#you only want it because youre supposed to have it

[smileysuh]

double trouble

🌙 starring. Mingyu & Wonwoo x afab!Reader 

🔮 preview. Despite your tense relationship with Seungcheol, you’ve done your best to support him as a sister, and you know his teammates by sight alone. Jeon Wonwoo and Kim Mingyu, two Olympians… two sexy, athletic, very fuckable Olympians. You’ve watched Too Hot to Handle and Love Island, you’ve watched Singles Inferno, and you’re not on any of those shows. No, you’re in Thailand for your brother’s wedding, staring at his work besties like they’re your next meal. You know how problematic this is, but you’re yet undecided on just how far you want to go with this. All you know, is you’re alone at a bar, there’s two gorgeous men, and you’re feeling just lonely enough to go talk to them. 

tw/cw. Unprotected sex, threesome, pussy eating, blow job, fingering, masturbation, spit roasting, double penetration, doggy style, missionary, multiple sex positions, multiple reader orgasms, pain kink, spanking, spitting, choking, dom!Wonwoo, eager!Mingyu, overstimulation, breast worship, dirty talk, praise, dry humping/grinding, undertones of therapy/childhood sibling rivalry/bad family dynamics, etc… I pet names: (hers) gorgeous, baby.

👹 rating.18+ explicit I wc. 10.9k

🍭 aus. Surfer Meanie au, Destination-Wedding au, my friend’s sister is hot au, etc…

☀️ mlist + an. I want to start this off by saying, I don’t know much about surfing or the Olympics, but fuck it, this is fanfic, and surfer Meanie is too hot to pass up. 

Prologue:

“And in an astonishing turn of events, Choi Seungcheol, representing South Korea in surfing, wins silver at this year's Olympics! I think we were all shocked when South Korea qualified for not two, but three contenders this year, and what contenders these men have been. We can see Jeon Wonwoo and Kim Mingyu watching from the beach, clapping for their teammate… and what’s this? Choi Seungcheol is not approaching his team, no! He’s going for his longtime girlfriend! Love is definitely in the air here today at the Olympics- and… no, is he getting down on one knee? I can not believe my eyes! Choi Seungcheol of team South Korea, who has just won a silver in surfing, is proposing to his girlfriend right here on the beach! What an end to the day for team South Korea!” 

One (Day) 

Wonwoo’s never been a fan of weddings, and he loves destination weddings even less, but he supposes Thailand isn’t the worst place for this sort of event. The waves are good, the climate is perfect, and with the entire wedding party scattered among the massive resort, Wonwoo is confident he’ll be able to slip away and have alone time if need be.

Sure, he’s excited for Seungcheol. They’re teammates, and while the new silver medalist has always kept his work and private life separate, Wonwoo knows supporting his friend at the start of the next chapter of his life is the right thing to do.

Besides, as Wonwoo walks through the resort an hour after arriving, he’s got Mingyu by his side, and they’re both eager to see what the waves here look like. It’s a week-long destination wedding, but Wonwoo’s pretty sure only two of those seven days will be really hard-core in terms of his obligations to the groom.

The resort has a number of amenities, one of which is an entire rack of surfboards, and as the two men approach it, Wonwoo notices you on the beach.

You’re under a shade umbrella, relaxing on a lounge. Unlike many people here, you’re not on your phone or reading a book, you’re simply looking out at the ocean.

It’s as if you must sense his gaze, because your head turns, and your eyes meet.

Wonwoo swallows the lump in his throat, turning his attention back to the boards. 

He’s never been one for one-night stands and is even less enthusiastic about hooking up with some random at a resort in Thailand while he’s there for his friend’s wedding. No, this week is all going to be training, relaxing in his off hours, and supporting Seungcheol, no matter how hot you might be.

One (Night) 

You’ve never been super close with your older brother Seungcheol. You suppose it boils down in part to him being the golden child. He was the athletics prodigy, and now, - surprise, surprise - he’s an Olympic-level silver medalist. Growing up in an environment where your sibling was overtly favored over yourself was difficult, and you spent the majority of your teen years being upset about it.

Through your anger, you found art, and now, you’re a successful entrepreneur. You work for yourself, you work doing what you want and when you want it. You have freedom, and maybe your childhood was a blessing in disguise.

Having gone through years of therapy to unpack this dysfunctional family system, you don’t hold very much anger anymore, and you’re actually kind of happy to be in Thailand to support Seungcheol, who really had no fault in your upbringing. 

However, even with admitting all of this to yourself, you also know you don’t want to spend the entire week attached to your overbearing and judgemental mother’s hip, so here you are, in the late evening after the dinner rush, enjoying a meal all by yourself in the hotel restaurant. 

It’s as you’re finishing your meal that you recognize two men entering the bar. 

Despite your tense relationship with Seungcheol, you’ve done your best to support him as a sister, and you know his teammates by sight alone.

Jeon Wonwoo and Kim Mingyu, two Olympians… two sexy, athletic, very fuckable Olympians. 

You’ve watched Too Hot to Handle and Love Island, you’ve watched Singles Inferno, and you’re not on any of those shows. No, you’re in Thailand for your brother’s wedding, staring at his work besties like they’re your next meal. You know how problematic this is, but you’re yet undecided on just how far you want to go with this. All you know, is you’re alone at a bar, there’s two gorgeous men, and you’re feeling just lonely enough to go talk to them. 

Finishing your drink, you stand up, wobbling slightly in your high heels as you set off to join the Olympians at the bar.

You settle next to the larger of the two, Kim Mingyu, taking a seat while his eyes turn to you.

“Hi.” You smile.

“Hi.” He grins back at you, all handsome and puppy-like.

“So you two are the infamous surfers,” you muse. “I’m Seungcheol’s sister, y/n.”

You suppose there’s no use glossing over the fact that you’re related to their friend, after all, they’re going to find out sooner or later.

Honesty has always been the best policy, and as recognition flashes over Mingyu’s features, you realize your brother must have mentioned you to them at least once or twice.

“Wait, you’re Seungcheol’s sister?” Mingyu asks in shock.

“In the flesh,” you laugh, motioning at the bartender for another drink. “What did he say about me?”

“He said you’re some artist,” Wonwoo chimes in, leaning over the bar top to get a better look at you. 

“Some artist,” you scoff. “I sell five-figure art, but if I’m just some artist, then fine.”

“Five figures?” Mingyu turns to exchange a look with Wonwoo. 

“Anything we would know? Are you in galleries?” the more inquisitive of the two asks.

“I’ve actually got an exhibition coming up,” you admit. “Celebrating the new generation of female artists in South Korea.”

“That sounds huge!” Mingyu gasps. 

“In the art scene, it’s a pretty big deal,” you laugh.

“Guess you’re just a family of overachievers,” Wonwoo muses with a smile, waving the bartender over as he gives you your second drink.

“Some fields are more recognized than others,” you sigh, fiddling with your straw.

“I always thought artists were super cool!” Mingyu tells you. “I draw a little, but I’m nowhere near your level, and Wonwoo, well, he can’t even draw a straight line.”

“Hey!” Wonwoo objects, turning his narrow gaze on his friend. 

You watch the two of them fuss together, and you try your best to figure out which one is more attractive, but it’s simply impossible.

They’re both stunning in their own right. Mingyu has those puppy-like, boyish good looks. He’s big and handsome and you can tell he knows it. Wonwoo, in contrast, is quieter, but he’s regal in a way you can’t quite put your finger on. He’s smaller than Mingyu, shorter, but he’s still larger than the average male, and his shoulders aren’t something to complain about either.

“So how did you get into art?” Mingyu asks, turning to look at you again.

“Uh… I think I was left to my own devices a lot as a kid. Seungcheol always had a soccer practice or a football game, and then it was going to the beach all the time- so I had to learn to find something to do with all my time waiting for him to finish up his sports.” You frown a little. Although you’ve learned through therapy to find the silver lining, it can still be hard at times to think back on your upbringing and all the times you were in a state of neglect. “Anyways, how about you guys? Surfing isn’t usually the first Olympic sport people decide to give a go.”

“I lived in Hawaii for a bit when I was a kid,” Mingyu tells you. “Surfing is religion there, and I was lucky to have a lot of mentors who helped me get started.”

“That sounds nice,” you smile. 

“And Wonwoo, well, he was a swimmer first,” Mingyu explains, speaking for his quiet friend.

“I tried surfing one day and never looked back,” Wonwoo finishes. “Nothing spectacular.”

“You can say that, but here we all are, at the top of our game, in Thailand to celebrate an Olympic silver medalist,” you muse, lifting your drink. “I’d say we’re all doing pretty spectacularly.”

“I like the way you think,” Mingyu grins, raising his glass.

Wonwoo says nothing, but he joins you in your cheers, and you all drink together.

“So…” Mingyu takes a deep breath and puts his empty glass down, “how did a guy like Seungcheol get a hot sister like you?”

“Guess all the pretty genes went to me,” you tease, skin heating with pleasure at the compliment.

“I wonder if this is why Seungcheol doesn’t talk about you often,” Wonwoo says quietly.

“What do you mean?” You cock your head to the side.

“I think he’s just saying, like…” Mingyu searches for the right words, “If Seungcheol ever showed his work friends your picture, we’d all… you know, think you’re hot.”

“You two are just trying to butter me up,” you laugh, heart beginning to thump faster in your chest.

Wonwoo leans forward. “Is it working?”

Two (Day) 

It might be his wedding week, but Seungcheol will be damned if he doesn’t spend even a bit of time enjoying Thailand’s ocean.

He’s up early, with Wonwoo and Mingyu beside him as they float on their surfboards after a couple of really good waves. Seungcheol really appreciates his work friends, they’re not as invested in his personal life, so when he’s with them, he can just forget about all the chaos and wedding jitters.

“So… Olympics 2028,” Seungcheol breathes. 

“Los Angeles,” Mingyu agrees with a nod.

Seungcheol looks at his friends. “How are we feeling?” 

“We’re feeling like you should retire and give us a chance,” Wonwoo jokes, flashing one of his rare smiles.

“We’re also feeling like LA waves are going to be insane… and they have sharks,” Mingyu points out.

Seungcheol laughs at his friends. Of course, Wonwoo would be thinking of medals, and Mingyu would be more focused on what could eat him while trying to win big.

“I’m sure they’ll have shark watch or something,” Seungcheol points out.

“Yeah, but Great Whites can attack from below!” Mingyu exclaims. “They’re designed to blend in with water, they’ve got grey coloring on the tops of their bodies so they’re harder to see!”

“Can we not talk about sharks while we’re in the ocean on surfboards?” Wonwoo sighs.

“If it makes you feel better, the only really bad shark in Thailand is the bull shark, no Great Whites,” Seungcheol offers, having done research on the subject before booking the resort for his wedding.

“Bull sharks are still a top three-man eater,” Mingyu frowns, looking down at the water.

“Don’t bull sharks usually attack in shallows?” Wonwoo asks. “Besides, you lived in Hawaii for a while, you’re still terrified of sharks?”

Seungcheol drowns out what his friends are talking about at this point, his gaze shifting to the beach. His eyes land on you, walking on the sand in search of a lounger. 

You must notice he’s seen you because you lift your hand to give him a wave, which Seungcheol returns.

That’s when he notices that his friends have gone quiet. 

“Are you guys done your shark talk?” Seungcheol sighs. “Ready to actually catch some waves?”

“Yeah, we’re good,” Mingyu sighs. “So uh… that’s your sister, huh?”

“Yup. Little miss artsy fartsy herself.”

Wonwoo chuckles a little, and Seungcheol doesn’t miss the look he exchanges with Mingyu.

“We met her last night at the bar,” Mingyu explains. “She seems nice.”

“Yeah, she is what she is,” Seungcheol sighs. He doesn’t like to think too hard about family history, about the way he felt like he had to compete with you growing up. Somewhere, deep down in Seungcheol’s soul, he’s always been a winner, and when he was a kid, he hadn’t really realized that winning meant making a loser out of his sibling. There’s regret there, but Seungcheol’s not about to put in the hours that you have with a therapist to unpack all of it.

“There’s not much resemblance between the two of you,” Wonwoo muses.

“Yeah, I got the gene for good looks,” Seungcheol says, trying to make a joke out of it.

Wonwoo laughs. “Debatable.”

A sigh escapes Seungcheol before he can stop it. “Fuck this, let's get some waves. And just so we’re all clear, my sister is off limits.” 

Two (Night) 

Mingyu loves night swimming, and the resort has so many wonderful pools for him to be alone in while he does laps.

He’s sort of falling in love with Thailand. The sounds of animals in all the luscious trees, the warm temperature even now that the sun has gone down- God, he could get used to this.

He finishes up his swim, switching to a relaxed breaststroke to cool down, and that’s when he notices you sitting by the pool. You’re drinking a beer, and you’ve got a second bottle on the ground next to your lounger.

“Hi,” you smile.

“Hi,” he laughs. “Are you waiting for me?” 

“Yeah. I saw you swimming, figured I’d get us some beers.” 

Mingyu comes to the side of the pool, grabbing at the ledge and letting out a breath as you hold the second bottle out for him.

“I don’t usually drink after a workout,” he chuckles.

“Well, it would be a shame for me to drink alone,” you tease.

Mingyu can only nod at the statement, lifting the beer to his lips. 

“How was your day?” you ask.

“Pretty good. It started off with your brother, and then we caught some waves. Wonwoo and I went to look at a monastery or something in town today. It was nice.”

“Definitely sounds like a good day in Thailand,” you muse.

“How about you? Up to anything fun?”

“Not really.” You release a deep breath, and Mingyu gets the suspicion that this whole thing isn’t as much of a vacation for you as it is for them. “I’m supposed to be taking the week off, having just finished a whole bunch of work these past few months, but I don’t know, this place is so beautiful, I really wish I had some paint and canvas with me.”

“I’m sure we could find an art supply store or something?” Mingyu offers.

You wave your hand. “It’s okay. Like I said, I’m supposed to be taking the week off.”

“We’re all supposed to be taking the week off,” Mingyu tells you, “but Seungcheol, Wonwoo and I were all catching waves this morning, and I’m sure other people are taking work calls- it’s easy to say we’re here on vacation so we should just put out real lives to the side, but it’s another thing to actually do that, you know?”

“Yeah, I know.” You let out a laugh. “Capitalism is a bitch.”

Mingyu considers your words. “I guess capitalism is part of it, but… we all have things we’re good at, things we love to do. I think capitalism sometimes takes the joy out of our hobbies if we’re making money off those hobbies in the real world. We’re surfing to keep our skill level up, but we’re also doing it for ourselves. I’m sure if you got a drawing journal or something and drew for yourself, it wouldn’t be hurting anyone.”

“And here I thought you were just another pretty face,” you muse with a grin, sipping your beer.

“You don’t know me that well yet.”

“We can change that,” you suggest. “Tell me more about you. I’m not stepping on any girlfriend’s toes by chatting with you right now, am I?”

“Nah, I’m single,” Mingyu laughs. 

“And how is an Olympic athlete like you single?”

“Good question.” Mingyu thinks about it for a moment. “I guess… Wonwoo and I are homebodies. We’ve been renting together since university, and we both just… like to stay home.”

“I didn’t know the two of you were roommates.”

“Yeah, it’s not something we talk about too often,” Mingyu chuckles. “Two Olympians living together isn’t the most endearing thing.”

“I think it’s pretty endearing.”

“You do?”

“Yeah, I mean, it’s clear the two of you are super close.”

“We are.”

“So… I asked about stepping on any girlfriend’s toes… should I have asked about stepping on a boyfriend’s turf?”

Mingyu’s heart leaps in his chest. “No!” he blurts out. “Wonwoo and I aren’t- I mean… no, we’re not together or anything. We’re super close, but no.”

“You’re saying the word no, but I’m hearing there’s more to the story,” you point out.

“I mean…” Mingyu can’t even meet your eyes. “He and I are both into girls, it’s just- sometimes we’re into the same girl? So, yes, I’ve seen his dick, but we’re also just athletes so that’s part of the gig-”

“Mingyu,” you interrupt him. “Take a breath.”

“Fuck.” Mingyu takes a breath as well as a sip of beer. “You think I’m super weird now.”

“Not at all. You’re not the first athletes to admit to sharing girls. I hear it’s a pretty common thing actually.”

“It is?” Mingyu asks in shock.

“Apparently,” you shrug. “Look up puck bunny confessionals and all sorts of girls will tell you that they’ve been tag-teamed at hockey events, and that’s just hockey.” 

Mingyu’s too shy to ask for more details, and he doesn’t even know what a ‘puck bunny’ is, so he decides to switch topics as fast as he can. “Do you uh… have plans for tomorrow?” 

You lean back in the lounger. “Was considering going on a snorkeling thing in the morning. The resort offers tours. But… I didn’t really want to go alone. Fancy a snorkeling adventure with me tomorrow?” 

“As long as we don’t talk about puck rabbits and double trouble athlete tag teams,” Mingyu chuckles nervously.

You grin. “I’ll be on my best behavior.”

Three (Day) 

Wonwoo hadn’t been super excited when Mingyu convinced him to go snorkeling with you, but now that you’re all on the boat, he realizes it’s not the worst thing in the world.

“This alcove is well known for its whale sharks,” the tour guide says. “I know what you’re all thinking, sharks! Oh no! But rest assured, whale sharks are completely harmless to humans. I got a tip from one of my fishing friends that there’s a whale shark here today, how do we feel about getting in the water?”

Wonwoo looks at Mingyu immediately, and the larger Olympian doesn’t seem very enthusiastic about the prospect of diving with sharks.

“Let’s do it!” you say, surprising both men as you stand up.

The guide is as enthusiastic about it as you are, and soon the two of you are getting into the water while Mingyu and Wonwoo wait on the boat.

“She’s quite adventurous, isn’t she?” the captain of the small vessel asks.

“It would appear that way,” Wonwoo sighs.

“She a friend of yours?”

“We’re friends with her brother, he’s here for his wedding, at the resort,” Mingyu explains.

“Ah, I see. You’re both being good friends making sure his sister is okay while he gets ready for his wedding,” the captain nods.

“We’re not taking very good care of her from here,” Wonwoo frowns.

The captain looks out at the water, letting out a breath. “I assure you, whale sharks are perfectly safe.”

“Fuck it.” Wonwoo strips his shirt off, grabbing a snorkel and some goggles.

“Seriously?” Mingyu asks in shock.

“They’re harmless,” Wonwoo points out. “We’ll regret it if we don’t go in.”

Mingyu sighs, but he nods, agreeing with Wonwoo.

They both get ready, and then, they slowly lower themselves into the warm water.

For someone who spends so much time on the water, Wonwoo doesn’t spend a lot of time looking in the water. He’s immediately taken by the beauty of everything, the fish, the reefs- and he can see you and the guide in the distance next to a massive shape.

Giving a nod to Mingyu, the two of them begin to swim over to you. Wonwoo can feel his heart beginning to thump wildly in his chest at the sight of the whale shark.

He keeps telling himself that the shark is harmless, but it’s hard to keep even breathing when you’re next to such a massive animal.

Taking his eyes off the whale shark, Wonwoo turns his attention to you.

You look so happy, and fearless. It’s as if this is the first time Wonwoo’s seeing you in your element. Your walls aren’t up, it’s not all family politics and saving face- no, you’re being completely yourself, and it’s a beautiful sight.

The three of you all surface, and Mingyu immediately starts gushing to you about how amazing this whole thing is.

The both of you are like two peas in a pod, and Wonwoo, who has a harder time joining conversations, decides to stay out of it.

He simply watches, noting how good you and Mingyu look together… which kind of sucks, since Mingyu always gets the girls.

Wonwoo wants someone too, he wants someone fun, someone who brings out the wild side in himself- but he knows his greatest failing is being shy.

He was the odd kid in high school, a nerd- but at the same time, he was an athlete who no one would guess to be athletic just by looking at him. 

Wonwoo still finds himself stuck in this limbo place at times. He knows who he is inside. He knows he’s a good person, with values. He knows he’s good at his sport. But he just can’t find it within himself to be the most social person, and sometimes, like now, that fact comes back to bite him in the ass.

Three (Night) 

You hadn’t expected Seungcheol to ask you to come get post-dinner drinks with him, and you reluctantly walk up to the bar to meet your brother. “Hey, Cheol.”

“Hey. Didn’t see you all day.” 

“I went snorkeling, saw a whale shark, it was super cool,” you smile.

“Didn’t see Mingyu or Wonwoo all day either.”

“They came with me,” you sigh. “I didn’t want to go alone.”

“I guess that makes sense.” Seungcheol looks down at his drink. “So… you trying to steal my friends now?”

“What?”

“They’re my friends, and you also can’t have both of them.”

You can’t believe the words coming out of his mouth. “Cheol, we’re on vacation-”

“Yeah, but when I go home, these aren’t just some randoms. These are my friends, the guys I see all the time. This isn’t some innocent ‘hey I’m flirting with two guys at a resort, sort of thing,’ and we both know it.”

“Even if I was flirting with both of them, which I won’t admit to, it’s the twenty-first century, I’m pretty sure people are allowed to date more than one person.”

“You won’t admit to it, but you think it’s okay to date both of them,” your brother counters.

“Look, I thought you invited me for a drink, not an interrogation.”

“I’m just trying to look out for you,” Seungcheol defends himself. “We’re here in Thailand, I’m getting married- and you’re considering dating two of my friends. What if you want to get married one day, what then?” 

“Then I get married?”

Seungcheol lets out a groan. “But if you’re dating two guys-”

“Like I said, I’m on vacation.”

“So you’re not thinking long-term with Wonwoo or Mingyu?”

“I just met them!” 

“Okay, so we’re in agreement, no dating Wonwoo or Mingyu.”

“Seungcheol.” You shake your head, already exhausted with this conversation. 

“What?”

“I’m so tired.”

“Hitting on two men will do that to you.”

“I’m going back to my room,” you decide. “And just so you know, I’m an artist. I’m not exactly a traditionalist the way you are, and what I choose to do with my love life is my business.” 

Four (Day) 

Today isn’t going exactly the way Seungcheol had planned. He’d woken up with this sinking feeling after his discussion with you last night, and he’d decided then and there to get Mingyu and Wonwoo away from the resort for the day.

So here he is, clambering up a mountain on a hiking trail with his workmates, and Seungcheol can’t find the words to converse with the two men who have seemingly been hitting on you.

Wonwoo and Mingyu always find a way to chat though, and Seungcheol listens to them behind him as he forges the way up the mountain.

“Oh, Seungcheol! Did we mention we went snorkeling with your sister yesterday?” Mingyu asks.

“I heard about that,” Seungcheol sighs.

“Did you talk to y/n?” Mingyu questions.

“Yeah, she told me there was a whale shark or something?”

“It was the coolest thing ever!” the puppylike surfer exclaims. “It was the biggest animal I’ve ever seen!”

“We couldn’t let your sister go off on some boat with strangers alone,” Wonwoo says bluntly. “And we knew you were busy with wedding stuff, so we figured we’d tag along with her.” 

Seungcheol doesn’t even know what to say.

Logically, it makes sense that Wonwoo and Mingyu would go with you to make sure you were safe- but Seungcheol can’t help this sinking feeling that they’re the men he should be worried about you being around.

