#pine script 5

[trading-attitude]

📚Et si tu pouvais créer une libraire dans TRADINGVIEW en 5 minutes?

[zaynessbeloved]

Suppressing desires

Synopsis: You never expected your quiet friendship with Zayne—the cold, brilliant cardiac surgeon—to spiral into something that burned beneath your skin. Between long shifts, cold coffee, and fleeting moments, you tried to ignore the pull between you two. But life was hard, and desire was harder to suppress. Filming yourself became your secret escape. You never thought he’d find your videos. You never thought he’d watch. And when the truth breaks free, so does everything between you.

Content warnings: Friends to lovers, slow burn, camgirl x viewer dynamic, explicit sexual content, masturbation (camgirl content), mild voyeurism (consensual context), sexual tension, emotional angst, miscommunication, guilt, soft dominance, possessiveness, power dynamic, soft dom Zayne, oral sex, begging, overstimulation, rough sex, aftercare, cute shower scene, mutual pining, unspoken feelings, confessions during intimacy, possessive!Zayne, light choking (consensual), hand on belly kink, manhandling, praise kink, deep emotional release, cuddling, vulnerability, comfort after conflict.

Pairings: Zayne x reader

Word count: 5.3k

A/n: not necessarily canon, although i do believe that if zayne stumbled into a similar situation, my poor baby would feel a little guilty for indulging especially since he would think it's like breaking some sort of trust. so i indulged myself too and wrote this hehe

part 1 - part 2 - part 3 - part 4 - part 5 - more soon

There are days it feels like you live in thirds. A third of you is bent over textbooks and digital coursework, chasing a degree that always looms just far enough ahead to make your knees ache. Another third is spent on your feet at the café just off campus, the one with creaky floorboards, overcomplicated drinks, and regulars who tip more in compliments than cash. And the last third… that part stays behind a locked screen, wrapped in pseudonyms, soft lighting, breathy sounds, and a silence that speaks louder than any script ever could.

Your mornings start like most others. Alarm. Snooze. Alarm again. You wake with a groan, limbs heavy with sleep. You shower quickly, half-conscious, dress in the kind of casual comfort that passes for effort, then stuff your laptop into the overstuffed tote that’s already begun to fray at the edges. Outside, the campus air bites at your calves. Inside the café, warmth greets you in the form of sputtering espresso machines and the low hum of indie playlists stuck on loop.

You smile easily there—for coworkers, customers, your manager who thinks you’re too quiet to be anything but sweet. It’s the kind of smile that comes from muscle memory, not comfort, but it works. People don’t ask questions when you wear that kind of smile.

Sometimes, you catch your reflection in the brushed metal of the machines—tired eyes, a faint smudge of concealer from rushing, lips bitten raw from absentminded nerves. No one looking at you now would guess what you filmed just two nights ago. Your knees spread wide, thighs trembling, back arched off soft bedsheets as you pressed the toy in slow, torturous circles—silent except for the gasp you couldn’t hold back when it hit too good to ignore. You never look into the camera unless you’re about to come. That’s your rule. You like the power of it, the control, the way eyes across the world wait, hungry, breathless for that moment. And you give it to them only when you decide.

Your videos are never live. You prefer the curated performance, the soft power of editing, of trimming away anything that feels too messy or raw. You don’t talk much on camera either. It’s all in the act, in the rhythm, the tension, the wet sounds of your fingers and the breath that catches when your body starts to shake. You don’t do it for the money—not necessarily. Not even for the thrill, entirely.

You just like being watched. You like the heat of unseen eyes. You like being wanted.

That side of you never bleeds into daylight. Not when you’re pouring oat milk into a cup or typing essays in the corner of the library. Not when your professors call your name or classmates ask if you’re coming to the party and you shake your head, smile, and lie. They don’t know you. Not really. No one does.

————

Zayne’s world is built on precision. Timing. Structure. A sterile kind of order that makes everything else easier to bear.

His days begin early—not in the reluctant, groggy way most people drag themselves out of bed, but with mechanical efficiency. The alarm never needs to ring twice. He moves through his apartment like clockwork: a clean shave, black coffee left to cool slightly while he reviews patient charts. His suits are always pressed, muted tones in grays and blacks, crisp lines and subtle textures chosen with the kind of quiet deliberation that fits his nature.

The walk to Akso Hospital is usually silent, save for the muted rhythm of traffic and his own measured footsteps. He prefers it that way—mornings still and untouched, like clean paper before the ink hits. By the time most people are settling into their first meetings, Zayne has already scrubbed in, gloved up, and cut through someone's ribcage with the focus of a man who knows what’s at stake with every breath.

He is known across the hospital for many things—his brilliance, his meticulous work, his ability to navigate even the most complex cardiac surgeries with unnerving calm. But also for his silence. His unshakable, unreadable stillness. Nurses whisper that he doesn’t flinch, doesn’t blink when things go wrong. Interns dread rounds with him, fearing the weight of a single, unimpressed glance through his silver wire-frame glasses. No one ever says it to his face, of course—no one dares—but the nickname floats down the halls in quiet breath: Ice Doctor.

They don’t know him. Not really. Zayne doesn’t mind. In fact, he prefers it. Distance is clean. Distance is efficient. But lately—for the first time in years—he’s started to notice the cracks.

They began with you.

He met you by chance. A standard consult. A low-priority case, routine enough that he barely glanced at the file until you sat down across from him, looking half-exhausted, half-annoyed, a mix of vulnerability and fire he wasn’t expecting to deal with on a Tuesday. You misunderstood him, at first. Most people do. You thought he was being cold, uncaring—but then you caught the subtle tilt of his mouth when he made a dry remark, the pause he took before speaking, as if weighing whether you’d understand what he didn’t say aloud.

You saw through him faster than most. And he saw more of you than he meant to.

A week later, he walked into the café down the street and found you behind the counter—your apron askew, hair pinned up messily, hands moving on autopilot while you poured milk into a to-go cup. Your eyes widened when you spotted him. Not in fear, not embarrassment. Just surprise. Warmth. A flicker of something real.

It became a pattern after that. Not always intentional—he never made a point to come in on your shifts, not at first. But somehow, more often than not, the time aligned. He’d stop by after his rounds, fingers aching from holding instruments too tightly, the faint scent of antiseptic still clinging to his sleeves. And there you were—tired, smiling, sometimes annoyed at the espresso machine, sometimes lost in thought. But always there.

Over the past year, you’ve kept in touch. A message here. A passing conversation there. Long gaps. Quiet ones. But the thread held. He doesn’t say much��never has—but he remembers things. How you hate hazelnut syrup but pretend to like it when it's free. How you always carry a pen tucked behind your ear. How your smile changes when you’re genuinely amused, eyes squinting just slightly at the corners. How your voice softens when you're talking about something you care about.

He regards you as a friend. A curious one. Interesting. Sharp. Bold in ways he isn’t, soft in places he thought were best left untouched.

He hasn’t allowed himself to want anything more. He tells himself it wouldn’t be fair. That he doesn’t have time. That you deserve someone softer, more available, someone who doesn’t carry the ghosts of too many open chests and sleepless nights.

And yet… he remembers your coffee order. He notices when your wrist is wrapped in a brace. He sends a message to check if your fever has gone down—not phrased kindly, not overtly. Just, Did you rest? Did you take anything for it? Delivered without a hello.

You think he’s sweet underneath it all, and maybe you’re right. But he doesn’t know what to do with that…

It’s nearing six when you finally manage to drag yourself behind the counter again. Your body aches in places that shouldn’t ache from standing, your backpack’s digging into your shoulder like it has a personal vendetta, and you’re pretty sure your brain has been replaced with coffee grounds and static. Uni was a blur of deadlines and professors who didn’t believe in compassion. Work has been nothing but loud blenders, passive-aggressive customers, and the espresso machine threatening its own slow death.

You’re halfway through wiping down the counter when you hear the small chime above the café door. You don’t even bother looking up right away—it’s probably another regular wanting decaf with oat milk and something gluten-free.

"You're still standing. Impressive."

The voice is dry. Smooth. Low and effortless, the syllables pressed clean like he’s never known exhaustion.

You look up. And just like that, something in your chest—tight from the weight of the day—eases.

Zayne stands in the doorway, his coat collar slightly damp from the drizzle outside, a few strands of black hair fallen out of place and curling ever so slightly at his temple. His silver glasses fog faintly from the warmth of the room. He adjusts them with his thumb before sliding one hand into the pocket of his coat, scanning the near-empty café with that practiced calm he always carries, like he’s already memorized the layout, like he’s always a step ahead of everything.

You blink once, twice. Then you smile, slow and tired, but real. “Dr. Zayne. Back from the dead, I see.”

His brow twitches. “Haven’t died yet. Just caught up in hospital bureaucracy. And you?”

“Dying,” you say flatly. “But still clocked in, so. Yay capitalism.”

Something flickers across his expression—something subtle but warm. The corner of his mouth lifts just enough to pass as amusement. It isn’t a laugh, not quite. But you’ve learned his language by now. It is a smile.

You haven’t seen him in a while. A few weeks at least. You’d assumed he was buried in OR schedules or buried under paperwork—both likely true. But the thing is, with Zayne, distance never feels like absence. He doesn’t text daily. He doesn’t send memes at midnight or call just to chat. But he always replies. He always remembers. Always shows up when it matters.

Even now, even on a random day like this—he’s here.

You take his usual order before he even asks. “Black coffee. Splash of milk. No sugar. I’d say you’re predictable, but somehow I find it comforting.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment,” he murmurs, glancing toward the window as he tugs off his coat, revealing a light gray vest under his dark suit. His sleeves are rolled up today, and you catch sight of the faint pale scars that line his forearms—surgical, clean, some old, some newer. You never ask about them.

