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webbo0 · 1 year ago

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What happens if I don't like it? It's only-

Sierra Six (Courtland Gentry)

AO3

Length: 4,252

Summary: Six goes to a support group to make Claire happy. Senanigans ensue.

In which Six has a sexuality crisis, Ken is a being of pure sunshine, Driver would kill to protect his loved ones, K is tired of everything, Richard and Henry are messy as always, Barbie is intimidating as hell, and Claire was probably right the whole time.

Content/Warning: Sexuality Crisis, PTSD, Brief description of flashbacks/panic attacks, Brief description of abuse, Awkwardness

Authors Note: This all started bc I thought too hard about how Lloyd never unearthed every man or woman Six ever slept with and I concluded that he's asexual (bc I say so lol). Then he joined the group of goose boys I also headcanon as ace and, well, this happened.

Title is from "It's Only Sex" by Car Seat Headrest bc Jesus Christ that song hits HARD

Shoutout to the Goosecord as always, especially @ken-f-cker and @hollandstrophyhusband for beta-reading!!

Six had jumped off of high rises and not even blinked. He’d gone undercover in every major mob without even a raise in his heart rate. Hell, he’d even gotten shot multiple times and only huffed in annoyance. But this? Knocking on the non-descript doors of a high school gym? It was enough to make him want to turn tail and run for the exit, memories of awkward teenage years and repressed childish fears nipping at his heels.

He steadies his heart by telling himself he’s doing this for Claire. As student body president, she was aware of the multiple support groups that used the school’s gym after hours and had insisted he join one.

(“Setting aside the fact that you desperately need someone to talk to in your life, it’s a good look for me if my Da- Guardian participates in school functions, even if it’s after hours.”

Claire stood with one hand on her hip, the other firmly shoved in Six’s face with a paper containing a list of social groups. He didn’t let his face show the flip-flop his heart does at her almost-slip-up.

“For the love of god, I’m not lonely , how many times are we going over this? I’m literally trained to be alone!”

“I’m tired of you brooding all over the house all the time, you need to go talk to other adults that aren’t the delivery guy or that old lady who runs the laundromat.”

“Claire it isn’t safe for me to be out in public, you know this. One slip up and Carmichael or his cronies come for us both”

“I’m not asking you to go on live television , Six, the groups are literally just in the school gym and you drop me off there every day anyways. You need to get a life.”

Eventually, he chose the Gender, Sexuality, and Alternative Lifestyles and Families Support Group. Lord knows his “family” certainly isn’t exactly typical.)

Six takes a deep breath, then knocks on the door. The group starts in half an hour so the gym doors are closed still, but he wanted to get there early to do a complete surveillance check (can’t have any wannabe Lloyds finding Claire). He hears a Very excited voice from the other side of the door yell out.

“Be right there!”

A second later the doors swing open to reveal possibly the most energetic man Six has ever met. This guy has platinum blonde hair, an outfit straight from Malibu, and a bigger grin than Six thought was physically possible. The man sticks out his hand for a handshake.

“Hi, I’m Ken! Are you here for GSALFS?”

Six blinks, then composes himself, shock from this man's exuberance still clinging to his nerves. The man in front of him - Ken - was definitely not a threat, but in Six’s history, when people had been excited to meet him, it usually spelled trouble. He grabs Ken's hand.

“Yes, I know I’m early, but I wanted to get here with time to fill out any forms if I needed to.”

He’s not fully lying, he knows he’ll have to join a sign-up sheet or something, but really he’s here early to carefully scan the entire interior of the gym; both to assess his safety at this meeting and Claire’s safety in general. Can never be too careful.

Ken nods his head and opens the doors wider to let Six in.

“Well, you’re in luck! We just set up the chairs so I’ll give you the forms now while we set up the food, that way you can grab a bite once you’re done!”

He beams as if this is the best news he’s ever announced. Six would be irritated if it wasn't so begrudgingly cute. They both walk in and Six takes the time to scan the room, noting entry points, hiding spots, anything that would be useful in an emergency. Ken quite literally bounces away, returning only a moment later with a clipboard and a pen. Six takes them, quirking an eyebrow at the feathery pink pen attached to the forms, and nods a thank you at Ken.

“If you have any questions about what to fill out just ask, most things are optional but the more details you fill out the better, it’ll help us group you with the right people!”

Six scans the form. There’s basic information, name, age, pronouns (don’t see that every day), how did you find out about the group, etc. He pauses briefly at “preferred name”. Six might not be his legal name, but then again legally he didn’t exist anymore. And “Courtland” felt wrong coming from people's mouths now. He just puts “Six” down as his preferred name and leaves the other line blank, hoping no one makes a fuss about it.

He moves on. He has no emergency contact and almost scoffs at the “triggers to avoid” line. Like he would give anyone anything that could compromise him.

Then there’s the next part of the form.

“What group would you like to join today? If unsure, here is a list describing each group”

Alternative Lifestyles and Families is explained first. Apparently, it means more “people in polyamorous relationships, people in the Kink/BDSM world, etc.” and less “on the run from the CIA and most other major government organizations with a newly acquired teenager who’s the niece of your now-deceased ex-handler”. Whoops.

Not wanting to waste the trip out (or risk Claire’s wrath), he looks at the other options.

Gender identity is irrelevant to him, he’s never questioned being a man, but Sexuality? Six pauses again.

He never had crushes as a kid, on girls OR boys, and he went to prison too early to have any sort of normal teen experimental phase. Sure, he’s hooked up with women (and occasionally men) while in training or between missions, but those were mostly due to peer pressure or simply stress relief. Does he… know his sexuality?

Ken must see his frozen confused face because he subtly hands him another form after glancing at where he’s stuck on the paper.

“If you’re unsure of where you fit in here, this might help clarify a few things.”

Six sheepishly takes the new form. It’s some sort of self-assessment, questions and answers that tally up to different identities. Skeptically, he fills it out.

“Who have you felt romantic attraction to in the past?”

Mostly the same gender

Mostly the opposite gender

Both opposite and same gender

Neither opposite nor same gender

Six blinks. Romantic? Is that different from other attractions? And “Neither” is an option? He circles “D”

“Who have you felt sexual attraction to in the past?”

Mostly the same gender

Mostly the opposite gender

Both opposite and same gender

Neither opposite nor same gender

Six circles “D” again, more confident this time. He continues through the quiz and finally adds up the numbers. He has 2 results.

“Based on your results, you match best with Asexual . Asexuality is the lack of sexual attraction to others, or low or absent interest in or desire for sexual activity. It may also be categorized more widely, to include a broad spectrum of asexual sub-identities.”

And the second.

“Based on your results you match best with Aromantic. Aromanticism is a romantic orientation characterized by experiencing little to no romantic attraction.”

Six blinks. Then rereads the descriptions. That’s… a thing? He isn’t just broken or built wrong? The words slot into a place in his heart, filling a void he had ignored for so long he’d almost forgotten it was there. Asexual. Aromantic. There are words to describe who he is and an entire community around them. He suppresses this newfound sexuality crisis for later; right now he has to bare his soul to strangers or something.

He hands the forms back to Ken who’s still arranging the (extremely sugary) snacks. Ken looks over the forms and smiles widely.

“Well Hello Six! It’s nice to put a name to the face! And I’m glad the quiz helped clarify things for you. The Ace group could use a new face, they’re always so existential.”

Ken pulls a sticker pad from seemingly nowhere and hands it to Six.

“Here, put whatever you want to be called on this, and pick some pronoun stickers, however many you want. If you want to add any we don’t have, just write them down on the nametag!”

Six groans internally at the nametag. He’s not used to people readily being able to identify who he is. Part of being the Gray Man was being untraceable. But he shakes the thought out of his head. Those days are over (hopefully). Now he’s just a paren- guardian taking an interest in his child’s community. He takes a breath, steadying his resolve. He once flew a helicopter one-handed through a snowstorm while escaping Siberia. He can deal with talking about himself for a couple of hours.

He thanks Ken and writes down “Six” on the purple, black, gray, and white name tag, adding a “he/him” sticker to it. He hands them back to Ken who is now on the phone, talking animatedly to someone. (No way it’s with someone named Barbie. He must’ve misheard.)

He sticks the nametag on and picks a chair in the back of the room (close to the nearest exit, with plenty of improvisable weapons close by) to sit down on and watch everyone slowly trickle into the room. He takes note of all of them, assessing their appearance, demeanor, and threat level.

A blonde man in a white jacket and driving gloves, holding hands with both a blonde woman in a sundress and a Latino man with a shaved head and work clothes. The woman and shorter man greet Ken with a hug and lively words, but the blonde man just smiles at him,

A bleach blonde man in biker gear with tattoos peaking out wherever skin shows and a sad smile that hides the slight edge of danger Six senses from him. Six identifies several prison tats but doesn’t judge. He might even have matching ones.

A brunette in a perfectly tailored suit and immaculate grooming who greets Ken with a kiss on both cheeks

Two women, one feminine and one masculine who enter in a heated debate but holding hands

A dirty blonde man in a suit who only stops humming some old jazz song to greet Ken

A thicker, nervous-looking man in a winter coat (why?) with a nicely trimmed mustache who doesn’t do the usual hug-greeting with Ken but still waves at him

A silent, almost vacant-faced man with an eyebrow slit, who refuses to make eye contact with anyone

Three people that Six honestly couldn’t tell if they were male or female (he chastises himself for thinking in binary terms in a group literally about gender diversity, but hey, it's habit)

Two men, one with a trashy mustache goatee combo and a cast, the other with a harsh face and slicked back hair, both looking like they stepped straight out of the ’70s

A greasy-looking kid with long hair falling over his face that must be old enough to join the (18+) group, but only barely

A model-gorgeous woman and younger-looking person who both are dressed like they stepped out of a catalog and who greet Ken with squeals of excitement and kisses before helping him with some last-minute preparations (must be the co-runners of the group)

A tall built man with blonde highlights and a goofy grin to counter the muscles Six can make out from under his tight t-shirt. Six would consider him the biggest threat in the room if not for how clumsy he seems and the last person to enter.

The last man is perfectly nondescript (as if on purpose), but Six can feel that he’s…different. Military haircut, scars peeking out of his long overcoat, perfect posture, perfectly neutral face, and most condemning, he's subtly scanning the room for threats. The same way Six had. Six tenses slightly, on edge but no alarm bells are going off in his head because this guy doesn’t give off any aggressive vibes. If anything he’s acting… submissively? He’s acting strange either way.

Done with his threat assessment he turns his attention back to Ken and the two others that have joined him at the front of the room. Ken claps his hands to gather attention, exuberant smile never wavering.

“Hello everyone, and Welcome to GSALFS! For our newcomers who aren’t familiar with how this works, on your entry form you indicated which group or groups would be best suited to your needs, and that’s who you’ll be talking to tonight. If you fit into multiple groups don’t worry! You can choose another one to join next week. Take a look at your nametag and sit in the circle with the flag that matches the colors. We try to stay on topic during discussions but encourage the conversation to flow naturally. Have fun!”

Six looks at his nametag colors and searches the room for the chair circle with the corresponding flag, smiling a bit when he sees that it’s towards the back of the gym, right next to an exit. He grabs a snack (giving in to his sweet tooth) and makes his way to the chair with the best view of the room. He sits and takes in the other people arriving.

The man in the white jacket and gloves sits first and Six examines his expression further. He seems calm, if not a bit aloof, but Six can tell that underneath the boyish looks and gentle face, something is hiding. His name tag is… blank? Is that allowed? The man still has pronoun stickers (he/they), but instead of a name he just has a crude doodle of a car. The “car man” (or whatever his name is) nods his head as the next person sits.

The second man has short, cropped hair, an eyebrow slit, and the build of a boxer. He has none of the swagger of a fighter though, instead moving slowly, as if in a dream. Unlike the man in the white jacket’s calm, composed expression, this man’s face is entirely blank. He doesn’t nod his head back in greeting, instead slowly raising a hand in a halted wave. His name tag reads “Julian” in scratchy handwriting and he also has a “he/him” sticker.

Six watches curiously as the two men start gesturing to each other in presumably sign language. Their hand movements are slow, but he can see the man in the jacket quirk up the corner of his lip, and the other man’s shoulders seem to untense a little as they communicate. They keep “conversing” and Six is desperately trying to remember the little ASL he knows when the third man approaches.

Six straightens up automatically. The military (?) man walks up and Six knows for a fact now that he’s not a civilian. The man walks with precision, every step calculated and efficient. Six is bigger than this man, but the tight shirt under his coat lets him know that this other guy is nothing but muscle. He can’t help himself (the CIA drilled situational awareness into the fiber of his being); he does a quick room scan. There are 3 major exits, 2 potential ambush spots, 23 potential weapons within a couple of steps, and 42 ways to defend himself (both lethally and non-lethally) if he needs to. The newest group member sits down with his hands resting perfectly on his thighs (huh, interesting) and Six takes the opportunity to read his nametag.

“K”. That's it. Okay then. Not like Six can judge someone for not using their real name. K makes eye contact and Six, never one to back down from a challenge, locks his eyes right back at him. The other man isn't combative, but he isn’t backing down either. Six crosses his arms. K blinks, and a slight twitch of amusement flits across his lip, but his gaze never wavers. Out of the corner of his eye, he notices Julian and Car Guy have stopped signing at each other and are waving at K, probably saying Hi. K waves back, eyes still fixed on Six, and Six could huff out of annoyance if the double doors don’t creak open at that exact minute.

A slightly scrawny-looking blonde kid no older than 20 with a smarmy-looking grin slips in, presumably late to the meeting. Six darts his eyes toward the sudden movement, then immediately curses himself for seemingly backing down in front of a potential threat.

K smirks (granted, it’s not unkindly), and turns his head to greet the other two men in the circle. He signs something at Julian and Six quickly realizes he either will need someone to translate for him, or he needs to start taking ASL lessons if he wants to communicate in this group effectively. Thankfully, when K turns to Car Guy, he speaks aloud, breaking the silence that had settled over the group. His voice is soft, steady, and deliberate. As if he thought over each word individually before speaking.

“Did Standard or Irene draw that this time, Driver?” he asks, gesturing to the name tag with the car doodle on it.

Was this guy’s name Driver? Ah well, again, not like Six could judge. His name is just a goddamn number.

Driver lets a shy smile creep onto their face.

“Benicio. He wanted to feel included.”

Julian finds this amusing, letting his facial features relax a bit. (Maybe he’s not deaf? Or he can lip read- but no, he hasn’t looked at anyone's face yet. Just mute?)

“Friend of yours draw that?” Six asks, trying to be friendly.

Driver’s smile lessens at his words and Six suspects he may be unwelcome in this apparently tight-knit group that’s formed.

“Kid, actually.”

“Oh, you have a kid?”

He really is just trying to break the ice, he swears. But Six can see Driver’s jaw clench, his gloved fists tightening, and he realizes he chose the exact wrong thing to ask this man. Casually, he moves his arm towards his waistband, not liking the alarm bells this guy is setting off. K must notice what he’s doing, and, muscles tensing, he reaches for his waistband. Julian notices the energy shift as well, but he’s not poised to defend himself, instead, his head is hung low, and he’s slightly trembling.

Six takes a breath and before he can dart for the exit, a shout cuts through the quiet gym, grabbing everyone’s attention.

“What the FUCK are YOU doing here?!”

He nearly draws and fires right then and there, but it’s immediately obvious the yelling isn’t directed at him.

The greasy, long-haired kid is standing right in the face of the blonde guy who slipped in late to the meeting. He has tears in his eyes as he pokes the chest of the shorter guy, who looks nervous but isn’t backing down.

“You really think you can just show up here like nothing happened? How fucking stupid do you think I am , Richard?”

All eyes in the room are on the two men arguing. The tatted guy Six eyed earlier is glaring at Richard with his hand in his pocket, and Six can tell he’s fidgeting with some kind of knife. The mustached man in the winter coat looks close to tears himself, and the equally broad but muscular guy with highlights is gently soothing him. The two men in suits (one immaculately groomed and the other that had been humming Jazz) exchange glances, vaguely amused by whatever drama is being played out.

“You blocked me everywhere, how else was I supposed to talk to you?” Richard’s words are just as angry, but he slowly backs up as the taller man stalks towards him.

“Obviously you weren’t supposed to talk to me.”

Across from Six, K sighs, slumping back into his chair, while Driver rolls his eyes.

“Henry, come on, you’re overreacting, I never-”

“I’m OVERREACTING?!”