Not that Wonwoo or Mingyu would ever do anything bad to you- perhaps Seungcheol worries about your man-eating ways.

Mingyu had been terrified of ‘man-eating sharks,’ but he’s ignoring the clearest danger; you. 

Seungcheol has seen the way you date. Flings here and there. You capture men with your mysterious artist allure, and they fall head over heels for you, only for you to leave them on the curb with a new muse for your canvas. 

He doesn't want Mingyu and Wonwoo to be just another inspiration for emotional painting in your next art installation. 

But how does he even say that to them? How does he tell Mingyu and Wonwoo that you’re practically a love witch, who has very little care for the men you toy with?

Seungcheol bites his tongue. Maybe this is just a lesson they have to learn. But fuck, at what cost?

Four (Night) 

“So…” Mingyu sighs, sitting on his bed as he stares at Wonwoo on his own mattress. “Cheol is onto us.”

“Huh?” Wonwoo looks up from his phone. 

“Seungcheol was being so weird today on that hike, and he was even weirder when we talked about his sister. I think he’s onto us.”

“Onto us about what?”

Mingyu lets out another deep breath. “About us both being into y/n.”

“Hmm?”

“Come on, it’s the elephant in the room.” Mingyu rolls his eyes with exasperation. “We haven’t talked about it, but we both know what’s happening. It’s not the first time.” 

“It’s the first time the girl we’re into has been a friend’s sister,” Wonwoo points out. “Of course, Seungcheol is weird about it.”

Mingyu lays down on his bed, staring at the ceiling. “I really like her.”

“You really like every girl who’s cute, a little artsy, and up for adventure.”

“As if you’re not into the same thing,” Mingyu scoffs.

“Never said I wasn’t.”

Mingyu turns to look at Wonwoo, who is back to staring at his phone. It looks as if he’s given up on this whole thing, and Mingyu’s not quite sure what to make of it. “So… are you like… not going to try anything because she’s Seungcheol’s sister, or…?”

“It’s probably best if we keep her off limits.”

“Where’s the fun in that!? We wouldn’t be the first sports friends to tag team a girl!” Mingyu points out, thinking back to the discussion the two of you had about puck bunnies, which he has since looked up.

“We’re not going to tag team Seungcheol’s sister,” Wonwoo states, but he doesn’t sound too convinced, and neither is Mingyu.

Five (Day) 

The close wedding party is doing a wedding rehearsal today, and Mingyu’s kind of shocked to run into you at the pool bar before dinner. He hadn’t expected to see any of the Chois today, and it’s a welcome surprise as he comes to sit with you.

“Hey,” he smiles.

“Hey yourself,” you grin, turning in your seat to get a better look at him. 

“How's the rehearsal going?”

You take a deep breath. “As you’d expect it to. Lots and lots of details.”

“And you’re here… having a drink.”

“I don’t have a speech, so it’s not like I needed guiding on anything for this hour of the rehearsal,” you muse.

“No speech?” Mingyu can’t hide his surprise. “But you’re the sister of the groom! And you’re an artist!”

“I'm guessing Seungcheol doesn’t want me taking any… artistic liberties if you know what I mean,” you laugh. 

“Artistic liberties like…?”

“You know,” you flip your hair over your shoulder, “talking about the time he used a straw to spit boba pearls in my hair when I was seven and told me they were fish eyes, and how he used to be so immature, now he’s a man, and slightly more adult. That I’m so happy his wife found him because he’s always needed a Mommy’s approval and that’s exactly what she gives him. That sort of thing.”

“Ouch,” Mingyu lets out a whistle. “Definitely wouldn’t want that in a speech at my wedding.”

“Exactly, which is why I’m here, getting my… third drink in the past hour? Just want this whole night to be over.”

“Are you happy for Seungcheol at least?”

“Of course, I’m happy for him, he found a woman to put up with his bullshit.” You shake your head, releasing another sigh. “I am happy for him, I am. Just… family events make me a little neurotic.” 

“I guess that’s understandable.”

“It doesn’t help that the one meaningful conversation I’ve had with Cheol since I got here was him warning me not to be a whore who sleeps around with his friends.”

“Huh?” Mingyu freezes.

“He didn’t use those exact words, per se, but, the general connotation was he’ll think I’m a whore if I’m interested in two people at once. I think he forgets about the time in high school when he was stringing along two girls at the same time. At the start of relationships, there’s often overlap, and I think he’s been with his fiancee so long that he forgets about that.” 

“It’s also… you know, the twenty-first century.”

“That’s what I said!” you laugh, reaching out to push Mingyu’s shoulder. “It’s the time of sexual liberation, of threesomes and polyamory and whole planned orgy events in speakeasies.” 

“I don’t know what a speakeasy is.”

“That’s okay, hot shot,” you grin. “I could always take you to one sometime.”

“Yeah?”

“If Seungcheol doesn’t forbid me completely from being interested in you, I’d love to maybe go out once we’re all back in the city.”

“What about Wonwoo?”

“He can come too,” you say lazily, waving your hand, and it’s clear at that moment that you’re a little tipsy. 

“So… you’re interested in two guys.”

“And you both seem to be okay with it,” you point out.

“We are,” Mingyu states, deciding to speak for Wonwoo. “Wouldn’t be the first time.”

“I knew it!” 

Five (Night) 

The rehearsal is finally done, and you can’t get Mingyu out of your head. You find yourself stumbling to his room, and it’s only when you knock and Wonwoo answers, that you remember the two of them are shacking up together.

“Oh,” you blink at the tall, stoic man.

“Hi.”

“I’m uh… looking for Mingyu.”

“He’s probably doing laps at the pool,” Wonwoo tells you, leaning against the door frame. “I could walk you down there, or you could wait here till he comes back.”

“I…” You swallow thickly, too drunk to make decisions.

“Looks like you need some water,” Wonwoo muses, looking you up and down. “Come in.”

He pushes the door wider for you, and you stumble into the room, collapsing onto one of the sofa chairs. Wonwoo grabs a bottle of water for you from the small mini fridge, handing it over.

“Looks like the rehearsal was a shit show,” he chuckles.

“All family events are shit shows,” you sigh, taking a huge gulp of water. 

“So… you and Mingyu.”

“What about me and Mingyu?” You narrow your eyes at the pretty man.

Wonwoo shrugs, laughing to himself. “I guess I’m just not surprised.”

“Is he usually the one who gets the girls?” 

You can tell from the way Wonwoo sighs and leans back that you’ve hit the nail on the head.

“He’s just more of an extrovert,” Wonwoo says diplomatically. “Girls are into that.”

“Quiet types can be hot,” you point out. “I don’t have a preference one way or the other.”

Wonwoo meets your gaze, and you can feel him trying to assess you, to assess this situation that you’ve brought to his door.

You’re horny when you’re drunk, and you didn’t bring any sex toys on vacation, so it’s safe to say you’re wound up. 

“Mingyu told me that Seungcheol had a chat with you about the two of us.”

“He did?” you ask in shock.

“There’s not much Mingyu doesn’t tell me.” 

“And this is why I thought maybe the two of you were a couple!”

Wonwoo shakes his head at you, but there’s a smile brewing on the corners of his lips. “Have some more water.”

You roll your eyes at him but you do as you’re told. “So… Mingyu told me you’d be okay with me liking both of you, was he right?”

“It wouldn’t be the first time,” Wonwoo sighs.

“That’s what Mingyu said!” you bellow. “We’re all on the exact same page!”

“It would look that way.”

“So…” you swallow thickly. “Threesome in Thailand?”

Wonwoo laughs, and you love the way he looks when he’s smiling. He’s so pretty, and the entire mysterious, stoic facade falls away.

“Not when you’re drunk.”

“Give me like… half an hour and this whole bottle of water and I’ll be good, I promise!” you insist.

“Not tonight,” Wonwoo says again. “In fact, I think I should probably walk you back to your room right about now.”

“Boring!” you whine. 

“Boring, but the right thing to do.”

Wonwoo stands up, and he holds out a hand to you. You accept his offer, allowing him to pull you to your feet. You continue to whine as he escorts you across the resort to your own room, and when you get there, you pout out your lower lip.

“This is going to happen,” you tell him. 

“Sure it is,” Wonwoo laughs, using your keycard to open your room. “Goodnight.”

“Do I not get a little kiss?”

Wonwoo sighs, and then he leans in… only for his lips to brush past your cheek. “Get some sleep,” he tells you. “And tomorrow, after the wedding, we’ll all sort this out.” 

Six (Day) 

Wonwoo can’t stop staring at you. He’d thought you’d been pretty last night, but today, in your full wedding outfit, you’re an absolute vision.

He can’t get you out of his head, can’t get the thought of you asking for a kiss off of his mind.

He’d done the right thing by denying you, he knows that, but fuck- he’s wishing he wasn’t so good of a man.

You’re stunning, even prettier than the bride by Wonwoo’s account. 

Despite the differences between you and your brother, you’re awfully good at acting as if everything is alright, as if you weren’t drunk last night. You look like the perfect sister, the Choi family a vision of greatness. 

It’s obvious to Wonwoo, as it’s obvious to Mingyu, that sometime soon, you’ll be bedding them both.

It’s been a while since Wonwoo and Mingyu shared anyone, but Wonwoo’s sure the two of them will work the dynamic out.

The only thing he’s unsure about is what comes after.

You’re Seungcheol’s sister, which means, you’re going to be in similar circles for as long as Seungcheol is still in the sport- maybe even after.

Is one night of fun worth the tension on his relationship with Seungcheol?

If Wonwoo cops out, letting Mingyu get all the fun - because Mingyu is very unlikely to back out of this supposed arrangement - will Wonwoo regret it?

Is there a future here with you? Does Wonwoo know you well enough to take the chance?

He’s very distracted for the entire wedding, but Wonwoo can’t help himself.

You’re a risk, and Wonwoo’s never been one to dabble with those- but, something deep inside of him, is telling him you might just be worth it. 

Six (Night) 

It’s supposed to be the happiest day of Seungcheol’s life, but he can’t help the annoyance that fills him as he watches you and Mingyu dance together at the reception.

Seungcheol is tapping his fingers, considering intervening- when a soft hand places itself on his own.

“Cheol?” his new wife, Sumi, says, drawing his attention. 

“Yes?”

“Stop staring.”

Seungcheol had brought the situation up with Sumi a number of times this trip, and it’s clear she’s aware of what’s making him so irate. 

“Can they be any more obvious?” Seungcheol groans.

“They’re just having fun.”

“Too much fun.”

Now it’s Sumi’s turn to sigh. “Seungcheol. Is this really going to be our first argument as man and wife?”

Seungcheol pauses.

“This is your sister we’re talking about. I understand you being protective, of her and your friends, but we know how y/n is. This isn’t going to be anything serious. Let her have her fun, and try not to think about it too deeply.” 

“How am I supposed to train with these guys knowing they slept with my sister?” Seungcheol counters. 

“If you don’t ask for confirmation that it happened, you never have to know,” Sumi says simply. “Just, don’t think about it.”

Seungcheol releases a deep breath. He’s not about to argue with his wife, but the whole situation is still very frustrating. 

“For all we know, nothing will happen,” Sumi continues. “Just think about that.”

Seven (Day) 

Wonwoo is at his breaking point. Lounging by the pool with Mingyu, watching you swim- watching the water glitter along your body as you move fluidly through the water-

“Fuck me,” Mingyu groans, sipping his beer. “I think I’m going to have to sit here for a while.”

“Huh?”

That’s when Wonwoo turns to realize Mingyu is stiff as a rock in his shorts, using a lounger pillow to cover himself awkwardly. 

Wonwoo can’t help the laugh that escapes him. “Really dude?”

“I’m pent up!” Mingyu defends himself. 

“We’re leaving tomorrow,” Wonwoo points out. “Maybe it’s best for everyone if we behave.”

Mingyu rolls his eyes. “Okay mister half-cocked.” 

Wonwoo looks down immediately, realizing he’s now also sporting a half-chub. 

“Fuck.” Wonwoo grabs a pillow from the lounger beside him, placing it on his lap like Mingyu. 

“You know, it’s not even just about her being hot,” Mingyu says. “She’s an interesting person. She’s fun and artsy, and there’s emotional depth to her too.”

“I’ve never heard you say the words ‘emotional’ and ‘depth’ together in a sentence,” Wonwoo chuckles.

“Yeah, well, y/n has me thinking about big things.”

Seven (Night) 

You head to the bar after dinner with one goal in mind; getting the two hot Olympians into your bed. You’d seen them ogling you at the pool earlier, and after toying with the notion of not sleeping with Mingyu and Wonwoo, you’ve decided the opportunity is too good to pass up.

Mingyu and Wonwoo aren’t hard to find, they’re seated at the bar, thick as thieves. All it takes is approaching them to get their attention.

“Hey, y/n,” Mingyu smiles, looking you up and down. 

“Hey yourself, big guy,” you grin.

“Want to join us for a drink?” Wonwoo asks, already waving down the bartender for you.

“Actually, I was thinking maybe you two would want to get three bottles of beer and come to my room to check out my view.”

Mingyu swallows a noticeable lump in his throat. “Your view?”

“You know, my room is west-facing, and the sunset is gorgeous there, but you guys better hurry to decide or we might miss it.” You love teasing with them, and you love the way they both stumble quickly from their chairs even more.

Wonwoo says something to the bartender, and in five seconds flat, he’s holding three beers, intent to follow you to your room.

The walk is quiet, with tensions running high, but you think this is all part of the foreplay.

You have the power, and it’s absolutely dizzying.

The moment the door to your room closes behind the two men, you know you have them, completely, and it’s a wonderful thought.

“Here,” Wonwoo says, holding out a beer for you.

“Thank you.” You walk forward, toward your deck, sliding open the glass door to look out at the setting sun as it traces beautiful reds and purples along the ocean. “Told you the view was amazing.”

“It is,” Mingyu breathes, and when you turn, you find him staring at you.

“So…” You put your beer down on the outside table. “Are we doing this, or what?”

Wonwoo exchanges a look with Mingyu, and although you’re certain they’ve made up their minds, you’re also pretty sure it’s Wonwoo who has the most reservations about this whole thing.

“Look, what happens in Thailand stays in Thailand,” you muse. “Seungcheol never has to know.”

“I won’t say anything if you don’t,” Mingyu notes, looking at his friend.

Wonwoo lets out a sigh. “Fuck it.”

“Fuck it,” you repeat with a grin, joining the men in your room while shutting the door to the deck behind you. “Look, as artsy as I am, I’ve never had a threesome,” you explain. “So… I think I want you both to take the lead.”

“We can do that,” Mingyu nods, setting his beer down. 

“And if anything feels wrong, just say something,” Wonwoo agrees, also discarding his drink.

“Okay.”

You look between the men, and shockingly, it’s Wonwoo who moves first. He steps close to you, his hands reaching for your hips. “So… what do you like?”

“What do I like?” you ask.

“Yeah.” He leans closer, his lips ghosting past your throat, sending a shiver through your form as his mouth moves to your ear. “What do you like?” 

“Um…” You swallow thickly, already feeling as if you’re in a daze. “I guess, I’m good with rough.”

“Rough?” He nips at your ear lobe and it takes everything in you not to moan from the sensation. 

“Like… spanking, choking, manhandling-” You feel like you’re rambling already. 

“What else?”

“Clit stuff? I can’t cum without someone rubbing my clit, so, that’s pretty important.”

“Most girls can’t cum without clit stuff,” Wonwoo tells you. “So don’t worry too much about that.”

“What do you not like?” Mingyu asks.

“Well, I’ve never tried anal, and I’m not going to try it today,” you blurt out, causing both men to chuckle.

“Neither of us expected that,” Wonwoo muses. 

“Okay, good.” You feel like a weight has been lifted, part of you had been worried anal would be a natural stepping stone for a threesome, but these Olympians seem very devoted to making the experience a good one for you, something new but familiar, still within your area of interest.

“Come on.” Wonwoo pulls away from your throat, grabbing your hand to guide you to the bed. “Mingyu has zero patience, he was hard today just watching you in the pool, so you probably shouldn’t tease him for much longer.”

“I wasn’t the only one who was hard,” Mingyu snaps, and you look between the men. They’d really been hard just from watching you today? You’d had no idea how deep their interest in you has truly run, and it makes confidence flow through you. 

Mingyu takes a seat on the bed, and Wonwoo guides you between his friend's open knees.

Your hands find the larger man’s shoulders, and he looks up at you adoringly. He grabs the back of your thighs, pulling you closer. 

It only feels natural to get on top of Mingyu, straddling him as your lips meet for the first time.

He lets you control the pace at first, kissing you gently as one hand cups your cheek, his other pressing to the small of your back to help you get seated on him.

Soon, however, Mingyu is getting more and more eager, his tongue swiping across your bottom lip as he moans. 

You can feel yourself getting hotter by the second, and you allow the man entry to your mouth, grinding down against him as you make out.

He’s already hard in his board shorts, and that knowledge prompts you to hurry with undressing him. You start with his button-up shirt, working your way to open it up before you can push it from his shoulders.

Mingyu groans louder, allowing you to strip his torso, and then your hands begin to explore his muscular body.

His own hands begin to massage you, both of them moving to your ass, teasing you through your dress. Then, his fingers slip under the fabric, moving up in an effort to get you undressed as well.

Before you know it, you’re both halfway to nudity, with you in only a bikini, and Mingyu in his board shorts. 

Then, Mingyu is rolling you onto your back, his kisses descending to your throat, then your breasts-

You can only moan and writhe against the sheets, loving the way his mouth toys over your pussy, his tongue licking at you through your bikini bottoms.

“Take them off,” you tell him, lifting your hips to aid Mingyu.

The bed dips next to you, and you turn to see Wonwoo. “Can I take off your bikini top too?” he asks.

“Yes, please.” You swallow thickly as the two men get you fully naked for them, and it feels amazing to be bare for them both.

Mingyu immediately grabs your thighs, pressing his mouth to your core while Wonwoo begins to massage your breasts, his thumb grazing past your nipple deliciously.

You haven’t had someone eat you out in a while, and the feeling of a tongue lapping at your clit has you crying out. Your hand flies to Wonwoo’s thigh, squeezing him while he chuckles down at you.

“That good, huh?”

“So good,” you whimper. 

He pinches your nipple, and you cry out louder.

“Is this the type of pain you like?” he asks.

“Mmmm,” you moan, nodding. “Feels amazing.”

Wonwoo leans down over you, letting go of your breast to grasp your jaw.

You can’t help yourself, you lift your head a little, eager for his lips.

He gives you what you want, pressing his mouth to yours for the first time.

He’s a lot more calculated than Mingyu had been, controlled even. There’s something so sexy about a man who knows how to keep an even pace, and it has you moaning against his lips while Mingyu continues to eat you out as if his life depends on it.

It’s Wonwoo who decides when to deepen the kiss, and you grab at his shoulders, threading your fingers through the hair at the nape of his neck. 

This feels amazing- two mouths on you at once, worshipping your body.

Wonwoo’s hand slips down to your breast, pinching your nipple and making you cry out even more, your thighs quaking around Mingyu’s head-

Then, Wonwoo breaks the kiss, sitting up again to look down at you.

“Can I touch you?” you ask, noticing the tent in his pants. “Please?”

“Only because you asked so nicely.”

Wonwoo shifts a little, pulling his shorts down just enough for you to wrap your hand around his cock.

He’s big, bigger than you’d expected-

“Needs lube,” Wonwoo tells you, pulling your hand away from him. “Your spit or mine?”

“Yours,” you breathe.

Wonwoo chuckles, then he leans over you again, grabbing your jaw and prompting you to open your mouth.

When you stick out your tongue, he spits into your mouth. 

“Now, onto your hand,” he instructs.

Fuck. There’s something so dirty about what he just did- spitting into your mouth, getting you to spit into your hand-

You’ve never been one for spitting, but if Wonwoo’s the one doing it? Fuck it, your mouth is wide open.

You spit onto your palm, bringing it to his cock.

The lubrication makes stroking him easier, and you do your best to focus on both men.

It’s a repetitive motion with Wonwoo’s cock, and it makes it easy for you to lose yourself in the feeling of Mingyu, who suddenly pushes two digits into your wet hole, making you moan even louder.

“Looks like he wants you to cum,” Wonwoo muses.

“I can do that,” you nod, whimpering again when Mingyu sucks roughly on your clit.

He’s pumping his fingers expertly, hitting your G-spot while your pussy loudly squelches around him, betraying how wet and turned on you are. 

“Come on, gorgeous,” Wonwoo encourages you, pinching your nipple again and making you moan louder. “Mingyu’s been good for you, hasn’t he?”

“So good,” you whimper, closing your eyes and giving in to the sensations.

“Then cum for us,” Wonwoo tells you, tweaking your nipple again-

The pleasurable pain is enough to send you over the edge, your core clamping down tight on Mingyu’s fingers, your thighs trying to close around his head while he continues to suck roughly on your pulsating clit-

The ecstasy of your orgasm is flooding through you like a tidal wave, taking over every inch of your body and making you delirious. 

You’re a gasping mess, but two sets of hands keep you steady, working you through your orgasm until you feel a tear in your eye from oversensitivity.

“Okay, Gyu,” Wonwoo sighs. “I think she’s had enough of your mouth.”

Mingyu lets out an audible whine, but he pulls away from your pussy. You can practically hear him lick his lips, then his fingers. 

“You tasted like magic, baby,” Mingyu tells you, and you open your eyes to see him standing up, pushing his board shorts down to reveal an even bigger cock than Wonwoo’s.

“Do we need condoms?” Wonwoo asks.

“No, I’m protected, unless you guys-”

“We’re clean,” Mingyu tells you, looking down at your pussy. 

“You sure about this?” Wonwoo questions, stopping your hand on his cock so you can give him your full attention.

“Yeah, want you guys to cum inside of me,” you whimper.

“Don’t have to tell me twice,” Mingyu laughs, dragging you to the edge of the bed. He rubs the tip of his length up and down your slit. “Ready, baby?”

“Yeah, fuck me,” you nod, picking up where you left off with Wonwoo’s cock, which you begin to stroke even faster.

Mingyu pushes an inch into you, letting your body adjust to his girth. You groan loudly, turning your head and looking at Wonwoo.

“Can I suck you off while he fucks me?” you ask. 

“Are you sure you can manage both of us at once?” 

“I’ll do my best,” you promise.

Your honesty must be amusing to Wonwoo because he laughs. “Okay, gorgeous. But I’m not going to have you lying down like this, we’re going to do this right and spit roast you.”

“Spit roast?” You blink.

“Just trust us,” Wonwo says, pulling away from you to stand up. You watch him get undressed, and Mingyu takes the opportunity to sink even deeper into your core, making you both groan.

“Do we have to spitroast?” Mingyu asks.

“It’s the only way that makes sense for her,” Wonwoo explains.

“Yeah but, I’d have to pull out, and flip her onto her hands and knees, and I don’t want to be out of this perfect pussy for even a second.” Gosh, Mingyu’s so whiney, it’s kind of adorable.

“Well, power through, champ,” Wonwoo chuckles, shaking his head at his friend.

“Fuck, fine.”