While the coffee brews, you sneak over to the pastry case, grab a small box, and tuck a trio of macarons inside—lemon, raspberry, and pistachio. You know he has a sweet tooth. It’s not something he ever admits out loud, but you’ve caught the way his eyes linger on the dessert menu longer than necessary. The way he once looked genuinely betrayed when the last slice of tiramisu was gone.

You place the cup down in front of him along with the box. “On the house. Consider it a thank-you for being the only person today who hasn’t complained about the wifi or asked for gluten-free milk.”

Zayne glances at the box, then at you. His eyes—green threaded through gold—soften ever so slightly behind the glass.

“You shouldn’t,” he says, but his voice betrays him. It’s low, rougher than usual. There’s a flicker of concern there, just under the surface. “You look exhausted.”

You shrug, wiping your hands on a towel and avoiding the way your throat tightens. “I’m always exhausted.”

“That doesn’t mean it should be ignored.”

You meet his gaze. There’s something in it—something steady. Not pity. Not obligation. Just… attention. Care, measured in his own quiet, deliberate way.

And for some reason, that makes everything feel a little less heavy.

“You’re sweet, you know that?” you tease, leaning your elbows onto the counter, allowing yourself to sink just a little into the warmth between you. “Beneath all that brooding, you’re secretly a softie.”

He exhales slowly, looking away, but not before you catch the faintest hint of a smirk. “Don’t spread slander.”

“Too late.”

And just like that, the tiredness doesn’t disappear—not fully—but it softens. You feel it in the space between you, in the silence that isn’t awkward, in the way Zayne sits down at his usual table but still angles himself toward the counter, still watching you as you move, still present in that solid, dependable way that only he is.

You don’t know what it is between you exactly. You’ve never asked. Never pushed. But maybe that’s what makes it feel so steady—whatever this is, it’s growing on its own, slow and sure and real.

And right now, that’s enough.

The day ends like so many others—not with rest, but with collapse. A few more hours of wiping down counters, smiling politely, pretending like your spine isn’t screaming, like your brain isn’t soup from back-to-back classes and closing shifts. Zayne stayed for a while. Long enough for a few more quiet exchanges, a few soft jabs that made you roll your eyes but smile without meaning to. He left the macarons box empty, like always. You found a note under the lid—small, scrawled in his impossibly neat handwriting.

Try sleeping for more than four hours. Just once. Indulge me.

You didn’t text him about it, just tucked the note into the front pocket of your backpack like you weren’t saving it.

By the time you get home, it’s past eleven. Your shoes are kicked off somewhere near the doorway. Your bag drops with a thud. The floor is cold beneath your toes, and the tiny studio apartment hums with that late-night stillness that always makes you feel like you're the only person alive.

You should sleep. You know that. But your body is buzzing, skin prickling with something close to frustration—a dull, gnawing ache that’s been sitting low in your belly for days now. The kind that builds under stress, under pressure, under the exhausting demand to keep yourself contained.

You sit on the edge of the bed and stare at the wall. And then you decide—fuck it. It’s been too long.

You rise, slow but certain, and flick on the soft corner lamp. Warm light spills across the sheets as you pull open the drawer under your bed. Camera. Tripod. The sleek little toy you’ve come to know like a second pulse. Everything exactly where it always is.

You don’t think too hard about it—you never do. The setup is instinct by now. Angle. Lighting. Camera set to record, not live. That was always your boundary, and you’ve stuck to it. You like knowing you’re watched—but on your terms.

You undress slowly, peeling off each layer like a ritual. Tank top. Shorts. Underwear last. You stretch out on the sheets, limbs loose, eyes half-lidded as you glance toward the lens. Red light blinking. Recording. You inhale, long and steady, and slide your hand down the length of your thigh.

It’s not about pretending. Not for you. This part is real.

You reach for the toy—curved just right, smooth and familiar in your grip. You turn it on, the quiet hum teasing in the air, and press it against your clit. Soft at first. Just enough to make your legs twitch. Your breath stutters, lashes fluttering as you sink deeper into the rhythm.

You don’t speak. It’s all movement, all sensation—the way your back arches, the way your fingers curl, the wet sound of slickness growing louder as you press harder. You imagine the way they watch you—faceless men, thirsty and obsessed, paying just to see you like this. To witness you unravel.

You don’t care who they are. You don’t need their names. All you need is the heat. The eyes. The knowledge that somewhere out there, someone is watching you lose control.

Your free hand grips the sheets as you circle tighter, faster, chasing the edge that’s been just out of reach for days now. Your breath comes fast, uneven, your hips rolling against the toy like your body’s forgotten how to be quiet.

And then it hits. It crashes through you all at once—your thighs shaking, a moan ripped from your throat before you can stop it, drawn out and helpless. You ride it through, breathless and twitching, clenching around nothing as your mind blanks out completely.

The toy drops from your fingers. You exhale like you haven’t breathed in hours. Chest rising. Falling. Sheets damp beneath you. Muscles trembling, toes curled.

For the first time all week, you feel light. Not fixed, not whole. But calmer. Fulfilled. Like the storm in your head finally went quiet.

You let the camera roll for a few more seconds, your eyes drifting lazily toward it. Then you reach over and press stop. You’ll edit it later. Upload it for your subscribers sometime tomorrow. You know it’ll do well—they’ve been waiting. But for now, you just lie there. Naked. Spent. The room warm and humming around you. You feel the ache in your thighs and the slow, heavy pleasure in your limbs, and you think—just maybe—you’ll sleep better tonight.

The next morning, you uploaded it with little fanfare—just a title, a few tags, and a click. That was it. No teasing caption. No promo. You didn’t need one. Your followers were loyal, patient, and generous. You’d built your small corner of that world on consistency and intensity—no gimmicks, no exaggerated moaning or roleplay. Just you, real and raw, caught in the haze of your own desire.

Then life resumed. Papers stacked high in your bag. Three hours of sleep, back-to-back lectures. Your manager texting you last-minute to cover someone else’s shift. The usual chaos. You moved through it like you always did—bleary-eyed and running on caffeine and quiet stubbornness, earbuds in, listening to soft background noise or lo-fi playlists just to keep yourself from mentally combusting.

But that week, a quiet thrill stayed beneath your skin. A subtle spark in your blood every time you checked your balance or saw the little notification pop up on your phone: another tip, another purchase. The video was doing well.

And so, despite everything—the exhaustion, the growing mountain of responsibilities, the ache that lived in your neck from sleeping on your desk—you smiled more. Just a little.

Meanwhile, across the city, Zayne was unraveling slowly in the background of his own life. Back-to-back surgeries. Consults stacked like dominos from 6am to well after sunset. He moved through the sterile halls of Akso Hospital like a ghost—crisp white coat, clipped strides, glasses slightly smudged from forgetting to wipe them between rounds. No one questioned it. Zayne lived in work. Always had. No one expected otherwise.

But when he returned home, keys sliding into the lock of his cold, quiet apartment, silence pressed down on him like a weighted hand. No music played here. No voice greeted him. Just the dull hum of the refrigerator and the soft click of his bedroom door as it swung open. The lights were automatic—they greeted him better than most people did. He unbuttoned his vest slowly, fingers tracing the familiar shape of the scars on his forearms as he rolled up his sleeves, exposing skin that rarely saw daylight.

He wasn't the type, they would say. Zayne? A man like that? Too cold. Too principled. Too composed.

But they didn’t see him like this. At 1am after his third emergency procedure of the week. When his body ached, his brain wouldn’t shut off, and the weight of every decision clung to him like blood under the nails. On nights like this, he needed release, not gentleness. Just something else. Something that burned hotter than the sterile quiet of his apartment. Something that could blot out the silence.

So sometimes, rarely, he gave in.

He didn’t browse. Didn’t search for fantasy or romance. It wasn’t about who. It was about rhythm. Sound. Timing. That quiet build-up of heat that pulled him out of his head long enough to forget the last chest he’d cut open. He’d scroll, eyes half-lidded, not even really looking, until something felt right. Click. Background noise. His belt unbuckled, trousers shoved down just enough. He’d stroke himself in silence, face calm even as his breathing stuttered, the faintest hint of a flush beneath the angle of his jaw.

Tonight was one of those nights. Dinner sat forgotten on the kitchen counter—half a reheated plate of something he didn’t taste. He stripped down to just his shirt, buttons undone, hair mussed from raking his fingers through it too many times. He dropped into bed, long legs splayed out, one arm propped behind his head, and opened the app.

He scrolled. Absentminded. Mechanical. Half-lazy strokes already beginning, just enough to coax his body into tension. He wasn’t really watching. Just letting the static buzz of arousal settle in his bloodstream like it always did. Something to quiet the chaos.

Until his eyes caught on a thumbnail. His hand paused. No. No, it couldn’t be.

He blinked. Stared. Dragged the screen back down and hovered his thumb over it. There you were.

At least… it looked like you. Same mouth. Same eyes. Same curve of your jaw when your head tipped back, lips parted, bathed in amber light.

He didn’t breathe. The blood drained from his face, pooling instead in the pit of his stomach. For a moment, he wondered if this was a hallucination. Maybe he’d passed out mid-surgery and was dreaming. Delirious. This couldn’t be real.

But the thumbnail moved. A preview looped—a low gasp, a roll of your hips, your eyes half-lidded and unmistakably yours.

Zayne sat up slowly, his hand falling away from himself like it no longer belonged there. The room was suddenly too warm. His heart was hammering, tight and confused in his chest.

