for days. And now he just… wanted to go to the mall? Like nothing had even happened?

Then again, everything had been easy between them since they’d started dating, much to the surprise of their friends who were certain they were far too similar to ever work as a couple.

But what Max had realized was that it was because she and Mike were so alike that they knew their little fights were never serious, that the names they called each other came from a place of playful affection rather than malice. Being with him was just… really fun.

And she didn’t want it to end.

He glanced back, flashing her that dreamy smile that always made her heart skip a beat as he held out his hand. “You coming?”

[fandomsnstuff]

Look at me posting before 10pm (i work evenings lmao) anyway,

@taznovembercelebration

Day 8: super au/cooking

Angus McDonald is Spiderman. It's a pretty new gig, but he thinks he's doing okay. His secret identity is totally intact, so that's a win.

Read it on AO3

Angus lands in the street on his feet, the criminals he was pursuing trapped against the brick wall in front of him with an obscene amount of web. He wants nothing more than to take his mask off and get a breath of fresh air, but the wail of sirens is already on top of him. Cpt. Captain Bane steps out of the first car and says, "what the hell happened here?" 

"Just me doing your job for you," he quips. "Same old song and dance." 

Bane sneers at him. "I don't need a child to do my job for me." 

"Then you need to be faster," he tosses and catches the vial he retrieved, "crime isn't going to wait for you." 

Angus can see him eyeing it, the corrupt motherfucker. "What've you got there, Spiderman?" 

He knows exactly what it is, but he shrugs. "Some project the Institute's working on." He jabs his thumb towards the perpetrators that the other cops are cutting down from the webs, "pinky and the brain back there don't even know what it is. They just took the first thing they saw and ran." 

It's a highly experimental elixir that's supposed to allow the person who drinks it to become a powerful specter if their meat body dies. Lup and Barry aren't supposed to talk about it, but they really can't help themselves when they're in good company. 

Bane holds out a hand, "hand it over." 

"Uh," the last thing he wants to do is give him something from the Institute. Let alone something like this. Angus has been on Bane's case for years, well before he became Spiderman a few weeks back. "You know I think I better return it myself." 

Bane opens his mouth to respond, but is interrupted by a shout of, "holy shit!" 

They look, and Lup stands just down the street, her hair wild and face flushed. She's out of breath as she walks up to them and says, "I just ran… like five blocks…" she looks at Angus, "I only caught some of that fight, but that was amazing." 

"Thank-" he clears his throat and tries to subtly deepen his voice, "thank you Dr.- uh- ma'am." Spiderman's never met Lup, he shouldn't know her last name. Although she has been in the paper, so maybe it would've been fine. Anyway, "I believe this belongs to you," he holds the vial out to her. 

She smiles wide and grabs it, "it's intact!" 

Barry catches up to her, huffing and puffing. "I can't run a city block like I used to," he groans. 

Lup pats him on the back and says, "bear, look," showing him the vial. 

"No way," he looks at Angus, "you got it back in one piece." 

"I'm nothing if not careful, sir," he says, still trying to modify his voice. If they recognize him, he's so fucked. 

"Dr. Bluejeans," Bane says, "I'm going to need you to hand that over," he reaches for the vial, "it's evidence." 

Barry draws his hand back, "it's top secret Institute research. It's not going anywhere but back to the lab." 

"It's been involved in a crime, it needs to come back to the precinct."

"Why?" Lup takes half a step in front of Barry. "You've got the criminals wrapped up in a bow. You didn't even need to do anything." 

"Ma'am-" 

"Dr. Taaco." 

He sighs irritably. "Dr. Taaco, we're required to do a full investigation, which includes gathering evidence. That vial was stolen, so it's evidence." 

"And you can come to the Institute on Monday with a warrant for it. For now, we need to take it back." 

Bane clenches his fists. "Let me escort you," Angus interrupts. The adults all look at him. "You know," he says, "just in case." 

Bane says, "absolutely not-" 

"Sure," Lup says, "you can escort us." 

"He's a child," Bane protests.

"He's Spiderman," Barry says. "He rescued our research while chasing criminals through the city, I'm sure he can protect it while we're just walking up the street." 