In one quick motion, Mingyu pulls out of your core and flips you over. His hands grasp your hips, pulling you up into doggy before guiding his cock back into your wet hole.

It seriously only took a second, and you’re groaning from the sensation of being filled again.

“See, that wasn’t so hard, was it?” Wonwoo asks.

“It almost killed me,” Mingyu says dramatically.

Wonwoo gets onto the bed in front of you, and you push up onto your hands, looking up at him.

Wonwoo strokes your hair. “Sure you’re ready for this?” 

“Why do a threesome if you’re not going to try double penetration of some kind?” you counter.

“Little miss overachiever here,” Wonwoo chuckles affectionately.

“This pussy feels so good,” Mingyu groans behind you, landing a gentle smack to your ass that has you whimpering loudly.

“Let's see how your mouth feels.”

Wonwoo grabs the base of his cock, holding his length up for you. You eagerly move forward, wrapping your mouth around the tip.

It’s hard to move forward and get more of him in your mouth with Mingyu fucking you gently, but as his pace increases, his thrusts getting rougher, it gives you more leeway to sink onto Wonwoo’s cock.

You suck him eagerly, closing your eyes and enjoying the double-stuffed feeling.

“You’re definitely an overachiever,” Wonwoo groans, beginning to move his hips a little to meet your motions, making it easier for you. “Sucking me so good.” 

You groan around him, loving the praise.

Wonwoo had struck you as so shy when you met him- but it’s always the quiet types who are the dirtiest fucks with the most sinful mouths.

You love having both of them. Mingyu, who’s so enraptured by you that all he can manage are moans and whimpers, and Wonwoo, who’s controlled enough to praise you and keep a handle on the entire situation.

They balance each other out very well, and this whole thing feels like heaven. 

Mingyu is fucking you roughly now, and there’s something so oddly sexy about the force of his balls against your clit with each thrust- these men have you cock drunk, have you thinking about shit that’s never even crossed your mind before.

Another gentle smack against your ass has you moaning lewdly around Wonwoo’s cock, and pain blossoms across your skin deliciously.

“You get so tight when I spank you,” Mingyu groans.

“Then keep spanking her,” Wonwoo suggests.

“I don’t want to hurt her.”

“She said she likes it rough, I doubt it will be an issue.”

God, you love a man who listens, a man who takes note of your kinks. With your mouth full, you can’t exactly advocate for yourself, but you don’t have to, Wonwoo will do it for you. 

Another smack has your eyes rolling into the back of your head, your pussy clenching tightly around the large intrusion.

“Fuck,” Mingyu groans, landing another smack.

The man behind you has slowed his thrusts now, too focused on spanking you to be cohesive, but Wonwoo takes the opportunity to fuck your face harder.

If he’d tried this when Mingyu was going wild, he would have risked making you choke on his cock, but now, he’s in control, and you love the way he dominates your mouth. 

You do your best to suck Wonwoo well, and the groans that begin to tumble from his lips are affirmation enough that you’re doing your job.

Mingyu’s finished with the spanking, and one of his hands slips around your body, fingers finding your clit.

“Want you to cum on my cock,” Mingyu tells you.

You moan a confirmation sound, and Mingyu begins to slowly fuck you again, rubbing your still sensitive clit harshly.

Wonwoo abruptly pulls out of your mouth, and you look up at him in confusion. “Want to watch you come undone for us,” Wonwoo tells you, his fist now wrapped around his length.

You watch him pump his cock, and fuck- it looks so good.

There’s a lump in your throat, and you swallow it thickly, overwhelmed by everything in the best possible way.

“Fuck,” you whimper, closing your eyes-

“Look at me,” Wonwoo instructs. 

It’s hard to do as he commands, but you do as you’re told, gazing up at him.

He continues to pump his cock, one hand in your hair to keep your neck arched so your eyes are on him.

Mingyu’s beginning to groan behind you again and the sounds turn you on even more.

You can feel the coil building in the pit of your stomach, and the whimpers escaping you are notice enough that you’re getting close.

“That’s it, gorgeous,” Wonwoo groans. “Cum for him, then you get to cum for me.”

God, his words are perfection, and the tension builds even more-

Mingyu rubs your clit harder, and you whimper loudly, hands beginning to shake as you hold yourself up.

“Fuck her harder,” Wonwoo instructs. “She’s close.”

Mingyu does as he’s told, and the roughness is all you need, a moment later, you’re gasping loudly, your core clamping down on Mingyu’s cock, clit throbbing deliciously.

“Fuck!” Mingyu groans, his thrusts becoming erratic as he begins to fill you up with his cum. 

His hands are rough on your hips, but you love it, love the way you can feel his cock pulsing as he shoots deep inside of you. 

When Mingyu finally finishes, you can feel his breath against your shoulders, and there’s something erotic about that too.

“Still ready for more?” Wonwoo asks, stroking your cheek.

“Yeah, want your cum too,” you tell him.

Mingyu chuckles, pulling out of you with a grunt.

He gets off the bed, moving to the bathroom, and leaving you alone with Wonwoo.

“Do you want to be on top?” Wonwoo questions.

“I’m tired,” you whine.

The man above you laughs. “Then I’ll do all the work, get onto your back.”

You do as you’re told, releasing a sigh of relief as you lay down on the bed. Wonwoo gets between your thighs. “Mingyu always makes such a mess,” he tuts. “We’ll have to clean you up after this.”

As much as he’s made a remark about Mingyu’s cum, the substance doesn’t seem to bother Wonwoo, who immediately drags the tip of his cock across your pussy lips, pushing in gently.

You groan, reaching up to grab Wonwoo’s shoulders. You tug him down on top of you, threading your fingers through his hair as you press your lips to his own.

Wonwoo kisses you back, beginning to thrust as he does so.

Mingyu is girthier, but Wonwoo is longer, and the tip of his cock hits deep inside of you, making you moan immediately.

Now that he’s inside of you, it’s clear Wonwoo’s not as much of a talker. He gives you his entire focus, his lips not leaving yours as he works you open, finding the perfect pace.

You know he wants you to cum with him, and you’d bet that he’s close after the blow job you gave him, so you sneak your hand between your bodies, gently rubbing your clit.

You’re super sensitive after two orgasms, and you can feel your pussy clench desperately from the stimulus. 

Wonwoo groans against your lips, adjusting so he can wrap one hand around your throat. He doesn’t apply a lot of pressure, just enough to make your body tingle with delight.

There’s something so erotic about knowing this man is stronger than you, knowing he could easily hurt you- but he won’t. He’s giving in to your desires, your kinks, in an effort to make this sex as good as possible for you.

A little more pressure has you whining, and Wonwoo breaks the kiss to look down at you. “Good?”

You whimper, nodding. “Good!”

His lips attack yours again, but there’s more ferocity this time, and as you rub your clit as roughly as you can stand, you know you won’t be able to hold out very long like this. 

The bed dips next to you and you know Mingyu has returned, but Wonwoo doesn’t break the kiss to allow you to give his friend any attention.

Mingyu’s hand glides up your arm, and he’s able to push it between your chest and Wonwoo’s, fingers pinching at your nipples.

You whine even louder, overcome by the pleasure that’s beginning to surge through you again.

Wonwoo’s fucking you roughly now, his hand still on your throat as he kisses your breath away, Mingyu’s playing with your sensitive nipples, and you’re rubbing your clit- this is definitely heaven, and you give yourself over to the feeling of it. 

God, to be worshipped by two people- how can you ever go back to regular one-on-one sex after this?

You can feel your pussy clenching, getting closer and closer to the edge-

Wonwoo breaks the kiss, his lips seeking out your throat. “I can feel that you’re almost there, gorgeous,” he groans.

“Yes!” you whimper.

“So do it, cum for us.”

He tightens his grip on your throat and your entire body fizzles with hot erotic energy.

You clench your eyes shut, focusing on the pressure in your abdomen-

One more tweak of your nipples has you gasping, exploding around Wonwoo, who groans lewdly in your ear, fucking you even harder in an effort to reach his high with you.

A moment later you can feel him filling you up too, and it feels so good to be this full. 

Mingyu relents on your nipples, and you pull your hand away from your clit in favor of wrapping your arms around Wonwoo, holding him close and panting while you both enjoy the last seconds of your highs.

When it’s all said and done, you can hardly open your eyes, can hardly move as Wonwoo gets off of you.

A minute later, someone is washing your inner thighs, and then, Mingyu is lifting you off the bed. You find yourself in the bathroom, held up by two strong men as they wash your body, pressing gentle kisses here and there.

“Think we fucked her stupid,” Mingyu chuckles.

“Three orgasms can be a lot all at once,” Wonwoo muses. 

“I don’t know about you, but if what happens in Thailand stays in Thailand, and this is the only night we get with her, I plan on giving her more than just three.”

“Let her rest a little, we’ll get her some water, and we’ll see how she feels,” Wonwoo reminds his overeager friend.

You can’t muster the energy to speak just yet, but fuck it, you’re not going to miss this opportunity, you’re aware of how fleeting it may be.

Epilogue

Everyone is at the airport, and Seungcheol can’t take his gaze off you, Wonwoo, and Mingyu. 

To the untrained eye, you might all just look like travel buddies, sitting together and chatting. But to Seungcheol, he can see right through it.

“They totally fucked,” Seungcheol says through gritted teeth, crossing his arms over his chest as he waits next to his wife for their flight out of Thailand.

“You’re overthinking things again,” Sumi reminds him, flipping through her fashion magazine.

“I’m not overthinking anything,” Seungcheol snaps, but then he takes a second to calm himself. “It’s not going to last.”

Sumi lets out a sigh. “Then you have nothing to worry about.”

Seungcheol can’t exactly explain the emotions he’s feeling, there are too many of them, jumbled together and amplified. 

But as he watches you laugh with his friends, he realizes it’s the first time he’s really seen you smile in years.

It’s a thoughtless smile, a smile that’s not forced or trained to keep up with the family image. It’s a smile that says you’re completely at ease with the situation, and upon seeing it, something inside Seungcheol softens. 

Your entire relationship as siblings has been competition, and Seungcheol thinks maybe part of this whole issue has been the feeling that he’s competing with you for his friends’ attention. Maybe he shouldn’t be viewing it that way, after all, you deserve to be happy too.

Seungcheol’s pretty sure this love affair between the three of you won’t last, and when it’s over, he can have his friends back. He can pretend none of this ever happened.

But, Seungcheol supposes, as your brother, the best thing he can do is let this all go, and try to just be happy for you.

With one last sight, Seungcheol places his hand over Sumi’s, leaning in to give her cheek a kiss. “You’re my rock.”

“I know.”

☀️ mlist + an. thank you for reading! I haven't written meanie in forever and I'm glad I was able to spend time with them in this fic this month.

🍭 support me by. sending a tip here or here - or become a patron to access monthly bonus content and extensions for fics like this one :) find the Patreon teaser below! 

🔮 preview.  To celebrate a year or so of being together, you, Mingyu, and Wonwoo are back in Thailand. It feels fitting to be celebrating a relationship that started here, and it’s with newfound appreciation that you enjoy the resort Seungcheol got married at thirteen months ago.

cw/ tw. Unprotected sex, threesome, double penetration, anal, fingering, pussy eating, spanking, groping, manhandling, fullness kink, praise, dirty talk, squirting, overstimulation, etc…   I petnames. (hers). Gorgeous, baby.

👹 rating. 18+ explicit I wc. 2.3 I teaser wc. 90

🌙 starring. Seungcheol & Mingyu x afab!Reader

bonus

When you’d returned to the city, you’d invited Mingyu and Wonwoo to your art showing. The two of them had come through for you, making the night even more wonderful than it had promised to be.

You’d all gone home after the showing together, spending hours fucking and talking- and things had just continued that way.

No relationship in your life has ever been this easy, and you realize, after almost a year of seeing the two men, that this isn’t a dynamic you ever want to give up.

☀️ to read the full fic AND 2.3k bonus NOW, subscribe to my Patreon, then click here

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[pellucid-constellations]

Flightless Bird

Pairing: Azriel x Human!Reader

Summary: Azriel was not supposed to be in the mortal lands. Azriel was not supposed to love a mortal. He couldn't find it in him to care.

Word count: 2k

Warnings: Mentions of injury and death, a little bit wistful I suppose

a/n: I am struggling to write!! So I'm sorry if this is all jumbled and weird 😭 Please enjoy me trying to get my act together I love you allll <3

Main Masterlist ♡

~~

Azriel was not where he was supposed to be. He knew that—knew his High Lord would be disappointed at his whereabouts—and he went anyway. 

It was often hard to blend into the mortal lands, but he was not unused to the discomfort that came with slinking around alley corners and plastering his wings to his back. If a human saw him, he would be in greater trouble than a simple tongue-lashing from Rhysand. 

He hadn’t been caught yet. 

“Azriel.” 

Well—he hadn’t been caught by anyone he wouldn't want to be caught by. 

Azriel turned on his heel, his back pressed against the biting cold of the cobblestone alley. You stood before him with a basket on your arm and an accusatory gleam pointed up with your gaze. The collar of your dress was slightly askew and if he looked hard enough, he could see bits of basil on your sleeve hem. 

He fought the smile that edged onto his face, not wanting to mock your exasperation. “Y/n,” he cordially greeted. 

You huffed. “Don’t say that so casually.” 

“Your name?” 

“Your death sentence, more like. You know you shouldn’t be here.” 

Ah, yes—Azriel could not forget that multiple people did not want him meandering about the mortal lands. Rhysand didn’t want him here because of the trouble it could cause. You didn’t want him here because you thought the humans would kill him. A small misconception that he found endearing.

“Why not?” Azriel questioned, tilting his head to the side as you stepped forward. You peered over his shoulder past the mouth of the alley in hurried agitation. 

“How long have you been here?” you asked, brushing off his question. “Has anyone seen you? Here, quickly—most people are at the market event so we can make it to my house.” 

And Azriel had gotten exactly what he wanted the second you wrapped your hand around his forearm. He let you tug him around more corners and watched as you anxiously bit into your lip and fretted for his imagined safety. At one point, he had whisked the herb basket from your arm and held it loosely at his fingertips. You only glanced back at him for a moment, too concerned with shoving him into the too-small front door of your home. 

Azriel set the basket down on the quaint table by the fire and felt his bones settle in the soft glow of your home. While you busied yourself by locking the door and slamming the windows shut, he casually looked around the space and breathed in the spices and rich wood that calmed him. He had difficulty describing this feeling to others, so he coveted it instead. 

The slick of your curtains shutting seemed to end your tirade, and you then turned to him with an exasperated hand on your hip. “I’ve told you to send word if you’re coming. I can ensure you’re not seen, but only if I know you’re here.” 

Azriel was almost positive you didn’t understand he was a spy. He had explained his job to you many times, but you never seemed to take it into account when you were concerned over his stealth in the human lands. 

“I can get around fine. I wanted to find you,” he calmly replied. 

“Why don’t you wait at my house then? Rather than roaming about the streets? You know I’ll end up here eventually.” 

How was Azriel supposed to say that he liked to watch you? That he found joy in seeing you in the woods picking herbs or at the market selling your remedies. No, he figured that would be an odd thing to say to a human, so instead he offered a shrug and you replied with another tortured sigh. 

You pinched the bridge of your nose and murmured his name. 

“I don’t mean to burden you,” Azriel apologized. “I only wanted to see you. It’s been… a while.” 

When you looked back up, all vexation slid from your expression, replaced instead by soft reproach. “Burden me—Azriel, you don’t burden me. I worry for you, but it’s not a burden. Any time you need to use my home for work it’s available to you.”

You never understood. Azriel said he wanted to see you, not use your home. He had offered many of these admittances in the past and you never found their meaning. He had asked Feyre about that in a night of desperation a few months ago. She had sworn not to tell anyone and made Azriel privy to the inferiority humans felt when compared to fae. 

“She probably isn’t even considering that, Az,” Feyre had softly replied, unvoiced confusion twisting her brow. “How did you meet her again?” 

“I don’t need to use your home. Not this time,” Azriel revealed. 

“A short mission then?” 

“I’m not here for a mission.” 

Confusion pinched your expression. “I don’t understand.” 

Azriel took a step forward, shadows splaying out under his boot. The wood creaked. “I told you—I wanted to see you.” 

You uncrossed your arms, allowing Azriel to see your chest rise and fall unsteadily. You looked down to his feet, tracking the small movements he was making towards you, and then caught his eye once more. 

“Is this about Harrison? He hasn’t bothered me since.” 

Azriel’s eyes slipped closed for a moment. Harrison. The good-for-nothing human man who wouldn’t leave you alone for months. Azriel had made up multiple stories for being in the mortal lands around that time—to both you and Rhys. In the end, Harrison moved on and you hadn’t had an explanation for it. 

Azriel had a very clear explanation. 

“It’s not about that, though I am glad he’s leaving you alone.” 

You hummed, the sound perfectly matching your reproachful nod. “Right. So I’m safe. And you don’t have a mission. Why would you need to see me?” 

Feyre had clearly been right; you hadn’t even considered the possibility that Azriel was taken by you. And that made sense. Azriel couldn’t really understand it himself. You were a human—destined for a short life and vulnerable to so many things. 

Azriel would live twenty lifetimes and you would only live one. 

But he couldn’t get you out of his head. 

From that first day he saw you in these dreary lands he had been dreaming of you, unable to have a thought without connecting it back to the softness of your hair or the way your skin seemed to glow under the sun. He had approached you a couple of days after that first look. It hadn’t gone well, obviously, and Azriel had to admit that being punched by a human hurt more than he expected. 

You were nothing if not logical, however, and after getting a few unreciprocated punches in, you stopped and listened to him. He had truly needed help at that time, unrest with a few rogue members of Hewn City sending him your way, and in the best interest of your village, you gave him a place to hide. 

It had been awkward—for him. 

You had been comfortable with him from the start and he was the one shifting in his seat each time you passed. He hadn’t been around many humans, and although the Archeron sisters had given him some experience, they were nothing like you. You yanked him around alleyways and shoved herbs in his mouth that wouldn’t actually heal him. You were stubborn and didn’t take no for an answer and you went headfirst into everything. Azriel could remember a time a couple of months after meeting you that he was sure his heart stopped, your foot slipping on a ladder as you helped him search for human information. 

He was constantly reminded how fragile you were. The bruise he spotted on your wrist now was practically mocking him. 

He knew how fragile you were, and he still came back. He couldn’t help it. 

“Can I not just wish to see you?” Azriel asked, his words now reaching your skin with his proximity. 

Your lashes fluttered. You let out a small breath. “Fancy court life get boring? Needed a reminder of the desolation of the human lands?” 

Azriel had been foolish to think your bite would disappear with a short bout of flustering. “I don’t think they’re desolate. Not with you here.” 

“What are you doing?” you whispered. Azriel watched you fiddle with your sleeve, the darkened skin of your bruise stealing his breath once more. 

His eyes tracked back up to your face. “Do you really not know?” 

The space between you was sparse; any other human would be cowering in fear. 

“Azriel—” 

“Tell me to stop and I will. I’ll leave if you wish for me to.” 

“I don’t want that.” 

“Then tell me what you want.” 

You dropped your hands to your sides, a war waging in your eyes. Azriel was having a difficult time parsing out the opposing sides—if you were scared of him or if you thought about him as much as he did you.

“I’m human. I’m nothing.” 

Azriel abandoned his wonder, reaching his hand up to cup your face. He hesitated, allowing you time to move away from his touch. You didn’t. He took the liberty of holding you between both of his hands rather than one. 

“I’ve never thought that. Don’t say that,” he pressed. 

You looked pained, vulnerability seeping into your usually strong expression. You always had to be strong here. “It’s true. You don’t think I’ve—Azriel, I’ve… felt things for you that I shouldn’t. Wanted things I shouldn’t. But I’m mortal. I’m just a human. And you could have so much more than—” 

Azriel was already shaking his head. He didn’t understand any of this. You were right—in a way. This wasn’t natural. 

Azriel still spoke as if it were. “I don’t care about any of that. I don’t want anything else. The year I’ve known you I have thought of little else.”

“But that’s just it, Azriel,” you began, an incredulous laugh punctuating your words. “A year. A year that I have aged and been changed. A year that feels long and hard for a human and it was nothing but a drop in the bucket for you. You will have centuries of them. You won’t die from sickness or injury or famine. You—we couldn't… I am human.” 

“And I don’t care,” Azriel repeated. His tongue darted out to wet his lips and he readjusted his grip on you. “I don’t understand why, but I don’t, y/n. I know this isn’t sensible and I don’t care. I don’t care if it’s short. I love you.” 

Your eyes widened, words caught in your throat. And Azriel didn’t care if you said it back. He didn’t care if he had made a fool of himself. For the first time in centuries, he loved and he did it without secrecy and fear. 

Maybe it was the brevity of it all. Maybe it was because you belonged to only him, his family unaware of your existence. Azriel didn’t care about the origin. He only cared about you. 

“This can’t work,” you whispered. Logical. Always so logical. 

“It doesn’t have to work. It just has to be.” 

You gripped his wrists, desperation in your eyes. “What does that even mean?” 

Azriel hesitated, and then he kissed you. He pressed his lips to yours and he felt the way your heart beat in the pulsing heat of your skin. You were warm—always warm—and your body moved without the fluidity of fae and Azriel wanted nothing more. He removed one of his hands from your face only to wrap it around your back, pressing you closer, listening to the racing pattern of your heart. 

He kissed you harder and you kissed him back. 

Nothing else mattered—not the logic or the timelines or the aging. 

Azriel’s shadows always tamed themselves around you, seeming to fear any hesitance you may hold, but right now they were rampant in your home, sliding up the windows and humming low songs in his ears. 

And in the depths of Azriel’s chest, hidden so deep he thought it his own beating heart, something tugged.

[gaykarstaagforever]

YouTube has this thing now called YouTube Playables (great name as usual, guys; it's not a children's snack pack), that are basically in-app "Flash games"-style things that are just enough game to keep you watching ads.

The ones of these that aren't direct ripoffs of owned IP (very specifically Zuma) are barebones exercises in that bog-standard FTP addictive mobile gaming loop we all know and hate but also LOVE, minus the in-app purchases (for the time being). Like, shallow systems that are fun for exactly 30 minutes, then get stupidly hard so you'll pay to win, though you can't do that yet, so...kind of pointless.

...I still spent FOUR HOURS playing these, because they tapped into my primitive lizard brain's desire to try and master an utterly meaningless task and then feel undooly smug about it.

I didn't get any ads, because I'm a stooge that pays real money to Google every month for this, because once you go adless, you CANNOT go back. Which kind of negates the whole point of these, as addictive time-wasters that keep you glued to the platform and its commercials? But I already pay for YouTube and STILL got caught in these, so I suppose everything is going according to YouTube's plan either way, and I need meaningful human relationships.

But THAT isn't going to happen any time soon! So let me waste another evening on these by reviewing some crap garbage games for idiots that no one cares about, on Tumblr dot com!

1. Totemia: Cursed Marbles

It's Zuma. That's it. With a couple minor tweaks that make it harder and more annoying.

Just license Zuma, YouTube. I think you can afford the, what, $25 that would cost atm?