He didn’t mean to watch it. At first it was just the thumbnail—looping on its own, as if daring him to look closer. A breath caught mid-gasp, your chest rising and falling in the low flicker of warm light. He told himself it couldn’t be you, over and over again. Tried to convince himself that he was tired. Imagining things. Misreading familiar shapes in unfamiliar context.

But when he tapped the screen, when the preview expanded, the sound came. Soft. Involuntary. Yours. It slid into him like a knife between the ribs.

Zayne’s breath stilled in his throat, muscles tight, body caught somewhere between instinct and denial. He was still touching himself—hand firm around his cock, half-hard from the lingering pressure he’d started absentmindedly before this whole thing derailed—but now it wasn’t mindless anymore. Now it was you.

And the video just kept playing. There wasn’t even a buildup—it dropped him right into the middle of it, your legs spread, your fingers glistening, mouth slack with pleasure. You didn’t say a word—you never needed to. It was the sound that did it. The staggered breaths. The slick rhythm. The choked noise that slipped out of you when your hips rolled just right.

Zayne felt like he’d been punched in the chest.

It was real. You were real. His friend—if he could even still call you that—was there, laid bare on his screen, fingers buried between your thighs, glowing in candlelight and shadows, and the worst part, the part that made his pulse thunder in shame and disbelief, was how fucking hard he was.

He knew he should stop. He knew it. His jaw clenched, fingers tightening around the phone like that could will the image away. This was wrong. Invasive. You hadn’t sent it to him. You didn’t know. You couldn’t. You didn’t film this for him. You didn’t look into the camera with his name on your tongue.

Your moans, soft and breathless, ghosted across his skin like smoke—like heat, curling low and unforgiving in his gut. His cock twitched in his hand. A hot flush climbed his neck, and still he couldn’t tear his eyes away.

He sat there—flushed, breathing unevenly, hazel eyes locked on the screen as you reached the edge. As your body shivered through release, legs shaking, head tilted back in the sweetest surrender he’d ever seen. Your thighs flexed, your chest rose in short, panting bursts, and a broken little sound spilled from your throat, caught somewhere between pleasure and relief.

Zayne exhaled sharply. His grip stuttered.

This wasn’t you, he tried to tell himself. Not the you he’d seen bent over a register, rolling your eyes at broken machines and slipping him macarons like it was a secret only you two shared. Not the girl who smiled at him after ten hours on her feet, who made him feel less hollow without trying. Not that version.

But this was you too. Unfiltered. Wild. Raw. And Zayne—private, controlled, unshakeable Zayne—couldn’t lie to himself: he wanted this version too.

His head fell back against the pillows, throat tight, his hand moving now not from boredom or stress, but from need. Desperate and hot and shameful. He pictured your voice, your expression, the exact shape your lips made when you moaned like that. The exact second your back arched, and your hand trembled, and you pressed the toy tighter between your legs.

He came harder than he meant to—panting, flushed, his body jerking once, twice as release flooded through him, leaving him wrecked and breathless in the dim glow of his bedroom.

The video ended. The screen faded to black. And for the first time in a long time, Zayne felt ashamed of how good something had felt.

He lay there, bare chest rising slowly, still holding the phone like it might burn through his fingers. Guilt curled in the pit of his stomach, thick and sour. His heart was still racing.

This was a line he should never have crossed. He cleaned up in silence, showered with water too cold, as if punishing himself might undo what had happened. As if it would rinse the memory from his skin. But it didn’t. And the worst part wasn’t that he watched it. The worst part was the next time he saw you.

A week passed. Nothing changed. Life resumed. But when he walked into the café again, the familiar chime above the door sounding, and he saw you—tired but smiling, apron crooked, hands covered in a dusting of flour—he hesitated. Just for a second. Not enough for you to notice. You greeted him with the same warmth, the same tired spark in your eyes.

But for Zayne, the moment your smile reached him, the image played behind his eyes with ruthless clarity—your lips parted, your back arching, your fingers sinking between your thighs as if your body couldn’t stand to be empty.

And he felt it again—that sharp, helpless ache. Nothing changed, he told himself. But it had. And now, he didn’t know what the hell to do with it.

You were running on fumes and spite that afternoon. Your professor had spent the entire lecture acting like compassion was a foreign concept, refusing to grant you an extension on a project after you’d explained, calmly, that working double shifts at the café wasn’t something you could magically pause. That if you didn’t keep working, you’d have to cut back on food. Rent. Tuition.

He didn’t care. Of course he didn’t. The world kept demanding, and you kept bleeding for it.

So by the time you made it to your shift, still fuming and running late, your jaw was tight and your heart was thumping with quiet rage. The café smelled like burnt espresso and too much vanilla syrup, and you were already three orders deep before you even realized the bell above the door had chimed again.

"Coffee. Splash of milk. No sugar."

You glanced up. And your breath caught—not in any special way, not dramatically—but just for the slightest pause. Like your heart forgot which rhythm it was keeping for half a second.

Zayne stood by the register, his coat open over one of his usual three-piece suits. Grey today. Darker than usual, tailored to the shape of his shoulders like it had been made with reverence. His glasses sat just slightly lower on the bridge of his nose, as always. But his expression—it was… off.

You didn’t notice at first. You smiled like you always did, too wound up in your own chaos to analyze anything.

“You say that like evolving would mean drinking bitter bean water voluntarily.” you started prepping his drink. “No, Dr. Zayne, I’ll leave the self-torture to your operating rooms.”

You meant it lightly. A jab. Something to ease the day. You even added one of the pistachio macarons you’d stashed in the back—he never asked, but you always noticed the way his eyes lingered on that flavor. It felt like your small way of saying I see you.

But when you looked up again, something in his gaze snagged. It wasn’t tired. Not exactly. Zayne always carried a quiet exhaustion in the slump of his shoulders, the weight of long hours stitched into the seams of his suit. But this… this was different.

His eyes didn’t meet yours the way they usually did. His expression wasn’t unreadable; it was withheld. His replies, when they came, were shorter. Clipped.

“Rough shift?” you tried, voice softening as you slid the cup across the counter.

He glanced at it. Then at you.

“Long week,” he said finally.

That was all.

You hesitated. Just for a moment. That inner radar you’d honed from years of pretending things were fine when they weren’t—it started to twitch. Zayne was reserved, yes, but never cold. Not with you. And now something was pulling back from you, like he was afraid to stand too close.

You debated pushing. But in the end, you let it go. If anyone had earned the right to stay quiet, it was him. Maybe it was just another surgical complication. Maybe a patient. Maybe grief he didn’t name.

You didn’t ask again. He took his drink and sat at his usual table by the window, but didn’t stay long. You’d barely managed to sneak a glance over your shoulder—just to see if he’d eaten the macaron—when you noticed he’d already left. The box still sat on the table, unopened.

The shift ended, and you walked home with a strange heaviness curling around your chest, even heavier than the bags under your eyes.

Weeks passed. You posted again. Two more videos, both different in style. One was slower, softer—you wore lace and touched yourself with delicate fingers, teasing, stretching the moment until the moans came high and breathy and desperate. The second was rougher—new toy, deeper angle, your face flushed with exertion as you came harder, louder, lost in something deeper than just arousal. You didn’t talk in either, as usual. But you felt—and the screen captured every moment of it. Every arch of your back, every quake of your thighs.

And they both did well. Better than expected. The payments trickled in. Your following grew. You should’ve felt triumphant—and you did, a little. But there was still that weight.

Because Zayne hadn’t come by the café again. Not really unusual—his schedule was brutal, and you never expected regularity from him. But this time, the space between you felt different. His texts were fewer. Drier. When he did message, they were practical at best—neutral check-ins about health, about classes, never personal, never playful. Gone were the occasional sarcastic remarks or small jokes he used to slip in. Gone were the conversations that left you smiling at your phone like an idiot.

And it hit you, quietly, in the middle of a late shift—that something had changed.

You leaned against the counter as the espresso dripped, staring out the window at the blur of headlights, and whispered to yourself, “Did I do something?”

Maybe it was you. Maybe something you said. Maybe he saw the cracks in your mask and decided he didn’t want to see what was behind them. You tried not to let it sink in, but you’d always been too good at internalizing. Too good at filling in the blanks with blame.

So you told yourself he was busy. That it didn’t matter. That he was just Zayne—cold, private, unreachable Zayne. But a part of you… the part that always noticed when he shifted slightly closer, or how his eyes lingered a second too long when you handed him coffee—that part of you knew something was wrong.

And it was starting to hurt.

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[neos127]

park sunghoon x idol!fem!reader | stuck by the glue onto you

wc. 1.2k genre. strangers to lovers(??), pining + clingy hoon cw. none!! notes. idk what this is but this was todays daydream! so i had to write it into a fic (kinda messy bc it’s a brain dump but!)

you were laid out in your bed after a long day of practice, taking time to admire the view out your window while also scrolling through tiktok. you wanted to see if fans had watched your group’s new variety show with enhypen yet, knowing how excited both fandoms were after seeing the teaser.

when you scrolled onto a particularly interesting video, you sat up, your heart rate increasing as your eyes narrowed on the text.

‘sunghoon realizing that he’s in love with y/n’ was the caption in the middle of the screen along with ‘glue song’ playing in the background. you took a deep breath before allowing the video to play, already feeling butterflies invade your stomach.

CLIP #1

you were very nervous while being interviewed considering that your group had only recently debuted. it was your first week doing promotions and due to being a foreigner, you weren’t very confident with your korean yet.

as your shaky hands held the microphone close to your face, you began to stumble over your words. the dialogue on the script you were supposed to repeat suddenly blurring together. panic crossed your face for a split second, and mc sunghoon noticed that. he quickly mumbled the word you forgot into his microphone and you shot him a grateful smile before repeating and continuing with your small speech.