Lup slings an arm around his shoulders and starts leading him away before Bane can argue any further. As they walk up the street back towards the lab, she and Barry talk about how the whole night shook down for them. They were working late, and had taken a break. They didn't hear the thieves enter or break anything, but the alarms started blaring, and they saw them running out. They gave chase, and saw him, Spiderman, swing in and apprehend them. 

"Which reminds me," Lup says once they reach the Institute, "are you okay?" 

"I'm fine." They got a few good hits on him, but nothing that won't heal by morning (thank you, nuclear spider powers). "You two should put that vial back and head home. It's late." 

"We could say the same to you," Barry says. "What are you, like, fifteen?" 

"I'm eighteen." He's super not eighteen, he's exactly two weeks away from his sixteenth birthday. 

"Right." Neither of them look convinced. 

"Well you're safe back at your lab," he laughs nervously, "I should be going. Stay safe!" He blindly shoots a web and takes off in whatever direction it takes him. He swings a good way down a random street before stopping on top of a building to get his bearings, and he heads home. 

He lands on the fire escape just outside his window, and opens it slowly. It cooperates tonight, and doesn't screech too loudly as the old wood slides up. He crawls into his bedroom and tears his mask off, taking a deep breath of fresh air. He creeps to his door and cracks it open, listening for any activity within the apartment. It's quiet, and all the lights are off. He shuts the door again. He doesn't bother to turn on a light as he peels his suit off, he's found that he can see quite well in the dark nowadays. 

He changes into pajamas. He longs to take a shower, but it's nearing 1am, and Taako's a pretty light sleeper. He doesn't want him to question why he's taking a shower so late. 

His stomach grumbles, and he sees visions of the leftover pizza he knows is in the fridge. He creeps out of his room and down the hall to the main living area. His attention is zeroed in on the fridge, so he jumps out of his skin when a light suddenly turns on. 

"You know, if you were going to be a vigilante, the least you could've done is tell me first." 

"Taako, I- what-" 

Taako's sitting in an armchair, arms crossed, looking very displeased. "It's polite to tell your guardian what you're up to, Angus."

He laughs nervously. "I'm not-" 

"Oh, you're not? You start acting all sketchy and sneaking out, and a masked spider-themed vigilante shows up not even a week after you visited Lup and Barry's lab that, among other things, works with what?" 

Angus knows when he's been had. "...spiders?" 

"Spiders!" 

Silences stretches between them, and Angus hangs his head. "I'm sorry, Taako." 

Taako sighs and stands. "I'm not mad. I just need to know where you go. Because if–" his fist clenches, "if you don't come home, or if you get hurt, I need to know." 

"I'm sorry," he tries to blink away the burn of tears in his eyes, "I just wanted to protect you. All of you." 

Taako puts a hand on his shoulder, and he meets his eyes. "You don't need to protect us. We can protect ourselves just fine." 

"Okay," he whispers. 

"Are you hungry?" 

His lip quivers, "I'm so hungry." 

Taako smiles and squeezes his shoulder. "It takes a lot of energy to be a superhero and a growing boy. Sit, I'll make you a couple grilled cheeses." 

"I wanted-" 

"The pizza, I know. You can have that while you wait." 

He sits at the dining table as Taako moves about the kitchen. He slides the box with half a pizza still in it to him, then works on making two grilled cheese sandwiches. Angus devours the pizza and is halfway through his first sandwich when he asks, "does anyone else know?" 

"Oh yeah, we all suspected." 

"So Lup and Barry talking to me tonight like they didn't know me was total bullshit." 

Taako laughs, "she called me as soon as you left them, pumpkin. Told me she was one-hundo percent sure that you're Spiderman."

He sighs in exaggerated  annoyance. "No one can have a damn secret in this family!" 

[beginningdrawing]

Art Tips Two: Drawing What You See Vs. What You Think You See

The first significant assignment for my drawing class was to do a modified contour drawing of a building, spending at least 4 hours on the drawing. For a modified contour drawing, you are supposed to keep your eyes on the subject about 95 percent of the time, looking at the paper only occasionally to place your pencil or check the lines you are making; it is a type of drawing that really reinforces the connection between what your eyes are seeing and what your hand is drawing. It's less about creating realistic art and more about hand-eye coordination.