“Okay, let's all take a breath before we do anything we might regret,” Ken interjects, stepping between the two men and placing a (surprisingly muscular) arm on each of their chests to keep them apart. “That includes you, Luke”

The tatted man — Luke — scoffs but stops twirling his knife in his pocket.

“Now Richard” Ken starts, turning to the seething blonde, “you know you’re on probation from this group, let’s calm down and talk about this outside”.

Richard seems like he’s going to protest until the blonde woman who helped Ken earlier steps up.

“Either you and Ken talk things out together outside or you and I can. Your choice.”

A flash of nervousness flits across Richard's face, but he grumbles out a “Fine” and lets Ken escort him out, muttering the whole way.

The tension in the room dissipates.

Six lets himself relax slightly, the brewing conflict between him and the other group members now forgotten in the chaos. K seems weary, Driver looks vaguely irritated, and Julian-

Julian is still frozen in place, trembling, eyes somehow more distant than before.

Six frowns.

“Is he OK?”

Driver’s face hardens again, but before Six can ready himself for the venom about to be spat in his direction, Driver turns to Julian and softens. He takes one of Julian's hands, squeezing softly before gently rubbing a gloved thumb over his skin.

Six isn’t an idiot (despite Claire’s insistence).

He’s seen plenty of guys have panic attacks in prison or even full-on flashbacks during CIA training. For a moment he recalls the countless nights in his cell, unable to breathe from the crushing weight in his chest, he feels himself being restrained and berated by his commander for blacking out and mistaking an officer for the enemy because he beat him just like his dad would-

Six squeezes his eyes shut for a beat.

Inhales.

Exhales.

Not now. He can flashback all he wants later when he’s not in front of a bunch of strangers.

Distraction time.

He turns to K, who’s staring at Julian mournfully. He clears his throat.

“Ahem. So, uhhhh, what was that whole fight thing about? Richard and Henry, was it?”

K hesitates, but when he notices Six dart his eyes pointedly at Julian and Driver, pursing his lips, he nods almost imperceptibly and slowly opens his mouth to explain.

Good. If he is ex-military or whatever like Six suspects, he probably gets it too.

“Richard and Henry, yeah,” he sighs, sounding almost disappointed.

“They met at this high school and started dating in college. Henry has a history of… Issues.”

(He’s trying to be gracious, Six can tell)

“Richard exploited Henry’s, uh, instability , convincing him he'd never hurt him. Then Richard’s best friend lets Henry know Richard’s been cheating on him the entire time with him and even sends him a videotape of it. Apparently, Richard secretly records all his ‘conquests’.”

K’s lip curls in disgust.

“Anyways, Henry was shattered, and word got back to Barbie, Ken, and Allan. I’ve never seen them so angry before; Ken had to calm them down before Allan got into another fight they couldn’t win, or before Barbie eviscerated him.” K smirks.

Allan must be the other person running the group, but then —

“Wait, hang on, they’re actually Barbie and Ken? Are those just stage-names or…?”

K smirks again and Six can hear Driver huff out what could be a laugh next to him.

“Yeah, everyone has that realization once they join. I swear those are their real names. Apparently, they were raised together too?” K shrugs.

“Huh, wild. But yeah, that Richard kid seems like an asshole.”

K chuckles and Driver lets out another huff of laughter. Julian exhales an almost-giggle and signs something that makes Driver honest-to-god snort , while K has to put a hand over his mouth to cover his slowly widening grin.

Six’s grin falters a bit, wishing once again he had paid better attention to his ASL lessons during training.

“Sorry. I, uh, I don’t know signs all that well,” he admits, flushing with embarrassment.

Julian just nods and before any other group members can interpret for him, he opens his mouth and translates for himself in a cracked voice:

“Bitchard.”

Driver snorts again, hiding his head in his shoulder.

“He’s not wrong.” K smiles.

Six takes a breath. Biting the bullet (heh), he extends his hand out to K for a handshake.

“We got off on the wrong foot. I’m Six.”

K takes his hand. His grip is strong but not too tight, the kind of handshake businessmen swoon over.

“K,” he replies.

He elbows Driver slightly, who nudges him back, as if irritated, but he still turns toward Six. He hesitates, then sticks out his gloved hand. Six takes it, more gently, and is surprised that his grip is almost as strong as K’s. Driver’s shoulders tense, but he relaxes them and flashes Six a small smile.

“Nice to meet you”

He doesn’t introduce himself, but K calls him Driver and he responds, so that’s what Six’ll stick with.

Julian doesn’t extend a hand, but he does bring his head up to look at Six’s face. No eye contact, but Six is just flattered the man trusts him enough to even just look at him. He doesn’t say anything but nods his head in greeting. Six nods back, smiling.

Maybe Claire was right. It was nice to feel like he belonged.

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jessepinwheel · 10 months ago

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so for parasitic extraction, what's the original obi-wan up to/what's happening to him? What would cause him to help raise thousands of clones for the enemy? Is he a part of the hive mind? How do the Mandalorians (and the rest of the galaxy) treat the obi-clones? Are they considered a part of society by people other than their handlers or tools/slaves? (I'm just so intrigued by the concept, feel free to ignore any questions if you want)

so the thing with obi-wan is kind of complicated. basically, jango took the throne after jaster got assassinated, but he still had a couple years left in his military service at the time so there was this big hubbub about whether jango was even qualified to be emperor. but then jango managed to capture obi-wan, a jedi, alive. this is something that's never happened before because usually jedi are too dangerous to hold or will commit suicide before they can be taken in. so he publicly tortured and humiliated obi-wan on live television etc. and this pretty much cemented jango's legitimacy as an emperor

but instead of killing obi-wan, jango is obsessed with breaking obi-wan down and making him betray the jedi to prove his dominance and prove to himself that his emperorship isn't a sham. so he threw obi-wan into torture jail and tortured him. this obviously did not work.

but then jango was such a shit dad that didn't do very much parenting for cody or rex, so cody and rex ended up talking to obi-wan in normal torture jail and they liked him a lot because he's a nice person who pays attention to them. but because of them talking to obi-wan and learning things from him, they ended up letting a jedi go on a mission which jango was fucking furious about and decided to go get a new son (boba) about it, and also moved obi-wan from normal torture jail to his personal torture basement and also chopped off a foot while he was at it. for fun. at this point in time, obi-wan has been in jango's torture basement for 11 years and everyone thinks he is dead. even his obi-clones don't know if he's an actual human person or some kind of force ghost.

anyways. at some point jango made an offer to obi-wan that if obi-wan would let him make 2000 force sensitive clones of him to serve the mandalorian empire, he would let obi-wan go. obi-wan knew that this was complete bullshit and jango was lying, but he agreed because he had the idea that he would use these clones to take down the mandalorian empire instead because it was kind of the only way out that he could see. so he let jango make these clones of him and he trained and raised those clones via psychic skype without jango or anyone else realizing it, so that they would all conspire together to destroy jango's empire and also life.

but of course the jedi don't know that, so to them it looks like obi-wan is the biggest traitor of all time, because not only are the obi-clones clones of him, but they have actual psychic abilities that have been taught by an actual jedi (obi-wan).

re: the mandalorians, they're pretty naturally suspicious of the obi-clones, because they don't trust jedi in the first place. they're not treated as slaves because the mandalorian empire 'doesn't do slavery'. but a lot of obi-clones die from neglect or friendly fire. pre viszla actually pushes his assigned clone (boga) off a cliff because boga undermined his authority. bo katan straight murders her assigned clone (ben) because satine was being a little too gooey with him and also ben might have overheard something he wasn't supposed to. some people get along really well with their obi-clones. cody's got a weird situationship where he's kind of infatuated with his obi-clone, and ahsoka kind of sees her obi-clone (azar) as a mentor figure, and jango is just completely abnormal about his personal obi-clone (kote)

as mentioned in my previous answer, obi-wan isn't really part of the obi-clone collective consciousness, but he does have access to the obi-clone hive mind and in fact is basically using his obi-clones as a way to gather information across the entire mandalorian empire so he can plot how to destroy everything. he's kind of always watching over them (when he's not being tortured by jango). whether that is creepy is an exercise for the reader

ask me a question about parasitic extraction, the role reversal mandalorian empire au that I have

#ask jesse #fic: parasitic extraction

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miraclemaya · 17 days ago

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i have this like. reoccurring memory, and i call it that because i forget about it for months at a time and then suddenly it really clearly returns to my mind and i spend like maybe a day trying to chase after it but ive never been able to find out anything about it no matter what sorts of wikipedia lists i scroll down. but it was a memory of me as a kid, less then 10 but older then like 6, watching a television show.

the memory has most certainly been mutilated by the years of remembering it for sure, but i remember watching this childern's show in my basement and really enjoying it. it was some show about a group of anthropomorphic animal, think like peter rabbit, and they lived and played together. i remember two episodes, which might have just been one episode that ive split into two because of the way they clash with eachother.

the first was a like fairly straight forward childern's show episode about how laughter was the best medicine. like a animal of some kind, maybe it was a rabbit, went around and made people laugh which helped them recover from being sick or having broken an arm or something. normal stuff.

but the second episode, or maybe the second half of the one episode, was about a like. evil ice wizard. i dont even remember what kind of animal he was, but he lived in a giant ice tower on top of a mountain. this evil wizard was trying to make an eternal winter to engulf everything. the main cast went to go stop him, and this involved them climbing the mountain. there was a bit about them trying to stay happy and joke between themselves, but each shot was so dark and there was a constant blizzard that i remember being really upset by it as a kid. i want to say one of the characters was stuck in the snow and they had to leave them behind but there feels like that is completely unlikely. but also everything i remember about it makes me think it was almost a psa about how dangerous the cold and snow is. just little bits of this show that i remember have done so much to make me be aware of just how quickly the cold can kill someone more so then any other experience in my life.

the episode ended with the cast reaching the ice tower and finding the wizard. and it ends with the wizard freezing everyone, including himself, before cutting to credits. not sure how real that is either. i want to say it's completely made up because while i do remember the episode upsetting me, i dont remember crying at all and i think that would have made me cry

#yellowed pages #this is real btw #i do actually remember this show #but ive never found it no matter how much ive looked #i think i even made a post on that one subreddit but no one responded

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mx-ryder · 1 year ago

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More thoughts on Hazbin Hotel pt 2 of ??

A follow up to this post here:

just gonna jump right in here, right where I left off.

Usual disclaimer about my religious upbringing coloring my thoughts/opinions on this show, etc. etc.

blahblahblah, let's go.

He’s the “Radio Demon.” This means he has a microphone-shaped* staff and talks like an over-the-top old-timey radio host at all times, complete with a radio filter effect over his voice. The voice is already grating enough for me to dislike him based on that alone. His eyes also sometimes transform into radio dials. Again, it’s not entirely clear why a small handful of the demons like Alastor embody different concepts like they’re Chainsaw Man devils when most of the others don’t, or why a human soul would even become the embodiment of a concept after death in the Christian Hell.

Again, I'm really not sure an explanation for the powers/themes is necessary. But we do get one for Alastor, at least partially. He's the radio demon because he live broadcasted his murders of various overlords over the radio. He's from the 20s, I'm pretty sure, averse to change and technology, etc. He earned himself that moniker, and tbh I'm not sure what concept you think he's supposed to be embodying?

If you mean the Seven Sins, then . . . idk how to tell you about why there's embodiments of the catholic Seven Deadly Sins in hell. It's pretty self explanatory.

When the microphone part of the staff is facing away from the camera, as in the screenshot above, it just looks like a butt plug.

That . . . kinda seems like a you problem.

Y'wanna know the best part about him? According to christian beliefs, if he'd accepted jesus christ as his lord and savior before death? He would've ended up in heaven. Serial killings and cannibalism and all. :)

He’s a sadistic cannibal with razor sharp teeth.

In his life as a human, he was a serial killer.

He is literally always smiling menacingly and is insufferably smug.

He makes shady “deal with the Devil” type soul contracts with characters as part of his vague schemes, seemingly wanting to play all sides at all times. Lucifer, the literal Devil, does not do this in this show, but Alastor does.

Not gonna bother with the "Lucifer is not the literal devil" bit.

But like . . . you do realize the other Overlords do this, too? Angel is in this sort of contract. It's a very real and sinister way of gaining complete and total ownership over someone. Can you not see why a character like Lucifer, a fallen angel who was banished for more or less just sort of asking some questions, wouldn't do this? He doesn't even want the responsibility of ruling his portion of hell, why would he want to own another person that way??

Despite being a sinner who previously lived a normal life as a human, he somehow seems to be the most powerful entity in Hell by a wide margin, even rivaling Lucifer. Both the pilot and the full series recount how he just showed up one day and started wiping out Overlords of Hell and claiming their territory. Alastor immediately stomps just about any threat to the hotel — that is, until the finale, where he needs to randomly lose against Adam and slink away into the shadows for a bit so that the actual protagonist of the show and her dad can beat the villain.

Not EVERY LITTLE THING about a character and his backstory is explained? BAD WRITING!!!!

I rankle at media criticism that calls characters “Mary Sues” or “Gary Stus,” so I won’t take that route here,

How magnanimous of you *eyeroll*

Despite seemingly contributing so little, though, Alastor is constantly derailing the main story so that we can follow him around and meet characters he knows. Of the eight 22-minute episodes comprising this season of television, four feature lengthy tangents about new characters spurred on by Alastor. This is what elevates him above being simply an amalgamation of a bunch of tropes I find annoying and turns him into a true menace to this show’s writing. When I say that the scripts feel like a first draft, that they don’t properly know how to spend their time, and that they place emotional beats in the wrong order, so much of that comes down to these Alastor-related subplots.

Weird, this character who's been in hell for so long, is an incredibly influential person there, and who actively goes out of his way to make social/business connections knows a lot of people? And is used in the narrative to introduce those people?? LIke, okay, sure, it could be kind of lazy writing. Or. And here me out here. Or. He could be a character who is NOT the main character, but who has significant enough connections and enough of an agenda to warrant his connections/those characters being introduced via their connection to him??

This, in turn, means we have to spend a bunch of time with Vox, and meet characters he interacts with, as if I give even a single shit about this old vs. new, radio vs. TV thing they have going on, or Vox as a villain.

Waaaah, this is too many characters! I can't form an emotional connection to a main cast of seven and several side characters, boohoo!!

Even still, Carmine launches into a big emotional ballad about the hard choices she’s had to make to protect her family and about how her actions have now put her family in danger, as if these aren’t all characters we just met.

You're literally complaining about a new character giving us some insight into who she is, her motivations, etc. Like . . . would you rather she confess to the killing and then whine about how it's too painful to talk about, or mysteriously claim she "had her reasons"? Should we just never learn anything about the characters, because "We like, JUST met them."

This could have been such a good source of drama for the main cast, but instead it’s handed off to some other random character in Alastor’s orbit.

The whole, ENTIRE point of the show and Charlie's story, is that she IS NOT INVOLVED WITH THE CONFLICT BETWEEN HEAVEN AND HELL. She is actively trying to STOP the cullings, the yearly slaughter of who knows how many of her people (who are literal human souls, remember). The only reason she even decides to fight is because Adam gives her no choice. And the only reason Adam is SO damn ADAMANT (lol) about moving the timeline up is because someone killed an angel, and he wants revenge, and for that knowledge to never get out. Because HE knows they're not invincible. The fact that no one else knows is the only reason his little hobby works!

Like, I'm struggling to figure out what you think would have been accomplished, storywise, if the angel's death had been due to one of Charlie's group. It would have given them an actual, concrete reason for being in shit with Adam and heaven, therefore completely nullifying their moral superiority in the conflict. The entire reason the fight is frustrating is because Charlie did absolutely nothing to deserve it, and there's nothing she can do to stop it.

At this point, even though it feels like no time has passed and no progress has been made, it’s apparently already been four months, with only two months remaining until the next

I'm not going to argue that the small amount of episodes makes pacing a mess. But you keep acting like that's the show's fault, or that it's just bad writing.

Charlie generally hates using her position of power as the Princess of Hell to support the hotel, even though you’d think she’d pull out all the stops to try and end the genocide, but here she finally caves and decides to get help from her dad.

*heavy sobbing about how you've somehow missed the entire point of Charlie's character, her struggle with her power, authority, and privilege, and how deeply she fears the responsibility that comes with that power, and why she never dares use it before it's absolutely necessary*

Despite being set up as a mysteriously absent figure by the first episode’s opening lore, Lucifer has just been… depressed over the fact that he signed off on the exterminations, and hiding in his house to ignore his problems.