CLIP #2

you had remembered seeing this clip about a year ago, trying to brush it off even though the moment had never left your mind. apparently sunghoon couldn’t divert his gaze from you at an award show, his eyes practically sparkling as he observed you in your gorgeous dress. sunghoon rarely looked at any other female idols, so fans seemed to single out the moments when sunghoon’s attention was only directed onto you. when the two of you crossed paths, he smiled and politely bowed which caused you to do the same.

CLIP #3

your group was meeting enhypen for the variety show you had recently filmed with their group. everyone was shy and timid even though you had met each other many different times due to being under the same company. fans seemed to mostly focus on you and sunghoon though, who were very giggly and flustered. sunghoon’s ears turned a light pink as he shook your hand, his palms already sweaty due to the small encounter.

CLIP #4

sunghoon tried his best to be nonchalant about the fact that you had both been paired together for the field day activities, which was hard considering his long time crush on you. once the two of you started playing the games, you became more comfortable with each other. it seemed as if you two had been lifelong friends as you laughed and joked with each other.

the members teased him about being your shadow while completing missions, noticing how sunghoon never left your side even for a second.

CLIP #5

during your lunch break, sunghoon still seemed to follow you like a lost puppy. he timidly walked up to you, watching as you served yourself from the mini buffet the company set up.

“what are you eating?” he asked softly, causing to quickly look up at him with wide eyes. he scared you a bit, but the momentary surprise was soon replaced by comfort due to his presence.

“oh um…i was just combing some stuff. i came up with this really good combination, want to try it?” you asked, your tone becoming more light once you got over the initial shock of sunghoon being so close. sunghoon nodded his head in agreement, allowing you to take his plate and serve him.

when you had expected sunghoon to walk away and join the boys at a smaller round table to eat, he didn’t, keeping close as you looked around for an empty seat. since you concluded that sunghoon wanted to eat with you, you led him to a picnic table for two, smiling at the boy as he sat across from you.

the boys all gave him curious looks, the editors making small question marks appear above their heads as they observed you two. sunghoon didn’t seem to care— or maybe he simply didn’t notice, too focused on your pretty smile and the way your cheeks puffed up as you shoved rice into your mouth.

CLIP #6

while walking up a trail to find your next mission, you had nearly stepped into a deep mud puddle that would have definitely ruined your favorite pair of sneakers. sunghoon stopped you quickly, placing a strong arm in front of your torso to stop you from moving. you looked at up him with a raised brow before realizing that you had nearly stepped into the mess.

“ah, thank you.” you giggled nervously, feeling grateful that the gentleman next to you had been looking out for your safety. the boy mumbled a small ‘your welcome’ before grabbing onto your sweater and gently tugging you around the puddle. the action made your insides melt.

CLIP #7

when everyone had finished their respective missions and mini games, you were all called back to the picnic area where you had first started. sunghoon and a few other members were already there, waiting for the rest to arrive. the boy was about to sit down on the plush grass until he saw you and a couple of your group mates walk into the area. you sat down behind jay and a member of your group, causing sunghoon to look longingly at you. before he could even warn himself about being too obvious about his crush, he walked over and sat down next to you, a small smile on his face as your gazes met.

you looked at him for a second too long, causing you both to quickly look away in a flustered frenzy. you bit your lip to suppress a giggle, trying to focus on jungwon who was congratulating both groups for finishing the tasks.

CLIP #8

the clip was zoomed in, and you hadn’t even noticed that the camera had still been recording your actions. you and sunghoon walked away from the picnic area with the rest of your groups back to the car, playfully bumping shoulders as you trekked up a hill. it wasn’t much compared to the rest of the clips, but it was enough considering the compilation you had just watched.

you breathed out a shaky sigh before opening the comments, noticing how everyone cooed over the interactions and gushed over how sunghoon seemed to be enamored of you. people described how his eyes lit up whenever you smiled and how he had been attached to you like glue throughout the whole video.

you were a bit surprised that you hadn’t noticed how clingy sunghoon had been that day, only focusing on how you finally had time to get to know the boy more.

you smiled upon playing the video a second time, your finger hovering over the ‘share’ button before finally copying the link and sending it to sunghoon on a whim.

you waited all night for a response, barely being able to stomach down your dinner and constantly darting your eyes over to your phone that only seemed to light up from company emails and your group’s chat.

suddenly as you were getting ready for bed, your phone lit up with a notification from sunghoon. you quickly grabbed the device, toothbrush dangling out of your mouth as you read over the text message multiple times. a squeal threatened to emerge from the back of your throat once you had finally had processed his words.

[sunghoon: ah, i guess they caught me…it’s been hard to take my eyes off such a pretty girl ~]

[thef1diary]

A Naughty Gift | D. Ricciardo

Merry Smutmas - Day 6: Secret Santa

warnings: 18+ content, use of vibrator, fingering, best friend!danny

— missed day 5? Read it here by @emchante

© thef1diary 2024. all rights reserved. Do not copy, steal, translate, or repost any of my work

The living room radiates warmth, the soft glow of string lights reflecting off ornaments carefully hung on the Christmas tree. A steady, crackling fire in the fireplace adds to the cozy atmosphere, its warmth mingling with the scent of pine and spiced mulled wine. The chatter of your closest friends fills the air, their laughter blending seamlessly with the holiday playlist humming softly in the background. 

The room is alive with anticipation. You’re seated on the couch, a glass of wine in your hand, your legs curled comfortably beneath you. Around you, your friends settle in—some on couches, others sprawled on the floor with mugs of hot cocoa or cider in hand. The Christmas tree stands proudly in the corner, its base surrounded by an array of colourfully wrapped gifts, each tagged with a name. 

Tonight is the long-awaited secret Santa exchange, a tradition that never fails to bring laughter, surprises, and a few inside jokes to your closest group of friends. Two weeks ago, you all had drawn names from a bowl, each person tasked with finding the perfect gift for their chosen recipient. The mystery of who picked whom has been the topic of countless teasing conversations since, and now, the moment has finally arrived. 

You’re excited to see your friend’s reaction when they open the gift you picked out for them—an item you’d put serious thought into, sure they’d love. But there’s also a nervous energy bubbling beneath your excitement. You have no idea who drew your name from the bowl, and your mind has been running through possibilities all week. Will it be something heartfelt? Funny? Maybe even a little ridiculous? Only time will tell. 

One by one, the gifts are claimed and brought back to their recipients. Each present earns its own reaction—gasps of surprise, peals of laughter, or appreciative murmurs.

The stack beneath the tree shrinks as the night goes on, and the anticipation builds. Finally, it’s your turn. Your heart skips a beat when one of your friends plucks a medium-sized gift from the dwindling pile and passes it to you. The wrapping paper is festive but slightly crooked, as if the effort was rushed or the wrapper wasn’t skilled—it’s impossible to tell which. You let out a soft chuckle, shaking your head at the uneven bow perched on top. 

Balancing the gift on your lap, you spot the tag attached to the ribbon. Beneath your name is a handwritten message in bold, playful script:

For when you need to unwind :) 

Your eyebrows furrow in curiosity. “I’m almost afraid to open this,” you mutter, pulling at the ribbon. 

With careful fingers, you peel back the wrapping paper, the brightly colored patterns giving way to a glossy white box underneath. The moment the text and images on the packaging come into focus, your breath catches in your throat.

Your gasp is audible—and immediate.

Nestled inside is a vibrator, sleek and modern, its packaging professional and uncomfortably clear about its intended use. Your mouth falls open in shock, and for a moment, all you can do is stare at the box, your mind blank.

The room explodes into laughter, your friends practically doubling over as they take in your reaction. You blush furiously, scrambling to pull pieces of the discarded wrapping paper back over the box as if that might somehow undo what just happened. But despite your embarrassment, a laugh escapes your lips, shaky and incredulous.

“Seriously?” you managed, your voice slightly higher than usual as you hold up the box—stil half-covered in the wrapping—for emphasis.

“That’s the next best option if you’re not getting laid!” one of your friends teased, wiping tears of laughter from their eyes. 

“Oh my god,” you groan, burying your face in your hands for a moment before peeking back out at the chaos around you. 

The laughter continues, the jokes coming in waves. 

“Looks like someone’s trying to do you a favour!”

“Now you have no excuse to be cranky.”

You can’t help but laugh along with them, even as your cheeks burn. This wasn’t entirely unexpected; for months, your friends had made a running joke about your supposed sexual frustration. Anytime you were stressed or snappy, the solution was always the same: “You just need to get laid!”

Still, you never imagined getting such a gift from a secret Santa. 

Once the initial uproar dies down, you look around the room, trying to pinpoint who might have been bold enough to give you such an obscene gift. Your friends are still chuckling, tossing jokes back and forth, but as your gaze sweeps over the group, it lands on Daniel, seated across from you. 

Unlike everyone else, he isn’t laughing. His lips curve into a smirk, his dark eyes gleaming with amusement as he watches you, unbothered by the chaos around him.

Your eyes narrow, suspicion flaring. “Daniel,” you say, your voice sharp enough to cut through the lingering laughter.

The room falls silent, everyone turning to look at him. His smirk deepens, and he leans back casually in his chair, his posture oozing confidence.

“What?” he asks, feigning innocence. “I thought you could use something to help you… loosen up a little.”

The room erupts again, louder this time, your friends practically collapsing into each other at the sheer boldness of his comment. You groan, shaking your head, but there’s no hiding the amused smile tugging at your lips.

“You’re unbelievable,” you say, your voice laced with exasperation.

“Unbelievable or thoughtful?” he counters, his tone dripping with mock sincerity.

“You know, I should be offended,” you reply, raising an eyebrow at him. 