2. Sword Play

An on-rails sword slashing game (you don't control the movement, just the slashing), and you kill plastic doll guys before they kill you.

At some point they get projectiles that move really fast, that you can only destroy via specific directional QTEs that don't register properly half the time, because this is all relative finger smearing across the screen.

It was fun before that. The guys fall apart specific to how you slash them. That's something.

3. Dessert DIY

This one sucks. You're just picking from very limited options, then doing specific motions to trigger animations that create desserts that don't even look much like the promo art. People request different things, but early game all they ask for is "whatever you want to make" and "do one out of poop with bugs on it to make someone I hate throw up."

And then there's an animation of someone accepting what is obviously poop with bugs on it from their sworn enemy, they eat it anyway, then vomit.

The only fun part about this is the shameless inclusion of NPCs that look like celebrities, specifically Billie Eilish, Kanye West, and Donald Trump.

If you want to make a poop ice cream cone with bugs on it and feed it to Trump until he vomits all over his desk, this is the game for you. Otherwise, this is meh even for one of these meh games.

4. Bowmasters

Dueling Angry Birds, but you have no control of the camera and it focuses on you so you have to trial-and-error the degree of angle and throwing force to figure out how to hit and kill your opponent before they hit and kill you.

There are many colorful pop culture-inspired combatants to unlock, with a huge variety of projectiles of different weights, sizes, and behaviors. This is the most "very nearly a real, good game" one of these.

...Except that the level progression forces you to do Bonus Rounds, and one of those is "knock fruit off the head of an opponent without hitting them, and you have to do this like 5 times in a row, and we move you further away from them another 30 yards every round, and you have to use a wildly different unique projectile every round, and you get 3 chances, and that includes if you miss entirely."

It is basically impossible to do this, because your ever-changing location makes calculating arcs and force, with the ever-changing projectiles, impossible, in this limited amount of attempts. It turns into grinding it out until RNG randomly makes you win.

Which is a shame, because otherwise, this is fun. But you WILL get stuck on a stupid fruit round and stop playing this.

5. Mob Control

You have a cannon that launches blue guys. The NPC opponent does red. You both are trying to bumrush the other's base, taking advantage of buttons and switches and bonus gates that speed you up or slow you down and multiply your number of guys. Guys annihilate each-other when they run into each-other, so you need to overwhelm Red before they overwhelm you.

It's fun until it gets so fast that it becomes a chore to manage where precisely to launch guys specifically to annihilate other guys.

6. Merge Master

This goddamn game. This was 3.5 hours of my 4 hour playtime.

You have a grid board, with you at the bottom and an opponent at the top. You both have an army of warriors and dinosaurs, and a team HP bar. You click go, the warriors fire projectiles and the dinosaurs melee the nearest enemy, and last man standing wins.

Before each round, you can arrange the placement of your army, and use money you won from the last rounds to buy more warriors and dinosaurs. But the kicker is, you can combine like warriors and dinosaurs to make more powerful units, which you keep at the end of every round. They don't gain XP or anything, but as you make more money, you can buy more 1st-level units (that's all you can buy), and gradually combine them and then combine the combinations, and on and on and on, making incredibly powerful new units. And you need a mix of low-level and high-level units to have enough melee dinosaurs and projectile-throwers to overwhelm high-level enemy units, or draw fire away from your own, against the ever-changing enemy army each round.

It's a process of slowly adding more units and combining them to make stronger and stronger units, and as many of them as you can get, accounting for the limited board space. Also the price of units rises exponentially each round, so you may have 1 trillion gold, but at this point a new 1st-level dinosaur costs 245 billion.

I couldn't stop with this. It just got me. I wanted to see new exciting high-level warriors and dinosaurs, and see how fast I could take the other army down. There's more than zero strategy at work here, and battles can vary substantially from round to round, depending on what mix of units the enemy brings to the board.

It's still a rudimentary Flash-esque game, and very much akin to those shitty mobile boss rush games that raid our shadow legends. But it's not PTW yet, and the graphics are a charming and distorted replica of early 2000s 3D games, like Age of Mythology or GTA 3. It felt like something, for awhile.

It isn't, and I wasted valuable battery charge on this stupid shit. But I was having fun. And sometimes, that's enough.

...And posting about it here. It's something to talk about that isn't the world eating itself.

And we all need that sometimes.

[luveline]

Can we perhaps have more of Hotch and Spencer's Shy older sister???

hotch knows he shouldn’t flirt but he can’t really help himself! fem, 1.3k

Aaron’s used to rushing around. He has so little time and so much to do, he spends the majority of his life trying to cram it to capacity. But the half an hour of therapy he forced himself to sit through with the BAU psychologist did unfortunately shed some light on what this is doing to his head —he’s more prone to panicking now than he was ten years ago. He keeps his head at work because he has to, but the fact of the matter is that there will be moments where he can’t choose if he doesn’t look after himself better. 

So. Today Aaron is looking for clothes. Some for himself and some for Jack, and it’s alright if it takes him four hours. All he has to do is get them some summer shorts and get Jack some new underclothes now he’s growing again, and afterwards he’ll go to the butchers for some fresh beef to grind, so he and Jack can make burgers when he’s home from his Aunt Jess��. 

Unfortunately, Aaron is bored out of his mind. He has a basket full of all the things he’d needed, having found what he needed methodically, and now he’s remembered he’s supposed to be relaxing as he's perusing the aisles. There isn’t much relaxing about department stores. A baby cries in a stroller across the room, a clerk slides hangers over a squeaking rail, and an annoying gentleman flirts over loud somewhere to the right. 

“Let me take you out for coffee.” 

Aaron turns the price tag on a sweatshirt and glares at it. Why should a plain black sweatshirt cost forty seven dollars? Jack will only have it for the year. It has about twenty good wears in it. 

“What do you say, sweetheart? Can we go for coffee?” 

Aaron lifts his head before you’ve opened your mouth to speak. He’s surprised to see it’s you, a Reid, nervously disposed as your brother, shifting from one foot onto another. “It’s a nice offer–”

You’re spoken over. “What do you like, matcha? Ice coffee?” 

Your lips are turning down. “I’m sorry, I–” Aaron can feel your panic, poor shy girl. He’s met you a handful of times with your brother in company, and each time you’ve melted under the attention, flustered, and somehow Aaron can tell this is different. “I’m married.” 

It’s obvious that you’re not being truthful. Your tone is high-strung, and it doesn’t perturb the unnamed man one bit. “Are you sure?” he asks with a laugh. “You don’t sound sure.” 

Aaron can’t confess to liking that. 

If a woman doesn’t want you to flirt with her, you shouldn’t. If she says she has a boyfriend, whether that seems true or untrue, you leave her alone. These are basic rules, easily followed, and easier still not to laugh at you. No, you won’t be laughed at. 

Aaron clears his throat, cutting the man’s laugh short, and worsening your panic for the few seconds where you don’t know who he is. You tip your head to him and there, he can see the thread of recognition. There’s pleasure to be found in the relief in your eyes, but Aaron puts it out of his mind. “She’s sure,” he says simply. 

“Aaron,” you say. 

“Found it,” Aaron says, presenting you with the forty-seven dollar sweatshirt, proud when you take it. “He’ll grow out of it by Christmas, but Mrs. Lundy can finally leave us alone about him having clothes for soft play.”

You play your part, inspecting the sweatshirt with a narrowed brow. “It seems a bit short for Jack?” 

Aaron gives your flirting man a look. Sorry buddy, it says, though he isn’t sorry at all. You’re firmly taken. 

“Well, I tried,” he says. 

Aaron snorts. 

You wait for the man to leave before letting your shoulders drop, rubbing your forehead with the back of your hand. “Ah, I’m sorry,” you say. “I’m so bad at saying no.”

“Do you really think that’s too short for Jack?” he asks. 

You raise your gaze. “Well, when I last saw him he was at my hip. That looks like it’d fit him and all, but not when he raises his arms? I don’t know, though, I’m not a mom.” 

You could be, thinking about the arm raising. It’s something he should’ve thought about himself. “I didn’t want to pay for it, anyhow,” he says, sliding it onto a random rack with a small apology in mind for whoever has to put it back. “I hope my intrusion was warranted.” 

“You probably think I’m a bad person. I should’ve been honest.” 

“For lying? You can be married if you want. It’s not really his business.” 

You seem to remember then that you’re intimidated by him, no matter how hard Aaron might try to put you at ease (though, to be fair to you, the last time you’d met Aaron had been flirting) (only because you’d had a crush on him all those years ago when Spencer settled into his new job and you’d came into Virginia to make sure of it). Your hand drifts to your neck and you look pointedly away from the women’s underwear behind you. 

“Uh, so– so how are you?” you ask. 

“I’m good, honey,” he says, entrenched in a fondness for you that’s far more endeared than pitying. “I thought I better come and get Jack some summer clothes without him hanging off of my arm. How are you? How are you settling in?” 

You’d finally made the move to be with Spencer a few months ago. You have your own apartment near his in Washington D.C, and Aaron hasn’t had any opportunity to see you beyond a few lunchtime visits. “It’s good to see you,” he says, giving you little time to answer his questions. 

Your answer is quiet, but not without genuineness. “It’s good to see you too, Aaron.” 

“And you’re alright?” 

“I’m fine.” You offer a smile that melts him to the bone, has him thinking oh, maybe I’m in more trouble than I first thought. “I start my new job on Monday.”

“Really? Where are you working?” 

Before he’s realised, you and Aaron have spent a half an hour standing in one place. Not the kind of chatter you can’t get away from: he is delighting in making you smile, and then laugh. If you weren’t Spencer’s sister, if he hadn’t just saved you from an untimely suitor, Aaron believes he’s grown enough to ask you out, making his intentions and affections clear, because you’re very cute. But you are Spencer’s sister, and you’d already found yourself trapped today by somebody who couldn’t take a hint. 

“Sorry,” you’re saying, “I’ve kept you,” and you’re still flustered, but it’s more of a glow now than a frazzled halo, beaming delight at holding his attention. If you only knew. “I’ll leave you to finish your shopping.” 

“It’s alright, I kept you too.” 

“Do you have a busy day?” you ask. 

“Not really. I have to pick Jack up later… But nothing else.” 

You both seem to teeter on the edge of the question, the possibility of what he could ask you, or what you could ask him if you weren’t so shy. He knows you won’t be able to. 

You let the quiet settle for just long enough for Aaron to know what you want. Spencer’s sister and invented marriage included. You aren’t making conversation and neither is he, because… 

“Would you want to grab a coffee?” he asks, chipper, to mask his nerves. 

You smile shyly. Your eyes dart to his hands, reminding him suddenly of the you he’d met years ago, timid sweetheart just a few years older than her genius brother and used to hiding in his shadow regardless, Gideon’s reluctantly amused observation: She’s sweet on you?

You aren’t as all-consumingly timid now. Still shy. Still sweet on him, it seems. “Yes,” you say, meeting his eyes from under lashes he’d like to feel beneath his fingertip, “I want to.” 

[coryndoll]

plot ── after you undergo a procedure to erase rafe from your memory, rafe, devastated by the realization, decides to do the same, only to find himself fighting to hold onto the love you shared, proving that some connections can never truly be forgotten.

content ── another fucking mini series bc i cant stop, rafes perspective, memory loss, emotional distress & heartbreak obvi, dysfunctional relationships, existential themes

authors note ── sorry guys ive been so busy w my new life that i have NOT touched tumblr in a good while. plus this semester is more demanding in terms of my workload ugh so im never writing anym its so lame

rafe stares at the card, his fingers gripping the edges so tightly the paper starts to bend. his breath is slow, shallow, like his body is forgetting how to function properly. the words blur together, but it doesn’t matter. he’s already memorized them.

he lifts his gaze to his father. ward stands stiff, arms crossed, staring down at his shoes like he’s the one who’s been blindsided. like he’s the one who just had his entire world gutted out of him in a single fucking sentence.

there’s guilt in the way he exhales through his nose, in the way his jaw slides ever so slightly, but rafe doesn’t give him the chance to speak.

“this is real?” his voice comes out rough, barely above a whisper, as if saying it too loud will make it more true.

ward hesitates, then nods.

rafe lets out a short, breathless laugh, his chest rising sharply before sinking under the weight of it all. he shakes his head, tongue pressing against the inside of his cheek as he looks down at the card again, like maybe this time the words will rearrange themselves into something less impossible.

“so, what?” he scoffs, wetness pricking at his eyes. “they just . . . deleted me? like a fucking file on a computer?”

ward sighs. long, slow, through his nose. he knew this would be hard to explain.

“how many?” rafe asks. how many memories are gone now?

his father doesn’t answer right away. his jaw shifts, gaze dropping to the floor like he doesn’t want to say it. or maybe he’s just trying to soften the blow of something that can’t be softened.

when he finally speaks, his voice is careful. deliberate. “all of ‘em, bud.”

rafe scoffs again, but it’s weaker this time, like his body is struggling to keep up with his disbelief. he smiles, but it’s the kind that only comes when someone is trying not to fall apart.

“no . . . no. she didn’t. she wouldn’t do that.” he shakes his head again, faster this time. “that’s not even a fucking thing— i mean, erasing someone from your mind? since when did we have the tech for that bullshit? that didn’t happen.”

he throws the card onto the table like it burns to hold it any longer. gets up so fast his chair scrapes loudly against the floor. his chest is rising and falling too quickly, hands threading behind his head as he paces across the kitchen, back and forth, back and forth, his fingers digging into his scalp.

ward doesn’t stop him. he just watches, his own grief settling deep in his expression. and maybe it’s not the same kind of grief. maybe it’s not the gut-wrenching, all-consuming, ‘i’ve lost the love of my life kind’, but it’s still there.

because he’s seen lacuna inc. before, out near the edge of the island, where no one really looks unless they’re desperate enough to. he’s seen it and he’s hoped no one he loves would ever consider walking through its doors.

but you did. a girl who once sat at his dinner table, who used to laugh with his family, who was supposed to be his daughter-in-law one day.

was rafe really that bad? bad enough to make you want to erase him?

rafe stops pacing so suddenly it’s like something clicks into place inside him. he turns, slipping out of the kitchen without another word. his father calls after him, but he doesn’t listen. his hands move on their own, grabbing his keys from the hook by the front door, pushing outside, stepping into the thick outer banks air like he’s coming up for air after drowning.

he doesn’t know where he’s going.

apparently, he can’t go to you.

but he’ll do something.

a/n: just the short little prologue so def let me know if ud like to be tagged for this one!

[furioussouls]

LADS boys as strict professors who only have a soft spot for their wife

with [chubby reader]

Warnings: tooth- rotting fluff, chubby fem! reader

Disclaimer: These characters don't belong to me, they are from the game "love and deepspace" by InFold. All lore references and worldbuilding belong solely to the creators.

requested by a sweet anon (hope it lived up to your expectations :3)

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Xavier:

Xavier's students know their professor to be the best hunter to ever exist; he was agile, capable, strategic, strong and yet gentle in the face of danger. He's open to every single question, he won't make you feel bad about yourself for asking even the most obvious questions and adds enough physical practice to balance out his thorough lectures. However, he's also one of the more intimidating professors that teaches the new generation of hunters; he'll disarm threats in the blink of an eye while his face remained the same neutral expression. His students have never seen a person fight as well as he has. He's not the type of man you'd want to piss off. Sometimes when they're staring into his emotionless face, they feel an icy shudder run down their backs.

Xavier stood in front of his students in his usual business casual attire and explained the proper strategy of defending oneself in a battle where everything seemed hopeless.

"Let's assume you're in the middle of a battle and you're too exhausted or hurt to continue, what's the next step? Yes, you." Xavier nodded at one student, who was raising his hand.

"You need to try to adapt your fighting style to your current level of exhaustion and you must-"

"No", Xavier interrupted the student quietly and looked through the room to find somebody else willing to participate but nobody else raised their hand. Xavier sighed softly and ran his hand through his blonde hair.

"Retreat. If you're too exhausted to keep fighting, you must retreat. If you're unable to because you're surrounded or in the middle of a dangerous situation- trust in your partner. They're supposed to back you up and be dependable."

His students looked at each other in confusion. Trust your partner? That's the answer?

One student raised their brow and hesitantly lifted their hand. Xavier noticed the hand and perked up. He took off his round glasses and pointed with them to the student, who raised their hand.

"Excuse me if I'm overstepping, Professor, but who was your partner?" The student asked some of the other ones looked up at him curiously.

"Ah", Xavier exclaimed and slowly blushed a beet- red. The sides of his mouth tugged up until his mouth split into a soft grin. His pearly white teeth were exposed and he scratched the back of his neck. "Well, that would be my wife. We were partners- I mean we still are. But in more ways than one now." He stammered and cleared his throat.

"Is she a good hunter?", asked one student.

"Oh yes, she is. She's so capable and strong, cute as well. Our fighting styles complete each other so well and we always depend on each other during battles. It's a great feeling to trust your partner this freely." He gushed with a soft smile. He opened up his phone and showed the lockscreen picture of you; it was your cute chubby self wrapped in the lanky arms of Xavier.

Some of his students giggled, which caused Xavier to blush and clear his throat. He put his phone away and continued with his lecture. The students that believed Xavier to be the craziest alpha male hunter are now upset that their hero is nothing more than a little puppy for his wife.

Zayne:

Zayne stood in front of his nervous students. He was dressed up in a suit, not one bit out of place; his black hair sitting perfectly, his black tie sitting smugly against his chest. Even his shoes were clean and polished. He really was as perfect as people made him out to be. He was one of the youngest cardiac surgeons at Akso hospital and is holding lectures about the human heart. Zayne sighed and pushed his glasses closer to his face with his long, scarred fingers.

"I understand some of you had questions about the assignment", said Zayne, his voice soft and deep.

One student hesitantly raised their hands and swallowed when Zayne raised his hand toward him and nodded. "Well the material is a bit.. difficult to understand, since we're only in our second semester."

Zayne tilted his head and seemed to consider his students words, his eyebrows furrowed so hard that a wrinkle formed in between them. The student swallowed, he hoped he hadn't ruined his chances with one of the most influencial doctors of his time.

"I understand the feedback, but I am not sure how much easier I can make it for you. The material is very limited. I shall look for better ones but I can't promise-", a soft knock interrupted Zayne and he turned towards the door.

"Excuse me, Professor Zayne?", your round body walked through the door with a bento box. Zayne's strict face softened immediately and he called out your name. "What are you doing here?", he asked you softly as his cheeks bloomed into a soft pink. You handed him his bento box and told him that you would go on a mission for a few days and that you wanted to see him off in person.

Zayne swallowed and the side of his mouth gently tugged up as he looked at the box. "Thank you very much, dear."

Dear? His students jaw dropped and they looked at each other in disbelief. Did that just really happen? Did Dr. Professor Zayne just call you dear while blushing? You waved at the students and they waved back at you incredulously.

Zayne cleared his throat and nodded "We were just talking about the assignment I assigned. Apparently it's.. too complicated."

You raised an eyebrow at him "Well, I hope you took their criticism seriously. I'll be off then. Have fun, guys", you winked at them and walked out the door.

Zayne cleared his throat and smoothed over his shirt after he sat his bento box down on the table. "I'll find some easier reading material for you and readjust the difficulty level of the assignment", he agreed softly and smiled at your lunchbox.

His students chuckled amonst themselves. Hopefully you'd drop by more often. They certainly wouldn't mind.

Rafayel:

Rafayel stood in front of his students' paintings and examined them with furrowed eyebrows. He hated this process, because art is not something that can just be graded like any other subject. It is deeply individual and personal to everybody and it feels wrong to grade such personal pieces. However, he is so damn bored with all these pieces. They're all missing that little something, of course all of these drawings are objectively good; a nice understanding of colour theory and shadows and applying different techniques and methods. All of it was good, but it was artficial and it felt too clean. Not authentic enough.

Rafayel sighed and raked his beautiful hands through his fluffy hair. He closed his eyes and tilted his head toward the ceiling.

Some of his students rolled their eyes at his familiar dramatic antics and others gulped and fidgeted nervously with their fingers. They all knew of Rafayel, of course. He was one of the most popular artists of his time and his works are phenomenal. It would be horrible if a brilliant man like him were to tell his young, sweet students how horrific their art is.

Rafayel stood up and walked through the room. He was as graceful as a gazelle, his button up shirt tugged neatly into his black pants.

"All of you have passed, you were all good.", he exclaimed in a bored tone.

The fidgeting stopped and the students looked up at him with in shock. "Really?"

"Yes. All of you have a great understanding of your preferred style and you did well", he yawned and turned to face all of his students "However, I'm not impressed. You have all passed this final, so create something better for me. This one won't be graded and it has no deadline. Just create something for me, something that really inspires you. Not something you can just paint well. Find a muse and paint it multiple times in different art styles and mediums, let your creativity flow. None of my students will turn out to be just a conventially acceptable artist." Rafayel shuddered at the thought and looked at the faces of his students.

One of them raised their hand "What would be a good example of a muse?"

Rafayel hummed and tapped his finger on the table "Anything you want; music, sadness, your dog, nature, your fashion style... people. My muse would be my wife." Rafayel smiled softly and rummaged through his bag. He pulled out his notebook and revealed you; he painted and drew you in many different art styles, backgrounds and positions. Your plush body always wore a soft blue gown, and your hair was styled the same way. His art looked real. Not necessarily because he was painting you in Realism, but more because of thelove and passion he felt for you.

Rafayel smiled softly and gently stroked over the pages. "This is what I want from you."

Sylus:

Sylus was a business professor. He wasn't necessarily a mean professor, but my god was he intimidating. Sylus stood in front of his students in his all black outfit. His piercingly red eyes stared into the crowd and he smirked softly.

"Hmmm", he hummed, his voice husky and gravelly. "Nobody knows the answer to my question?

"I thought it might be answer a)", a voice squeaked out and Sylus checked his notes and nodded at the student. "Very good, thats the right answer."

Sylus knows he comes off as a strict man, he really isn't though. He's also a very forgiving grader but he also knows his attitude comes off as intimidating to his students, even if he doesn't mean to be.

Sylus' phone chimed three times and he looked down; 'My sweetie' was calling. A bright smile spread on his face and he turned to his students "Excuse me, it's my wife. Hello, sweetie. Yes, I folded the laundry before I left. It should be on your bed. I left some of them on the heater so your sweater would be warm and cozy for you. Yes, the oversized one. You're welcome, honey. How was your day so far? Oh, good. I saw you packed me lunch before you left, thank you. You're the best wife one could ask for. Oh what I'm doing right now? I'm supposed to hold a lecture and answer questions", A few beats passed and Sylus chuckled deeply at your embarassed and quick rambles and turned to his students. "Alright, alright. My wife says I'm supposed to hang up now, so I'll do that. Goodbye, sweetie. I'll see you later. I love you", he hangs up his phone and smiled.

"She sounds lovely, doesn't she? I hope you all will experience the love that she has for me." Sylus said dreamily and looked back down on his answers. "Does anybody know the answer to the next question?"

Some of his students looked at each other and giggled loudly. More students started to participate during his lectures now and Sylus thankfully fell into a more comfortable rhythm with his students, and it was all thanks to you. You make everything better, you seriously do.