I feel like you've just literally never been in a shitty situation with zero solutions, and only horrifying options that give you the chance to protect the one person you care about, while sacrificing others in the process. Which is weird, considering the capitalistic hellscape we live in, but whatever. Considering you're always bitching about the length of the season/how the story suffers for it, where would you have liked them to examine Lucifer's participation and feelings about that, exactly?

I got zero indication that Alastor is supposed to be like a father to Charlie.

That's because it wasn't. there. There's theories about this, about how Alastor was worried Lucifer was butting in on his hotel gig, and once he realized that wasn't the case, he backed off a bit. He's literally trying to piss him off, and claiming to have a more father/daughter dynamic than Lucifer has with his own daughter was the easiest way to do that.

Husk made a bet with Alastor and lost, meaning that Alastor now owns Husk’s soul.

Fundamentally untrue. Which you'd know, if you'd been paying attention.

Did you know that the slave owner who chains up the only Black-coded character on the main cast and threatens to torture and kill him is also supposed to be the token aromantic asexual representation on the main cast?

We don't want your virtue signaling here. Villains are allowed to be queer. We are not supposed to see this and think that Alastor is some uwu cutie innocent aroace idol to look up to. Also I'm probably just a dumbass but I didn't realize Husk was black-coded, so. That's on me, I guess?

“oh yeah btw Alastor owns Husk as a slave and threatens to tear him apart if he acts up” and then expecting you to still care about whether or not he’ll help Charlie teach Sir Pentious how to say thank you or what the fuck ever. That is the problem.

Now I'm just wondering if you've just never been around this kind of person. The others don't know about this? He is incredibly good at hiding his more insidious actions and behaviors, while simultaneously letting just enough of them show to keep the rest of the cast on edge about him. I understand the discomfort around people making excuses for him, but that isn't the show's fault? And also, like, idk if you've ever encountered an abuser, but they are CONSTANTLY surrounded by people defending them because all they've ever seen is the nice side, or because they're too cowardly or naïve to believe the worst of them. Alastor is not unique in this way, and how fandom reacts to characters isn't the fault of the media.

Despite damn near every new episode introducing new characters, none of them stay at the hotel.

Literally no one else in hell believes in what Charlie's trying to do, or believes it's even possible. Angel openly admits he's there at first because it's a rent free place to stay (when he was, apparently, previously living with Val, and oh my gods I will NOT be getting into how fucking impactful it is to have a safe place to live and sleep when you're in such a dangerous relationship/situation).

And Pen ends up there pretty much completely by accident, because he's never had friends before, and quite literally has no where else to go. The Vees are more or less done with him, and would probably kill him on a whim if he showed his face around them again.

(Also, I have a hard time believing they could’ve pulled off a longer season at all, given it took them like three or four years just to make eight episodes.

Have we heard any news about GRRM's next book, lately? Some people work slowly. Chill.

To me, the big problem with the pilot was that, when you really get down to it, the emotional core of Hazbin Hotel is about a rich girl from the upper echelons of society — a princess, even! — picking a crack-snorting gay sex worker up off the street and trying to turn him into a “proper” member of society.

Alright, this is where I came in and went "now, hold up."

See my previous Thoughts post to see why I think this is a really fucking stupid black/white view of the premise.

And like, obviously I’m not saying every romantic relationship needs to be sexual — ace people exist.

Get my identity out of your fucking mouth.

But when you’re telling a story about a slutty gay guy who’s ruining his life by having too much sex, and how he’s being “saved” by a wholesome woman who never has impure thoughts, that… kinda sucks?

Do we even know how or why Angel came to be in the hotel? Did Charlie seek him out? Did he happen to find her place and go "oh finally, a safe place to sleep, away from my horrible abuser," and jump at the opportunity, weird ideals be damned? He's never portrayed as "ruining his life by having too much sex" and I don't know where you got that idea. He's showed, multiple times, to be a deeply hurt and traumatized individual who's self-destructing because he got into an abusive relationship that he literally cannot leave, probably tempted in by the money, the lifestyle, and/or because it was his chosen industry in the first place.

I'm pretty sure Charlie also literally claims that she's just trying to give people some love and care, some understanding. She's also working under what she thinks heaven's ideals are. She has a vague idea of what heaven considers holy/virtuous, and is idealistic enough to believe she can achieve that in her guests, somehow.

Once she realizes not even heaven knows how to get there, she drops her ideals pretty damn quickly. She stops pretending that there's some difference between Adam being a sexist, abusive asshole and being good enough for heaven, and Angel being a porn star/sex worker and not being good enough for heaven. There are no rules, and her idealistic, naive mindset isn't serving her, or her friends.

and it’s implied there’s a history of sexual abuse as well.

A history of sexual abuse? Inflicted on Angel by the man who vindictively forces him to film sex acts he's not comfortable with, or that might hurt him physically/mentally, because he owns Angel's literal soul and enjoys hurting him this way/reminding him of his place?? *gasps and faints* No! No way. There's no way this was implied.

Cuz it was fucking explicitly shown to us. Just because Val isn't the one literally assaulting Angel on screen (sexually, physically, or emotionally), doesn't mean that their relationship as it is shown on screen isn't sexually abusive. It absolutely is. Angel is a literal sex slave.

Other episodes also can’t help but give Angel dark jokes about his abuse, such as an offhand line about how Val’s been waterboarding him lately. “I don’t know, it’s a kink,” he shrugs.)

Trauma survivors . . . and abuse victims . . . make . . . dark jokes? About their situations?? *clutches pearls*

I won’t say this song handles these heavy topics delicately— the controversial visuals depicting Angel at work are extremely sexually charged, and people absolutely have every right to find it uncomfortable

Have you experienced sexual abuse in the past? If not, shut the fuck up about how someone portrays it "not delicately" in a show like this. That scene hit me like a fucking train, in its realistic and shattering depiction of how these kinds of abusive relationships work, how horrifying it is to be broken like that, over and over again, to the point that you've gotten so fucking good at dissociating that you don't even notice yourself doing it. How desperately trapped and broken you feel, knowing you have absolutely zero say in who touches you, or when, or how, or for how long. And Angel knowing that so many of his assaults are being packaged and sold as sexual entertainment to other people?? Horrifying. Heartbreaking. And if you have never been in Angel's place, you do not get to comment on how "delicately" the show portrayed his situation.

Horrendous porn industry abuse is maybe a little much for this “life sucks, but what can you do?” mentality.

*watches the point fly so far over your head that it nearly collides with a commercial flight*

Husk is not trying to tell Angel that his suffering isn't valid, or that he needs to just get over it because hey, life sucks, etc. He's trying to show Angel that he's suffering (partially, a very, very small amount) needlessly. Because Angel has let himself believe, for who knows how long, that he's ALONE. That no one could ever possibly understand what he's going through. That even if he did tell someone, they'd tell him exactly what Val does. That he deserves it. That it's his own damn fault. He has been struggling and suffering all on his own, believing he isn't worth being listened to or helped or empathized with, for too long.

Husk is just trying to remind him that he doesn't have to suffer alone. There are people out there who will believe him. People who will understand and empathize with him. He just has to open up a tiny little bit and let them see the person he is underneath the very reasonable self-defensive persona he wears.

Yes, this show riffing on the Christian afterlife and sins and redemption does not actually have a list of what it considers a sin. They don’t even use the Ten Commandments. For that matter, God isn’t a factor at all, even though you think he’d be the guy deciding all this stuff.

Oh no! The writers forgot to figure out the criteria for getting into heaven! They didn't write out an exhaustive list of what they, personally, as story writers, consider a bad enough sin to condemn someone to hell! It couldn't possibly be that that's THE ENTIRE. FUCKING. POINT.

How many more times am I going to have to point out the point you've missed??

Also, like. Nah. If you knew anything about what most christians actually believe, they have a single guaranteed ticket to heaven (most of them, some of them believe in the good works, etc.) and that is "accepting jesus christ as your lord and savior." And that pretty much boils down to "believing that jesus died on the cross for your sins, and that you're inherently a bad, evil person who is only going to go to heaven by the infinite grace of god who . . . was going to condemn you to hell . . . by default . . . if you didn't say a little prayer about inviting jesus into your heart. . ."

This means that, quite literally, someone like Alastor could feasibly have ended up in heaven according to this doctrine, if he'd recited a prayer before dying. Serial killings and other various bad deeds aside, as long as he believes in jesus as his personal savior, he's good to go. Once you've said those words, there's literally nothing that can take that ticket to heaven away from you.

Which actually makes me a little uncomfortable and also I find it a little funny? That according to a lot of christians, I'm still guaranteed a place in their heaven based on the fact I accepted their deity into my life as a child, and that there's nothing you can do that can change that, after the fact. (I think the one exception is, like, denying god? Maybe? In which case maybe I'm good.)

What really bothers me is when Angel stands up for himself against Valentino at the bar, saying he can do what he wants outside of the studio, which Charlie treats as the example of Angel “sticking it to the man” that Adam wanted. And I just… yes, this moment is a win for Angel Dust against his abuser, but it’s gross to me to treat it as a moral win, y’know? To act like standing up against his abuser is what makes Angel Dust a good person deserving of a spot in Heaven? Come on.

*quietly sobbing into a pillow*

Again, we’re supposed to want Angel Dust to clean up his act so he can go up and live with people like this in heaven? Really??

Literally NO. Literally. No one has been rooting for that from the beginning! Anyone who is at ALL familiar with the inner workings of "the church" knew where this was going. The only reason Charlie didn't is because she's NEVER ENCOUNTERED HEAVEN OR ITS PEOPLE BEFORE MEETING ADAM. And she's just idealistic enough to hope that he's not the standard she should expect from them.

So I guess redemption and becoming an angel is still supposed to be desirable? After all that???

*more quiet sobbing*

We still don't know why he ended up there. We don't even know there isn't some greater being (a god or what have you) working behind the scenes, who knows that Pen is just the person they need in heaven to finally breach the fucking barrier between the two worlds and like, idk, be a literal bridge between the two worlds and cultures? I really don't think this show is going to end with everyone happily in the heavenly afterlife. Really.

the series has been unable to actually say anything critical of conservative Christian values and the idea of sin.

Absolutely disagree, but I'm willing to bet you've never deconstructed before. So I forgive you.

At best, season one gives us a message about double standards and forgiving people for past sins, saying that if people can change their ways later in life then they should be able to get into Heaven after all, regardless of their past mistakes. Which, uh. Is already a thing most Christians believe? Like, hello??

It worries me that you can't see the ways Charlie is misguidedly trying to work within a system that is rigged against her, believing the other side is acting in good faith. Like . . . I'm afraid you can't see how this parallels real life social issues, and that's very, very concerning to me.

So, uh. I didn’t like this show very much.

This entire article leaves me with one very important question:

Who gives a shit??

No, seriously. Who fucking cares? So you didn't like a show that you already knew you weren't going to like?? Fucking. Move on with your life. Let people enjoy things! Let people simp for their problematic fave! Let people design "cringey, overdesigned" characters! Let people tell stories that are messy! Let people enjoy stories that are messy!

Let

People

Enjoy

Things

And stop shitting on media that you knew you weren't going to like in the first place! Stop commenting on things you don't understand! Stop trying to "advocate" for identities who don't need your condescending mentions that you use just for ally points! Just. Stop it.

Go watch something you enjoy, and leave us the fuck alone.

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faescythe · 2 years ago

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Stay With Me Pt 2

Chapter 2: At Long Last

Texas is very different from the countries I have frequented in recent years. Everything from the trees, the buildings, the stars, and the people are nothing like the endless green and rolling hills of my home of choice.

I don’t think I will ever understand why Godric chose to come here. He chose to live where he is unwanted and hated. Where he will forever be hunted down by humans and treated like a monster. They are just affirming what he already believes to be true despite what I have told him.

Ever since I gifted him with a second chance at life, my progeny saw himself as a beast. He saw the creature he had become and thought he had to be a monster because of his lack of humanity. I thought I could teach him the good he could bring. I wanted to prove to him that he did not have to live in darkness for the rest of eternity. I tried to tell him that although we can only walk through the night, we have the stars and the moon to light our way. We are not dark creatures.

He never seemed to be listening when these conversations would transpire. As time went on my childe lost his way more and more. He embraced his most basic instincts and became the monster he believed himself to be. He would leave my side for periods of time only to come home covered in blood that was not his own. I was aware of the brutalities he committed and I allowed them to happen.

Godric did not understand the absence of bloodshed in my vicinity. He could not see how, despite what we are, I am able to not surround myself with death and destruction. I didn’t kill those I fed from when it could have been prevented. I healed humans who deserved it and I only killed when I deemed it necessary. I knew that my young protégé would not be able to share my ideologies for a long time. He was too young and too inexperienced to see the world for what it really is and not only what he wants to see.

When I think back to the violence my childe caused in his early years, I can see how

Texas would be appealing to that side of him. There are a lot of hate-filled stubborn beings here. Whether they are vampires, humans, or something else, they all share those traits.

The car rolled to a stop at the entrance of a grand hotel named ‘Hotel Carmilla.’ It was made for vampires, and I thought it to be the safest place to rest while tracking down my missing progeny. As I step out of the car I observe the dark décor and I am reminded of the earlier depictions of my kind. The dark and gothic aesthetic seems to be modernized in this hotel.

As I start towards the building I feel my progeny’s disappointment through the bond along with a small flash of anger. I can also sense that he is now on the move. His underlings must have ‘rescued’ him from wherever he was imprisoned. I am close enough that he must sense my proximity by now. His surprise at my closeness is apparent as well as his confusion.

I won’t summon him to my side despite how tempting it might feel. After all of these years apart he still anticipates my call, but I refuse to bring him to me. I want him to come to me of his own volition not because I forced him to.

I quickly check into the hotel and make my way up to my room. The safe has already moved my belongings to my room for me. All I can do now is wait. I sit on the couch placed in the living room attached to the space holding my suitcase and coffin. I glance at the large television taking up a portion of the wall. I don’t care for technology such as this TV. I don’t understand the appeal of it, but I suspect that is because of my old age.

I think back to my creation. He will return to me. I can feel it in my never-changing bones. I wonder how much he has changed. Did he keep the haircut I gave him all those years ago? Is he still as bloodthirsty as he was in my presence? His physical appearance could not have changed much, but mentally he could be completely different.

I stand up to grab my sketchbook and pencils from my suitcase before returning to my spot on the couch. I grab the TV remote and turn it on and flip through the channels until I come upon one playing music. Although I don’t care for movies or shows, I can still appreciate music. It is one thing that is as timeless as myself.

I picked up art as a hobby to pass the time. It is a way for me to show what is in my head to an audience of people without them knowing who I am. I have gone by many different aliases over the years in order to present my talents without being seen. I have learned much through the centuries. I have been taught by the greatest creative minds this world has ever known and I carry their teachings with me. My immortality has gifted me with the knowledge that mortals would kill for.

As I set my pencil down on the page I close my eyes and let my hand take over for me. I have found that when my ability to see is taken away I can truly express myself without judgment of any kind. I leave myself completely vulnerable to my emotions.

I choose to draw at the speed of a human. It was a very difficult technique for me to perfect with my ample speed and abilities. It was almost as difficult as using writing utensils without snapping them with my increased strength because of frustration or anger. Slowing down to the pace of a human makes me feel alive again. It reminds me of my humanity.

After a few hours of drawing, I feel a sense of panic and guilt through the bond. Something bad has happened. I soon feel that he is coming closer to me. He comes so close that is almost unbearable to stay in place. I yearn to be near him. It has been so long.

I can sense him entering the hotel along with many others. I can feel him going to a room. He is right down the hall from me now. Why won’t he come to me? I can feel his longing. I know he wants to be here with me, but something is holding him back. Something or someone is keeping him from me.

I start to listen in on what is going on. My hearing has grown enough to hear what is happening in my progeny’s room. I wait patiently as I hear him talk to his underlings. They speak of a suicide bomber that attached his nest and I fill with anger and guilt. If I had gone to him myself I could’ve stopped this from happening. I could have prevented the deaths of both humans and vampires, but I would also be going back on my decision to allow Godric to come to me.

I start to feel the pull of the sun on me as the day grows stronger. It no longer influences me as much because of my age. I can stay awake for most of the day without much trouble. Normally I would take advantage of this ability of mine. It makes me feel human. Instead, I choose to follow the pull. Staying awake while knowing that he is so close by would be unbearable.