“Are you?” comes his immediate response. 

“Still debating it,” you mutter, unable to stop the small chuckle that escapes.

The focus soon shifts as another gift is unwrapped, the group’s attention moving on, but your gaze keeps wandering back to Daniel. The box lies heavy in your lap, the weight of it grounding you in more ways than one.

It’s just a gag gift, you tell yourself, a harmless joke meant to get a laugh out of you. But your mind can’t help but circle back to him. Of all the things he could have picked, why this? And, more importantly, had he thought of you—truly thought of you—when he chose it? The thought sends a shiver down your spine, one you quickly dismiss with a shake of your head.

Needing a distraction, you rise to refill your glass of wine, letting the chatter of your friends fade into the background as you retreat to the kitchen. You’re pouring a generous amount when you hear the soft creak of footsteps behind you.

“You might need more wine than that if you’re trying to forget about my gift,” Daniel’s voice drawled, the teasing tone unmistakable.

You glance over your shoulder to find him leaning casually against the doorframe, his posture relaxed but his eyes watching you intently.

“I’m not trying to forget it,” you say, turning back to your glass. You lift it to your lips, letting the liquid warm you before continuing. “Just need a little liquid courage.”

“To use it?” he asks as he steps closer, his tone light but laced with insinuation.

You turn fully to face him, narrowing your eyes. “Who says I’m going to use it?”

“It’d be a shame if you didn’t,” he replied smoothly, his smirk deepening.

Your heart skips a beat at his audacity, and before you can stop yourself, you blurt, “do you want me to use it?”

His smirk falters for half a second, replaced by something darker, something unreadable. “You’re always so stressed, so uptight. You’d be doing everyone a favour if you did.”

You roll your eyes, slapping his arm playfully. “I didn’t know my lack of… cumming was a group concern,” you muttered, sarcasm dripping from your voice.

His chuckle is low, almost a hum, but his eyes never leave yours.

Taking a sip of your wine, you decide to lean into the humour of it all. “Thanks for the gift, though,” you say, your tone light, playful. “Maybe this thing will finally do the job, considering everything else I’ve tried has been useless.”

Daniel’s expression shifts, his smirk freezing as his eyebrows lift. “Wait, what?”

Your cheeks flush instantly, and you curse yourself for letting that slip. “Nothing,” you mumble, shaking your head as you try to sidestep him.

But his hand darts out, gently grabbing your wrist and holding you in place. His grip is firm but not forceful, and it sends a jolt of electricity up your arm.

“You’re not getting out of this one,” he says, his voice low, laced with curiosity. “What do you mean by that?”

You groan, tipping your head back in exasperation. “I can’t believe I’m telling you, of all people, this.”

“Hey!” he exclaims, feigning hurt but a moment later, his smirk returns, though it’s softer this time, less mocking and more intrigued.

You bite your lip, debating, but the words tumble out before you can stop them. “It’s not voluntary, okay? I just… I can’t make myself, you know… finish. Not with my fingers, not with toys—nothing works. And I’m not exactly dying to hook up with anyone, either.”

His grip on your wrist loosens slightly, but his thumb brushes against your skin, sending another shiver through you. He’s quiet for a moment, processing, before he lets out a soft chuckle.

“Well,” he starts, his voice dropping an octave, “if that’s the case, you’d better give me a review of my gift once you use it.”

Without thinking, without hesitating, you fire back, “Why don’t you see for yourself if it works?”

The second the words leave your mouth, you realize what you’ve just said. His eyes widen, a flicker of surprise crossing his face, but it’s gone as quickly as it came, replaced by something darker, more intense.

His grip tightens slightly, anchoring you in place. The air between you shifts, thick and charged, and for a moment, you wonder if you’ve gone too far. But then, he steps closer, invading your personal space as his lips graze your ear. 

“Careful,” he whispers, his voice low and dangerous. “I might take you up on that.”

Your breath catches, the weight of his words settling over you like a challenge. And for the first time all night, you’re not sure if this is still a joke—or if you want it to be.

The thought had all but left your mind as the night wore on, the air filled with laughter, the buzz of conversation, and the off-key singing of your friends as they belted out holiday tunes. You’d allowed yourself to relax, to forget about Daniel’s provocative words and the gift itself. The glass of wine you’d poured earlier remained untouched on the countertop—a conscious decision to remain completely sober and avoid any further embarrassment in front of him.

As the night began to wind down, your friends trickled out one by one, each hugging you tightly and thanking you for hosting. The energy shifted, quieter now, though still warm and filled with contentment. One of your friends lingered before leaving, her grin mischievous as she nudged you gently.

“Don’t forget about your gift,” she teased, winking. “Tonight might be the perfect time to use it.” 

You laughed it off, waving her out the door, but her words lingered, stirring something deep inside your chest. As the door closed behind her, you let out a quiet breath and turned back to the living room.

Daniel was still there, gathering stray glasses and stacking plates with a practiced ease that made your stomach twist. He always stayed behind to help, his presence in your space as natural as if he belonged there. 

The last of your friends were slowly trickling out, bidding you their goodbyes with hugs and sleepy smiles. It wasn’t long before it was just you and Daniel, the sound of clinking dishes breaking the comfortable silence.

In the kitchen, you were focused on loading the dishwasher when Daniel came up behind you, balancing a few more plates in his hands. His proximity sent a familiar jolt through you, a rush of awareness that made it impossible to ignore him.

As he set the dishes down beside you, the memory of your earlier moment in the kitchen resurfaced and you felt your cheeks warm at the thought, and you stole a glance at him. It seemed like that moment was on his mind too. His expression was unreadable, but the silence stretched between you, thick and charged.

Neither of you brought it up, though, working side by side until the kitchen was spotless. 

He wandered back to the living room right before you, picking up his leather jacket from the couch. But as he moved to sling it over his arm, his eyes landed on the box still sitting on the cushion—the gift, untouched and glaringly present. His head tilted slightly, his lips curling into a faint, knowing smirk.

You weren’t sure what compelled you to speak up, but the words left your mouth before you could stop them. “I was told I should use it tonight.” 

The moment the confession escaped your lips, heat flared across your face. You busied yourself with fixing the cushions on the couches, avoiding his gaze. 

Daniel chuckled softly, the sound drawing your attention back to him despite yourself. “Is that so?” He picked up the box with his free hand, his movements casual. “Are you going to?” He asked, tone laced with intrigue. 

He dropped his jacket back onto the couch, sliding one hand in his pocket as he waited for your response. Your heart was pounding now, and for the life of you, you couldn’t figure out why you were even entertaining this conversation.

Daniel’s smirk widened as he toyed with the box in his hand, his fingers brushing deliberately over the edge of the packaging. His gaze flicked to you, then back to the box, and with a slow, deliberate step, he started closing the space between you.

“What’s the hesitation, huh?” he asked, his voice smooth, teasing. “Scared it’s not going to work? Or are you scared it will?”

You shot him a glare, though it lacked any real heat. “I’m not scared,” you muttered, your voice betraying the slight tremor in your chest.

“No?” He stepped even closer, the vibrator box now dangling lazily from his hand as his eyes roamed your face, searching for cracks in your resolve. “Then what is it? You just like edging yourself, is that it? Letting yourself get so close you can taste it… then ripping it away?”

Your breath hitched, and you instinctively shook your head, the heat in your cheeks spreading down your neck. “I don’t—”

He cut you off with a low chuckle, taking another step until he was standing directly in front of you, the air between you thick and charged. “No?” he pressed, tilting his head. “You’re telling me you spend your nights wound up tight, desperate, trying to finish but never quite getting there?”

You swallowed hard, your voice barely above a whisper. “I need to,” you admitted, the words spilling out before you could think twice. “I need to cum. So badly.”

Daniel’s smirk deepened, his gaze darkening as his free hand came up to brush a strand of hair away from your face, his touch lingering for just a second too long. “Then you should use it tonight,” he murmured, his voice dipping lower, more intimate. “Get yourself off, let go for once. But…”

He paused, the corner of his mouth twitching as he leaned in closer, his breath warm against your ear. “Maybe what you really need is another pair of hands.”

“Daniel…” you whispered, your voice trembling, unsure if it was a protest or an invitation.

He pulled back just enough to meet your eyes, the teasing smirk never leaving his lips. “Say it,” he said softly, the challenge clear in his tone. “And I’ll make sure you finally get what you need.”

Your breath hitched, and for a moment, time seemed to still. Daniel stood close, so close you could feel the heat radiating off him, his dark eyes locked on yours like he was daring you to make the next move. 

You nodded, the motion small but deliberate, your lips brushing against his as if testing the waters. The faintest whisper escaped you, desperate. “Please, Danny, make me cum.” 

That was all it took.

Daniel surged forward, his hand sliding around the back of your neck as his lips crashed against yours with a force that made your knees weak. The kiss was fiery, intense, and filled with a hunger that had been simmering beneath the surface all night. His other hand dropped the box unceremoniously onto the couch, coming up to grip your jaw, guiding your movements.

You gasped into his mouth as his tongue slipped past your lips, deepening the kiss. Your heart raced as Daniel’s mouth moved against yours, eliciting a hunger from within you that made your knees weak. His tongue teased yours, pulling soft, desperate noises from the back of your throat. 

Daniel’s hands found your waist, steady and firm as he guided you backward until the edge of the couch caught the backs of your knees. A gentle push sent you down onto the cushions, your breath hitching as he towered over you. His gaze, dark and filled with intent, flicked to the discarded box on the couch beside you. Without breaking eye contact, he reached for it, the tearing sound of the packaging loud in the charged silence.