It's quite clear that many students in my class did not understand the assignment. I've drawn something similar to the things I've seen submitted and will be comparing it to the drawing that I did for the same assignment.

But let's start with the fact that brains are very weird and one of the things that's so weird about them is that we spend a lot of time not seeing.

Most people don't process 100% of the full detail of the things they see around them in day-to-day life. If you were to process that much detail about everything all the time, you would be constantly overstimulated by it. So your brain takes shortcuts and sort of fills in the details instead of processing every single thing. It looks at a sidewalk and says "okay, I know what a sidewalk looks like, no need to render all the shadows unless something breaks the expected pattern because a break in the pattern might mean a trip hazard."

This is very useful in day to day life! People who have trouble tuning out details of sounds and sights and sensations often find themselves overwhelmed and frustrated. It's a good thing that you are likely not seeing every tiny little irregularity in the bricks in your walls or the fibers of your clothing.

However, seeing precise detail is important for representational drawing.

Because this is a *beginning* drawing class, it is about learning the basics of drawing what you see, not stylizing images or creating art from your imagination, so the very first lessons are about how to see what you want to draw. Blind Contour drawings are almost entirely about seeing and hardly at all about drawing, and Modified Contour is about *mostly* seeing and only somewhat drawing.

When people (adults especially) begin to learn to draw, they often want to draw what they think they see (the world with the details their brain has sanded off) and not what they actually see. Sometimes this is because they think the things they think they see look "better" (more intentional) than the things they think they see.

(As a side note, my cartooning professor liked to tell a story about doing commercial illustration for a sock company; he drew an accurate, realistic foot for the ad and it got sent back he asked what was wrong with it and they said "nobody is going to buy socks when they're on such ugly feet". The next ad he sent featured a simplified, cartoonish foot and was accepted with the feedback "much better, much more realistic" - we often see stylized things as more real than real things because we spend so much time eliding what the real world looks like)

Okay, with all of that in mind, here is a drawing similar to what many of my classmates turned in next to the drawing that I turned in.

The first one is full of things that the artist thinks they see. It has trees that don't look like real trees, but do somewhat look like the idea of trees that people get from cartoons. It has sidewalks that don't look like real sidewalks, but look like how your brain thinks a series of evenly-sized concrete slabs on flat ground should look. The artist knows a little bit about perspective, and as such has drawn straight lines aimed at a point on the horizon to show distance, but you would almost never see that many straight lines in an apartment complex. They have scribbled in some grass, but those scribbles are a signifier that there is grass in those spaces, not a representation of what the lawn area actually looks like. This is a drawing from someone who saw the assignment "draw a detailed building" and 1) ignored the time requirement and 2) was not aware that the purpose of the assignment wasn't to draw what a building looked like in their mind, it was to draw the lines on a building that they actually saw.

My drawing is certainly not a fully accurate representation of the building I was drawing; the perspective is wonky and the whole thing ended up being very cramped compared to the actual building, but it is much more representational than the first drawing because it was completed by very slowly following the lines that I saw and putting them down on paper.

I'm not trying to mock the other students in this class, this isn't me being mean or trying to show off that I'm more skilled, this is a constructive criticism that I wish I could offer to the other students but that I will share here instead for the people who want to learn and may be running into this issue as the assignments continue.

This is the difference between drawing what you think you see, and trying to draw what you actually see. And also putting in the time; unfortunately a lot of students just clearly didn't spend the time on this. If you don't have the time or focus for a four-hour drawing it's better to work on several smaller drawings of simpler objects in 5-10 minute increments than it is to rush through one big drawing and fill in the gaps with details that aren't there.

If you are trying to learn to draw, learning from the basics is the best way to do it, which sometimes means forgetting what you already think you know.

You don't know perspective, you don't know shading, you don't know what trees look like, you don't know what a sidewalk looks like. When you're learning to draw, don't assume that you know what these things look like, and instead draw what you actually see.