I make my way over to my coffin. It was placed on the ground next to the extravagant bed. I have not slept in a bed in a long time. I prefer the closed-in coffin I had custom-made many years before. I strip out of my clothes and step into the cushy box before laying down and closing the lid tightly. I set an alarm that would wake me should someone disturb my rest and let the sun's rays pull me to death.

<3 <3 <3 <3

I awaken as before the light is ready to fade from the sky. I am no longer able to rest for long periods of time. It is a gift as much as it is a curse. I decide to stay in my coffin for a while longer. Before finally making my way to the bathroom to dress. Unfortunately, the idea of not being covered has become taboo in recent centuries.

I emerge from the bathroom just after the moon comes out of hiding. I am wearing a long sleeve black shirt that is tucked into baggy black jeans. I do not care much about the fashion trends of the present.

Soon I hear the voice of Nan Flannigan in my childe’s space. They are discussing what happened. Just hearing the voice of that insufferable woman fans the flames of my anger even higher. How dare they speak to my creation like that.

In my rage I almost missed it. The call of my progeny. It is very faint as if he did not even mean to do so, but it is still there. He is calling me to him. I quickly rush out of my room and to the quarters of my dear childe. I hear that she-wolf’s voice filter through the door and I can no longer keep myself back. “You messed up sheriff, you’re fired.”

I barge into the room, uncaring of the damage I caused to the door. “If anyone is going to be fired it is you Flannigan because you just made the biggest mistake of your life.”

#True blood #eric northman #godric #angst #fanfiction #vampires

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11quillen11 · 2 years ago

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About Family: The Unbreakable Bond

Okay so Family: The Unbreakable Bond is apparently getting a season 2. This does not make me super happy because I can’t help but feel like the fact that a second season was already planned is what fucked the first season up.

From episodes 5 to 11, the first season is really good. Sadly, that is only six episodes. The first four episodes are filled with irrelevant plotlines unrelated to the main conflict, and the last episode is disappointing because it does not tie up any loose end, delivers no emotional pay-off, and kills off a beloved character for no reason. Even if season 2 turns out great, the issue is that season 1 does not feel like a complete season of television.

If the introduction was only two episodes long, with the reveal of Yura’s identity happening at the end of episode 2, then surely, in the span of a standard 16 episodes, the season would have had time to conclude its most important storylines: (1) Cheon Ryun and Do Hoon taking down what is left of the Union and reforming the NIS, (2) Yu Ra and Do Hoon having an actual conversation about their pasts and the fact that they have been lying to each from the moment they met, (3) Tae Gu clearly telling Yu Ra that he did not kill her parents and helping her get her revenge so they can reconcile along the way.

What I think should have been cut to accommodate this: (1) the kids’ love story, (2) the grandpa’s love stories and the hints that he has super powers or whatever that was, (3) a lot of the scenes with the little brother and his pregnant wife. They should then be replaced by storylines that are tied to the main plot. Like, maybe the grandpa is an army veteran who was friends with one of the antagonists, maybe the brother getting involved with loan sharks ends up placing him in a dangerous position where his life is at risk and he is himself turning into a criminal, and Do Hoon and/or Yu Ra learn and don’t know how to best help him without putting him and themselves in danger, or maybe his storyline places him in a certain position vis-à-vis them that forces them to choose whether to cut him off to protect themselves and Minseo, or risk all of their lives for him. Minseo already has the whole plot with the uncle, who cares about her romance? Additionally, I think it would have been interesting if the family members learned the truth about Do Hoon and Yu Ra, so that they too can become a vessel to explore the theme: would they cut off Do Hoon and Yu Ra to protect themselves and their family?

The theme of the drama is very clear (they spell it out more than once): family matters more than anything. Despite this, there are too few instances where our protagonists, Do Hoon and Yu Ra are tested to prove that they indeed place family above all else. To fully explore the theme, it would have been interesting to see the characters be forced to define who they consider family, if all family is equal to them, and how far they are willing to go to protect their family. Would Yu Ra and Do Hoon sacrifice innocents for their family? Would they sacrifice one family member for another? Would they leave their family behind if they thought it was the only way to ensure their safety? The only time their belief is truly challenged is after they learn the truth about each other, but they both seem to make up their mind very quickly that they will choose to trust each other and remain together despite everything. Otherwise, the show only has them going around trying to protect their family from outside forces, something which should have been the focus of the last, say, four episodes of a 16 episodes season, after they’ve spent ten episodes of proper character exploration.

But hey, that’s just my opinion. Overall, I still enjoyed season 1, but it was definitely disappointing. Still, I have good hope that season 2 (if indeed there is a season 2) is going to be so good it will make up for the flaws of season 1.

#family the unbreakable bond #kdrama #my meta #jang nara #jang hyuk #it must be said that jang nara simply never disappoints #i love her so much

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slendypuppy · 8 months ago

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The Fly

Basically a crackfic/shitpost of The Fly that landed on Mike Pence's head that was lowkey requested on TikTok many moons ago that I'm finally getting around to posting here on Tumblr.

Like my writing? You can find more on Wattpad or AO3!

The debate was in full swing and everyone was hanging on to every word spoken by the Vice President. Everyone wanted to know what he had to say. Was it good? Was it bad? What did he stand for? What did he believe in? Those watching either loved him or hated him, there did not seem to be any in-between. However... there was one being in the crowd that was a bit more into Pence than anyone else - be they in the room or watching on their television screens. And that was The Fly. You see, The Fly had been following the Vice President for hours, wanting and wishing to get closer but unable to work up the nerve to land on the man. What if he was just brushed away? What if he was killed, smashed beneath the very hand that he wished would simply caress his small, winged body? The Fly was nearly at the end of his life. He only had a few days at best. And Pence made him wish that he could live forever. He saw great potential in the Vice President. He saw great everything. His beautiful white hair, his dark eyes, everything about him was wonderful. He hoped that Trump was treating him well. Trump was a little too orange for The Fly. He much preferred the stark white hair and pale skin of Pence.

It was hard to work up the courage to approach Pence. The Fly flew around the room a number of times, wishing that he could just work up the nerve to go over to him already. The Fly ended up landing on one of the walls, multiple eyes watching the Vice President with such intensity. He needed to do this. He would regret it for the rest of his days, perhaps even in death as well, if he flew away and didn't at least land on that glorious head of hair. So, giving himself a bit of an internal pep talk, The Fly departed from the wall and buzzed over to the white-haired man.

The Fly circled the Vice President a few times, buzzing closer and closer to the man. The Fly could feel his heart stutter every time he got close. It was such an intense feeling, being this close to such a powerful man. Circling a few more times, The Fly finally got the courage to descend upon Mike Pence's head - more specifically, upon his hair.

Immediately, he felt like his life was complete. He felt like the part of him that had been missing all of his life was now there. Pence was what had been missing from his life. The Fly had been expecting the man to immediately reach up and shoo him away but instead... He allowed The Fly to settle there. What did this mean? Was this the Vice President accepting The Fly's advances? Could this potentially lead to something... more? The Fly wasn't even focused on anything that was being said, did not even care that he was on camera. He took one of his appendages and stroked through the white strands of hair upon the Vice President's head, letting out a quiet buzzing sigh as his wings fluttered. This was more than he could have ever hoped for. More than he could have ever wished for. He felt whole now. The Fly could die happy knowing he had successfully perched upon Mike Pence's head.

Time passed and still, the Vice President did not try to shoo him away. It was a miracle. The Fly took in Pence's scent, his taste, the way he felt beneath his feet. Again he reached out to caress the soft strands of hair he was standing on. This was the best day of his whole entire life, a life that was going to end in a matter of days. But perhaps he would meet Pence in another life, where they were both flies and could happily buzz around together. But alas, today was not that day.

The Fly stayed in Pence's hair for as long as he could. Long enough that it became weird to those watching. Very weird. Why wasn't Pence brushing The Fly off? Did he not feel it? Did he not care? Was he actually just a reanimated corpse that attracted things such as flies? The sight of the fly left the general public with more questions than answers, but to The Fly, it left him feeling loved and satisfied. He wanted nothing more than to stay nested in Pence's white hair for the rest of his days, however short that time may be, but he knew that he must leave. Pence was a busy man who had so much to do. So with one final caress of the Vice President's hair, The Fly buzzed off toward a crack in the wall. Before squeezing his way out of the room, he gave one final glance back at the man on the stage.

Farewell, my love, The Fly thought to himself, looking longingly at the man before he turned and climbed through the crack in the wall. Until we meet again.

#crack fic #shitpost #wattpad #ao3 #slendy writes

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murfpersonalblog · 5 months ago

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Dunno how far you are in the books, so I hope I'm not spoiling!

Armand does try, in Memnoch the Devil, when Lestat shows him the Veil of Veronica that he got from Jesus (listen, it's a long story--MtD's from Les' POV, so we only get the full explanation in The Vampire Armand).

I've briefly referred to book!Armand's depression here, and his suicide attempt here; but slightly more in depth here--cuz my theory/hope's that Rolin's gearing up for show!Armand to try, too--and find his purpose by meeting Benji & Sybelle (or whatever Night Island's supposed to be).

TL;DR: Armand's a religious zealot who's been suffering a crisis of faith his whole life. He's been looking for god, and was abandoned every time he thought he'd found it (he thought Marius & Lestat looked just like the White Jesus from medieval icons he used to paint as a boy). But upon seeing Jesus' REAL face in Lestat's Veil, he's comforted/inspired by the proof that God is real, and that even vampires (damned for eternity) can eventually be redeemed & atone in Hell, so they can one day be worthy of the Final School of Heaven. So he martyrs/kills himself by running into the daylight on national television.

"Bear witness," I said. I held up my open arms to the blinding light, this molten silvery death. "This sinner dies for Him! This sinner goes to Him." Cast me into Hell, Oh Lord, if that is Your will. You have given me Heaven. You have shown me Your Face. And Your Face was human.

Armand burns alive, is yeeted into the air in the flames, crashes into a building, is partially buried in snow. His attempt failed--he later suspects that he himself launched himself into the building for shelter when the pain got too great.

I surmised here that Anne Rice must've been VERY depressed after Book 3 (Queen of the Damned); cuz her next books are crammed full of fiery suicidal ideation: Lestat flies into the sun in Book 4 (Tale of the Body Thief), Armand walks into the sun in Book 5 (MtD), and Louis goes into the sun in Book 7 (Merrick).

In Book 6 The Vampire Armand), Armand's post-healing from his attempt, recovering thanks to 2 kids who reared him back to health while he was all burnt up, Benji & Sybelle (whom he adopts). They give Armand a reason to keep on living; cuz AR's books are all about vampirism as an allegory for parenthood, and overcoming grief/depression/self-loathing. (TVA is one of my favorite AR books.)

Lestat briefly wakes from his coma in TVA, but he only officially wakes up in Merrick. There's a major tonal shift after Merrick, as AR experiments with a bunch of other character POVs, before finally returning to Lestat once her mood improved, and the depressed/suicidal themes wrap up, her most tormented characters finally finding closure by the final 3 books (the Prince Lestat trilogy).

AMC's ruined 514 year old daywalker Armand's susceptibility to burn in the sun, but I wonder if he still won't TRY to Magnus/Daciana himself in a fire. Cuz Armand's just canonically NOT old enough to be fully day/fireproof yet. 👀

[EDITED TO ADD]

And I think AMC's been planting seeds that show!Armand and book!Armand are actually very much similar beasts--they're both uber-dependent on coven life, desperately in need of monk-like structure of laws & rules & schedules and a carefully curated lifestyle (the Theatre, Dubai, etc) to keep their lives tidy and give them some sense of control & order over their otherwise chaotic life.

Without those crutches, where would Armand be? Who would he have?

Esp. if AMC's gearing up for Daniel to reject Armand like he does in the books--when Armand only tries to kill himself once he feels he's completely ALONE. And that's when he finds Benji & Sybelle, who need him as much as he needs them.

But who knows--Rolin could throw another curveball and have me way off base, LOL.

i don't know how to phrase this delicately but does anyone know why armand hasn't tried to kill himself. like iirc in queen of the damned he shares in daniel's terrible fear of death but then he still tries to khs anyway so i'm not sure that'd explain it (also as i read the books i'm learning that show!armand and book!armand are two different beasts....)

like i just can't believe that he'd go through all he's gone through without trying to off himself. maybe he has tried, and we just haven't been told about it in the show yet, i dunno. but i just wondered if anyone had any theories about what keeps him going despite all he's endured

#the vampire armand #memnoch the devil #religion

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pedrospatch · 2 years ago

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Moved On (Andy Barber x Wife!Reader)

A/N: Thanks for this request! I attempted an Andy Barber fic once but tbh I wasn’t happy with it and deleted so thank you for sending this one in so I could have another shot. <3 This fic takes place three years after the series. A few things deviate from the book/television series, but I you like this, anon.

Pairing: Andy Barber x Wife Reader

Warnings: Language, angst, Laurie Barber.

Length: 2.4k words

Andy crosses his arms over his chest and leans against the granite kitchen island as he watches you in pure adoration while you go about setting the table for dinner. He knows that he should probably be helping you out, but he simply can’t help himself as he stands there and stares at you in complete and utter awe—he never would have believed that this was the life he would be living. Sometimes he can’t believe this is the life he’s living, even after all this time. It often feels like a dream, a blissful dream he's afraid that one day he’ll wake up from.

If someone would have told Andy three and half years ago that one day he would be remarried to the love of his life, expecting his second child, and that his teenaged son would be healed, healthy, and happy, he would have scoffed right in their damn face. After everything that had happened—the murder trial, the near fatal car crash, and Laurie being put behind bars for nearly killing herself and their son, Andy could have sworn that his life was over. Laurie had been put in the psychiatric unit of a women’s correctional facility to serve her four and a half year prison sentence and shortly after that, Jacob had come out of his medically induced coma with an incredibly long and painful road to recovery ahead of him. Physically, mentally, and emotionally, Jacob had been wounded so deeply by everything that had happened and Andy feared he wouldn’t be able to be the strength his son needed to go on. He’d been left all on his own to pick up the shattered, jagged pieces of the world he once knew, with no idea of how to even start putting them back together again.

But then you happened.

Andy never saw this coming—never saw you coming.

When he first met you, from the first hello you two exchanged, Andy couldn’t have possibly imagined that you would end up being exactly what he and his son needed.

“Take a picture, it’ll last longer,” You tease, smiling over your shoulder at him.

“Sorry, honey.” Andy chuckles and shakes his head, uncrossing his arms as he pushes himself away from the kitchen island. “What can I help you out with?”

“Can you pull out the salad from the fridge and bring it over to the table?”

He quickly nods and does as you request, bringing over the bowl of salad that you’d chopped up earlier to the table. He sets it in the middle of the table before taking his seat at the head of the table. “Where’s Jake? Let’s get him down here, I’m starving.”

“Jacob!” You call out loudly. “Dinner’s ready! Let’s go, shut off that video game!”

Andy frowns. “Video game? Isn’t he supposed to be studying?”

“It’s Friday, so I let the kid live a little.” You wink at your husband as you take a seat beside him and drape a clean white cloth napkin across your lap. “And besides, he’s been doing really well in his classes. His counselor e-mailed me the other day. Jake’s grades have never been better.”

“He has a good influence.” Andy reaches over and places his hand over yours.

At that moment, your seventeen year old stepson comes down the stairs and takes a seat across from you. He has a white envelop clutched in one of his hands.

“What do you have there, bud?” Andy questions suspiciously as soon as he sees it. He raises an eyebrow at his son. “You’re not in any trouble, are you?”

Jacob doesn’t reply, and instead, he simply shoots you a nervous glance.

“Go on,” You encourage him, grinning excitedly. “Tell him, Jake.”

Andy glances between the two of you, confused. “Tell me what? What’s going on?”

“It’s an acceptance letter,” Jacob informs him, handing it over. “My first one. It came in the mail earlier today.” He shoots his father a sheepish look. “I was going to wait for all three of us to be together to open it, but I couldn’t wait and neither could she,” he explains, tossing you a quick smile. “We figured we’d just tell you over dinner.”

Andy opens it and he beams with pride as his blue eyes glaze over the document in his hand. “Northeastern University?”

Jake nods. “I’m going to e-mail the school and commit first thing on Monday for the upcoming semester.”

Andy’s smile fades ever so slightly. “Commit? Already? Are you sure this is where you want to go? You’re still waiting on other letters, Jacob. Isn’t it a little too soon to make the commitment?” he asks, setting the letter down. “You still have a couple of months left in the school year. Don’t you want to wait?”