“Go on, sweetheart,” he murmured, his voice low and commanding, sending a shiver down your spine. His fingers worked at the box with practiced ease, pulling out the sleek vibrator that gleamed faintly in the dim light. He held it up for a moment, his smirk deepening as he glanced back at you. “Strip for me,” he said, the words carrying a weight that made your stomach flutter.

Your hands moved instantly, almost on instinct, tugging at the hem of your shirt and pulling it over your head. You fumbled with the waistband of your pants next, your eagerness only adding to the heat building between you. 

Daniel knelt in front of you once you were bare for him. His hands found your ankles, warm and strong, as he pulled your legs over his broad shoulders, his stubble grazing the sensitive skin of your inner thighs. The couch cushions dipped under your weight, but all you could focus on was the way he leaned in, the heat of his breath just inches away from your cunt. 

“Look at you,” he murmured, almost as if speaking to your glistening cunt rather than to you. “So wet already… Were you this desperate before, or is this just for me?”

You opened your mouth to answer, but no words came out. Your throat felt dry, your body so keyed up you could barely breathe. He grinned, clearly pleased by your speechlessness, and leaned in just close enough that his breath ghosted over your folds. The sensation made you shiver, your body straining toward him of its own accord.

His warm breath fanned over your slick heat, and you swore you could feel every word as he spoke. “You’ve been needing this, haven’t you? So worked up, so desperate to let go.”

Your mouth fell open in response, a soft whimper escaping as his fingers slid up your inner thigh, his touch featherlight but enough to make you arch into him. Two fingers came to rest against your folds, spreading you gently. The simple act, something you’d done countless times to yourself, now felt like an entirely new experience under his hands.

He dragged his thumb upward, deliberately brushing against your clit in the faintest tease, a mere suggestion of pressure that sent jolts of electricity racing through you. Your hips bucked involuntarily, a soft, pleading whimper slipping from your lips.

“Daniel,” you breathed, your voice shaky with need. “Please, I need to—”

“Shh,” he interrupted, his tone smooth, teasing. His lips curled into a smirk as his thumb circled your clit again, just barely grazing the swollen nub. “Needy, aren’t you?” He chuckled softly, the sound reverberating through you. “You’ve been so patient. Let me enjoy this for a moment.”

Your head fell back against the couch, your thighs trembling over his shoulders. The teasing was excruciating, his touch featherlight and agonizingly slow, keeping you on the edge without giving you the relief you so desperately craved. Another whine escaped you, and he chuckled again, clearly amused by your desperation.

“Do you know how pretty you sound when you beg?” he murmured, his voice low and rich. “But don’t worry. That’s what I’m here for. Me and this little gift of mine.”

Before you could respond, Daniel leaned in, his warm breath ghosting over your core before his tongue dragged a slow, deliberate stripe along your folds. The sudden wet heat of his mouth made you gasp, your back arching off the couch as he pulled back with a hum of satisfaction.

“Sweet,” he muttered, his lips brushing against your inner thigh as he spoke. “Perfect.”

Your chest heaved as you tried to catch your breath, but there was no time to recover. He brought the vibrator into view, the sleek toy gleaming in the dim light. “Let’s see how well this works, hmm?”

He pressed the tip of the vibrator against your clit, still teasing, still maddeningly light. Then, with a click, he turned it on. The sudden vibration against your sensitive flesh was like a jolt of electricity, and you cried out, your hips jerking upward as pleasure shot through your body.

The sensation was familiar yet utterly foreign, amplified by the fact that you weren’t in control. You didn’t know what was coming next, couldn’t anticipate his movements, and it left you completely at his mercy.

Daniel pressed the vibrator more firmly against your clit, his eyes fixed on your face as he watched your reactions with a wicked grin. “Feels good, doesn’t it?” he asked, his voice thick with satisfaction. “You’re so sensitive, love. Look at how you’re shaking.”

Your legs quivered over his shoulders, your body trembling under the relentless stimulation. Just when you thought it couldn’t get more intense, his fingers returned, parting your folds once more. The wetness there made it easy for him to slide one finger inside you, then another, the intrusion smooth and deliberate.

You moaned loudly, your hands clutching at the couch cushions as the dual sensations overwhelmed you. The vibrator against your clit and his fingers inside you created a perfect rhythm, each movement pushing you closer to the edge.

“Daniel,” you gasped, your voice breaking as the pressure built inside you, coiling tighter and tighter.

The vibrator hummed steadily against your clit, Daniel’s fingers curling inside you with a precision that made your back arch. The pressure built higher and higher, and you trembled, caught between the unbearable pleasure and the tension coiling in your stomach.

This was always the point where you faltered, the moment where the pleasure grew so overwhelming, so maddeningly close, only to slip away. Every time you’d done this to yourself, your fingers had failed to push you past that invisible barrier. It was like chasing a mirage, just out of reach, leaving you frustrated and aching for more.

The memory of all those failed attempts made your chest tighten. You bit your lip, your moans softening, and Daniel noticed the subtle shift in your body. His movements slowed slightly, and his dark eyes flicked up to your face.

“Hey, pretty girl,” he murmured, his voice smooth and commanding, yet somehow soothing. His fingers stilled inside you for a moment, and he leaned in closer, brushing his lips against your thigh. “Don’t go shy on me now. I can feel how close you are.”

You whimpered, your lips parting to speak, but Daniel didn’t give you the chance. His grin turned wicked as his fingers curled again, this time pressing deep against a spot that had your breath catching in your throat.

“Look at you,” he rasped, his voice low and filthy. “Dripping for me. You’re so tight, sweetheart—so desperate to let go. Don’t fight it. You’re mine to ruin tonight.”

The vibrator pressed harder against your clit as he notched up the intensity. The sensation made you cry out, your hips bucking against his hand, but Daniel held you firm, his grip possessive.

“You’re not going anywhere,” he stated, his tone dark and teasing. “Not until I’ve wrung every last bit of that tension out of you. I want to feel you shake for me, hear you scream my name.”

His fingers thrust into you with deliberate precision, and he leaned in closer, his breath hot against your cunt. “You’re going to cum for me, sweetheart,” he said, his voice dripping with sin. “And when you do, you’re going to fucking thank me for it.”

The vibrator buzzed relentlessly against your clit, and his fingers kept up their steady rhythm, hitting a spot that constantly made you see stars. Your body writhed on the couch, every nerve on fire, as the pleasure built to an unbearable peak.

“You like that, don’t you?” Daniel’s voice was a low growl, his lips brushing against your trembling thigh. “Being completely at my mercy? Taking exactly what I give you? That’s it, pretty girl. Stop thinking. Just feel me.”

His words broke through your haze of overthinking, and you let go, surrendering completely. The coil inside you snapped, sending you spiraling into an orgasm so intense it left you shaking, his name spilling from your lips like a prayer.

Daniel stayed with you through it, his touch unrelenting but steady, drawing out every wave of pleasure until you were left trembling, spent, and utterly undone beneath him.

Your chest heaved as you tried to catch your breath, your thighs trembling over Daniel’s broad shoulders. The vibrator slowed but didn’t stop, sending smaller, teasing jolts through your sensitive clit. His fingers withdrew carefully, and you whimpered at the loss, your body still pulsing from the aftershocks.

He straightened, his hands gripping your thighs firmly as he lowered your legs from his shoulders, guiding them down to wrap around his hips instead. Rising to his full height, Daniel moved onto the couch, the cushions dipping under his weight as he hovered over you. 

“You’re a fucking masterpiece,” he murmured, his voice deep and rough as he braced one arm on the back of the couch, the other trailing down to grip your jaw gently. “Look at you, trembling for me. Completely wrecked—and I’m not even close to being done with you.” 

His gaze was magnetic, holding yours captive as his lips hovered just above yours, a breath away. The heat of his body pressed against yours, his hips brushing yours in a way that made you gasp, your body instinctively arching toward him despite your exhaustion.

Your eyes widened as his words registered, your mind spinning as his intentions became clear. A fresh wave of heat pooled in your stomach, your body responding despite how utterly spent you felt.

“Oh, that’s right, sweetheart,” Daniel said, his lips curling into a wicked, filthy grin. “I’m going to make up for all those times you had to edge yourself, all the times you were so fucking close but couldn’t quite get there. That’s over now.”

He dipped his head, brushing his lips along the curve of your jaw, his stubble scraping against your heated skin and leaving a delicious burn in its wake. His hand slid down your body, fingers grazing your waist before gripping your thigh possessively. “You’re going to cum on my fingers again, on my tongue, on my cock—over and over until you’re wrecked, until you can’t even remember what it felt like to want more. I’ll make sure you’re completely satisfied, sweetheart.”

His teeth grazed the shell of your ear, his voice dropping even lower, rough with desire. “And I won’t stop until you’re a mess beneath me, begging for mercy or for more.” 

Taglist: @lilorose25 @thenotoriouserg @a-distantdreamer @leclercsluvs @fat-meh @wintxr-widow @amirahart @alishamai @rendezvoushn

[absolutebl]

MY BEST & WORST BLs of 2024

My Top 10 BLs of 2024 are (in order)

1 Cosmetic Playlover

Japan Gaga

I love this little show. It's a classic office BL about the older workaholic who loves his job and the younger upstart who unexpectedly loves his boss.

It’s a hyung romance where everybody is extremely earnest and sweet and pretty about everything. Except our seme, who is slightly unhinged and a little obsessed in all the ways one likes best from Japan. Utterly charming unexpected gem of a show. What fun!

Already in hard rewatch territory.

2 Love For Love's Sake

Korea iQIYI trigger suiside

KBL isekai about a man who must win a game by convincing a reserved teen outcast to fall in love with him. Of course, that teen represents himself and his own unhappiness. Like many queer narratives, this show is actually about self worth, trust, and found family, and it is VERY on the nose. But I don’t expect subtlety from my BL and I enjoyed it's truly lovely redemption arc and earnest performances. The narrative tension is tight, and the pacing is killer.