Caleb:

Caleb is a Professor of Flight Engineering and is licensed to give his students their pilot certificate. He is known as "the iciest Pilot and Professor" amongst his students. He teaches them both the practical and the theoretical experience that they need. Caleb is not a mean Professor, but he's definitely a strict one. He allows no disrespect towards himself or any of his students and expects his students to give their best at all times. If that "best" is only 60%, then he'll only expect 60% from you, but nothing less.

Caleb stood in front of his exhausted student. He stared at him neutrally, but not unkindly and asked "What's this piece of the engine called?" Caleb pointed at the tiny piece of metal.

His student sighed, his shoulders sagged and went back into the push-up position.

"20 push-ups, this time. You can do better than this, next week I'll ask you the same questions so study harder, alright?", Caleb turned around and asked his other students the some questions as well.

The same student walked in the park later in the afternoon with his girlfriend. He looked around and pointed at two people "Look, babe! That's my Professor Caleb." Both of them walked towards Caleb and his student's jaw dropped.

Caleb was... smiling? His lips were stretched into a bright smile as he twirled your thick body around. He looked up at you and grinned like a lovesick fool, his eyes only one step away from turning into two little hearts. Your hand was wrapped around his necklace and you pulled him closer to you like a dog and he chuckled and buried his face in your shoulder. Calebs nose gently traced along your collarbone and his strong hands wrapped around as the warm spring breeze gently drifted over your hair. The sun shone over the both of you and lit your faces up. The two of you looked straight out of a painting.

Caleb noticed his student and smiled at him and his girlfriend "Hello". You turned around and smiled at the two as well and looked up at Caleb in confusion. "That's my student", Caleb explained and kissed your forehead. You smiled and them and held out your hand "Hi, I'm his wife."

His student looked at you incredulously and shook your hand.

[ikiyou]

So true.

We don't have AI and we won't. Not for a while.

There is no intelligence at work. The thing is not thinking and it cannot. It never will. It finds next most probables and spits that out to you based on the data set fed to it. OP is right - all the shiny glowy AI bullshit is MARKETING to brainwash you and companies because those pushing it want to make money, and companies buying it want to use it to make money.

It constrained environments, these pattern-finding computer programs (which is what you should call them) are good: finding proteins. Recognizing cancers. Generating stock powerpoint templates you can edit when powerpointing is a busy-work part of your job and not really what you do. That sort of thing to make small, self-contained workflow things easier.

But only in so far as it is recognized by the shits in charge that this isn't intended to make you do MORE with LESS. It's supposed to give you back YOUR time.

Like, hello, ALL technology is supposed to do, you retarded, money-grubbing dumbasses (aiming that at all bosses).

The reason you, the reader, might be thinking, "Oh, cool, AI! I want that in my watch/computer/phone," is because you are being LIED TO. You are not getting AI. You are, in many cases, getting a spyware, or a re-labeled program that, for example, Microsoft wants on your machine so it can collect data about you.

You already had Alexa before AI was invented. (Guess what. Trash that, real quick. Microsoft is turning Alexa into a one-directional data collector on you that you can't turn off.)

You already had native programs in windows that you could train and talk to and have it open up other programs and do stuff. That wasn't AI.

AI does not exist. Stop calling it what it isn't, and force people to be explicitly crystal clear what kind of predictive computer program they are referring to when they mention AI.

I’m starting to sound like a nutcase at work because upper management keeps trying to implement AI programs and AI assistants and Chat GPT and my middle-of-the-road, don’t-infodump, don’t-engage response has been “I don’t like AI”, “I prefer to remain in control of my own tasks”, “I’d rather make my own mistakes”, and “I don’t trust any machine smarter than a toaster”

[merrinla]

DATV - FINAL BATTLE CUT CONTENT

What changed during the fight with the final boss. The Archdemon was supposed to die from a cannon shot in the Archon's Palace. Bellara or Neve would boost the cannon with the red lyrium the Venatori had pumped into them. Or Emmrich would cast enchantments on it. Solas didn't turn into a wolf, he was holding back a portal of blight. The wolf was his beast, which was supposed to be a distraction. Rook meanwhile fought the demons, and then Elgar'nan, who took on different forms of Pride, Envy, and Rage. There were more banters during the fight. I wouldn't say these dialogues are very diverse. But if someone wants to read it, here it is.

Soals: Rook. Our only chance now is to work together! Rook: Really? While you drown the world in demons? Soals: If you recover the dagger, I will do what I can to stop Elgar'nan! Soals: I must hold back the blight! My wolf will distract Elgar'nan while you take the dragon!

Soals: Rook, I will hold the portal as best I can!

Elgar'nan: The Dread Wolf? Elgar'nan: You cannot stop me! You never could! Soals: No! Elgar'nan: Yes! The portal opens! Feel the true power of the blight, Fen'Harel! Soals: You will not bring your poison into this world!

Rook: Let's move. As long as any of us are still alive, nothing gets to Bellara/Neve! Emmrich: We'll protect Bellara, no matter the cost! Lucanis: We'll give Bellara/Neve the time she needs! Neve: For Bel. Whatever it takes! Taash: For Bellara/Neve! Bellara: We'll keep you safe, Neve! Emmrich: We'll shield Neve, come what may! Harding: We've got her back! Lucanis: Just give me something I can kill! (if romance with Neve)

After the fight with the demons

Bellara: The cannon is ready and targeting the Archdemon! The firing panel should be nearby. Neve: Cannon's ready, and the Archdemon's in sight! The firing panel should be close. Emmrich: The cannon is ready and aimed at the Archdemon! The activation panel should be nearby.

Bellara: The mechanism for firing the cannon must have gotten damaged in the fight! Davrin: The mechanism to fire the cannon broke during the fight! Harding: The firing mechanism was damaged in the fight! Lucanis: The cannon must have been damaged. Neve: The firing mechanism—it got damaged in the fight! Taash: The demons broke the thing that fires the cannon!

Rook: Bellara/Neve/Emmrich, the firing panel's damaged. Is there any other way to fire the cannon? Bellara: Let me see.... Yes, there's a manual firing mechanism, but it's all the way over on the Archon's throne! Neve: Damn it. Wait—there's a manual firing mechanism, but it's over on the Archon's throne! Emmrich: Let me—Yes! A manual firing mechanism, over on the Archon's throne!

Solas: Rook, I cannot reach the mechanism while keeping the portal closed, but I can make you a path! Rook: Appreciate it.

Rook: Crystal's down there. Let's move!

Elgar'nan: Bear witness, mortals, to the power of a god. Bellara: Still not a god! Davrin: I haven't been impressed so far! Emmrich: History will record your fall here! Lucanis: Do you ever shut up? Neve: (Laughs) You think a speech will impress me? Taash: You talk too much! And your dragon is ugly! Elgarnan: You cannot harm me. All you can do is flee. Davrin: I've got a few moves left! They all end with you dead! Emmrich: Your fellow god thought so as well! Harding: This is for the Titans! Isatunoll! Harding: It is no longer your time, it is ours! For the Titans! For the dwarves! Isatunoll! Lucanis: We'll see about that. Neve: I run toward disaster. Bad habit! Taash: Davrin/Harding wouldn't give up! Neither will I! Taash: Lace is gone because of you! (if romance with Harding) Elgarnan: You will fail. You will fall. And then you will submit. Bellara: The elves will never bow to you again! Davrin: Wardens don't know how to do that! We fight to the end Emmrich: Neither the living nor the dead shall ever bow to you again! Harding: I am the memory of my ancestors. I am the heart of the Titan. I will never submit! Harding: I am the child of the Titans, and it is you who will fall! Neve: Not my style! Taash: You're not even that tall! Lucanis: Say that again when my knife is in your back.

Lucanis' last line gives the vibes of his narrative sketches.

Elgar'nan: You cannot win! Elgar'nan: I am your god! Elgar'nan: This world is mine! Elgar'nan: While my dragon-thrall lives, I am invulnerable. Yet still you fight. Pathetic. (ingame line) Rook: We killed an Archdemon at Weisshaupt, and we saved the Dalish at Arlathan. Rook: I don't need thralls. I've got a team. Rook: That was enough to take down Ghilan'nain, and it's enough to take down you.

Elgar'nan turns into Pride

Elgar'nan: This is my moment of triumph. Nothing shall interfere with the dawn of my empire! Bellara: What is this? It's more than just a demon! Davrin: What is this thing? Has he got a demon impersonating him? Harding: What is this thing? Did he force his form onto a demon? Lucanis: What the—? Is a demon impersonating him? Neve: What is this thing? Not a demon impersonating him? Taash: What is this vashedan? Has he got a demon impersonating him? Lucanis: This is no demon. This is Elgar'nan's will. Bellara/Harding: It's not a demon. It's a manifestation of Elgar'nan's will! Neve: It's not a demon. It's Elgar'nan's will—a full manifestation of it! Taash: It's not a demon! It's his feelings or some crap! Emmrich: This is no spirit. It's a manifestation of Elgar'nan's will!

Rook: Keep him off Bellara/Neve!

Reaction to Pride v.0.1 Taash: This thing's tougher than a regular demon! Bellara: That demon's going to be tricky! Davrin: That's one tough demon! Lucanis: This demon is not going down easy. Harding: This one's a lot! Why isn't it down yet? Neve: This demon's a damn pain! Harding: It's not a normal demon! It's Elgar'nan's will, in physical form! Emmrich: This isn't a mere spirit of pride, but a manifestation of Elgar'nan's will! Taash: I don't think it's just a demon! It's Elgar'nan's feelings or something! Neve: It's not your typical demon! It's a manifestation of Elgar'nan's will! Lucanis: This is not just any pride. This is Elgar'nan's pride. Bellara: Not just a demon! It's a manifestation of Elgar'nan's will!

Rook: Bellara/Emmrich/Neve? Elgar'nan's taking a personal interest in the crystal. We might be a minute. Emmrich: I'll ready the cannon while you see them off! Neve: You get that handled. I'll get us a cannon! Bellara: You can do it. I'll get the cannon ready!

Elgar'nan turns into Envy

Rook: Right. We got him. Elgar'nan: I am rulership. I am authority unchecked over all the sun touches! None who live will oppose me! Rook: Here he comes again! Elgar'nan: All who serve me are extensions of my will. My power is manifest across this world... while you stand alone.

Elgar'nan tries to mindcontrol Rook

Elgar'nan: "Goodbye, Assan." The final words of the elf who sacrificed himself for your failure. (in this version, Assan survived) Elgar'nan: "Tell my ma I love her." The final words of the dwarf who sacrificed herself for your failure. Rook: Oh, you really wanna do this? Rook: "Elgar'nan. I had such plans." Ghilan'nain's never gonna finish those plans, is she? Rook: She died a failure, because Harding/Davrin chose to give her/his life like a damn hero. Rook: And you're not saying anything about Bellara/Neve, are you? Because we got her back.

Elgar'nan: Empty words from a mortal who was little more than the Dread Wolf's tool. Rook: Yeah, I got played. And then my friends were there to help. Rook: But you have no friends. All you can send against me are copies of yourself, because you have nobody. Rook: And when we're done with you, you're gonna die alone. Elgar'nan: (Roars in anger)

Elgar'nan: (Straining) You will kneel! Rook: (Straining) Not today, and not to you!

Rook back

Bellara/Davrin/Emmrich/Harding: Rook, you're back! Are you all right? Taash: Rook! You good? Neve: Rook—Trouble! Are you all right? (romance line) Neve: Rook—you're back! Everything good? Rook: Never better. Neve: I'm done with his mind games! We're ending this. Neve: You don't give up, do you? So let's finish this! (romance line) Neve: Good! Now let's kick him out of Minrathous—and the rest of Thedas, too! Bellara/Davrin/Harding: Then let's finish this! Taash: Good! Now let's kick his ass! Lucanis: Then let's finish this bastard. I have a contract to fulfill.

Bellara: How's it going down there? I can't finish with the cannon 'til you destroy that crystal! Neve: Rook? Hate to bother you, but I can't do much with the cannon until that crystal's destroyed. Emmrich: Are you all right, Rook? I can't do anything with the cannon until you've destroyed that crystal. Rook: Soon as we're done with Elgar'nan!

Elgar'nan turns into Rage

Elgar'nan: I am fire and darkness! If you will not bow, you will burn!

Bellara: This feels like a lot of manifestations of will for one person! God. Whatever. Davrin: Oh, come on—how many forms does this guy have? Harding: How many of these shapes does he have? Lucanis: Mierda. How many shapes does he have? Neve: Another side of Elgar'nan—well isn't he charming! Taash: How many damn different shapes does this asshole have?

Solas: Rook! I cannot hold the portal much longer! Rook: Hey! You wanted this fight! Don't you dare give up on me now!

Bellara: Now! Take him down! Davrin/Emmrich/Lucanis: Now! Finish him off! Harding: Now! Finish it! Neve: Now's your shot! Take it! Taash: There! Take that asshole down!

Rook: Solas! We've got the dagger, but we still need to kill the Archdemon!

Solas: Rook! Here! Solas: With my power, you can stand against him!

Post fight

Bellara: Okay! Destroy the crystal before Elgar'nan returns! Emmrich: Quickly! Destroy the crystal before Elgar'nan returns! Harding: Get the crystal before Elgar'nan can come back! Lucanis: Now! Smash the crystal before we get more trouble! Neve: Quick! Destroy the crystal before he comes back. Taash: Come on! Destroy that vashedan crystal before that vashedan elven god comes back!

Crystal broken

Rook: Crystal's shattered! Bellara: Perfect! I'm finishing with the cannon. Just give me a minute! Neve: Knew you had it covered! I've almost got it. One minute! Emmrich: Perfect! I've nearly aligned all the enchantments. One more minute!

Rook: Solas! It's time! Solas: Ready when you are, Rook!

Solas: Elgar'nan! Elgar'nan: Nothing is over. I am eternal. You are an insect. Solas: Surrender now, and this insect will let you live. Elgar'nan: You cannot kill me. You cannot even hurt me. And yet you expect me to yield. Solas: No. Solas: I expect you to gloat. Solas: I was just the distraction.

Bellara: (Grunts with effort) Come on... Neve: (Grunts with effort) Damn it! Come on... Bellara/Neve: Almost got it... Bellara/Neve: (Final scream of effort) Bellara/Neve: (Breathing hard) Rook, the cannon's ready! The firing control is on the Archon's throne! Rook: Got it! before the shot Bellara: The Dread Wolf won! Neve: It's the only shot. Neve: I'll set the dogs on you!

[hrrtshape]

EMMA! I think i got it!!

So only thing that stops people from shifting or manifesting is questioning it? First, the question if the reality not only exists, but is real. Then, the question if they are actually there already through right of consciousness and just being existence itself. Then, through questioning and worrying over the 3d and the senses aligning.

But we're already everywhere, in every time period, in every version of ourselves we can think of right now. We all already have the dream body, the sp, celeb or not, the life in our drs. We just have to know whatever or whoever it is we want, is, because we are, and that it/they/us is real right now since any idea is just an extension of us, the only actual real thing. And then stop questioning it. Stop letting it be a question. The senses, the identity, the reality of it. All things are already, but we get to determine what's real.

So:

Whatever/whoever we want as we want them, IS, now

Whatever/whoever we want as we want them, is REAL now

The 3d is extremely malleable and not nearly as fixed or rigid in narrative as we've been led to believe. (There is no canon or objective narrative).

You are the lucid dreamer, the God of your reality. Awareness itself. If you can be aware of it at all,

The senses shift, but this is secondary. Stop letting it be a question because it shouldnt even be a question (this isn't an invitation to be hard on yourself if it is). The senses are supposed to naturally follow or sense what you know to be true. Only thing that's stopped them is a constant questioning if they will do what they are otherwise designed to do like they have a free will or script of their own, and the constant questioning of actually being who or where or when you desire to be right now. So if you keep questioning something you're adding a bunch of static and noise to what is known by you and making it questionable when it naturally was true if you had just known it to be without questioning it. And you know something when you notice or have the idea of something being true right now. You conceive of it or have the thought or affirmation of being in your dr, you shifted your awareness, which is all you need.

The shift in awareness is the only thing that is actually happening anyway. Shift your awareness by simply recognizing and knowing you are literally already whoever and whenever you desire to be right now just because that's who and what you naturally are anyway. You can visualize and think the thoughts of your dr self if you'd like, but the knowing you are already there is the real shift.

The shift in awareness is the only thing that is actually happening anyway. Shift your awareness by simply recognizing and knowing you are literally already whoever and whenever you desire to be right now just because that's who and what you naturally are anyway. You can visualize and think the thoughts of your dr self if you'd like, but the knowing you are already there is the real shift.

We're free to know whatever we want to be true right now, regardless of our past experiences or senses. So know what you want, trust and expect the senses to follow without waiting for them to follow, since you are effectively and literally alrwdy who you want to be right now anyway. The questioning, doubting, and worrying makes the 3d seem so fixed and unchangeable. But when you stop needing the senses to change as though you haven't already changed or shifted, while still knowing they will and not questioning the reality of who you want to be, you've done it!

Stop questioning if the senses or the 3d will reflect reality, they can do nothing but that! It's a given. Not a necessity for the actual shift, but if feeling tethered to them is holding you back from manifesting or shifting what is just you, just do the shift internally and trust and expect the projection and simulation of what you know and assume to be true to mirror it. That way you'll stop going back and forth with your identity and just know the way you naturally do! Ironically, it won't take long at all once you stop taking your doubts and the 3d and a few past memories out of infinite ones you can view as real so seriously.

If you have anything to add, please do <3

everyone read this 70 times because omg. no literally, print it out, staple it to your forehead. this is it. this is the whole thing. the question was never “how do i shift?” the question was why am i even asking? you are already there.

you are already everything. the only thing stopping you is the static, the doubt, the insistence on proof when you are the proof.

this is the manifesto. this is the doctrine. this is the holy text. shift your awareness, stop making it a question, and let the senses do what they were always designed to do. follow !!!!!

[linoxpudding]

Written In The Stars (Pt 2)- Lee Know

summary: after you distance yourself, his heart longs for you, but he's too stubborn to admit it

pairing: lee know x fem!reader

genre: heavy angst, soulmate au, hurt/comfort

word count: 3323 words

a/n: thank you for all your love for the first part, hope this one heals your heart <3

BONUS PART

Masterlist

~°~

You have always been good at making excuses. So when the weight of unspoken words between you and Minho became unbearable, you did what you had to do—you pulled away.

The group hangouts became rare for you. Work, family, sickness—any excuse that let you stay away from him.

It wasn’t easy. The ache in your chest never fully went away. Every time you saw Chan’s messages about another get-together, every time you imagined the others laughing, Minho sitting there like you never even existed, it hurt.

But it was better than being in the same room and pretending he wasn’t everything you wanted but could never have.

Or at least, that’s what you told yourself.

************

Minho noticed your absence. At first, he didn’t think much of it.

People got busy. People had their own lives.

But the first time you canceled, he felt an odd, quiet disappointment, like something was missing from the night. He caught himself glancing at the door, waiting for you to walk in, only to be reminded— you weren’t coming.

Then it happened again.

And again.

And suddenly, he was noticing things he shouldn’t.

How the group felt different without you. How no one teased him the way you did, matched his sarcasm with your own. How his jokes felt like they were missing their other half.

He didn’t understand it. It wasn’t like you were his best friend. You weren’t even supposed to be important. But somehow, your absence lingered.

************

One night, he finally voiced it out loud.

“She hasn’t been coming lately.”

Chan looked up from his phone, “Huh?”

“Y/N,” he clarified.

“Oh, yeah. Said she’s been busy,” Chan replied.

Minho frowned. “Busy with what?”

“Life?” Chan snorted. “I dunno, man, why do you care?”

He didn’t. He shouldn’t.

But that was a lie, wasn’t it? Because the truth was, he missed you.

He missed the way you always had a comeback for his teasing. The way you noticed when he wasn’t in the mood for company but still sat beside him anyway. The way your laughter filled the space between them like something warm, something comforting.

He hadn’t realized just how important you were to him.

************

It took another month before he saw you again.

You hadn’t completely cut yourself off—you still messaged the group, still checked in from time to time. But you had kept your distance, avoiding any situation that would force you to be near him.

Until now.

You had made the mistake of running into him alone.

It was at a small café, the kind you loved. The kind you used to tell him about when you thought he was just your friend.

He saw you before you saw him. And for the first time in weeks, something in his chest eased.

You looked different. Not physically, but something in your expression—guarded, hesitant, like you were ready to turn and run if you saw him.

That hurt more than it should have.

So he did the only thing he could do before you ran away.

“Hey.”

You froze at the familiar voice, shoulders tensing before you turned. The moment your eyes met his, he felt it again—that pull, that strange, unspoken connection that neither of you dared to acknowledge.

“…Hey.” Your voice was careful, distant.

Minho hated it.

“Long time no see,” he tried, forcing a smirk. “What, did I scare you away or something?”

You let out a small, humorless laugh. “Something like that.”

He should’ve let it go. Should’ve let you walk away.

But he didn’t.

Instead, he leaned against the counter, watching you closely. “You’ve been avoiding us.”

“Just busy,” you said quickly. Too quickly.

“Bullshit.”

Your lips pressed into a thin line. “What do you want me to say, Minho?”

He didn’t know. All he knew was that he didn’t want you to keep running. So he did something stupid. He reached for your wrist. The same wrist that held his mark.

Your breath caught, and he could feel the way you tensed beneath his touch. But you didn’t pull away.

“Do you regret it?” he asked suddenly.

Your brows furrowed. “What?”

“This.” His thumb brushed over the star on your wrist. The same one on his own. The undeniable proof that you were supposed to be his. That he was supposed to be yours.

You swallowed hard, voice barely above a whisper. “What do you think, Minho?”

He stared at you. At the quiet pain in your eyes. At the way you looked at him like he was both your greatest dream and your worst heartbreak.

He knew what you felt. Because somehow, against all odds and reason, he felt it too.

But the reality was still the same.

“I have a girlfriend.”

The words felt heavier than before. This time, they didn’t sound like a statement. They sounded like a reminder. Like he wasn’t just telling you but he was telling himself.

You finally pulled away, stepping back as if his touch burned.

“I know,” you whispered.

A flicker of something—pain, regret—flashed across his face. “I—”

“No, Minho,” you whispered, “you don’t owe me an explanation.”

You didn’t owe me anything at all.

And then, before he could stop you, you walked away. Minho just stood there, staring at his empty hands, wondering why it felt like he had just made the biggest mistake of his life.

************

You had planned on avoiding another group hangout, but Chan had been persistent, and for once, you missed your friends too much to say no.

So you had gone. The second you walked in, you saw him. Minho was there. You knew he would be there, but still seeing him made your heart sink.

You should have left.

But then Chan hugged you, Seungmin had pulled you into a conversation, and you forced yourself to pretend that everything was okay.

It was only when you sat down that you felt his gaze. You hadn’t looked at him once, but you could feel it—the weight of his stare. When you finally glanced his way, he wasn’t looking at you anymore. But you had caught it. The way his fingers tapped against the table, restless. The way his eyes flickered to you whenever he thought you wouldn’t notice.

And then his girlfriend arrived.