“Not really. This school is the closest to home, dad. I don’t want to move somewhere too far for college, especially since I want to be close enough come and see my little sister after she’s born.” Jacob turns from his father and his eyes meet yours. “I want to be a part of her life as much as possible. I can’t do that if I ship myself off too far for school.”

You place a hand on your growing baby bump. “He’s got a point, Andy.”

“Well, if that’s your decision, than you have our full support.” Andy puts a hand on Jacob’s shoulder and gives it a squeeze. “I’m so proud of you, Jake. We both are. We know you’ve got a bright future ahead of you.”

“Thanks, dad.”

After dinner, Jacob excuses himself from the table to watch television—normally he’s the one to help you clear the table and clean up, but Andy decides to give him a pass for the night and volunteers to help you himself. You’re in the kitchen tossing scraps into the silver, stainless steel trash can when Andy walks in, takes the plate from your hand and sets it down on the counter. He then grabs you and takes you into his arms, pressing his lips to yours in a long, slow kiss that sends chills up and down the length of your spine. As his hands start to wander, you break away from him ever so slightly, resting your hand gently on his chest.

“Mm, someone’s feeling extra affectionate today,” You murmur against his lips.

“I’m just really happy, is all. Ridiculously, deliriously happy.”

“Oh?”

“Mhm.” Andy moves his mouth to your neck and starts to trail his way down to your chest.

You laugh, lightly pushing him away. “Let’s finish cleaning up first, lover boy,” You tell him, eliciting an impatient groan from him. “I cleared off the dishes for you, can you just load them into the washer for me?”

“Fine.” He playfully rolls his eyes. “But wait until I get my hands on you later tonight. I had dinner, now I want my dessert,” he smirks at you. “My sweet tooth is aching for you.”

“Jesus, Andy! Jake is in the room next door! Save it for the bedroom,” You remind him, blushing as your attention turn back to the trash can. You grab at the bag, tying together securely before pulling it out of the component. “I’ll be right back, I’m just going to go take this outside.”

Andy shakes his head and reaches out. “Sweetheart, let me do that for you—”

“Andy, I’m pregnant, not wounded. I’m perfectly capable of taking out the trash,” You tell him, shooting him a look. “I’ll be right back.” You make your way through the house and out the front door, stepping out into the chilly, evening air. You walk down the long driveway towards the black garbage can, lift the lid open and quickly toss the bag inside, letting the lid slam shut. As you turn and begin to walk back up to the house, you stop when you get the sudden feeling that you’re being watched by somebody. Furrowing your eyebrows, you slowly turn on your heel and let out a gasp when you see her standing there right beside Andy’s Audi.

Laurie Barber.

You and Andy have been hearing faint whispers around town about Laurie’s possible early release due to her improvement and good behavior. After the car crash, Laurie and her defense lawyers had taken a plea deal from the prosecution in order to avoid having to go to trial. While her sentence may have been light considering the serious nature of what she had done, the mandated court order to stay away from Andy and Jacob had been much harsher. She was not allowed to come into contact with either of them after her release or it would violate the terms of her probation. And yet, here she is, standing right in front of you, outside of your family’s home.

You stand there, frozen solid on the spot, looking like a deer caught in the headlights.

Laurie stares at you, her eyes falling to your swollen midsection.

Instinctively, your hand goes to your stomach.

Her eyes flicker to the diamond ring on your finger. “You must be his new wife,” she says, rigidly. “I heard he remarried. But I didn’t know he was having another baby.”

You open your mouth to speak, but nothing comes out and you clamp it shut.

Unsure of what else to do, you give a small nod of your head.

“I’d heard the rumors that he’d completely moved on,” Laurie says. Despite the stiff, and cold tone of her voice, you can see that her eyes are brimming with tears. “Part of me refused to believe that he could forget about the life we had together, just like that. That he could move on so quickly.”

“Laurie, you shouldn’t be here,” You finally manage to say. “You need to leave.”

“How’s Jacob?”

“Laurie, please, you need to leave right now before Andy sees you—”

She ignores you, firmly repeating, “How is Jacob?”

You let out a small sigh, feeling conflicted.

One on hand, you can’t stand the woman for what she had done. But then, on the other, you can see the remorse in her eyes and you know that she’s desperate to hear about her son. “He’s doing great, Laurie,” You tell her. “Jake is thriving. He’s doing well in school, he’s been accepted into a good university. And most importantly, he’s healthy and he’s happy.”

“I need to see him.”

“You can’t. The judge ordered you to stay away from him.”

Laurie steps forward and grabs your arms. “Please! I need to see Jacob—”

“Get your fucking hands off my wife!” Andy’s growl comes from behind you, startling both you and Laurie. He snatches you out of her grasp and pushes you behind him, his broad shoulders squaring protectively. He speaks again, his tone venomous as he faces his ex-wife for the first time in over three years. “What the fuck are you doing here, Laurie?”

She lifts her chin, a tear sliding down her cheek. “I’m here because I want to see my son.”

“After you tried to fucking kill him?” He nearly shouts. “Are you fucking insane?”

“I made a mistake, Andy! I wasn’t in the right frame of mind! After everything, after the trial, everything was just falling apart and I couldn’t take it!” Laurie shouts back at him. “It was a fucking terrible mistake!”

“A mistake that nearly cost our son his life!”

You step beside your husband and place a hand on his chest. “Andy, please! You need to calm down before Jacob overhears and comes outside.” You look up at him, your eyes meeting his. You can see the anger, the pain, all of his emotions swimming in them and your opposite hand slips into his, lacing your fingers together. You give his hand a small squeeze. “Please, just calm down.”

Andy nods in agreement and takes a deep breath before turning back to Laurie. “I don’t know where you got the nerve to show up at my door,” he says. He’s certainly calmer than before, but there’s still an angry edge to his tone. “How you can even show your face around here after what you did is beyond me.”

“I’m sorry,” Laurie whispered. “For everything. Andy, from the bottom of my heart, I’m so fucking sorry. You have to believe me, I wasn’t in a good place. Mentally, or emotionally.” At this point, the tears were now streaming down her face. “I love my son, and I live with the guilt and the shame of what I did every damn second of every damn day. I never meant for any of it to happen, Andy. You have to believe me. I love Jacob.”

Her apology doesn’t faze Andy, but it fazes you.

Perhaps it’s the pregnancy hormones that have you on the sensitive side. But you just can’t help but to feel some sympathy for Laurie Barber.

“Please. I just want to see my son. I want to tell him I’m sorry. At least let me do that,” she pleads. “Let me apologize to him, face to face.”

Andy is about to protest when you place a hand on his arm to stop him.

“Let us talk to Jacob, first. And if he decides he is up to seeing you, then we can contact our attorney. They can speak to the judge and perhaps we can arrange something if he allows it.” You glance between Andy and Laurie. “It’s a decision that Jake should make. And everyone will respect his choice as well as the choice of the judge. Can we all agree on that?”

“Okay. I can agree to that.” Laurie nods. “Andy? Do you agree?”

His lips press into a tight, thin line. “You’re lucky my wife is here to be the voice of reason. Because if it were up to me, you’d never fucking see him again. Not a fucking chance. Now leave my property before I call your probation officer.” He grabs your hand and starts pulling you towards the house. “Come on. Let’s go back inside.”

“Wait!” Laurie reaches for your opposite hand, holding you back.

Andy’s nostrils flare. “Don’t fucking touch her!”

She ignores him, her desperate eyes meeting yours. “If Jake decides that he wants nothing to do with me, can you just do me a favor?”

You nod slowly.

“Look after him for me, please. From a mother to a mother. Please, just look after my boy for me.”

“That’s what I’ve been doing all along, Laurie,” You tell her in a low voice. Before you can stop yourself, it slips out, “I’ve been the mother he’s needed for the last three years.”

Laurie releases you, feeling stung by your words.

“Let’s go,” Andy says firmly, pulling you towards the house.

#andy barber x reader #andy barber x wife reader #andy barber fic #andy barber #andy barber fanfiction #andy barber angst #defending jacob #defending jacob fanfiction #andy barber imagine #chris evans characters

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captainsimagines · 2 years ago

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pretty woman, this is me trying || thirteen

Summary: Bucky Barnes does not like to be touched. He’s completely ready to live a distant life and give up when the time is right. Until Stark hires him his own personal pretty woman. Over time, Bucky Barnes begins to learn how to touch again. How to feel again. How to love himself again.

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Female SexWorker!Reader

Trope(s): Holiday Fanfic ; Slow-Burn ; Friends to Lovers

Based on the Song(s): sweet nothing by Taylor Swift and Iris by The Goo Goo Dolls

(13/14)

Mini-Series

Warnings: guilt; overthinking; loneliness; reference to past SA

Word Count: 1,750+

It’s cruel to be introduced to companionship after you’ve been lonely for so long. What is a person to do when it’s suddenly ripped from their grasp? There is no possibility of acting normal, of forgetting it. You end up feeling even lonelier than you did before. Like what you felt before wasn’t loneliness at all.

Even your coffee didn’t taste good as you watched the morning news.

Christmas news.

The notification from your bank didn’t help either. You were going to murder Tony Stark.

You had spent Christmas alone for two years now, this being the third. But you had scheduled it that way. Your dates were on Christmas Eve, and Christmas was meant for you. This year, however, you had hoped to spend it with a friend. With someone you loved.

Routine came naturally: Make the bed, make the coffee, check your phone, turn on the television. Your plan for the rest of the day was to binge watch a new series or read a book. Dinner was to be simple and snacks had been stocked since last week. There was a bottle of wine chilling in the fridge. But there were two glasses set out for tonight. Lainey’s and yours.

It would have been the first time using Lainey’s glass since she died. You would have poured Bucky’s drink in it.

Oh, God. You told Bucky you loved him and he didn’t even seem to catch it. Was your luck that shit? Or was this a consequence of your actions? You avoided looking at the Christmas tree in the corner of your living room, avoided looking at the small gift for Bucky underneath.

A knock at your front door had your heart bursting through your cardigan, anticipation for one person in particular overwhelming your senses. Though, as you inched closer to the closed door, you highly doubted Bucky would stop by at all. He had been adamant about stopping you yesterday, but you closed the conversation with such a hurtful message. Both to him and about you.

You had expected Natasha.

It was a surprise seeing Steve Rogers outside your apartment door.

“Have you come to throw me off my fire escape?”

Steve pushed past you, entering your apartment without permission. The man was nothing like Bucky Barnes except in regards to build and strength.

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Why did I need to tell you? Besides, I highly doubt you would have treated me better knowing I was a hooker.”

“I would never judge you for that.”

“No, but you judged me for simply being Bucky’s friend.”

He exhaled roughly, caught in the trap. He was realizing just how misdirected and needless his suspicion was.

“Did you two…?” he started, but stopped when your expression turned sour. “Sorry, sorry.”

You rolled your eyes, moving to sit on the couch. You crossed your arms over your chest, refusing to be on guard in your own home. “Not at first. I was hired to attend the Ball with him. We decided he would be more comfortable if we got to know each other. Then things escalated.”

“But what you said last night… Bucky didn’t want you?”

It sounded worse when repeated from someone else’s lips. “Stark found me online. Bucky just never told me he was basically coerced into it.”

“I’m going to kill Tony.”

You chuckled softly. Men and their first reactions of violence.

“I understand he didn’t want me in the beginning, and that he wants me now. But am I just supposed to pretend that I didn’t start this relationship with money as the end goal?”

“Were you going to drop Bucky? Take the money and run?”

“No.”

“Then I don’t see the problem.”

You huffed, “You already didn’t like me. If you don’t like me, how am I supposed to get on everyone else’s good side?”

Steve brushed a hand down his face, dropping down onto the couch beside you. “My opinion isn’t that powerful.”

“When you say that, do you realize how daft you sound?”

He glared, but there was no longer anger attached. “I didn’t mean to push you into the wall.”

“Did you mean to push me into the street?”

He grumbled and said more to himself, “You sound just like him.”

“Is he okay?”

“He hasn’t left his bed since he plopped his ass into it last night. But I should be asking that question, too. Is he okay?”

Steve Rogers was a man dying to know if his best friend was healing. Steve Rogers was a man who had forgone a rescue mission for Bucky after he fell from the Alps because he hadn’t known Bucky had the serum. Steve Rogers was a man who found out his best friend was alive, but was tortured because he hadn’t looked for Bucky’s body himself. Steve Rogers was a man who had his best friend back, but could not touch him.

“Our pact was this,” you started, lifting your legs onto the couch so you could tuck them underneath yourself. “Step by step, we tried different things to get him used to regular touch again. Pinky promises, passing each other objects, having me braid his hair. Then he got comfortable holding my hand. Comfortable with me standing behind him. Comfortable with hugs and kissing. Then, more adult things.”

Amazement clouded in Steve’s eyes as he heard you speak.

“Once he was comfortable with me, then he would know if he’d be comfortable with someone else. He proved that after he rescued Natasha. Even if he could only hold her for a few minutes, he still did it. It wouldn’t have been possible if he didn’t trust me—If he didn’t want to get better.”

Steve licked his lips, looking down at his lap. “He never told me that.”

“What did he say?”

Steve scrunched his nose, fighting his thoughts. “That you were nice and that you were just friends.”

“Steve…”

“They hurt him really bad, didn’t they?”

Your eyes burned as you watched the moment Steve Rogers realized his friend hadn’t just lost his mind to the enemy. That he had lost so much more.

“It’s not my story to tell.”

“But it’s exactly what I’m thinking right?”

Your lips pulled thin, and Steve broke down right there on your couch, on Christmas morning. You scooted the short distance between the two of you, and threw your arms around his broad shoulders.

Steve didn’t hesitate. He held onto you for dear life.

Empty.

His chest, his stomach, his head. He couldn’t exactly tell what felt more bare. He often pondered what it would have felt like if you did decide to leave him after your part of this deal. He assumed he’d be hurt, but that he would get over it in a day or two.

It hasn’t even been twelve hours since he last saw you and Bucky feels like he’s been sawn in two.

Axel snoozed by his feet, exhausted after having calmed Bucky down when he first entered his apartment. It was a silent eater, this pain. He had thought he’d throw some things, maybe punch a wall. But the self-rage and embarrassment were flooded behind his sternum, crashing against his ribcage.

So Bucky had curled into his blankets, into Axel’s fur, and suffered in silence.

You loved him.

And in this silence, he loved you too.

A knock sounded on his bedroom door. Bucky groaned in response, pushing the covers down so his head was exposed. Steve squeezed his way through the small space he provided himself, standing by the edge of Bucky’s bed.

“She’s okay, if you’re wondering.”

Bucky closed his eyes, sighing, “You saw her?”

“Mmm,” Steve answered. A yes in his own language, Bucky assumed. “She gave me some cookies to go, too.”

It was then that Bucky noticed the small container of carefully packaged cookies. “That means she likes you.”

Steve offered him a gentle smile, though it didn’t quite meet his eyes. Neither of them spoke for a full minute, awkwardness absent as dreadful tension took its place instead. Bucky knew what Steve was going to say before he even said it.

It was about damn time. He often wondered why Steve never asked to see the tapes, trusting Bucky’s words of They didn’t hurt me too bad, instead. Or maybe it wasn’t a trust in that Bucky told the truth, but a trust that whenever Bucky was truly ready to speak about it, Steve would listen.

“Buck, do you still want to keep it a secret?”

Bucky sat up so his back leaned against the headboard. He fumbled with his fingers as he debated an appropriate response. “The less people who know, the less real it is.”

Steve took a step closer, allowing Bucky time to refuse it. Then he stepped again and again, until he was seated on the bed itself. “Buck, it’s me.”

Bucky scanned Steve’s face and only found sincerity, a welcome to rant and cry and scream. The face of his best friend eighty years ago when Bucky had lied about what the content of his draft letter said. The face of his best friend when Bucky had omitted the fact Hydra had shot him up with some second-grade serum.

Bucky sucked in a breath, swallowing hard. “I told them no.”

Steve crumbled instantly, his eyes filling with tears. “Buck—”

“I begged them not to every single time. I said no."

Steve reached a hand across the sheets, palm up. An invitation and a question wrapped in one. Bucky laid his flesh hand over Steve’s, realizing just how touch-deprived Steve was, too. Steve remained still, frightened that one wrong movement would snap Bucky away.

“I lost count after twenty years.”

Steve dipped his head, pressing his lips together. “And she was helping you all this time.”

“She thinks everyone is going to hate her. She doesn’t know that I have the same fear… Of everyone knowing.”