That said, I did find the flow a touch disjointed with overworked filming angles and poorer than average captions, but the consistency of tone, script, and immersion is spectacular, beyond the norm for BL (even KBL). You will drown in this show and like it that way. The leads have fantastic chemistry and it's ultimately highly rewatchable and utterly charming, which counts for a lot.

3 Unknown

Taiwan YouTube

Unknown is a wonderful BL with a pitch perfect portrayal of long term pining, age gap, and the stepbrothers trope. The acting and chemistry are ON POINT (especially from the leads) which made the resulting characters very believable.

When it dwells in intimate family drama, it's stunning. It's slightly less successful when it leaves the home and goes gritty. It's few flaws are the result of curtailed length. It could have used more breathing room to deal with side plots, characters, and companion character development. The editing was occasionally choppy and packed with flashbacks that broke the emotional tension. Still, those are mere quibbles for me. This is an excellent show based on one of my favorite old school BL tropes that I know I'm going to be recommending for a long time.

4 We Are

Thai iQIYI

I unabashedly loved show. It was slow to find its stride (I didn’t get into it until ep 6!) but I’m so glad I gave it a chance. It’s a soft ensemble piece with multiple couples and very little plot, but I didn’t care because it’s not trying to be anything more substantial.

Essentially, this was a series of vignettes covering one year of uni for a queer friendship group finding love, new friends, and laughter. It’s not being harsh with us or it’s characters the way some offerings of this ilk have been (side eyes Friend Zone and Only Friends) nor did it tumble into Gen Y chaos. In fact, this reminded me more than anything of a refined Love Sick - just with older characters and occurring within a genre that has matured over this last decade. It has that close queer friendship group meets earnest gentleness that made me adore Love Sick and Make It Right so much.

In other words, this was Thai BL at its finest, finding it roots again 10 years on, but also stretching upwards and showing us what it could do with that original seed. So? I adored it. Did it blow my mind? No. But it left me smiling and made me belly laugh quite a bit.

5 Cherry Magic (Thai remake)

Thai grey

A soft charming warm hug of a show about crushes and mind reading and self worth that really worked for me. With no-fuss execution from a consummate team and an OG lead pair (proving why they remain eternal and deserve to grow up).

Look, here’s the thing, Cherry Magic is a great Thai BL in its own right - not comparing it to any other iteration. But even when I do compare (and I've seen all the Cherries and read the manga) it stands strong.

I, personally, like the Thai BL slightly better than the Japanese live action yaoi, but I think that’s because I just really enjoy Thai BL's style and I LOVE TayNew (who may be my favorite OG branded pair still in operation). Also all the kissing was both present and better in this version. As it should be from Thailand.

Highly recommended.

6 Wandee Goodday

Thai YouTube

Such a FUN show. A charming quintessentially modern Thai BL about a doctor and a boxer who start as a one night stand and then fall in love. Great rep for everything from Muay Thai, to safe sex, to FUN sex, to ace, to bisexuality, to smiley kisses, to the first legal gay wedding in a Thai BL.

It’s a delight and I enjoyed (almost) every single moment of it. With out question it's best traits are active positive representations of green flag boys, communication, and grown-up relationships but the chemistry is ALSO on point. I personally can't (and don't) ask for much more than this from my BL.

Highly recommended as one of 2024's best pick-me-ups.

7 The Sign

Thai YouTube

This show is literally everything (except straight) all at once. It's BL, queer, band of brothers, romcom, erotica, PNR, fated mates, police procedural, fantasy, mystery, suspense, and slasher. It’s the king of genre mash-up chaos. Sure, it's madness but there is genius in it.

Was it a crazy unhinged mess +1 roll for damage? Yes. Yes it was.

Did it manage to hold all those tangled threads together? No it did not.

Was it also a charming, sexy, engaging, non-stop piece of entertainment? Sure thing.

I think this show is basically my KinnPorsche, and frankly I’ve been chasing that dragon naga since KP aired.

Is it perfect? No. But it was balls to the wall FUN.

Emphasis on balls.

8 Century of Love

Thai Gaga

This is a very pretty drama about a young man who fell in love with a nice girl 100 years ago, and when she died in his arms, he was cursed to live until he could meet her reborn self. Only this time around, she’s reborn into the body of a man. Or is she?

I love it when Thailand gets all up in its own historical business and reincarnation and shizz. I like this pair (it’s not DaouOffroad’s fault I didn’t enjoy their first series.) Daou’s wushu is snazzy and we got a unique meet cute. (Erm… Remeet cute? Meet cute 2.0?)

Ultimately, this is I Feel You Linger in the Air + First Love Again, rather than (as one might expect) Until We Meet Again or The Director Who Buys Me Dinner.

The leads turned in great performances, although Daou outclassed everybody else on that screen by making us really believe he's over 100 years old.

It’s a good story and a great BL and I can’t find any major faults with it beyond a certain level of camp that is sadly endemic to lakorns. I’m going to give it credit as the kind of BL that one could safely recommend to lovers of melodrama and historical romance, without having to qualify it as “good for a BL.”

It was, to put it succinctly, a VERY ENJOYABLE show.

9 Sugar Dog Life

Japan grey

This is a phenomenally charming and adorable little romance about a forlorn university kid and the police officer who adopts him. They are relentlessly kind to each other, in fact it’s an extremely kindly show over all (everyone in it is so nice to everyone else including us) so there’s very little tension. But what it lacks in drive, angst, and complexity it makes up for in earnest acts of service and simple affection.

These two are basically boyfriends from the get-go, it’s just one of them acts like it and doesn’t realize it and the other one realizes it and has to figure out how to make it a reality. It’s incredibly sweet and incredibly wholesome, nourishing but delicious.

Everybody who can, should watch this show. It will make you feel better about life.

10 The Rebound

Thai iQIYI

I am well aware that objectively this show was, erm, NOT good. But this was a sports romance Thai BL pulp with everything I could have asked for given this sub genre. More, actually, since MeenPing are both great basketball players and the team component really did form part of the connective tissue of the show (vital in a sports romance IMHO since these are band-of-brothers narratives).

Meen has his shirt off within the first two minutes which is all I needed but he's still pretty great as the sullen secret-keeper against Ping's cheerful survivor - childhood sweethearts torn asunder and now reunited. Then Frank sweeps in to give everyone a bad case of second lead syndrome.

I always try to judge BL for what it is AS BL, and what it’s trying to do within its own territory and purview. This did exactly what it claimed on the tin: gay boys play b-ball and fall in love. That was all I wanted from it. Sure there was random kidnapping and a light bought of mass murder, but what’s a BL in 2024 without a touch of the mafia? You do you little pulp, I’m disposed to be pleased.

These BLs all got 9/10s from me. Unlike in 2023, I did not hand out any 10/10 to any BLs in 2024.

The 13 BLs That I DNFed in 2024

(no particular order)

7 Days Before Valentine

Bad Guy My Boss

Bad to Bed

Beside You

Close Friend 3 Soju Bomb

Happy of the End

Kiseki Chapter 2

My Universe: Refund Love

Ossans Love – Season 2 (5 years later)

Playboyy

The Hidden Moon

The Whisperer

Time the series

You can consider these my "worst BLs of 2024." I am no longer a BL completest, too many aired in 2023 and it broke me. I now DNF all whenever I feel like it.

Codicil

I only carefully track/watch Thailand, Taiwan, Korea, and Japan. Other countries are not fully represented.

2024 - My Numbers

So my spreadsheet chronicled 109 BLs that finish airing in 2024 (down substantially from 138 last year). Japan has increased production slightly (length and consistency), Taiwan stayed steady, but Korea cut back - as did Vietnam, the Philippines, and Thailand.

73 = watched & reviewed (almost 30 less than 2023! I fell off the wagon in a big way)

3 = I'm still thinking about watching/finishing (4Minutes, Blue Canvas of Youthful Days, Spare Me Your Mercy)

20 = CNF (could not find)

13 = DNF (which accounts for how few very low scores I handed out, I just stopped watching). Speaking of which...

Ratings spread

(# of stars. & # of BLs given that rating)

0 (see DNFs instead)

1 - IT'S DEPRESSING they killed the gay, save yourself

1 - I DON'T KNOW WHAT I AM WATCHING AND NEITHER DOES IT

3 - FATALLY FLAWED but still basically BL, however… do we want to support this kind of behavior?

3 - WATCH IF YOU HAVE NOTHING BETTER TO DO but don’t expect much, it’s a total hot mess

9 - WORTH WATCHING BUT FLAWED probably around the ending or in narrative structure/cohesion or censorship

24 - RECOMMENDED WITH RESERVATIONS i.e. isn’t quite BL, convoluted, not strictly HEA, too short/long, or chemistry issues

22 - RECOMMENDED some concerns around tropes (like dub con) or story structure but still satisfies as BL

10 - ABSOLUTELY RECOMMENDED probably a few pacing issues or one flaw

0 - HIGHLY RECOMMENDED faithful to tropes, happy ending, good chemistry, few flaws, high rewatch potential

Favorite 2024 call out?

The Sign's nod to UWMA

Most adorable meta moment of 2024?

Wandee Goodday

Most stunning execution of a traditional trope in 2024.