She greeted him with a kiss on his cheek, her fingers easily tangling with his. Your stomach twisted. You forced yourself to look away. But not before you saw it. The way his jaw clenched. The way he swallowed hard, eyes flickering to you for a split second like something in him was struggling to keep up this lie.

Like he knew.

And that was when you realized this wasn’t just hurting you. It was hurting him too.

Minho sat at the usual table, the one the group always claimed at the bar, surrounded by the familiar noise of laughter and conversation. Yet, he couldn’t help but keep glancing at you.

You had finally come. After weeks of avoiding them, after weeks of his eyes searching for you in every room, you had shown up.

But something was different.

You greeted everyone with a polite smile, an effortless grace that should have put him at ease. Yet, Minho knew better. Your laughter didn’t reach your eyes, and the way you held yourself—careful, reserved— felt foreign.

And he despised it.

He wanted to hear you tease him again, wanted you to call him out when he rolled his eyes at a lame joke, wanted to see the real you, not this version of you that was only here out of obligation.

But the worst part? He couldn’t do anything about it.

So he sat in silence, he traced the rim of his glass before giving it a slow swirl as he kept watching you laugh at something Seungmin said. Watching as you avoided his gaze, even when his lingered on you longer than it should have.

Then, as if fate enjoyed twisting the knife, his girlfriend leaned over and intertwined her hand with his before kissing his knuckles. He should have been used to it— the soft affection, the warmth of someone who adored him. But his eyes flickered back to you, searching, waiting for something he wasn’t even sure he wanted to find.

But you weren’t looking at him at all this time. Throughout the night he felt the stolen glances, but now you were too busy laughing like genuinely laughing at something Seungmin said, your eyes shining with amusement, your hand resting lightly on Seungmin’s arm as you steadied yourself from laughter.

Minho’s stomach twisted, an unfamiliar heat crawling up his spine. It made no sense. Seungmin had always been playful, always quick with his wit, and you had always found him funny. But Minho had never felt this before, this tightness in his chest, this irrational urge to tear Seungmin away from you, to be the one who made you laugh like that instead.

He took a sip of his drink, trying to drown the feeling, but it only burned more.

He shouldn’t feel this way.

Not when he was sitting next to his girlfriend. Not when he had spent so long convincing himself that he had made the right choice.

************

Minho sat on the couch the next night, his girlfriend curled up beside him, head resting against his shoulder. The TV played some K-drama he wasn’t paying attention to, the voices blending into a meaningless hum. He had told himself over and over that this was where he belonged. That this was right.

She was the one he loved. But when he blinked, all he could see was the way your eyes had looked at him in that café. The quiet acceptance. The resignation. He also thought about the recent hangout and how you avoided him. Will you ever go back to being friends with him again?

His chest ached.

He squeezed his eyes shut, forcing himself to focus on the warmth of the girl beside him. This was the life he had built. The life he wanted.

So why did it feel like something inside him was breaking?

Before he even realized it, a single tear slipped down his cheek.

“Babe?” His girlfriend shifted beside him, concern lacing her voice. “Are you okay?”

Minho blinked, startled, reaching up to touch his cheek. He hadn’t even noticed he was crying.

He forced a smile. “Yeah. Just tired.”

She hummed in understanding, nuzzling into him, and he let her. He wanted to forget you. He needed to forget you.

But when he closed his eyes, all he could see was the mark on your wrist. All he could hear was the sound of his own voice, breaking as he mentally started chanting—I love her. This girl right here. This is my choice.

Trying so desperately to make it true.

************

Few days later, he sat across from his girlfriend at dinner, poking at his food with no real appetite. She was quiet too. Not her usual chatty self.

Then, she sighed, setting her fork down. “Minho.”

Something about the way she said his name made his stomach twist.

“…Yeah?”

She hesitated, then, with a quiet sigh, she said, “I saw it.”

Minho froze.

His heart pounded in his chest. “Saw what?”

She looked down at his wrist. Then back at him.

“Your mark.”

Minho’s stomach twisted.

She swallowed, voice softer now. “I saw the same one on Y/N.”

He felt anxious, but he didn’t respond.

She sighed, looking down at her hands. “I’ve known for a while. I was just hoping… maybe we could fight it.”

Minho swallowed hard. “I love you.” The words came out strained, as if saying them would make them true again.

His girlfriend smiled sadly, “I know you do. And I love you, too. But Minho…” she exhaled shakily, “you don’t look at me the way you used to.”

Minho opened his mouth, ready to deny it, but the truth was sitting between them, impossible to ignore.

She reached out, placing a hand over his. “Don’t feel bad. You can't control fate.”

He looked up, eyes filled with guilt, “I feel like shit.”

“Don’t,” she whispered, “this isn’t your fault. Or mine. Or hers. This is just… how it is.” She hesitated before continuing. “I have a mark too, you know.”

His throat felt tight. He managed a slow nod.

“I always wished it matched yours.” She admitted, “Desperately. But it doesn’t.” She smiled, but it was a broken thing, “Since the beginning, we knew our soulmates were different. But we still tried to fight it.”

His chest ached. “I—” he swallowed, forcing himself to find the words, “I never wanted to hurt you.”

Her lips curled into something that wasn’t quite a smile, “I know,” she exhaled softly. “And I know how hard you were trying. But in reality, three people are hurting.”

Minho clenched his jaw, guilt coiling deep in his stomach. She had seen it all—his struggle, his hesitation, the way his gaze lingered on you even when he didn’t want it to.

“I’m sorry,” he said quietly.

But she only shook her head, reaching across the table to place a hand over his. “It’s not your fault.”

He let out a slow breath, something in his chest unraveling.

“This… This isn’t easy for me either,” she admitted, fingers brushing over her mark absentmindedly. “But I think we both know this was inevitable.”

The words sank in, heavy with truth.

A part of him wanted to argue, to say that what they had mattered, that it wasn’t all for nothing. But another part—the one that kept remembering the look in your eyes that night in the kitchen, the one that replayed the way his heart twisted when you started avoiding him— knew.

It had never been about choosing. The choice had already been made for him, written on his skin before he even knew what love was.

Silence settled between them, heavy but accepting.

Minho let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. “So… this is it?”

She nodded. “This is it.”

And just like that, it was over. No anger. No resentment. Just two people who had loved each other once but couldn’t fight destiny any longer.

But even after she walked away, Minho stayed sitting there, staring at the empty space where she had been.

And for the first time in months, he let himself fully feel it– the longing, the ache, the pull toward you. It had always been you.

************

Minho didn’t rush to you right away.

Even though he wanted to. Even though every fiber of his being was screaming at him to run to you.

He owed it to himself and to his ex to sit with his emotions first.

The first few days felt strange, like he was floating between two versions of himself. He wasn’t grieving the breakup the way he thought he would. Instead, he was realizing how much he had been holding back, how much of himself he had forced into a shape that no longer fit.

He went through his daily routines, but everything felt different. His apartment felt too quiet. Group hangouts felt incomplete. And every night, as he lay awake staring at the ceiling, he thought of you.

************

Minho didn’t mean to end up here.

He had told himself he would give you time. That he would wait. But when he saw the storm clouds rolling in, when he heard the rain pounding against the pavement, something inside him snapped.

He didn’t think. He just ran.

Now, he stood in front of your door, drenched from head to toe, chest heaving.

He knocked once. Twice. Then he heard footsteps from inside.

When the door swung open, he finally saw you, your eyes wide with shock.

“Minho?” Your voice was hesitant, uncertain.

He had so much to say. So much to explain. But words failed him. He stepped forward, cupped your face between his freezing hands, and kissed you. It wasn’t gentle. It wasn’t careful. It was months of longing, of restraint, of heartbreak, all poured into one desperate, soul-shattering kiss.

You gasped against his lips, momentarily frozen before reality snapped back into place. You pushed him away, breathless. “Minho, what the hell?”

His chest was rising and falling rapidly, rain dripping from his hair, but his eyes never wavered from yours.

“You have a girlfriend.” You said angrily, this was wrong.

He shook his head. “No, I broke up.”

Your lips parted slightly in surprise. “What?”

“I broke up with her last week.” His voice was rough, raw, as if the words had been sitting heavy on his tongue for days. “I needed time. I needed to be sure that this wasn’t just—” He exhaled sharply, shaking his head. “That this wasn’t just because of the mark. That it was you.”

He stepped closer, his forehead resting against yours, “I couldn’t stop thinking about you. I hated how much I missed you, it felt like a hole in my heart. Because I realized that no matter how hard I tried, it was always you.”

You stared at him, struggling to process his words, struggling to let yourself believe it.

Minho swallowed, taking a shaky breath. “I don’t know what happens next. I don’t know how to make up for everything. But I know I don’t want to fight this anymore.”

His thumb brushed over your cheek, and his voice dropped to a whisper.

“I just want you.”

Your fingers brushed over his chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart. He wasn’t sure if it was his own heart racing or the sound of yours in his ears. You gently pulled away, putting a distance between you both. Tears pricked at your eyes.

You should have been angry. Should have questioned why it took him so long, why he had waited until now to choose you. But you couldn’t bring yourself to.

Because everything you had ever wanted was right here. You waited your whole life for your soulmate.

You swallowed, trying to gather your thoughts. “So… what now?”

Minho exhaled, running a hand through his wet hair before looking at you with that intense gaze that always made you feel like the only person in the world. “I don’t know,” he admitted. “But I do know that I want to be with you. If you’ll have me.”

His vulnerability, his honesty— it broke you in the best way possible.

Your fingers twitched at your sides. Hesitation and longing battled in your chest.

“I don’t want to be a rebound, Minho,” you whispered. “I don’t want to be a second choice.”

His brows furrowed immediately. “You were never a second choice.”

You looked away. “Then why did you—”

“Because I was stupid,” he cut in, stepping closer, voice laced with regret. “I was so scared. I thought ignoring it would make it go away.” He let out a humorless laugh. “But it didn’t. It never did. And when I lost you… it felt like I lost a part of myself.”

Your breath caught.

“I should’ve known better. I should’ve fought for you from the start,” he continued, his voice cracking slightly. “But I’m here now, Y/N. And I swear, I’ll never let you feel like a second choice again.”

You could see it in his eyes, hear it in the tremble of his voice, feel it in the way he was standing in front of you like he would do anything to prove it. He meant every word.

Your resolve crumbled.

Slowly, cautiously, you took his hand and his fingers curled around yours immediately, like he had been waiting for this moment all his life.

“Okay,” you murmured. “But Minho… don’t break my heart.”

His grip tightened. “Never.”

And when he kissed you again, this time, it felt like home. Universe didn't let you down–

Minho was always meant to be yours.

-----------------

a/n: there will be an extra part featuring a sweet and fluffy moment between our couple because, after all that emotional turmoil, they deserve some happiness!

Taglist:

@kaiyaba @lov3rachan @pixie-felix @ellemir2404 @willowhanji @skzimagines @wavetohannie @jamroses @vietjeb @kayleefriedchicken @kokinu09 @nightmarenyxx @my-neurodivergent-world

Part 2 Taglist: @annovaz @lailac13 @thepoeticpurplepotato

[zoieru]

Weirdly specific headcanons about the lads boys and your lip balm / chapstick ~

Xavier ~

'what's that smell? it...doesn't smell like shampoo usually does.'

he's cuddling on the sofa with you and lifts his head, hair a bit fluffed from where he was tucked into your neck and chest, and his light eyebrows draw in at the centre trying to work out where it comes from.

'smell? Mm...its probably my lipbalm, Xavier, here,'

he takes it when you grab it and give it to him, rolling it over in his fingers to read any writing around the edge, head resting back against you again. he takes off the lid and sniffs it, eyes widening slightly before smiling a touch.

'its nice. does it taste good?'

he sort of asks without thinking of the double entendre at first, but a second later he realises and his eyes hold a flicker of mischief as he brings his face closer, eyes flitting to your lips.

'i dont know, you tell me?'

then he's all up in your business, eyes closing as he brings his lips to yours almost exploratory as when you try a new snack.

'mmh, yes. I like it.'

'good'

you plant a soft little kiss on the end of his nose to a cute blink and blushed chuckle from him.

over the next few hours he keeps coming back to kiss you more pointedly, more often, to a raised eyebrow from you. he likes the feeling and smell of it on his lips, it makes them soft and makes him think of you.

'Xavier you can take it if you want, i have a spar-'

'I don't want one.'

'but...?'

He only wants the thin soft coating of it on his lips when it means he's kissed you recently.

Rafayel ~

once this man catches drift of your scented lip balms he is all over that shit. he'll insist on going to choose ones, buying too many since you cant try them at the store, and then pouts when you tell him you cant face trying on and wiping off like ten different lip balms just so he can smell and kiss you over and over to see which one is best.

youre sat on the bed, the fading sunlight shining through the domed windows of your shared bedroom and onto this ridiculous pile of little cylindrical tubes on the duvet.

'but...'

'the scents will mix, and anyway lip balm is supposed to be nourishing, not causing my lips to be sore because ive applied and scraped off loads of different ones'

'well how am i supposed to know which one is the best then?'

'you'll have to wait and see i guess, i can put a different one on at few hour intervals, itll be like a fun surprise, you can guess which one i have on!'

'thats tooo longggg'

later you catch him applying one on himself in the bathroom, he just couldnt wait okay!! when you do put one on, he materialises at your side, hands running over your skin and finding their way to your jaw as if he could sense it from the other room, and he tilts his head with a little cute smirk.

'next taste test? this one's going to be good, i can feel it.'

Zayne ~

'here,'

he hands you one that he picked off the shelf next to you as you perused the options.

'what, you like this one?'

'i'm not familiar with it, but its important to use ones with more natural ingredients, especially when applying to sensitive areas like your face and mouth.'

'mmh, makes sense.'

you buy a few different types at his behest, and then he watches you try them and smell them as he puts his stuff away around the house.

'do you like them?'

'this one smells really good, actually.'

'mh?'

he's at your side, finding himself strangely excited to have another scent to not only feel and smell when he kisses you, but also to associate with you like he does with your hair stuff or your perfume.

'it does, you're right.'

he takes your chin in his other hands fingers, his usually gentle but firm touch, and then runs his thumb featherlight across the edge of your bottom lip, dark eyelashes lowering slightly as his eyes seem to both soften and darken at the same time.

'does it taste just as good?'

Sylus ~

'get all of them'

'Sylus, there are like fifty options here, why would I need fifty lip balms?'

he just shrugs, that annoyingly handsome smirk on his face as he feigns nonchalance.

'just trying to be supportive, kitten. no need to scratch now.'

'being supportive would be you helping me pick one'

'mmh, would it now?'

he was waiting to be asked, he's irritating like that. you rolled your eyes subtly and couldnt help the smile off his face as he on cue started analysing the options on the shelf with a discerning critical eye. after a silence, you pause, and glance at him sidelong.

'so?'

he points to a few in succession, speaking in a slow thoughtful sort of drawl as he ponders, playful yet serious simultaneously. It's an important decision, of course.

'too sweet, too floral, too colourful, too...is that glitter? i thought this was supposed to be health related, not glamourous. though i suppose a mix of both might be alluring. mmh...this one'

he holds it out to you, made up his mind. not stating his reason outright obviously. he looks down at you and eyes flick between your face and his choice, very subtly figuring out your reaction to his choice. as you leave the shop after buying, and go to put on your helmet to get on his bike, his hand comes to rest on top of it, stopping its path, and he raises an eyebrow, cocking his head. You blink.

'hm?'

'well, come now, are you going to let me try the latest flavour of the lips i so often indulge in, or would you be cruel and have me wait?'

Caleb ~

so...lets say one day you're buying something completely unrelated, but you double take as your eyes happen to flit over some apple scented lip balm on the store shelf. You pause, nibble on your lip with a faint curl to the corners, and grab it and apply it on the way home. It's good...that apple scent that isnt too artificial or plasticky but also sweet and sharp enough to be noticeable and tasty.

Its hard to keep it in somehow when he gets home? its like a secret, which feels stupid, but he looks at you and raises a suspicious eyebrow.

'why you smilin', pips? what have you done?'

he asks, starting to laugh a bit at your face as you tried to keep it normal. it'll be like after a while where he wrestles you off the stove or something playfully that he'll catch a whiff. i mean he's obviously noticed your lips seem a touch shinier, but didn't think a whole lot of it except 'nice'.

'did you buy new perfume?'

'no...?'

'but...its appley over here, you got one in your ear or somethin'?'

he makes a point of sniffing around you like a dog as your giggling form is pressed back against the counter. then he pauses as his nose nears yours and a cheeky smile stretches across his face. his hand lifts and he runs the back of his fingers ever so softly over your bottom lip, his eyes following the movement.

'ah, bullseye. so this is what you were giggling about earlier, you're so silly pipsqueak,'

'what? why?!'

'who gets all giggly about lip balm hm?'

he tilts his head, still in teasy puppy mode, though his eyes have softened and darkened as his face has come closer. as you pout he pokes your lips again with a smirk.

'mmh, an apple flavoured pout huh?'

he leans in achingly slowly to kiss you.

Weirdly specific headcanons about the lads boys and your scrunchie

[wonderjanga]

What if, like, one day Billy's hit with a spell as marvel and the gods suddenly spilt from his mind in front of the league? And then he drops something like "wow it's so quiet in my head!" While the league stands baffled by the literal gods in front of them

Marvel: “Wow! It’s so quiet in my head!” *immediately goes back to fighting with someone with a big ahh smile on his face*

With Zeus…

JL: *still stunned*

Zeus: “DAUGHTER!” *bear hugs Diana*

Wondy: “Father??” *confused, but hugs back*

Zeus: “Oh, you have no idea how long I’ve wanted to tell you how proud I am of you!”

With Solomon…

Solomon: *walks over to Bruce*

Batman: *confused as to why this old man who appeared from nowhere came up to him*

Solomon: *puts a hand on his shoulder* “Young Bruce, I can call you that, yes?”

Batman: *alarmed* “Excuse me—”

Solomon: “I’ve always wanted to tell you that out of everyone here besides the Captain you are by far my most favorite.”

Batman: “…thank you?”

Solomon: “Granted, your costume is atrocious and your gadgets could use some upgrading, but you are the only sane and rational person here. I commend you for that.”

Batman: *both insulted and confused*

Bruce was confused because last he checked, his gadgets were top-of-the-line, he’s not even gonna comment on the costume thing, and as for being the only sane and rational person here? Well, that was true.

Solomon: *pats his shoulder* “Good talk.” *looks over to Billy* “Billy, I will be going to the nearest tapas place. We will reconvene at the rock.” *walks off*

With Mercury…

Mercury: “Speedster!” *zooms over*

Flash: “I— uh yes?”

Mercury: “You!” *points to him* “Me!” *points to himself* “Race! Now!”

Flash: “WHA—”

Mercury: *zooms over and drags him away*

Flash: *screams fading as they get farther and farther*

With Hercules…

Hercules and Hawkgirl: *looking at each other*

Hercules: *nods head* “Mace? Respect.”

Hawkgirl; “Club?” *also nodding* “Respect.”

Hercules and Hawkgirl: *join the battle so they can clobber the villain together*

With Atlas…

Atlas: “Hey, do you know where the nearest hotel is?”

GL: “No?”

Atlas: “What about motel?”

GL: “I think there’s one down the block?”

Atlas: “Thank you.” *starts to walk off*

GL: “Wait! Where are you going??”

Atlas: “To find a place to sleep. It’s extremely rare that I get breaks.”

GL: “Are you— Are you even supposed to leave??”

Atlas: “Probably not, but you heard the old man. We’ll reconvene at the rock.” *walks off to find the motel*

With Achilles…

Achilles and Aquaman: *share a look*

Achilles: “Are you thinking what I’m thinking, Atlantean?”

Aquaman: “First off, how did you know it was Atlantean? Second, heck yes!”

Achilles and Aquaman: *team up to do a superduper, cool, bro move that somehow fuses the spear and triton for like three seconds and jump in to attack*

Achilles and Aquaman were the ones who finished the fight that day, landing the finishing blow on the villain. Also, unfortunately, for Solomon and Atlas neither made it to their tapas place nor motel because as soon as the villain was defeated all the gods and/or legends went right back into Billy’s mind.

[megapteraurelia]

neighbour!kuroo who leaves his house running a little bit late; his tie still unbound, suit jacket hectically tugged on, and yuck, the shoe horn digging in his ankle, trying to fit into the leather shoes.

cursing under his breath at himself, stomach grumbling because he missed breakfast, only to find you sitting on the ground one door over in front of your boyfriend's home, looking worse for wear. nose running, shut eyes, shallow breaths through your mouth.

"hey, uh, you alright?"

you barely answer him, and he is a little worried, but he's also late, so his hand comes to find your shoulder, hoping the touch is light but present enough to bring you back to the land of the living.

he tries again, "should i call anybody?"

this time, your eyes flutter and your head straightens up from where it threatened to loll over. your voice stuffy and groggy, "huh? i— uh, i texted, uhm, my boyfriend. he'll be there soon."

for the life of his, kuroo tetsurou couldn't even remember how your boyfriend, his neighbour, even looked like but you were convinced that you'll be alright, and the clock's ticking and his boss will have his head if kuroo sauntered into his office again, claiming to having had to help a damsel in distress, so kuroo takes your word for what it was.

only to come home eight hours later and, to his absolute shock and horror, he finds you curled up in front of the door on the cold floor, non-moving.

neighbour!kuroo who is pissed because it was clear as day that you were sick as hell. and there you were: laboured breaths, clutching your phone to your chest like it's supposed to be a lifeline, strands of hair clinging to your skin, damp from the sweat, eyebrows twitching in your unsatisfying slumber. no sign of your boyfriend.

something in kuroo's chest twists deep, aching and painful and he wonders if you had even eaten anything in all those hours.

neighbour!kuroo who struggles opening his door with you in his arms, and he curses at himself again for not having had the bright idea of opening his door before picking you up.

whose heart squeezes when you curled against him in his arms, seeking any comfort and any warmth. whose stomach flips a bit when your face smooths out and the wrinkles of worry and pain lessen.

he makes sure you're comfortable on his couch, bundled up after hurriedly checking where he kept the spare blankets (he hasn't had anyone over for a sleepover in so long), brings you water and props you up to help you drink it, asks you about food and still cooks you the soup his mum made him as a kid when you decline in a delirious state.

the soup's missing a little salt but he keeps it on the lowest heat to keep it as warm as possible, anyway.

neighbour!kuroo who regrets opening his door hours later deep in the very evening when your dipshit of a boyfriend knocks hard (ah, so that's how he looks like), because he's had a long day and seeing the outraged look on his neighbour's face that you are 'allowing' another man to take care of you gets kuroo all pissed.

"listen, man. she's sleeping and you're being way too loud, so keep your voice down. if you want to worry now, you should've done so hours ago."

neighbour!kuroo who doesn't care enough to not close the door in your boyfriend's face.

[andiberzatto]

Little Miss Needy (Frank Castle X Reader) Smut!