“I told her this,” Steve began, his tone fierce. “That we have assassins, murderers, witches, and thieves on our team. No one is going to judge her. I promise you, Bucky. No one is going to judge her, and no one will judge you if you ever decide to tell them.”

With a small smile, Bucky admitted, “I’m still going to overthink it, Rogers.”

Steve took a chance and bent his fingers. Bucky moved slightly, giving Steve more opportunity to strengthen his grip if he wanted.

“You might,” Steve chuckled, sniffing and rubbing his nose against the fabric on his shoulder. “But promise me that you will come talk to me, or her, whenever you feel hopeless.”

Bucky sniffed away his tears, too. Sprinkling some light into their conversation, Bucky told him, “Thank you for killing those bastards for me.”

“Anytime, Buck.”

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x y/n #Bucky Barnes #bucky barnes/reader #bucky barnes fanfic #captainsimagines #by Moni #holiday fanfic #holiday smut #marvel fanfiction #pretty woman au

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huenjin · 4 years ago

Text

and they were roommates.

summary — who would have thought that a very naked sight of your best friend and a torn shower curtain in the rainiest of weathers could start romance? or in which you start falling for your childhood best friend, lee minho, unaware that he’s always been in love with you.

pairing — lee minho x reader, ft. binsung.

genre — fluff, smut, crack | roommates!au, bff2l!au

rating — 18+

word count — 11k words.

note — smut warnings under the cut, ofc! i suck at making summary adagafga!! but but but, i promise this story is adorable, okay, minus all that smut, my lame humor and those bit of rushed parts? this took forever and i'm so sorry for all that had to wait, especially the one who requested this uwuwu.

smut warnings — a lot of kissing, a lot of swearing, mentions of naked exposure, fingering, cunnilingus, riding/reader on top, penetration, unprotected sex (wrap it before you snap it), choking. there isn't a loooot of smut either, ah! so enjoy the fluff ride.

"You idiot," you scream, loud enough for your neighbours to hear. You pull out the keys that hang outside in the key hole and pull open the door. "How could you leave the keys outside, Minho?"

"I mean, what if someone stole it?" You throw your keys and Minho's into the small box on a ledge by the door. Removing your shoes, you put on the pair of your house shoes by the side and walk further into the apartment. "Or what if someone broke in? You could get killed, you dumb hoe! Or worse, our new television could get stolen."

You hear no response and just the loud sound of shower running in the bathroom hits the walls of your shared apartment. You walk to your room, passing by the common bathroom, after throwing your bag on the sofa. You talk on the way, yelling in hopes that he would hear.

"Did you walk back in the rain? There's no other reason as to why I did not see you after college. Jisung was searching for you too, Minho."

You change into a pair of shorts and black camisole, pulling your hair up and knotting it, all while your ears pick up the small humming from the bathroom. You shake your head at the fact that since it's Lee Minho in the shower, he is probably going to take his own time to come out. After all, he is the reason why your water bill is so high.

"Yah, Lee Minho!" You walk outside and hit the door with your fists to bring at least a little of his attention towards you. "Do you want the leftovers or should I get food delivered?"

"Delivery!" he screams back, hearing the shower sounds lower and you yell back in response, "Okay," and walk back to the living room, falling back and plopping down on the comfortable rexine covered sofa.

Your phone rings in the next minute and you are pulling it from your pocket quickly all because you are bored out of your mind. It is also because your stupid best friend from the god forbidden age of five to till this date, takes forever to get out from the shower.

It's Jisung. Not that you would have a doubt even if you had picked up without looking at the name on the screen — your friend circle is that small. It has just been you, Minho and Jisung majorly for almost three fourth of your life, the other one fourth of it with you having your parents as your best friends. Jisung had always been the annoying kid in the playground that pushed you off the swing because he wanted to play and Minho had always been the knight in shining armour in your local playground, the defender of all things right as he saved you from Jisung's frustrating taunts.

And then your mother — oh dear, she is the reason why you are still stuck with Minho's rich arse (mostly because she thought too that this is the finest her very antisocial daughter would ever find in a man) — decides that since Lee Minho was so kind to save her poor damsel-like daughter, he might as well do it forever. Fast forward to present day, and you are still cleaning up after him.

"Did Minho reach home?" Jisung asks as soon as you answer the call. You roll your eyes and shift your position to one that allows you to stretch your leg against the length of the sofa.

"Oh, hi, Y/N," you fake your tone, mocking Jisung's ignorance. "Did you reach home safely? Did you get caught in the rain? Oh no!" And then quickly changing it back to normalcy, "Yes, Jisung. I reached home safely. The rain did get heavy as I walked back home but nothing to worry. Did you reach home safely?"

Jisung is laughing loudly on the other end. "Sorry, Y/N," he makes a weird kissing sound and you pull your phone away from your ear. "I presume Minho's safe at home, else you would be the one to crash my phone with the endless calls in worry of his safety. Ha!"

"He got caught in the rain," you sigh. "I hope he's okay though. I would have mentioned how he was, had he just come out of that goddamn bathroom but no! It almost seems like he is rebuilding the whole bathroom." Jisung laughs so loud that you have to pull the phone away from your ear again.

"Dude, dude, dude," Jisung calls out for you through the line.

"Yeah?"

"You and Minho are totally like my parents fighting."

"Do you want to get punched in your face, Han Jisung?" You sit up straight, folding your leg across each other and bending forward, your elbow digging into your thigh as your hand supports your head.

"And my boyfriend would punch yours if you punched mine," he huffs and you know he is talking about Seo Changbin. At a good five feet and six inches, the shorter male befriended Jisung and then wooed him over in grade eleven with some weird shining universe experiment for a science project and the Han Jisung you had always known, fell for the gesture immediately. They began dating a week after, making Changbin the only other human being you willingly chose to become closer to.

"Like Minho would let that," you click your tongue and Jisung laughs again, mumbling, "How have you guys not slept with each other yet? You guys are roommates."

"I'll kill you, Han Jisung."

"Like you would." The minute Jisung taunts back, you hear a loud noise of something crashing down and the sound is from the bathroom. You jump upwards, quickly hanging up without even telling Jisung that you were leaving as you drop your phone and rush towards the bathroom, taking huge steps to reach before the door in less than a few seconds.

You slam your fist against the door, over and over again, yelling, "Yah," to draw his attention before asking, "Minho, are you okay? I'm coming in," and you pull open the door to the common bathroom. A decision you wish you had not chosen but one you had to take for his safety.

Before a very surprised you lay a very, very naked Lee Minho, groaning with his back against the cold white tiles of the bathroom, neck lifting his head above to instinctively avoid hitting the floor. His hand holds a huge piece of the shower curtain that he must have tried holding onto before falling and as the colour drains from your face, lips wide apart, staring at your naked best friend in shock who is staring back at you, it dawns upon you quickly.

You immediately slap your hand over your eyes and scream as loud as you could possibly, "Fuck, fuck. I just saw your schlong, oh my god!"

"Are you not going to look at me at all now that you saw my dick?"

Minho rolls his eyes at you as a soft groan leaves his lip while he tries to make himself more comfortable on his bed. This time, he is fully clothed, black shirt over his torso and navy blue shorts. You are sitting on a small chair by his side, Chinese herbal medicinal mix in a white ceramic bowl, a tub filled with warm water and a towel and long white bandages on the table by the bed. The Chinese herbal medicinal mix was something your mother specifically ordered you to prepare for the boy before you.

You hand him a cup of warm water first which he takes and is about to swallow it down when you look at the wooden bedpost behind him and mumble, "But I saw your womb raider." Minho chokes on the water before coughing and you quickly pat his back which leads him to cry softly in pain and you are left apologising over and over again for being reckless.

He places the cup on the table and wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, he narrows his eyes at you and questions, "Womb raider? What the fuck?"

"You know, your schlong," you look away, heat rising up to your cheek. "I saw your schlong, a womb raider."

"I can't believe you call a dick that," he groans, rolling his eyes as if he has completely given up on you, "After having your womb raided enough by many womb raiders."

You look away, taking the ceramic bowl in your hand and mumbling, "None of them were long and thick enough to be called a womb raider though."

"Did you say anything, Y/N?"

"Nothing," you yell and glare at him, cheeks still hot with the image still vivid in your head. "You can't look disappointed in me," you frown at him, "I should be disappointed. You tore the shower curtain."

"It was a mistake!" Minho gasps and tries to sit up but quickly ditches the plan when he feels the spin surge through him. You place the bowl back on the table and push yourself forward to help Minho sit up, your arms wrapped around his waist, your chest against his as you slowly pull him up. Minho explains himself, "If I didn't hold onto that, I would have gotten injured worse. I'm almost perfect now. It's just the slight—" You press your palm against his back and he seethes in pain.

"Slight pain, indeed," you scoff and finally let him rest against the bedpost. "This should do the magic though." You lift the ceramic bowl again and wave it before him, shoving the weird smelling green substance right in front of his nose. "My mother totally said it would work. She also said that you would have to be on the bed resting the whole day."

"You'll be my maid the whole day," Minho lights up, face instantly shining and you sigh, "Do I have an option? After this day though, we are going to buy shower curtains and you are going to pay for it because you tore it." You accuse him and he clicks his tongue.

"Fine."

"Remove your shirt now," you order and he looks at you, a teasing glint glistening in his eyes and he smiles, moving slightly closer.

"Why? Are you going to call my abs washboard now? That you could do laundry on them?" He purses his lips and leans forward and you push him back, his aching back hitting the bedpost again and Minho is crying with pain on the soft impact, albeit this time, you worry if it is fake. "Y/N," he cries, clamping down against his lower teeth hard, "Can you go easy on me?"

"Then stop teasing me!"

"Fine!" He huffs and looks away, "Help me out of this shirt now."

"What? Why? You put the shirt on fine. Can't you remove it on your own?" You question him, the ceramic bowl securely on your lap. Minho stares at you for the longest time ever and you stare back.

Has his eyes always been this tender? Has his skin always been this soft? Was Lee Minho always this charming and pretty to look at?

This is all because you saw his stupidly good dick, argh!

Minho finally answers, "It's harder to remove a shirt than to wear it." You shake your head and your eyes narrow to crinkled slits as you watch your best friend for a second more before placing the crucible back on the table and bending yourself forward to hold tightly the ends of his black shirt. You lift the black material up and remove it from his torso, exposing his abdomen and chest to the warm breeze in the air.

He stares at you and you stare at him back, only till you take the white ceramic bowl again and hopefully the last time and you raise an eyebrow at him, mocking him, "Aren't you going to give me the classic Wattpad naked white male line?"

"What line?"

He looks confused and you laugh, holding the bowl tightly, "You know, the—" You try to lower the pitch of your voice and to sound as cocky as possible, smirking, "Like what you see, baby girl?"

Minho laughs with you till he calms himself down a little, tilts his head and in the most guttural voice you have ever heard your best friend ever go, he repeats, "Like what you see, my baby girl?"

Your heart should not have sped up. Your fingers should not have tightened against the cold white crucible. You should not have pressed your thighs against each other. You should not have had your throat dried up at his very words. But it did and you are staring at Lee Minho in an angle you had never seen him.

When did that stupid five year old boy who thought he could save the whole world grow up into this man?

"Uh, Y/N," Minho waves his hand in front of you, trying to bring your attention back. "Are you going to apply the medicine or? I mean, it's cold."

"Oh yeah," you stutter. "Yeah, yeah, I was about to. Can you turn back so that I can apply it on your back?"

"Yeah," he nods and pressing his hands into the mattress, he shifts himself, turning a one hundred and eight degrees away from you so that his back is facing yours. "This okay?"

"Yeah," you agree. You bend your arm forward to take the cloth soaked in warm water and you press it against his back. Minho bites his tongue in pain, eyes watering before he can't take it anymore and he turns back to face you.

"Minho?"

"Can I do that thing you allowed me to do whenever I was in pain and you had to take care of me?" He asks, unsure, "Am I allowed?"

You nod, softly, smiling warmly at the man before you and you lift the chair up slightly. Minho quickly wraps his arms around your waist, his face buried into your soft chest as he edges closer to you. You place the warm cloth again on his broad back and Minho does what he has always done to combat pain.

He bites into your flesh softly, hard enough to trigger something weird within you at this age but soft enough to not cause any pain.

Your eyes widen and your thighs tighten a bit but Minho is unaware to all this as he snuggles into your warmth, head fuzzy with the pain that throbs through his entire back. After a few minutes, you place the cloth back on the table and hold the crucible tightly. You dig your forefinger and middle finger into the green mix before applying it on his back, soft circles to calm him down and Minho lets go of your flesh, although he still continues to snuggle into you, his thick arms tightening around your frame.

"You're comfortable to hug," he mumbles as you apply the medicine all over his back, his face occasionally pressing against your breast and you gulp, reminding yourself that this is your best friend, that this is the kid you've seen in all his embarrassments.

"Of course, I am," you laugh. "It doesn't pain that much, does it?"

"Not anymore."

"Good," and you apply another layer over the existing one. "Because if you say anything else to my mother, I swear to God, Lee Minho, I will—"

You don't complete. Minho laughs — soft, precious laughter that fills the air and engages your ears. He tilts his head to look up at you from his lower angle. You look down only to come in direct vision of his bright, glistening eyes that hold the stars behind them and his oh-so-flawless skin that you are envious of. Your heart beat escalates and you are about one hundred percent sure that Minho is aware. After all, he did have his ear against your chest in this position.

"Fine, fine," his voice is airy and you could listen to it the whole day. "I'll tell your mother that her daughter took care of me perfectly, alright?"

"Perfect," you smile. "Now sit up straight. I need to bandage you up, just in case." Minho begrudgingly pulls back, a soft whimper leaving his lips before he huffs, folding his arms and sitting straight, looking you in the eyes and you gulp.

"I'll be fine in a day, Y/N," Minho whines and you shake your head, mumbling, "Just in case." You turn your body to grab hold of the white roll of bandage before you beckon for him to come a little closer as you wrap the bandage over his torso, covering the medicinal herbs sticking to his body now.

"You, in fact," you chuckle as you tighten the bandage and Minho seethes in pain at having his muscles pressed. You rub his hair affectionately before continuing, "You, Lee Minho, should be ready enough to cash out money for the shower curtain."

"Fine, fine, fine," Minho huffs only to break out into a smile as he looks at you. "We'll go as soon as I don't think I'll die if I stand up and straighten my back, okay?"

"Perfect," you laugh and pull yourself away from your best friend, clipping the bandage in the exact manner. You help him lie back against the soft mattress. You pick up the crucible and the tub of water as you stand up.

"Y/N," Minho calls out for you and you turn, your head gliding against the joint and your eyebrows rising up in question.

"Yeah?"

"Thanks," he smiles, eyes closed and face so soft that you do want to hold it.

"For what?"

"For taking care of me, doofus. What would I have done had you not been there? You are my knight in shining armour now."

You laugh but your heart is furiously beating against your chest, thrumming against it so loudly that you can hear the beats. Your cheeks flush with heat and you look away, mumbling, "It's nothing," and walk away. You close the door quickly and fall against the vast wooden door finally, away from his presence and you hold the bowls close to you.

Fuck. When did your heart start beating this hard for the same man that you once knew as the stupid five year old with elephant print trunks? When did your heart start thrumming so loudly against your chest for your only best friend?

Either ways, you are doomed. Inevitably.

Jisung: baby, i think it's about time Changbin: for what? Jisung: you know, how we always said those two should probably fuck Changbin: yeah? Jisung: the sexual tension is too high. can we get it over with already and have them date already? Changbin: you've been trying this forever and you failed. Jisung: don't remind me. you're my boyfriend, support me. Changbin: fine! go, sungie!! i love you either way though.

It is exactly three days after the I-exposed-my-cock incident that Lee Minho agrees to go with you to buy the shower curtains.

"Can't we just buy it online?" He had whined, arms folding against each other as he scrolled through his phone. You stand by the sofa, head shaking in disappointment as you reason back, frustrated, "The material," and you hit his arm. Minho winces. "The material is important. I won't compromise on that. Plus, you promised that you would come with me to buy something that you tore. Isn't that only fair?"

Minho does so. After bargaining with him for one tub full of mint chocolate ice cream that you will never understand why he loves so much.

That is exactly how you find yourself here in this shop, shopping cart in your hand and Minho by your side.

"We are only buying the shower curtain," you tell him, staring at the half full shopping cart. "So I don't understand why we need all these."

Minho smiles sheepishly at you. He then points at the two tubs of ice cream and says, "One for you, and one for me. I even chose your favorite flavor!" He continues to point at each article and tell why he needs them very articulately and you stand there in surprise before breaking his speech.

"Fine, fine!" You push the cart ahead. "Now let's just go and get what we came here for." Minho follows you, his one hand on the shopping cart handle to keep pace with you. The two of you stop right in front of the array of curtains in different colours, some on display and some packaged and you smile, whispering under your breath, "Tada." Minho looks at you softly, at the small voice of joy that escapes your lips and he just watches you light up in fascination at something as simple as shower curtains.

Fuck, he loves your domesticity.

"Let's take this," Minho announces as he stretches his arms out to hold onto a pretty blue shower curtain. You hold it in between your fingers feeling the texture before announcing, "No."

"But why?" Minho whines, following your footsteps as you hold onto another shower curtain.

"Because it's polythene," you frown at your best friend. Minho looks at you, confused, his eyebrows furrowing as they look at you like you have grown another pair of hands and legs.

"And so?"

"You could tear it again!"

"It happened once," he sighs, frustrated. "Once. It's not like I'm waiting to fall in the shower, tear the curtain and have you see my dick all the time, babe."

Your cheeks flush at his announcement and the tag he calls you by, your eyes looking away from his pretty face for a split second. Minho shakes his hand, taking a step forward to check a few other shower curtains out when the two of you hear a very familiar voice from behind, in the most professional manner ever.

"Sir, the one you chose is perfect. It is very durable and doesn't stain on contact with water—"

"Han Jisung?" Minho turns, the words of shock leaving his mouth almost instantly. You turn impulsively, eyes wide.

"What the fuck are you guys doing here?"

"Hey," you narrow your eyes at the other male. "I could file a report for bad customer service about now, Sungie."

He folds his arms and looks at the two of you suspiciously, "What are you guys doing here?" He raises an eyebrow at you, scoffing at you, "Like you would."

"What does it look like we're doing here, Sungie?" You bite back jokingly and Jisung laughs, gaze shifting between the two of you.

"I don't know," he runs a hand through his hair before folding his arms again, his fluorescent yellow uniform crumbling with the shift in his arms. "Is this some sort of a new way to date?"

"We aren't—" You quickly start when Minho pulls a curtain forward and breaks your sentence before you can complete as he asks Jisung, "This isn't polythene, is it?"

"Are you stupid?" Jisung frowns before he laughs. "That's clearly polythene. Minho, dude, you're a chemical engineering student. You have got to be kidding me if you can't identify polythene."

Minho doesn't pay heed to Jisung's words. You, on the other hand, stare at your best friend who walks away from you to examine more shower curtains. Did Lee Minho really ask Jisung, a literature student, whether that was polythene — What in the world?

"Y/N? Earth to Y/N?" Jisung snaps your attention back to the present. "Are you going to buy shower curtains today?"

"Yeah?"

"But your shower curtains were fine the last time I came home." You understand Jisung's surprise because the last time he did come home was five days back and the shower curtain was in a perfect condition. "What happened?"

You stretch your arms and point at Minho. The very culprit rolls his eyes before raising his eyebrows and sighing, voicing in the most dramatic voice you have ever heard Minho take, "Yes, Y/N. Yes, Ji. It's me. I tore the shower curtain because I fell in the shower."

"Ouch," Jisung acknowledges Minho's injury before walking past the two of you and taking a shower curtain. "Here's one. You might like this, Y/N."

"It's not PVC, Sungie."

Jisung wants to hit your head, terribly. Perhaps it's your adamance that is the reason as to why your friendship is this tight and strong but in moments like these, he likes Minho more. Minho stands by the side, arms folded and back resting against the wall as he trusts your judgement.

"Are you not going to tell her anything?"

"She handles all this at home. Give her what she wants, Ji," he laughs, fiddling with a few more shower curtains by his side. Jisung shakes his head in disappointment before mumbling, a soft frustrated groan leaving his lips as he throws his head back, "Definitely a married couple," and takes a few polyvinyl chloride made shower curtains.

"Here," he presses his lips. "Don't blame me if the designs aren't that great. You don't get that many good designs in PVC. People go for polythene because it's more available."

"PVC doesn't tear and it's easy to clean!"

"Seconding this as a chemical engineering student," Minho chirps in from behind. You and Jisung turn to look at the man who is on his phone currently and shake your head lightly. "What?"

"He remembers his major now!" Jisung clicks his tongue. "All say, praise the Lord."

"I'm agnostic." You frown.

"More reasons for you to say it easily!"

You find a plain one in the ones he showed you and you take it. Jisung smiles finally, mumbling, "You're a frustrating customer."

"Nah," you scoff. Minho pushes himself off the wall as soon as he sees you done with the selection. "I just know what I want exactly. You, on the other hand, sweetheart," you poke his chest and Jisung chuckles. "You're a pathetic salesperson."

"Of course," he laughs the insult away. "I'm a literature student. I should be working in a publishing company as a part timer."

Minho takes the shower curtain from your hand and puts it in the cart by the side. He comes back, throwing his arm over Jisung's shoulder and frowns, "Apparently publishing companies care a lot more about who your parents are than your resume."

"It's just that publishing company," the other male looks down. "I'll try applying for another one soon."

"Do you want to grab a drink at our place tonight?"

"Can I?"

"Sure," Minho agrees. He drops his arm from Jisung's shoulder and holds the cart handle back, pushing it forward slightly. You take big strides to stand by Minho's side, also holding the handle slightly. Jisung raises his eyebrows at the two of you and with a smile that you don't think twice about, Jisung laughs.

"I'm coming over tonight."

"Sure," you throw your thumbs up at him, stretching your arm. Minho smiles softly at you, his eyes lingering a little longer at your happy figure and he feels his heart beat a little quicker at your sight. Your hair strands framing your face so beautifully, eyes shining the minute you find the exact thing you've had in your mind and your lips curving upwards in joy.

Lee Minho finds the calmness that spring brings him every year in him all over again with you by his side.

"Bring the soju. Beer is on us!"

Jisung: binnie, binnie!! Changbin: yes, baby? Jisung: i think i have a plan. Changbin: let them be, babe. Jisung: we let them be all these years! they pinned after each other without even knowing and we had to see that painfully! Changbin: i guess you make a valid point there Jisung: is it going to rain today? Changbin: it's been raining for the last few days, sungie. it could. just because i study geography as my minor doesn't mean i can forecast weather. hey! Jisung: fine~ i'm going to get them to confess tonight 👀 Changbin: don't mess up. istg Jisung: trust me 🥺 Changbin: i do. more than ever ❤️

Jisung reaches your doorstep at sharp nine. With two bottles of soju in his hands, you see the stains of the droplets of rain falling onto his shoulder.

It is drizzling for now and you worry if it is to rain heavily in a few minutes as the forecast mentioned. You hate the thunder. You hate how the weather changes drastically and worsens to a point that it frightens you and makes you anxious. It's a phobia you have managed to hide from everyone for fears of being treated weaker.

Jisung makes himself at home. He always has. He places the soju bottles on the kitchen countertop and Minho smiles to himself as he walks towards the point where Jisung has happily seated himself. Minho and you are on the other end of the counter while Jisung sits on the adjustable chair, swirling in it before stopping and facing you, Minho and the bottles of soju before him.

"Did it finally hit him?"

"I think?" You whisper back.

"I'm right here!" Jisung yells and you smile. Minho pulls the chair from under the counter and sits himself opposite the other male, pressing his lips together and trying to not laugh. He opens the bottle of soju after shaking it and hitting it against his elbow for a while. It clinks open, the metal hitting the glass before falling onto the table and you watch the two, as Minho pours a drink for Jisung.

He downs it in one go, letting out a loud sigh before stretching his arms and demanding a second one.

"Go easy, Sungie. You have the whole night."

"I don't," he huffs. "Now, please."

Minho pours it again before looking at you and you shake your head to indicate that you wouldn't mind a few. You grab hold of one of the empty cups on the counter before stretching your arm too. Minho laughs – a soft chuckle, so airy and light that you find yourself holding your breath for a small second there – and he pours you your drink.

You twirl your drink, watching the liquid glide against the surface of the cup. Your best friend gets up and walks a little into the kitchen to open the fridge and grab a box of leftovers of fried chicken that you bought a few days ago. He pulls open the microwave to heat it and as he waits, he turns to look back at Jisung and asks him finally.

"Do you want me to drop a word to my uncle?"

"About?"

"He heads the Cheongsam Publication," Minho reveelas, pulling out the chicken from the microwave. He places it before the two of you and almost like you and Jisung were zoomed in, in an American sitcom, both of you gasp dramatically.

"Am I really your best friend?" Jisung yells and you narrow your eyes at Minho. Faking tears in his eyes, he persists in questioning, "Do I not matter to you, Minho?"

"Why are you rooming with me when you could possibly afford a whole room on your own?"

"Yes, Jisung," Minho sighs and sits back on his chair. You bend forward, arms folded against the table as you stare at your best friend in betrayal. "Also, Y/N, don't you love having me around?"

He laughs and rests his head on your shoulder suddenly, causing you to stiffen them in response. Your eyes drift to the left, trying to not make it overtly obvious that Minho's sudden reaction has taken you by surprise. Your eyes land forward on Jisung who looks at you as if he knew this all along, as if he wanted exactly this. The man has a goddamn smirk plastered on his face.

Jisung downs two more shots and you look at him with a raised eyebrow, mumbling, "Slow the fuck down. No one's chasing you."

"Yeah, my goddamn plan," he mumbles before coughing and taking another. Minho sits up straight, finally lifting his head from your shoulder. He stretches his arm to pat Jisung's shoulder in comfort.

"I'll drop a word."

"Now, don't you dare go and say that you want to earn it and all that bullshit," you sigh. "It's the fucking Republic Of Korea. Nepotism is the norm."

"Not planning on saying that," Jisung glares at you. Clearly, Jisung is slightly tipsy, having been the only person to keep drinking. You and Minho opt to just watch over Jisung for the night. Your best friend puckers his lips in Minho's direction and blowing kisses, he says, "I love you, Minho."

"Changbin wouldn't like you saying that to another man though," you scoff and Jisung flips you the middle finger before downing one more and standing up. The thunder rattles the three of you exactly then and you grip the table, face turning pale instantly. Minho's attention darts to you quickly in concern.

"You okay?" You hum in response, unconvincingly though to Minho whose gaze lingers on you in worry for just a while more. That is, till Jisung rips it away by dramatically placing the back of his hand on his forehead and playing the damsel in distress as he gasps so loudly, staring at the big window.

"It's raining heavily," he sighs and you shudder, afraid of another thunderstorm as you grip tightly on the side of the table.

"So?" Minho asks, both eyebrows raised at the man before him, looking at the two of you with doe eyes.

"I'm staying over, thanks," he rushes and runs to your bedroom, quickly shutting the door and latching it and you and Minho stare at each other. As soon as the realisation of what could happen dawns over you, you rush to your closed bedroom, fists banging against the wooden door.

"Yah, Han Jisung," you turn to look at Minho who watches you in amusement. "Open the fucking door."

"No. I don't want to go back home in the rain. You and Minho can share the bed. I am never opening the door. Good night."

"What the fuck? Yah, Sungie, stop acting like a child. Open the door now." You hear no response. "Sungie? Answer me. Open the door please." Minho walks over to you, and tries knocking too, in vain however because Jisung has no plans to open the door.

You look at Minho, the man slightly towering you as he stands by your side and you gasp. You had to share the bed with the same man you just realised you could, perhaps, have developed feelings for?

"Fuck."

Jisung: it finally seems to be working, binnie! luck's on my side this time. Changbin: oh baby. just please don't be disappointed if it doesn't work out this time either. Jisung: i won't be because it's definitely going to work out. eeeee! i'm so excited!

Another thunderstorm ripples through the air.

Your heart beats quicker in anxiety, eyes squeezing shut as you grip tightly on the pillow, a light whimper leaving your lips. You feel the mattress shuffling underneath you and in the next minute, your ears are covered by Minho's hands. You stiffen as he edges closer to you, his chin resting on your shoulder as his palm pressed against your pinna, covering your ear completely to protect you from the loud sounds of the thunder.

"Minho, what—"

His hand on your right ear slightly shifts to the side as he bends forward to whisper into your ear, to amplify the sounds enough as a way to distract you.

"You never ever told me you were scared of thunderstorms."

Lee Minho is way too close to you to think straight. You feel his body pressed against your back, heat radiating from him to you through your oversized hoodie. His breath is harsh against your skin as he leans close to whisper into your ear. And all this in an attempt to forget the thunderstorm.

So far, it's working like magic.

Your voice is almost small when you inform him, "We never happened to be in the same place during one," and Minho swears to God, he could lose it completely. All the self control to not confess and take you there is so ready to be shoved out of the window that all he can do is try and focus on worrying about your fears.

"I'll protect you," he mumbles so softly that you turn around to look at him. His eyes are bright in the soft lights in his room and as he lies by your side, so close that you can hear his heart that beats faster and his breath that is shallow, your lips part and you watch him.

You are fully justified for falling in love with this man.

A man that tells you he'd protect you from your fears, god alone knows how, but the fact that they don't seem like empty words. A man that you know like the back of your hand and the same man that seems to have protected you all throughout your life, even if you have done the same. It was inevitable. Falling for Lee Minho is inevitable.

And that's why you kiss him. Because you're in love with him so badly that all you can zero in is him, him, him.

Your lips press against his, so softly for a split second. As if you are unsure. As if you know you could be ruining years of friendship over something the two of you could consider a mistake.

You kiss him and suddenly it's the only thing that matters to you right now. Him, him, him. Your lips are slow and soft against him. It is almost as if you are reminding yourself that there has been nothing more morbidly right than this. To fall in love with your best friend. Minho's hand slowly lifts up to rest below your ear, his thumb caressing your cheek as your breath mingles only for a split second — one filled with hesitance and uncertainty — before you pull away, looking at your best friend.

It is just a second of a kiss and with Minho so stiff by your side, you panic, and ramble. "I'm sorry. I should have thought it could be unrequited. I like you and I should have asked—”

Minho crashes his lips on yours, so quickly that it takes your breath away and cuts your sentence in half, but you don't care. He pulls you towards him, hands cupping your face tightly and angling it to kiss you, encasing your lower lips in his as he moves against your pink ones. You let out a small gasp as you deepen the kiss, running your fingers down his spine, holding him as close as possible until there is no space left between the two of you. It is just you and him in this small room. Just you and him in focus. You can feel the beating of his heart against your chest. Loud, clear and unknown to you that it beats for you in this minute. That it has always been beating for you.

Minho presses his tongue to the seam of your lips and, the minute you let him in, he delves inside your mouth, tongue chasing after yours. Minho kisses you like he has finally achieved the greatest thing ever and he never wants to let it go. Minho kisses like he loves you and you feel it. You feel every ounce of it.

Your arms move up his back and tangle around his thick, strong neck. Playing with the ends of his roots, you suck on his lower lips before he pulls away and finally tells you, "I've always been in love with you, Y/N. Always."

Kissing you again, his thumb digs into the skin by your jaw as he delves deeper, as if he never wants to let you go. The air in the room heats up when your hand moves under his shirt, feeling his muscles under your skin and you moan against his lips. Minho lets go of your lips only to kiss the side of it and then your cheeks and then your jugular before he is littering kisses all over your neck. You moan explicitly, gripping on him and slightly grinding on his thigh. You feel your core heating up, arousal sticking to your panties and all you can think is,

“I want you.”

Minho swears to God that he has always loved confident women but when you shattered right before him and built your confidence right back up — that is the hottest thing he swears he has seen. That, and the fact that you had always been hot before his eyes.

“Really?” Minho lifts himself up and hovers on top of you.

“Really,” you decide to respond before you cup his face and pull his face closer to yours. You don't pull him in for a kiss just yet. Your eyes zero on him, trying to cancel out the loud thunderstorms in the background and just focus on the man before you that you love, that you've been in love unknowingly for a while.

You just hold his face and learn. You try to remember every single detail of his face that you never focussed on before.

You realise over again that his eyes are your favourite thing. They are black as charcoal and yet still shimmer as if stars are trapped and enclosed beneath them. And when he narrows them to look at you with a daze, your heart throbs and you gulp. They make your heart hurt whenever they fix on you.

You know his skin is soft as you touch. As creamy and velvety as they are, you can't stop touching him.

His mouth is a pretty shade of coral, plump and pouty and honestly so kissable it hurts to look at it for more than a few seconds. You wonder how you haven't driven yourself to kiss him yet. All these years.