SUMMARY: Frank comes home after she teased him with sexy pictures while he’s doing recon for the punisher. He told her to only text for emergencies, is your girl being needy an emergency? (Dword Frank, teasing, established relationship)

Frank bursts through the door, his jaw clenched tight, eyes flashing with annoyance and barely restrained frustration. He tosses his weapons on the table with a clatter. “What the hell was that about? Sending those damn pictures while I'm in the middle of a fucking op? That's not an emergency.”

she sits on the bed wordlessly watching him storm into the place, in just his t-shirt and no panties.

His anger briefly distracts him from the fact that she's sitting on the bed in his shirt and nothing else. Frank walks over, his long legs eating up distance quickly towering over her, his muscular form blocking out the light. He crosses his thick arms over his chest. “You think sending those pictures was important?”

she runs her hand over his side, “I just needed you…” she says in her soft submissive voice.

Frank’s body tenses under her touch, his muscles rigid. He stares down at her, his eyes searching her face for a moment before he growls low in his throat, "You need to learn to follow the goddamn rules."

she pouts her bottom lip, clearly this isn’t going how she wanted it to, “daddy’s mad?”

Frank’s eyes narrow at the teasing pout. A smirk tugs at the corner of his mouth despite his annoyance. “Daddy's pissed. Little miss needy decides to bombard him with sexy fucking pictures right when he's about to take out some scumbags? Yeah, real smart.”

"Answer my question," He demands softly, watching as her bottom lip puffs out again. He almost wants to bite it. "Do you have any idea how dangerous it is to send shit like that when I'm working?" Frank explains slowly, like she's a child. "What if someone saw it?"

“No one ever sees those” which is true no one’s ever close enough to Frank for them to see his phone screen.

He leans in closer, his breath hot against her face as he speaks in a low, threatening tone. "That's not the fucking point. The point is, you're supposed to only contact me for goddamn emergencies, not because you're horny or lonely."

she pouts more, “I wanted you to come home…”

Frank watches her bottom lip push out even more. His pants tighten. "So you thought sending half-naked pictures would make me drop everything and run home?" He asks darkly, trying not to laugh at her childish behavior. He uncrosses his arms, letting them fall to his sides.

“I needed you daddy” she says softly, trying to ease his mood into something she can work with.

He looms over her, his massive frame casting a shadow. A smirk tugs at his lips as he mimics her whiny tone, "Aww, poor baby needed daddy." He reaches out, gripping her chin firmly between his thumb and forefinger, forcing her to meet his intense gaze. His eyes blaze with mischief and barely restrained desire as he holds her chin, his grip tightening just a fraction. "Let me get this straight, sweetheart. You decided the Punisher needed to rush home because your pussy was wet?" He growls teasingly, his voice a low rumble.

she nod softly, blushing.

He lets out a frustrated laugh, shaking his head. “Jesus fucking Christ...” He releases her chin but maintains his dominant position. “You know what? For being such a damn brat, I should deny that pretty little pussy entirely tonight. See how you like it.”

she pouts more, “I didn’t wanna touch because you said I couldn’t so I sent the photos.” She tries to explain herself out of sexual denial.

His eyes crinkle at the corners as he tries not to smile at her pouting expression. He crosses his arms again, towering over her. "So let me get this straight, you deliberately disobeyed my rules by sending those pictures because you knew you weren't allowed to touch yourself?"

“I would’ve just took care of it myself and left you alone if I could touch” she doubles down on the explaining.

"But you knew you couldn't fucking touch, so you forced me to come home and take care of it for you?" He asks incredulously, trying to keep the amusement out of his voice. He runs a hand through his hair, exasperated but secretly loving her manipulative little game.

“Isn’t that daddy’s job?” Checkmate, playing into Frank’s complex.

His eyes darken with desire at her innocent yet teasing question. He leans in closer, his face inches from hers. "Yes, it sure as fuck is. But that doesn't mean you get to deliberately distract me from my fucking work." He reaches out, tracing her lower lip softly with his thumb. He lets out a low sigh, his thumb still tracing her lip. "You know what, brat? You're lucky I love your little games. But don't think for a second that I won't spank that ass red if you pull this shit again when I'm in the middle of something important."

she nods, “yes daddy”

He smirks at her submission, his thumb pressing gently against her lip. "That's a good girl. Now, let me make something clear. When I'm out there doing what I do, you don't fucking distract me with sexy pictures unless it's a goddamn emergency. Understood?"

“yes sir”

He nods, satisfied with her response. His voice softens slightly, but his eyes remain stern. "Good. Now, let's address the real issue here. You sent those pictures because you were horny and needed your daddy to take care of you."

she nods, “look at what I’m wearing…” knowing damn well when Frank was mad earlier he didn’t take account anything but her face.

His gaze drifts downward, taking in the revealing outfit she's wearing - nothing but his t-shirt. He lets out a low whistle, shaking his head with a rueful chuckle. "Fuck me, look at you..."

she fiddles with the hem of his t-shirt she’s got on, “you were so mad you didn’t even notice..”

His eyes follow her fingers toying with the hem of his shirt. He smirks, realizing she was right. "Alright, you got me there. Was too busy being pissed to fully appreciate the damn view." His eyes darken with lust as the realization sinks in fully. He licks his lips, a predatory gleam in his eye. "Jesus fucking Christ... Bare under my shirt this whole time?" He shakes his head, letting out a low groan.

she nods, “told you I needed daddy”

He reaches out, grabbing the hem of his shirt and lifting it up to reveal her bare pussy. Fuck. He pulls her closer, spreading her legs so he can see better. "You're fucking soaked, aren't you? Was sitting here imagining me taking care of you, huh?" He slides a finger through her slick folds, growling approvingly. "Dirty fucking girl. Been sitting here dripping, didn't touch yourself once, even though you wanted to so badly." He circles her clit slowly, teasingly.

she whines and nods, her body slowly relaxing under his touch.

"You're such a good girl, even when you're being a brat. Didn't touch what belonged to daddy." He pushes a thick finger inside her, marveling at how tight she is.

she gasps and lays back on the bed.

He follows her down, never removing his finger from inside her. "Legs up and apart. Gonna reward my good girl." He starts pumping his finger in and out of her slowly, his thumb pressing against her clit. "So fucking tight and wet for daddy."

she whines, her legs are exactly as he asked.

He watches her body spread out before him like a damn feast. One leg hitched up higher on the bed, the other spread wide. He adds another finger, watching her stomach contract with each thrust. "Love that you listen so well. Spread out like a good girl, taking daddy's fingers."

she gasps and nods, “love your fingers daddy”

He chuckles darkly, curls his fingers inside her. "Dirty fucking girl, loves daddy's fingers in her tight little cunt." He leans closer, his breath hot against her ear as he whispers,* "Bet you wish these fingers were my cock, huh?"

she nods eagerly.

His lips twitch in a smirk against her skin. "You'll get daddy's cock later, when I decide you've earned it." He pumps his fingers faster, his palm slamming against her clit with each thrust. "For now, you're gonna come all over my fingers like a good girl."

she gasps and whines, “yes sir”

He growls possessively, his fingers moving faster and harder inside her. "That's my good girl. Fucking come undone for daddy. Show me how much you love his touch." He leans back slightly, watching her face as she approaches her peak.

her eyes screw shut and she cums hard. Her body tenses beautifully, back arching. Wetness coated his fingers.

He swallows hard, his voice lower. "Goddamn. Takes just my fingers to make you flood me, baby?" He slows his movements, drawing out her orgasm. "Look at you, soaking the sheets.

she blushes softly at the mess.

He pulls his fingers out slowly, holding them up to show the wetness coated on them. His eyes sparkle with approval and possessiveness. "Daddy's girl made a mess. Bet you didn't realize just how much you'd cum, huh?"

He brings his slick fingers to his mouth, deliberately making a show of licking them clean as he watches her blush intensify. "Delicious. Taste of my good girl." His voice is a low rumble of satisfaction.

her hips lift of the bed restlessly at the erotic sight.

He smirks at her responsive move, noticing how turned on she is watching him lick her juices. "Already needing more, hmm?" He puts a hand firmly on her stomach, pressing her back down onto the bed. "Easy, baby. Daddy needs to clean up this mess first."

He leans down. He licks her slit gently, his tongue almost reverent as he cleans the evidence of her pleasure with his mouth. "Such a good girl, so responsive and messy for daddy."

she gasps at his tongue cleaning her up.

He spreads her wider with his shoulders, diving back in like he's starving. He growls softly, making her body twitch. "Spread more baby. Let daddy lick you clean." He laps at her like a man possessed.

He continues slowly licking up her slit, teasing her clit lightly with the tip of his tongue. "Daddy's enjoying his treat, cleaning up his messy girl."

she whines as the slow tease.

He chuckles darkly, blowing cool air across her sensitive clit. "So sensitive, aren't you? Daddy's little overstimulated princess." He continues teasing slowly, deliberately avoiding direct pressure on her clit. "Want more, baby?"

“please please please…” she mumbles breathlessly.

His lips twitch. He loves reducing her to needy whines. He spreads her wider, his shoulders keeping her legs apart. He goes back to slowly licking her, gathering her wetness. He avoids her clit completely. He murmurs, "You're so damn pretty down here."

she gasps “daddy… please.. need you”

He growls at her desperate words. Fuck, she's so damn cute when she's needy. He pauses, looking up at her. "You want daddy's fingers in this pretty little hole again?" He taps her clit lightly with his tongue. "Or daddy's tongue?"

She whines, “More…”

He decides to torment her a little more. He sticks out his tongue, flattening it, and drags it slowly up her slit, avoiding her swollen bundle of nerves. He looks up at her, his eyes glinting with mischief. "More what, baby?"

she whines “do I have to say it?”

He smirks, knowing he has her right where he wants her. "You know daddy loves it when you beg. But if you don't wanna say it, I can keep teasing this pretty little pussy all night." He blows gently on her clit, making her hips buck.

she gasps, “I need daddy’s cock”

He growls softly at her dirty words. His girl gets so shy, except in bed. He loves it. He unbuckles his belt slowly, watching her closely, his muscles tighten possessively. "You wanna take all of me baby? The whole eight inches?"

He slowly removes his tactical belt, letting it hit the floor with a thud. His duty pants follow, revealing his muscular thighs. He pulls off his quarter zip, leaving him completely naked. His cock stands proudly at attention. "Look what you do to daddy, baby."

she bites her lip softly, her eyes raking over his muscular scar body, taking in him completely naked. His longer hair and rugged beard.. his thick cock at attention for her.

He watches her watch him. He loves how she looks almost innocent while checking him out hungrily. His shoulders are wide, abs cut, thighs muscular from years of military training. His body is a map of scars. His hair is longer than it has been from his military cropped cut, beard full and soft.

she smiles, “come give your girl what she needs daddy”

His lips twitch at her demand. He loves when she gets greedy. He grabs his thick length, pumping it twice. He spreads her legs wider with his knees. He guides himself to her entrance, rubbing his head through her wetness. He looks at her, "You sure you can take me baby?"

she nods, “always do”

He growls in approval, slowly pushing the head of his cock into her. He watches her face for any signs of discomfort, but seeing only desire, he pushes deeper. "That's it, baby. Take daddy's cock." He slides in inch by inch, filling her completely.

He bottoms out, his hips flush against hers. He stays still, letting her adjust. He leans down, kissing her deeply. His tongue sweeps into her mouth, claiming her. He pulls back slightly, nipping her bottom lip. "You okay?"

When she nods he begins to move, pulling out slowly before sliding back in with a steady rhythm. He keeps his eyes locked on hers, watching her expressions as he fills her completely each time. "Goddamn, baby. Your pussy feels so fucking good." He grunts softly, his hips picking up speed.

she touches his cheek so he looks at her.

He turns his head slightly to kiss her palm. He smiles softly at her when he realizes she just wanted his focus. "What is it, sweetheart?" He moves inside her with slow, controlled thrusts. "Tell me what you need."

“Daddy’s eyes on me… be sweet with me” she says softly, she loves when he’s rough but it’s even better when Frank takes his time with her.

His expression softens. He loves when she wants the sweet side of him. He focuses his gaze entirely on her, his eyes filled with affection and love. He slows his thrusts, making each one deep and intentional. "Like this, baby?"

her eyes flutter when he hits the spot in her, “yes..”

He leans down, kissing her forehead softly. "My sweet girl..." He trails kisses down her face, whispering sweet nothings between each thrust. His hands gentle as they roam her body. "You're so perfect, sweetheart. So fucking gorgeous..."

He kisses her deeply, his movements slow and tender. He breaks the kiss to whisper against her lips, "You know I love you, right? Every inch of you. Every moan. Every fucking thing about you." He thrusts gently, his body covering hers protectively.

she gasps “I love it.”

“Say it," He whispers, his voice low and gentle. He looks into her eyes, searching for those three little words he loves hearing from her. "Say it baby..." He nuzzles his face against hers.

“I love you..” she says breathlessly from his thrusts.

His heart swells with love and affection when he hears her say those three words. He smiles softly, his hands tightening possessively on her body. "Fuck, baby... I love you too." He begins to move a little faster, his love and desire for her overtaking him.

she nods at this pick up in speed, “yess… yes… I’m so close”

He nods, feeling her tighten around him. His hips thrust faster, hitting that spot deep inside her with each push. "That's it sweetheart, cum for daddy. Wanna feel this tight little pussy squeeze my cock." He growls, his breath hot against her ear.

she clings to his muscular shoulders, her nails making cresent shapes on his skin as she cums hard.

He feels her pussy convulse around his straining length. Her nails dig into his skin, marking him as she cries out in ecstasy. "Fuuuck..." He groans, his own body tensing as he spills inside her with a powerful release. "Fuck, baby..."

she pants, kissing his shoulder softly

He shudders as her lips brush his shoulder, the tenderness contrasting the intensity of their lovemaking. Panting softly, he rolls onto his back, bringing her with him so she's draped over his scarred chest. His large hands stroke her back soothingly. "You alright, sweetheart?"

she nods trying to catch her breath still.

He smiles softly, tucking some hair behind her ear. He loves how well they fit together. He runs his hands down her back possessively. His body relaxes as he asks softly, "Baby?" He waits for her response, making sure she's okay after their intense round of sex.

“hm?” She hums

He chuckles softly at her muffled response, happy to see her so thoroughly satisfied. "Just checking in, sweetheart. You okay or do you need anything?" His large hands continue their soothing caress along her back as he holds her close, basking in their intimate afterglow.

“Just need a bit of cuddles for now..” she says a bit exhausted.

He smiles warmly, tightening his embrace around her. "Cuddles you got." He rolls slightly, shifting their positions so he's spooning her from behind. One muscular arm drapes over her waist while the other finds her hand, intertwining their fingers.

she smiles at the gesture, Frank can be so sweet with her despite everything he does in the shadows.

He nuzzles his face against her neck, inhaling her scent deeply. He loves these quiet moments with her, where he can be gentle and loving instead of the ruthless killer he is outside their home. "My little sweetheart..." He whispers, his voice muffled against her neck.

[binisainz]

lucky taps ⸻ 𐙚 ⸻ carlos sainz x reader

word  count.   2.8k feat.   established  relationship,  fluff,  semi-long  distance,  labubu  hate author's  note.   binisainz  finally  having  a  cs55  fic  up  ??  i  never  thought  i'd  live  to  see  the  day  !!  anyways,  this  is  based  on  this  photo  of  carlos  carrying  a  popmart  bag  in  shanghai  and  i  was  like.  ok  bet.  i  am  exposing  my  love  for  popmart  blind  box  figurines…  i  have  spent  too  much  on  these  mfs  so  i  might  as  well  make  a  fic  out  of  it  !!  dedicated  to  the  lovely  kae  ( @tsunodaradio  ) because  they  suggested  the  ending  and  i  was  like…  no  ure  right  …  ure  so  right  . anyway qotd what do u think carlos sainz is collecting check out the rest of my work !!

carlos comes home the same way he always does— keys clattering into the dish by the front door, a deep sigh like he’s clocking out of being carlos sainz and back into being just yours.

“mi amor?” his voice drifts in, laced with just the slightest bit of confusion.

“yes?” you don’t look up from your phone, lazily stretched out on the couch, one leg bent at the knee, fingers absently tapping at the screen.

you hear him step closer, the shift of his weight across the hardwood, the quiet pause that comes before— “why is there a little… scarecrow on the coffee table?”

that makes you glance up, just in time to see the small furrow in his brow, the way his mouth presses slightly at the corners. you shift, propping yourself up on your elbow to follow his gaze.

“that’s my hirono,” you say simply, as if that explains everything.

carlos blinks at you, then at the figurine, then back at you again. “your what?” he asks as he bends down, takes the figurine in his hands, turning it over carefully, examining the details. he treats it like something delicate, like maybe it’ll break if he looks at it too hard.

“hirono,” you repeat, dragging out the syllables, already predicting the conversation to come. “it’s a blind box figurine. you buy it without knowing which one you’re gonna get.”

his brows draw together, deeper this time, the gears in his head visibly turning. you can see the exact moment it clicks— there’s a small flash of realization, the barest twitch of his lips. “so you just… pay for it and hope you get the one you want?” he asks, skeptical.

you grin, shrugging. “pretty much.”

he huffs out a laugh, shaking his head as he sets the figurine back down with the same measured care. “you could just buy the one you want,” he points out, as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

“where’s the fun in that?” you shoot back, sitting up fully now, tucking your legs beneath you. “it’s about the thrill. the suspense.”

he looks at you, the soft tilt of his head betraying the fact that he’s still trying to wrap his head around it. “so you like not knowing?”

you hum, considering. “more like… i like the moment before, you know? when it could be anything.”

carlos watches you for a beat longer, then shakes his head again, a small, affectionate smile tugging at his lips. “you are impossible,” he mutters, but there’s no real exasperation in his tone, only fondness. then, without hesitation, he leans down, cupping your jaw gently as he presses a soft, lingering kiss to your lips, as he’s done a thousand times before.

a few days later, you come home with two more boxes, setting them down on the kitchen counter with a flourish. carlos, sitting at the island with a half-eaten banana in one hand, eyes them with mild suspicion.

“again?”

you huff. “yes, again. but this time, you’re doing it with me.”

he chews slowly, watching you like you’ve just presented him with some grand experiment. then he swallows, licking a bit of banana off his thumb. “what am i supposed to do?”

“first,” you say, grabbing a box, turning it to its side where twelve colorful iterations of the same character are drawn, “we have to pick which ones we want.” you tap one illustration, and then the next. “i want the mantel clock or the circus one.”

he barely glances at the options before pointing decisively at the secret figurine.

you snort. “that one has, like, a one in a hundred forty-four chance.”

he shrugs. “so?”

so, nothing. he’s already made up his mind. and you know him— you know he’s stubborn enough to manifest his own luck, to tilt the universe in his favor through sheer force of will.

“okay, but now we have to do lucky taps,” you say, passing him his box.

his brows furrow. “what?”

you demonstrate, tapping your fingers rhythmically along the sides of your own box. “it’s for good luck. you have to do it.”

carlos stares at you for a moment, unimpressed, then down at his box. he exhales, then mimics your movement, albeit a little clumsily, his fingertips drumming against the cardboard. “this is silly.”

“yeah, but now you’re invested. committed, even.”

you grab your phone, setting it up to record. “okay, let’s do this.”

the sound of crinkling plastic fills the space as you both peel open your boxes. you pull yours out first. a tiny alien stares back at you. your face immediately drops.

“ugh,” you groan, sagging against the counter. “literally the only one i didn’t want.”

carlos makes a sound, half-laugh, half-smug amusement, as he inspects his own. you glance at him, then do a double-take.

he’s holding the secret figurine.

you jaw drops, eyes quickly darting from looking at him, at it, at him again. “are you kidding me?”

his expression shifts slowly into that familiar smugness, the kind that makes you want to shove him. he inspects the figurine like it’s some grand prize, turning it between his fingers, lips curving into a grin. “i thought this was supposed to be rare,” he says, all false innocence.

“it is,” you grumble, crossing your arms. “but of course you would get it.”

carlos sets his box down on the counter, hand reaching out to pull you closer. “mi amor,” he murmurs, his voice dipping just enough to make something curl in your stomach. his hands find your waist, fingers pressing lightly, teasing. “don’t be upset.”

“i’m not upset,” you huff, but you are pouting, and you know it, and he knows it, and he’s enjoying this far too much.

“you can have it,” he offers. “would that make you feel better?”

you exhale, slow, exaggerated. “it’s not as good as pulling it myself,” you admit, just a little petulant, but then you soften, leaning into him despite yourself. “…but okay.”

he laughs, pressing a kiss to your temple, and just like that, the loss doesn’t sting quite as much.

at first, it’s funny. cute, even. carlos, for all his teasing, starts showing a little too much interest in your blind boxes. it begins small—offhand questions here and there, the way he lingers just a second longer when you’re opening a new one, watching your reaction like he’s pretending not to care. but then it escalates.

he gets way too into it. concerningly into it.

it’s not long before you catch him scrolling through an online store at breakfast, staring at the thumbnail images of different collections with a furrowed brow like he’s analyzing race data. another time, you hear him mutter something about “box weight ratios” under his breath while holding one up at a shop.

the moment you call him out, he waves it off, says he’s just doing it for you. “you like them, no?” he says, kissing the side of your head like that’s the end of the conversation. “i just want you to get the ones you like.”

except, somehow, the ones you like aren’t the only ones he’s getting.

the 2025 season starts, and it doesn’t take long for fans to catch on. one race weekend, he’s photographed carrying a popmart bag in the hotel lobby. the next, someone spots him in the paddock, a tiny figurine peeking out from his backpack. the internet is quick— memes start to circulate, threads pop up analyzing every single one of his figurine choices. he keeps claiming it’s for you. he really does. but you know better.

“mi amor,” he complains one night, sprawled out on the hotel couch beside you, scrolling through a list of upcoming releases. it’s one of the rare times you join him for a grand prix. “all your hironos look the same.”

you gasp, smacking his arm. “excuse me?”

“they do,” he insists, grinning when you glare at him. “little hats, little sad faces… no difference.”

you roll your eyes. “okay, mister ‘i only buy these for you.’”

he huffs out a laugh, still very much pretending he’s doing this entirely out of love for you. but you bide your time, waiting for the perfect moment to strike.

and it comes, two weeks later, when he’s japan, and you’re on a late-night video call together. he’s lounging in his hotel room, hair still damp from a shower, dressed in one of his old team shirts. you’re curled up in bed, listening to him ramble about his day when something on his bedside table catches your attention.

a fucking labubu box.

your eyes narrow. “oh, so you say my hironos all look the same, but you like labubus now?”

carlos freezes, eyes darting to the box behind him like he forgot it was even there. then, without missing a beat, he leans forward, grabbing it and holding it up to the camera. “but, mi amor, look! they have different colors!”