Everything about his face is soft and delicate, that is till he turns a little to the side and angles it perfectly, his head backward and you can clearly see the sharpness of his jawline; the distinct manly cut that makes your mouth dry and your heart beat faster.

“You are perfect,” you gulp, your eyes back on him and Minho smiles widely. His warm breath caresses your face and his forehead is pressed against yours immediately.

“You know what else is perfect, baby?”

“No,” your voice is airy, even though you already know what he is going to say. You know it and yet the thought causes your heart to skip a bit, and flutter a lot in your chest.

“You and everything you have to offer. You are not average. You are one of the most perfect women I've seen in my whole life, Y/N,” he says. As soon as the words spill from his mouth, your lips are on his, claiming his mouth, the same ones that whispered into your ear that there is nothing to be afraid when he's right there by your side.

He gasps loudly as your hands leave his face and move to his hair to pull him down towards you — you need him so close to you. Your fingers get lost in his thick locks as you tug on them, forcing him to bend a lot forward and gladly welcome the intrusion of your tongue.

His lips are as soft as feathers and they feel like what you think heaven feels like. The warmth you experience is so much more than the tingle of first kisses and those innocent butterflies have nothing on the wanting void of a pit in your nether regions and the slick in between your thighs.

His hands slide down from your hips to reach behind your back and pull you upwards, only to tightly clasp around the curve of your bottom cheeks.

“Minho,” you groan against his lips after he pulls away from you. His lips are red and swollen, slick and shining with your saliva and so incredibly inviting you all over again and you fear that you may never want to stop kissing him for as long as you are breathing. You fear getting too addicted to this human – more than you already are – to a point where you need to be attached to him by the hip, to never let go of him.

Minho's lips move from your swollen lips to the curve of your jaw, down to the curved edges of your neck, sucking and kissing every exposed skin.

His hand moves from your clothed arse to under your hoodie, hand pressed against your back as he pulls you closer and forwards, until your chests are pressed against one another. His mouth is everywhere and god, you feel infinite and powerful.

His lips hover on yours. He smiles widely and you think it's cute. He inches his chin forward, flicking your nose a little with his own, a shy smile on his lips as he silently asks the permission to claim your lips anew; all over again.

You nod your head to signal yes. You hold your breath and your eyes flutter shut, awaiting him and his warmth.

Minho's kiss is slow and delicate at first. It is drawn out in a way that makes you want more, so much more, that you want to pull him in and suck the life out of him and yet, at the same time, it is precious and laced with not only the passion of the moment but also the tenderness of a first time together.

It makes your insides twitch and your heart lunge and it fogs up all of your thoughts to the point you feel yourself drowning in the sensation of his lips, pressed tightly on your own.

Your heart is beating quicker than ever in your chest, against your ribs, and you pull him even closer, so tight your chests have no choice but to heave against each other with every single breath you take. You don’t want to let him go, not now, not tomorrow, not ever.

Minho is something you desperately want to hold onto in your life. He knows your secrets, your everything. He knows what you like and how you like it. He seems to know everything and the thought of letting him go aches your heart and constraints your throat with a sob you wouldn't dare to let out. You want him to be completely yours.

And these thoughts turn you desperate. They force you to make the kiss deeper, to lick his lips and bite them down, to gulp down every sigh and whimper that comes out of him and make them your own. To make him yours.

Your eyes flutter shut, taking in the way his mouth moves over yours, arching further into him. You groan into his mouth and his grip on your back tightens instantly.

“I want you so much, Minho,” you whimper against him after your lips part from his. You lick your lips and gaze at him with your partially closed eyes. “So fucking much.”

“Then, have me. Take me,” Minho purrs against your exposed skin. In a minute, he pulls the oversized hoodie over you, leaving you in just your undergarments as he discards it to the side. His mouth moves over the skin above your breasts and his hand traces the bra you are wearing. He gazes at it and mumbles before latching his mouth back on your skin, “You are so fucking beautiful. Always have been.”

You gleam in pride and your body arches at the contact of his mouth on your skin. Your hands are on the side of his face as you pull him away.

“Can I?”

“Have me? Yes. Completely,” he smiles. He wonders if you are confident. That's all that he hopes when you look at him so unsure and so doubtingly.

You wet your lips again quickly, your breath coming out in hot puffs of air. Your hands immediately rush to his top, roughly pushing it above. Minho helps you out and pulls it completely away. You are blinded by the passion burning inside of you, your hands eager to explore and touch every expanse of his glowing skin. You want to touch, feel, have a complete experience. You want Minho to remind you of everything you are missing out on.

Your lips attack his neck in a hurry, all rough and passionate on his tender, soft skin, blooming red roses that turn purple against it. You repeat your actions till he’s softly moaning out your name, almost purring them out that you feel yourself becoming slicker. His hands on your back pull you closer and into him so that you won’t stop tainting his flesh and slowly, his soul, in the best ways possible.

Minho whines and sighs and grunts for you. He doesn't hold himself back as his lips leave appreciation for who you are. He closes his eyes as he parts his lips to whimper out your name with every new thing you find that excites him and it drives you absolutely insane.

You know you should not but you can’t stop wondering how he would sound like as you fuck him hard, rock on his cock to milk his orgasm, make him beg not to stop. You desperately want to break him and draw all these nice sounds out of him, but you know it would most probably be the other way round. Minho allows you to take control occasionally but you know he wants the lead. He wants to be the one to break you apart and pull you back together.

He pulls back from you, his hands leaving your back and resting on either of your sides. Minho's dark hair brushes over his crescent lidded eyes and nearly shields the hungry, desperate gaze of them. His hand plays with the strap of your panties as his gaze flickers between affection and lust. He cocks his head to the side before asking, “You do want this, right?”

You nod, hoping it would be enough and that he would resume.

“I need to hear you say it out loud, baby,” he firmly says and you gulp.

“Yes, yes. Minho, fuck, I want this. I need this,” you whine, your eyes glassy, as you grip his forearm to lift yourself up and grate and move against the evident bulge on his jeans.

Minho merely needs that verbal confirmation. He pulls away your panties, resting on your hips and you groan. Still hovering above you and his hands over your pubic mound, his fingers trail lower and you tug at your lower lip in anticipation. Easily, he finds your clit, and begins to rub in slow, languid, lazy motion, up and down, waiting for the moan he so loves to hear from you to spill from your mouth. He grins when he hears those little whimpers and you feel your legs lose mobility from the pleasure he brings you with just a flick of his finger.

Your back slightly arches off the soft mattress upon the bed when his finger leaves your clit to draw a line up your wet slit, collecting as much of your arousal as he can before slipping his glistening fingers out to admire them in the light. Your cheeks taint pink in embarrassment.

“Fuck,” Minho moans, taking his coated finger into his mouth to suck your juices from it. His eyes flutter shut as if he’s tasting the sweetest aphrodisiac ever known and your lips part at this sight. Lee Minho looks irresistible and you want him, completely.

“God,” he groans. Minho slides himself down your body until he’s in level with your pussy. His eyes gazed at it in sheer adoration and your hand slapped against your mouth. He takes two fingers to spread your lips apart for a better view. “You’re dripping, baby girl.”

You wail as he drags a finger up and down your slit, playfully teasing your fold, making you whine his name out loud. The way you plead for him, beg for him, grind down on his teasing fingers, all set a fire inside you. This has been what you had been craving for so long. The ability of this man to cloud your thoughts and set your body on fire makes you yearn for him even more.

“Minho,” you cry out, whimpering underneath him. “Fingers. I need you. Please, Minho.”

You gasp, your voice airy, when the tip of his finger tentatively slips into you while your fingers dig at his shoulders between your thighs. “Minho, I want you. I just really want you. I need to feel you. Please.”

He drags his finger out of you before you clutch onto him, feeling the need to be overwhelmed. He presses his thumb on your clit and a whimper leaves your mouth.

“Minho.” And he slides his digit in again almost as if on cue. He pumps his finger in and out of you as his thumb harshly rubs circles on your clit. Your hand leaves your mouth and grabs your hair as the other digs further into his shoulder.

His mouth leaves hot air against the skin covering your acetabulum and you shudder. His lips graze from there till your thigh before biting on them, sucking them deliriously and leaving you as a whimpering mess.

“Minho, fuck!” You scream, your fingers grabbing your hair to hold control of your body.

“That's it, baby,” he says against the skin of your thighs. “How I've wanted those beautiful lips to scream out my name from when I've felt them.”

Minho adds another finger and your eyes are screwed shut as he curls them within you and you gasp at the feeling of being widened. You are elated and you feel your arousal leaking down your thighs. He rubs your inside and your clitoris faster and you push your hips towards him, moving with his pace. Minho is also leaving beautiful purple marks in a trail on your thigh and you gape in awe.

You find it all too much. Your emotions are all over the place and your hormones rise up. The movement of his fingers inside you and around your clit, his lips attacking your erogenous spots, kissing, biting and licking short stripes on them. It finally gets to you and you scream his name out in pleasure. Your first orgasm comes crashing down upon you, blinding you. You release all over his fingers and Minho helps you ride out your high as he drags his finger repeatedly but this time, slower than what had been.

Your head lifts up and hits the pillow slightly as it tilts away. Minho moves upwards, hovering over your face and smiles. You smile back. You are so happy and you do not know how to put it into words.

“Minho?”

“Yeah?”

“Thanks?”

“For what?” He looks at you quizzically.

“That was my first orgasm in months now that wasn't brought about by my own fingers,” you smile wearily and Minho leans forwards and kisses your forehead.

"Should have come to me," he laughs.

"Didn't know if I'd be ruining our friendship."

"Pfft," he scoffs, before kissing you again, his lips gliding against yours and piecing in as if they were always meant to be against yours. "I've been in love with you forever."

"Took me a while to know my own feelings," you mumbles. “Also,” you continue, hoping he listens to your request. “Can I . . . ride you?”

Minho is stunned. There are so many things about you that stuns him and maybe it's the way you try to take control that make you look so much hotter before his eyes.

“Are you sure?”

“Yes,” you plead. “If that is not a bother to you.”

“Why would it? Your wish is my command, but only for this night. Next time, my love, we do this my way,” he teases and winks and your core throbs at his words.

Minho pulls himself away from your body, pulling his shirt over his head and his denim down and away. As he flings his clothes aside and relaxes against the mattress, his cock springs free against his stomach, leaking with milky precum. You sit up beside the space Minho has taken over and watch him and his cock deliriously and lustfully.

You sit up, crawling over to straddle his lap, nervousness setting into your stomach. You’re really doing this. You gulp and swallow the saliva as you look at Minho, whose gaze gives you comfort and confidence. The muscles in your arm stiffens as you grip his shoulder for stability and Minho notices.

“It’s okay,” he reassures you, sensing your reluctance and worry. He pushes back the stray hair falling over your eyes. “You're doing wonderful, babygirl. You are finally all mine. What a pretty girl and all to myself now."

You nod, biting down on your lower lip, and tugging at it harshly, cheeks heating up at his words, arousal gushing out as you look down before aligning with his cock. You want this. You needed this release.

As your folds, dripping with thick, sticky arousal, brush the tip of his hardened cock, you feel a shudder run down your spine. You instinctively allow yourself to lower further, taking the rest of him in you swiftly with the help of your arousal. Sinking down around his dick and feeling him fully wrapped around your clutching walls has you moaning out his name, gasping and panting for air, “Fuck, Minho.”

You rock your hips into him, trying this as you picture it to be, already finding yourself tightening and clenching around his thick length. He fills you up so nicely, stuffing you perfectly full and you salivate. Your lips parts and you find your hips moving on their own accord.

As much as Minho wants to give you complete power over this, it isn't like him and he wishes he could be better. Minho takes your hips in his hands, taking control of your movements to raise you up, leaving you empty and whining. You clench around nothing but air and your own walls, desperate to sink back down. “Minho,” you whine, your lower lip puckers forwards and you feel sad.

As his hand grip around your hips to get a better hold, he slams you back down on his cock, hard, causing you to scream. “Minho, ah!”

He continuously guides you in a rhythmic movement, throwing his head back into his pillows and groaning. You are glad he is helping you out because you know you could not have done it on your own after having just ridden out your high.

The sheen of sweat glistening on his chest catches your eye as he pants. The way his eyes clenched shut and his mouth hangs open with pleasure only makes you move faster around his cock. The sight before you makes you want to see him fucked out further. You want him to crumble under you because of you.

You ride him, bouncing on his dick and clenching when you feel yourself reaching your climax for the second time that night. Minho’s finger moves down and slips between your sweat soaked bodies to rub your clit, pushing you even further over the edge. Minho knows how to make a woman putty in his hands and you are a living witness of this.

“Are you going to come?” He asks, breathlessly, his voice airy and light, almost floating away. He pulls his head forward to kiss your collarbones, sucking harsh bruises against your skin, continuing further down the existing purple bruises.

“Y-Yes,” you sigh, lacing your fingers through his hair and tugging on the dark strands. “Mhm, fuck, you feel so good, Minho.” You lean forward and the motion causes Minho to whine. You quickly catch it as your lips fall on his. His lips enclose yours and he kisses you slowly and passionately as you move on his cock, lazily.

Words, unfiltered and raw, spill out from your mouth after your lips leave his as you feel the high that is creeping up slowly within you. “Minho, fuck. Oh fuck, you feel so good.”

“Then, come.”

Minho moans against your neck as he feels you, his finger rubbing your clit, “Babygirl, oh fuck. Come all over my cock.”

Minho’s other hand that is not occupied leaves your hip and moves upwards to find their place on your neck. His fingers gently wrap themselves around your neck and his eyes flicker a mischief that makes you wetter than you already are. He presses his fingers against your neck with pressure and you choke. Your mouth opens wide and your tongue falls out slightly resting on your lower lip. Your eyes roll back and your walls clench around Minho’s cock tightly.

Minho learns that your dirty liking for choking is incredibly hot. Seeing you like this is what he knows would get him to come when you are not around. Your fucked out expression as you gasp for air makes Minho plunge into you harder and you choke harder.

A final flick of his finger over your sensitive button and a bit more pressure over your neck are all it takes for your body to flood with pleasure and ecstasy. Your legs tighten around Minho's waist, curling in as you ride out your high for as long as possible, still moving your hips against him. His fingers let go of your neck and you breath loudly, taking in huge gulps of air.

Not long after your undoing, he comes inside you, coating your walls with his seed as you feel his length pulsate within you.

Once your body falls limp against his chest, equally fucked out and panting for air, you feel him going soft inside you. He lifts you up, slowly slipping out of you and gently laying you by his side. His fingers rub small circles on your hips after pulling you closer into him.

“Hey,” you say and smile.

Minho kisses your forehead and then, the peak of your nose, and finally, kisses your lips, softly. It isn't lustful or anything. Just plain passion seeping from him to you. You feel his admiration and an emotion you fear to mistake for love. He pulls away and smiles, “Hey, beautiful.”

He comes closer and licks the side of your neck, where he had wrapped his fingers out. The one fantasy that you are so in love with. He peppers soft kisses around it and mumbles an apology.

“No,” you quickly stop him. “That was everything. I— I really like you." Pausing, the thought crashes your head, post your high and you mumble, "Fuck, I fell in love with my best friend."

You nuzzle into his chest after he pulls back, your arms wrapping around his body as you calm yourself. Minho chuckles into your ear, "Yes, yes. You clearly did. What do we do now?"

"Take responsibility." You mumble as you slowly find yourself feeling sleepy. Your eyes are slowly drooping and your voice lowers in tone, words drifting away almost, “You better take responsibility for my feelings and take care of me.”

“It'd truly be my honour,” Minho mumbles, lifting you slowly to push his one arm beneath your neck. He uses the other hand to push your hair away from your face. Kissing your forehead, lips lingering for a while, he smiles to himself, laughing slightly as he asks you, "Was the schlong good?”

You laugh softly, snuggling into his chest, fist against it as you try to fall asleep, thunderstorms long forgotten. Kissing his chest, you giggle, "Best ever schlong I have ever had, baby. All mine to keep now."

Jisung: can you pick me up? Changbin: this late? Jisung: i just wanted them to confess. not fuck like bunnies. useless fact i learnt today: they are both loud in bed. Changbin: i'm laughing off the bed literally!!! also!!! Jisung: yeah? Changbin: and they were roommates! Jisung: god, they were roommates. 🙄❤️

#stray kids smut #minho smut #lee know smut #skz smut #lee minho smut #minho x reader #lee know x reader #lee know imagines #minho imagines #minho scenarios #lee know scenarios #kpop smut #stray kids imagines #writings.rue

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