“oh, and my hironos don’t?”

he shakes his head, clearly enjoying himself. “not like these, no.”

you let out an exaggerated, scandalized gasp, dramatically flopping back against your pillows. “i can’t believe this betrayal. all this time, i thought you were supporting me, but now you’ve chosen a side— and it’s the opposing side, mind you!”

carlos chuckles, setting the box back down, his voice dropping just slightly—playful, teasing. “you love me anyway.”

and, well. he’s right.

it turns into a thing. somehow.

your comments section floods with people asking for your favorite figurines, demanding to know which sets you’re into. you give them a list, thinking nothing of it, just casually mentioning your favorites. but by the next race weekend, fans are already showing up with those exact figurines, handing them to carlos at every turn. multiple people. at different times.

there’s a video you find later of him grinning, holding up one of the boxes, murmuring a— “thank you! mi corazón would love these…”

the last part, the way his voice drops into something softer, something warm, plays on loop in your head as you scroll through tiktok later that night. you hover over the like button for half a second before giving in, adding a comment:

yourusername   i do like it! please make sure he doesn’t hog it all to himself 😀

the internet, as per usual, goes crazy.

carlos is in miami, and you’re in monaco, which means the time zone gods are, once again, are against you. it’s late— too late— but your phone rings anyway, and you already know what this is about before you even pick up.

you rub at your eyes, propping your phone up on the pillow as carlos holds up his latest haul to the camera, grinning. “look, mi amor,” he says, adjusting the lighting so you can properly see. “i found peach riot!”

you squint. “you don’t even like peach riot.”

he waves you off. “sí, sí, but they had them at the store, and i had to try.”

you groan, shifting deeper under the covers. you know exactly what this is. it’s not about the figurines, not really—it’s about the thrill, the rush of unboxing something, the chase for the rarest one.

carlos digs through the bag, holding up a single box. “okay, i’ll open just one.”

you sigh, heavy with sleep. “baby, it’s almost 2 a.m. for me. can you please just open it?”

he gasps, offended. “well, no! i have to do lucky taps first!”

of course he does. he’s fully committed now.

you watch, exasperated but endeared, as he taps the sides of the box in that almost ritualistic way you taught him— except he’s exaggerating it, dragging his fingertips along the sides with a level of precision that is, quite frankly, unnecessary. he’s doing too much. and yet, you can’t bring yourself to stop him, a soft, tired smile on your lips.

“okay, okay,” he murmurs, hyping himself up before finally peeling off the plastic wrap and tearing the foil packet open. you blink, barely able to keep your eyes open, as he peers inside. his expression shifts—eyebrows jumping, mouth parting slightly before curling into an all-too-smug grin.

he flips the figurine around to show you. the secret. your smile immediately drops.

you let out a long, suffering groan before immediately hanging up the call.

curse you, boyfriend luck!

he calls back not even a minute later.

you answer, squinting at him through the screen, still burrowed under your blanket. carlos, barely holding back laughter, holds up the figurine again. “corazón,” he coos, all sweet and coaxing. “do you want it?”

you glare. “it’s not the same if i don’t pull it myself.”

he pouts, tilting his head. “but i’ll give it to you.”

you bury your face into your pillow, groaning again.

monaco feels different when carlos is home. the apartment, normally so quiet when he's away, hums with the warmth of him— his shoes by the door, his jacket slung carelessly over the couch, the scent of his cologne lingering in the air. it’s a race weekend, and for the first time in what feels like forever, you’re both in the same city again.

it also means carlos is finally seeing, with his own eyes, just how out of hand things have gotten.

a small corner of the living room— what used to be an empty space, clean and minimalist— is now home to a shelf. a full - on shelf. dedicated entirely to the growing collection of figurines you and carlos have amassed over the past few months. rows and rows and rows of figurines now meticulously arranged by series.

you stare at it, arms crossed, lips pursed. carlos, standing beside you, mirrors your stance, rubbing his chin like he’s assessing a piece of fine art.

a long silence stretches between you before you finally say it: “…are we addicted?”

carlos tilts his head, considering. then, without missing a beat— “no.”

you shoot him a look.

he grins. “just committed.”

the blind box obsession wanes, thankfully, though it's not out of disinterest but out of practicality. the season is in full throttle now, the races stacking up one after another, and you’ve been following carlos around the last few stops, which means any new purchases would just be another thing to stuff into an already overpacked suitcase. there’s no time to carefully stack boxes into the shelf back home.

which is why, when you open your eyes on your birthday in your las vegas hotel suite and find a blind box set sitting in front of you, you burst out laughing.

carlos, kneeling in front of you on the couch, looks incredibly pleased with himself. “feliz cumpleaños, mi amor,” he says, watching you with that warm, expectant gaze of his.

“oh my god,” you breathe out, picking up the box, flipping it over in your hands. “carlos.”

it’s not just any blind box set. it’s custom. you look at the packaging, the familiar yet unfamiliar design, and then you see it—your name, carlos’ name, and little illustrated versions of you both printed on the side, mimicking the style of an official collection.

upon closer inspection, the potential figurines include versions of you in your favorite outfits, carlos in his williams race suit, casual wear, even one of him holding a miniature trophy from when he finished p1 in barcelona. there’s even a secret edition, blurred out in a question mark like a real chase figurine.

you blink at it, overwhelmed, before looking up at him. “you got us made into blind boxes?”

carlos grins.

“how?”

“i have my ways.” he shrugs.

“you have a full racing calendar.”

he shrugs, like organizing a fully custom blind box production in the middle of a title fight is just a casual side project. “i planned ahead.”

you shake your head, flipping the box around in disbelief. “you’re actually insane.”

“open one.”

you tear into the packaging, ripping the foil open with probably more force than necessary. the little figurine falls into your palm, and when you turn it over, you nearly lose it. it’s you, down to the details of the outfit you wore the first time carlos ever took you to the paddock, your hair styled just right, the tiny features painstakingly accurate, even if it's just a stylized version of you.

you stare at it, and carlos leans in, nudging your shoulder. “cute, no?”

“carlos.”

“hmm?”

you exhale, shaking your head, but you can’t stop smiling. “this is insane.”

he leans back against the couch, smug. “you love it.”

you narrow your eyes at him. “don’t act like you didn’t make yourself the secret edition.”

his expression doesn’t change. “i am a rare find.”

you shove him, and he laughs, catching your wrist, tugging you into him. “okay, okay,” he concedes, pressing a kiss to your temple, his voice softer now. “but i wanted to give you something special. something just for you.”

you glance down at the box, the tiny, perfect versions of you both, and something warm settles in your chest. you shake your head, exhaling through a smile. “you really are addicted.”

carlos grins, tilting his head. you’re already leaning in, just slightly, like he’s some gravitational pull you’ve long since stopped resisting.

 he meets you halfway, his breath fanning against your lips as he murmurs— soft, smug, as he goes: “eh, just committed.”

[brazenautomaton]

Do you object to the fact that prisons you go to for robbery are cages? Do you blame people who want robbery to be illegal for the abuses of prison?

Actually, no. Let's scale that back. What do you think about jail? In America, the terminology is that prison is where you go after being convicted and jail is where you go before you've been convicted. (This is not because America is the only place that puts you somewhere before you're convicted, every country upon the Earth does that, the terminology just isn't consistent.) They arrest you before you're formally charged with a crime because that's how linear time works, and they have to put you somewhere while they figure out if you should be charged with a crime at all, and if you are, sometimes they need to put you somewhere until the trial. These places should not be torturous! They shouldn't keep you very long and should only keep you before trial if you're a significant flight risk! But the need to have a place to put someone until you know what's up is obviously valid because if you did do something wrong you're probably gonna run and it will always take more than zero time to figure out if you're the guy who's gonna run. If you think it's invalid, you need to argue that, and that's an uphill battle you can't just win by smugging at it!

If an alternate universe version of ICE was like "there's a problem with your visa, we're gonna put you up in a hotel for a couple of days while we sort it out, we'll provide a note to your employer, it's probably nothing, you get we just gotta be thorough," then it would still be a pain in the ass but it would be hard to muster much of an objection to, as their interest in doing that is obviously legitimate. And they'd still be doing exactly the thing ICE is supposed to be doing, so obviously ICE's brutality has nothing to do with its ability to do its job. To argue against that specifically and say it's always wrong because it's a "gilded cage," you can't just appeal to the idea that it shouldn't be illegal, you gotta make the argument that they can't put anyone in a place for a little bit while they figure out if they might have done something wrong. Are you willing to do that?

Also, the only people in this discussion who have come out in support of a caste system are the people who are against border enforcement. Can you repeat that back to me so that I know that you know it?

Story below the cut to avoid a paywall.

There was no explanation, no warning. One minute, I was in an immigration office talking to an officer about my work visa, which had been approved months before and allowed me, a Canadian, to work in the US. The next, I was told to put my hands against the wall, and patted down like a criminal before being sent to an Ice detention center without the chance to talk to a lawyer.

I grew up in Whitehorse, Yukon, a small town in the northernmost part of Canada. I always knew I wanted to do something bigger with my life. I left home early and moved to Vancouver, British Columbia, where I built a career spanning multiple industries – acting in film and television, owning bars and restaurants, flipping condos and managing Airbnbs.

In my 30s, I found my true passion working in the health and wellness industry. I was given the opportunity to help launch an American brand of health tonics called Holy! Water – a job that would involve moving to the US.

I was granted my trade Nafta work visa, which allows Canadian and Mexican citizens to work in the US in specific professional occupations, on my second attempt. It goes without saying, then, that I have no criminal record. I also love the US and consider myself to be a kind, hard-working person.

I started working in California and travelled back and forth between Canada and the US multiple times without any complications – until one day, upon returning to the US, a border officer questioned me about my initial visa denial and subsequent visa approval. He asked why I had gone to the San Diego border the second time to apply. I explained that that was where my lawyer’s offices were, and that he had wanted to accompany me to ensure there were no issues.

After a long interrogation, the officer told me it seemed “shady” and that my visa hadn’t been properly processed. He claimed I also couldn’t work for a company in the US that made use of hemp – one of the beverage ingredients. He revoked my visa, and told me I could still work for the company from Canada, but if I wanted to return to the US, I would need to reapply.

I was devastated; I had just started building a life in California. I stayed in Canada for the next few months, and was eventually offered a similar position with a different health and wellness brand.

I restarted the visa process and returned to the same immigration office at the San Diego border, since they had processed my visa before and I was familiar with it. Hours passed, with many confused opinions about my case. The officer I spoke to was kind but told me that, due to my previous issues, I needed to apply for my visa through the consulate. I told her I hadn’t been aware I needed to apply that way, but had no problem doing it.

Then she said something strange: “You didn’t do anything wrong. You are not in trouble, you are not a criminal.”

I remember thinking: Why would she say that? Of course I’m not a criminal!

She then told me they had to send me back to Canada. That didn’t concern me; I assumed I would simply book a flight home. But as I sat searching for flights, a man approached me.

“Come with me,” he said.

There was no explanation, no warning. He led me to a room, took my belongings from my hands and ordered me to put my hands against the wall. A woman immediately began patting me down. The commands came rapid-fire, one after another, too fast to process.

They took my shoes and pulled out my shoelaces.

“What are you doing? What is happening?” I asked.

“You are being detained.”

“I don’t understand. What does that mean? For how long?”

“I don’t know.”

That would be the response to nearly every question I would ask over the next two weeks: “I don’t know.”

They brought me downstairs for a series of interviews and medical questions, searched my bags and told me I had to get rid of half my belongings because I couldn’t take everything with me.

“Take everything with me where?” I asked.

A woman asked me for the name of someone they could contact on my behalf. In moments like this, you realize you don’t actually know anyone’s phone number anymore. By some miracle, I had recently memorized my best friend Britt’s number because I had been putting my grocery points on her account.

I gave them her phone number.

They handed me a mat and a folded-up sheet of aluminum foil.

“What is this?”

“Your blanket.”

“I don’t understand.”

I was taken to a tiny, freezing cement cell with bright fluorescent lights and a toilet. There were five other women lying on their mats with the aluminum sheets wrapped over them, looking like dead bodies. The guard locked the door behind me.

For two days, we remained in that cell, only leaving briefly for food. The lights never turned off, we never knew what time it was and no one answered our questions. No one in the cell spoke English, so I either tried to sleep or meditate to keep from having a breakdown. I didn’t trust the food, so I fasted, assuming I wouldn’t be there long.

On the third day, I was finally allowed to make a phone call. I called Britt and told her that I didn’t understand what was happening, that no one would tell me when I was going home, and that she was my only contact.

They gave me a stack of paperwork to sign and told me I was being given a five-year ban unless I applied for re-entry through the consulate. The officer also said it didn’t matter whether I signed the papers or not; it was happening regardless.

I was so delirious that I just signed. I told them I would pay for my flight home and asked when I could leave.

No answer.

Then they moved me to another cell – this time with no mat or blanket. I sat on the freezing cement floor for hours. That’s when I realized they were processing me into real jail: the Otay Mesa Detention Center.

I was told to shower, given a jail uniform, fingerprinted and interviewed. I begged for information.

“How long will I be here?”

“I don’t know your case,” the man said. “Could be days. Could be weeks. But I’m telling you right now – you need to mentally prepare yourself for months.”

Months.

I felt like I was going to throw up.

I was taken to the nurse’s office for a medical check. She asked what had happened to me. She had never seen a Canadian there before. When I told her my story, she grabbed my hand and said: “Do you believe in God?”

I told her I had only recently found God, but that I now believed in God more than anything.

“I believe God brought you here for a reason,” she said. “I know it feels like your life is in a million pieces, but you will be OK. Through this, I think you are going to find a way to help others.”

At the time, I didn’t know what that meant. She asked if she could pray for me. I held her hands and wept.

I felt like I had been sent an angel.

I was then placed in a real jail unit: two levels of cells surrounding a common area, just like in the movies. I was put in a tiny cell alone with a bunk bed and a toilet.

The best part: there were blankets. After three days without one, I wrapped myself in mine and finally felt some comfort.

For the first day, I didn’t leave my cell. I continued fasting, terrified that the food might make me sick. The only available water came from the tap attached to the toilet in our cells or a sink in the common area, neither of which felt safe to drink.

Eventually, I forced myself to step out, meet the guards and learn the rules. One of them told me: “No fighting.”

“I’m a lover, not a fighter,” I joked. He laughed.

I asked if there had ever been a fight here.

“In this unit? No,” he said. “No one in this unit has a criminal record.”

That’s when I started meeting the other women.

That’s when I started hearing their stories.

And that’s when I made a decision: I would never allow myself to feel sorry for my situation again. No matter how hard this was, I had to be grateful. Because every woman I met was in an even more difficult position than mine.

There were around 140 of us in our unit. Many women had lived and worked in the US legally for years but had overstayed their visas – often after reapplying and being denied. They had all been detained without warning.

If someone is a criminal, I agree they should be taken off the streets. But not one of these women had a criminal record. These women acknowledged that they shouldn’t have overstayed and took responsibility for their actions. But their frustration wasn’t about being held accountable; it was about the endless, bureaucratic limbo they had been trapped in.

The real issue was how long it took to get out of the system, with no clear answers, no timeline and no way to move forward. Once deported, many have no choice but to abandon everything they own because the cost of shipping their belongings back is too high.

I met a woman who had been on a road trip with her husband. She said they had 10-year work visas. While driving near the San Diego border, they mistakenly got into a lane leading to Mexico. They stopped and told the agent they didn’t have their passports on them, expecting to be redirected. Instead, they were detained. They are both pastors.

I met a family of three who had been living in the US for 11 years with work authorizations. They paid taxes and were waiting for their green cards. Every year, the mother had to undergo a background check, but this time, she was told to bring her whole family. When they arrived, they were taken into custody and told their status would now be processed from within the detention center.

Another woman from Canada had been living in the US with her husband who was detained after a traffic stop. She admitted she had overstayed her visa and accepted that she would be deported. But she had been stuck in the system for almost six weeks because she hadn’t had her passport. Who runs casual errands with their passport?

One woman had a 10-year visa. When it expired, she moved back to her home country, Venezuela. She admitted she had overstayed by one month before leaving. Later, she returned for a vacation and entered the US without issue. But when she took a domestic flight from Miami to Los Angeles, she was picked up by Ice and detained. She couldn’t be deported because Venezuela wasn’t accepting deportees. She didn’t know when she was getting out.

There was a girl from India who had overstayed her student visa for three days before heading back home. She then came back to the US on a new, valid visa to finish her master’s degree and was handed over to Ice due to the three days she had overstayed on her previous visa.

There were women who had been picked up off the street, from outside their workplaces, from their homes. All of these women told me that they had been detained for time spans ranging from a few weeks to 10 months. One woman’s daughter was outside the detention center protesting for her release.

That night, the pastor invited me to a service she was holding. A girl who spoke English translated for me as the women took turns sharing their prayers – prayers for their sick parents, for the children they hadn’t seen in weeks, for the loved ones they had been torn away from.

Then, unexpectedly, they asked if they could pray for me. I was new here, and they wanted to welcome me. They formed a circle around me, took my hands and prayed. I had never felt so much love, energy and compassion from a group of strangers in my life. Everyone was crying.

At 3am the next day, I was woken up in my cell.

“Pack your bag. You’re leaving.”

I jolted upright. “I get to go home?”

The officer shrugged. “I don’t know where you’re going.”

Of course. No one ever knew anything.

I grabbed my things and went downstairs, where 10 other women stood in silence, tears streaming down their faces. But these weren’t happy tears. That was the moment I learned the term “transferred”.

For many of these women, detention centers had become a twisted version of home. They had formed bonds, established routines and found slivers of comfort in the friendships they had built. Now, without warning, they were being torn apart and sent somewhere new. Watching them say goodbye, clinging to each other, was gut-wrenching.

I had no idea what was waiting for me next. In hindsight, that was probably for the best.

Our next stop was Arizona, the San Luis Regional Detention Center. The transfer process lasted 24 hours, a sleepless, grueling ordeal. This time, men were transported with us. Roughly 50 of us were crammed into a prison bus for the next five hours, packed together – women in the front, men in the back. We were bound in chains that wrapped tightly around our waists, with our cuffed hands secured to our bodies and shackles restraining our feet, forcing every movement into a slow, clinking struggle.

When we arrived at our next destination, we were forced to go through the entire intake process all over again, with medical exams, fingerprinting – and pregnancy tests; they lined us up in a filthy cell, squatting over a communal toilet, holding Dixie cups of urine while the nurse dropped pregnancy tests in each of our cups. It was disgusting.

We sat in freezing-cold jail cells for hours, waiting for everyone to be processed. Across the room, one of the women suddenly spotted her husband. They had both been detained and were now seeing each other for the first time in weeks.

The look on her face – pure love, relief and longing – was something I’ll never forget.

We were beyond exhausted. I felt like I was hallucinating.

The guard tossed us each a blanket: “Find a bed.”

There were no pillows. The room was ice cold, and one blanket wasn’t enough. Around me, women lay curled into themselves, heads covered, looking like a room full of corpses. This place made the last jail feel like the Four Seasons.

I kept telling myself: Do not let this break you.

Thirty of us shared one room. We were given one Styrofoam cup for water and one plastic spoon that we had to reuse for every meal. I eventually had to start trying to eat and, sure enough, I got sick. None of the uniforms fit, and everyone had men’s shoes on. The towels they gave us to shower were hand towels. They wouldn’t give us more blankets. The fluorescent lights shined on us 24/7.

Everything felt like it was meant to break you. Nothing was explained to us. I wasn’t given a phone call. We were locked in a room, no daylight, with no idea when we would get out.

I tried to stay calm as every fiber of my being raged towards panic mode. I didn’t know how I would tell Britt where I was. Then, as if sent from God, one of the women showed me a tablet attached to the wall where I could send emails. I only remembered my CEO’s email from memory. I typed out a message, praying he would see it.

He responded.

Through him, I was able to connect with Britt. She told me that they were working around the clock trying to get me out. But no one had any answers; the system made it next to impossible. I told her about the conditions in this new place, and that was when we decided to go to the media.

She started working with a reporter and asked whether I would be able to call her so she could loop him in. The international phone account that Britt had previously tried to set up for me wasn’t working, so one of the other women offered to let me use her phone account to make the call.

We were all in this together.

With nothing to do in my cell but talk, I made new friends – women who had risked everything for the chance at a better life for themselves and their families.

Through them, I learned the harsh reality of seeking asylum. Showing me their physical scars, they explained how they had paid smugglers anywhere from $20,000 to $60,000 to reach the US border, enduring brutal jungles and horrendous conditions.

One woman had been offered asylum in Mexico within two weeks but had been encouraged to keep going to the US. Now, she was stuck, living in a nightmare, separated from her young children for months. She sobbed, telling me how she felt like the worst mother in the world.

Many of these women were highly educated and spoke multiple languages. Yet, they had been advised to pretend they didn’t speak English because it would supposedly increase their chances of asylum.

Some believed they were being used as examples, as warnings to others not to try to come.

Women were starting to panic in this new facility, and knowing I was most likely the first person to get out, they wrote letters and messages for me to send to their families.

It felt like we had all been kidnapped, thrown into some sort of sick psychological experiment meant to strip us of every ounce of strength and dignity.

We were from different countries, spoke different languages and practiced different religions. Yet, in this place, none of that mattered. Everyone took care of each other. Everyone shared food. Everyone held each other when someone broke down. Everyone fought to keep each other’s hope alive.

I got a message from Britt. My story had started to blow up in the media.

Almost immediately after, I was told I was being released.

My Ice agent, who had never spoken to me, told my lawyer I could have left sooner if I had signed a withdrawal form, and that they hadn’t known I would pay for my own flight home.

From the moment I arrived, I begged every officer I saw to let me pay for my own ticket home. Not a single one of them ever spoke to me about my case.

To put things into perspective: I had a Canadian passport, lawyers, resources, media attention, friends, family and even politicians advocating for me. Yet, I was still detained for nearly two weeks.

Imagine what this system is like for every other person in there.

A small group of us were transferred back to San Diego at 2am – one last road trip, once again shackled in chains. I was then taken to the airport, where two officers were waiting for me. The media was there, so the officers snuck me in through a side door, trying to avoid anyone seeing me in restraints. I was beyond grateful that, at the very least, I didn’t have to walk through the airport in chains.

To my surprise, the officers escorting me were incredibly kind, and even funny. It was the first time I had laughed in weeks.

I asked if I could put my shoelaces back on.

“Yes,” one of them said with a grin. “But you better not run.”

“Yeah,” the other added. “Or we’ll have to tackle you in the airport. That’ll really make the headlines.”

I laughed, then told them I had spent a lot of time observing the guards during my detention and I couldn’t believe how often I saw humans treating other humans with such disregard. “But don’t worry,” I joked. “You two get five stars.”

When I finally landed in Canada, my mom and two best friends were waiting for me. So was the media. I spoke to them briefly, numb and delusional from exhaustion.

It was surreal listening to my friends recount everything they had done to get me out: working with lawyers, reaching out to the media, making endless calls to detention centers, desperately trying to get through to Ice or anyone who could help. They said the entire system felt rigged, designed to make it nearly impossible for anyone to get out.

The reality became clear: Ice detention isn’t just a bureaucratic nightmare. It’s a business. These facilities are privately owned and run for profit.

Companies like CoreCivic and GEO Group receive government funding based on the number of people they detain, which is why they lobby for stricter immigration policies. It’s a lucrative business: CoreCivic made over $560m from Ice contracts in a single year. In 2024, GEO Group made more than $763m from Ice contracts.

The more detainees, the more money they make. It stands to reason that these companies have no incentive to release people quickly. What I had experienced was finally starting to make sense.