Began Beginning (the shoulder lean)

(source)

[scautism]

In The Pines, Alice Notley/X-Men #129/Norwegian Wood, Haruki Murakami/X-Men: The Search for Cyclops #4, Joseph Harris/THE TRAGIC HERO UPON REACHING THE END OF THE SCRIPT REALIZES HE HAS BEEN DEAD THE WHOLE TIME, Joan Tierney/Phoenix Resurrection: The Return of Jean Grey #5, Matthew Rosenberg/Poppies In July, Sylvia Plath

[tinytalkingtina]

Hook, Line, & Sinker

Rated T | 1.3k words | Ao3 link

Part 2 of this waterpark 90's AU that fulfills the "Atlantis" Mermay Bingo fill for @stmonstercalendar

Buckingham Fic | [Steddie Fic]

Tags: pre-Steddie, College/90's/no UD AU, Amusement parks, Tourguide/Pirate Eddie, Merman Steve, Chrissy & Eddie friendship, Queer Eddie and Steve, Confident Steve, Eddie has a crush on Steve, Mutual Pining, Getting Together, no one except Chrissy is safe from silly themed outfits in this AU

Author's notes and bingo card are under the cut!

Eddie ushered his latest tour group out of the building that housed the sharks, blinking as they went from semi-darkness into the bright July sun. If he was walking just a teeny tiny bit faster than the recommended speed, no one here was going to tell. It was time for his favorite part of the day and this fanny-packed crowd was not going to make him late.

“Okay ladies and gents, boys and girls! Today, you’ve met playful penguins, daring dolphins, and even spoooooky sharks! But now, you’re about to see something you’ve never laid eyes on before. Yes, including you Dustin. Nope, really, I promise!” Eddie kept his customer service smile on as he stared daggers at this group’s resident smarty pants and his encyclopedic knowledge of marine life. Stupid kid kept trying to upstage him.

“These fantastic creatures were once thought to be only legends and fairy tale myths. But one day, the fearsome pirate Blackbeard discovered a hidden cove in the Caribbean where these mysterious creatures still lived in the ruins of the fabled sunken city of Atlantis. He told them all about his hometown of Sand Beach, in the wonderful land of Pennsylvania. These creatures were wowed and amazed by his stories. They begged Blackbeard to bring them back with him so they could live in Pennsylvania too. And so, even today, Sand Beach is home to its very own pod of mermaids!”

As he said his last sentence, Eddie threw open the doors to the arena that housed the mermaid show, finally breaking out into a real smile.

Sure, his “tour guide” pirate outfit, with its goofy fake beard and hook hand was humiliating and made up of the most suffocating fabrics known to man. The script he followed five times a day was full of cheesy jokes and terrible puns. And his groups were made up of the dumbest people alive. Honestly it was a miracle half of them pointed their polaroids in the right direction.

But it wasn’t all bad. Instead of getting dirty looks from families, his tattoos helped sell the whole pirate schtick better. Hell, he was even allowed to wear his rings and bandana! Plus he had free admission to the penguin feeding by bringing his groups along (as Chrissy often reminded him with her sad puppy dog pout).

And of course, he got a front row seat to the mermaid spectacular five times a day.

In the privacy of his own mind, Eddie could admit that his employers had gotten one thing in this horrible shrine to capitalism right.

The arena was still impressive to look at, even after hundreds of tours. It spanned two stories: one above the water, and one below. Panes of glass set into the bottom layer allowed visitors to see the whole pool, no matter where the actor swam to. The fluorescent rocks and corals dotted throughout drew the eye, and more than once, Eddie had dreamt how good a dip into those blue-green waters would feel after walking around the park’s paths all day.

Just as he managed to get his group seated, tinny speakers stuttered to life and began to play a jaunty naval-themed tune: It was time for the show to begin. Eddie’s heart beat faster in anticipation of seeing him again.

One by one, the mermaids appeared, decked out in bright colorful tails and waterproof makeup to match. Each one was “more lovely than the last!” as the announcer proclaimed. Except that wasn’t true. Because Mermaid #5, with his fire engine-red tail, was the only one Eddie had eyes for.

As he swam around, Mermaid #5’s blonde-highlighted hair swirled in the current. It made the perfect halo for his beautiful face, with it’s strong nose, sparkling eyes, and infectiously warm smile. From his vantage point in the arena, Eddie could just make out moles dotted all over his mermaid’s body. And, oh , what a body! Mermaid #5 wasn’t jacked up with bulging muscles like Schwarzeneggger. No, he was all lean lines from swimming strapped into a tail all day. He even had visible abs from some angles, like when he was picking up and tossing another mermaid to fly and flip in the air. Eddie swallowed a sigh. Surely, Mermaid #5 had to be the prettiest boy in the world.

And the prettiest boy in the world would never know how smitten he was. Eddie was too much of a coward to even ask around for the guy’s name, much less strike up a conversation. Sure, the sparkling stud Mermaid #5 wore in his ear was promising, but the guy had to already be taken by someone (that hypothetical lucky bastard).

Which meant he’d have to be content with pining from afar and bemoaning his fate to Chrissy evening after evening. Not that she was any help, egging on his hopeless crush and laughing at how he tripped over himself to hide whenever he spotted anyone with frosted tips coming his way.

The music got faster and faster as the climax to the show approached. Swimming in sync now, the mermaids performed their final tricks then finished in a photogenic pose on the rocks. As he normally did, Eddie’s kept his gaze firmly on Mermaid #5’s biceps holding himself up. Except this time, Mermaid #5 caught him staring. Pushing back his hair with one hand like an adonis emerging from the sea, the guy gave him a little wave with the other, waggling his fingers around like an absolute dork. Eddie didn’t spontaneously combust in response, but it was a close thing.

He tried to wave back, but his rings of course took that moment to get caught in his hair. After disentangling himself, he dared to take another peek at the pretty guy. Darn it, even Mermaid #5’s laughter was attractive: With his head thrown back all of his neck moles were on full biteable display.

And now Eddie had even less of a chance with him than before. Red-faced, he turned around and focused on ushering his group out. At least Dustin’s indignant rant about how mermaids couldn’t possibly be real was something Eddie could handle. The righteous fury of a smart ten year old was so much easier than whatever cycle of pathetic gay longing he was trapped in.

For the rest of his tours that day Eddie knew he was off his A-game. Not that the tourists could tell, but he’d gotten a concerned look or three from the zookeepers and character actors.

He didn’t relax until the park finally said goodbye to its last straggler and the gates officially closed that night. Distracted as he was tearing off the itchy beard and trying to get out of his sweat-soaked pirate’s coat with one hand, he nearly misse d the note falling out of his locker.

Without any suspicion, Eddie picked it up from where it had fluttered to the floor. Maybe Chrissy needed him to pick up dinner tonight instead, or she’d been asked out on a date by a townie. At least one of them deserved to have some fun this summer. But once he opened the note he nearly dropped it in shock:

Dear Pirate,

I’ve seen you staring at every show, it’s cute. If you want to stop pining from the stands, this merman would be happy to be a part of your world. Call me if you want to find out what my thighs look like, because I want to know what’s underneath that beard.

-Steve

At the bottom of the note was a scribbled phone number, holy shit .

Eddie rushed out of the park that night with a manic grin. He had a date to set up and a merman to woo.

Many thanks to @firefly-graphics for the divider!

Author's notes

-This park is an unholy combination of a bunch of different parks, but takes place near where Hershey's amusement park in Hershey PA is. Sand Beach is the name of a town next to Hershey

-Yes, Steve will cringe when he looks at old photos of himself with frosted tips twenty years from now. Eddie will still privately think it was hot

-Weeki Wachee Springs State Park has had a mermaid show since 1947, and this is what I partially based Pirate World's stadium on. I just took some liberties with the amount of athletics expected of the mermaid actors in this AU!

[purplemountain]

UNSPOKEN (말하지 않은)

genre: romance, slow-burn, fluff, angst, sexual tension, mutual pining

This is a story between Woo Chaewoon (Ju Jihoon) from Blood Free and Hong Haein (Kim Jiwon) from Queen of Tears

The undercover bodyguard and the chaebol heiress.

Woo Chaewoon was sent with one mission—get close to Chairman Hong, gain his trust, and uncover the secrets buried beneath Queens Group. But everything went off-script when the chairman, without warning, reassigned him as Hong Haein’s personal bodyguard.

Haein wasn’t just cold—she was ice itself. Sharp words, dismissive glances, and an iron-clad wall that no one dared to cross. “I don’t need a watchdog,” she told him on the first day, barely sparing him a glance. “Just stay out of my sight.” Her voice was clipped, her tone indifferent.

Chaewoon didn’t flinch. He met her gaze with the same level of calm he always carried. “Understood.” He said simply.

But he didn’t. He was always there—silently opening car doors, intercepting aggressive reporters, shielding her from prying eyes. She hated it at first. The way he was always watching, always within reach. But then came the moments she couldn’t ignore. The way he handed her warm tea on late, exhausting nights. How he stood in the pouring rain, waiting for her car to arrive, not moving an inch despite being drenched. The steady, unshaken presence that never demanded anything from her—just stayed.

She started to notice things. The way his eyes softened when she was exhausted. How his voice, always neutral, carried a quiet sincerity whenever he spoke to her. The way his hands, calloused yet careful, always seemed to steady her before she event realized she was faltering.

Chaewoon noticed things too. The way she laughed—real laughter—when she thought no one was watching. The tired loneliness in her eyes when the world wasn’t looking. The way her coldness wasn’t indifference, but armor.

He shouldn’t care. He was a spy, an outsider. But every time he called her name, every time she let her guard down just a little, he knew—his mission was no longer as simple as it once was. It was in the way his pulse slowed when he knew she was safe. The way he memorized his habits without meaning to—the slight furrow of her brows when she was deep in thought, the way she stirred her tea exactly three time before drinking it, and the way he started noticing the way her gaze softens when their eyes meet.

And when Haein, without thinking, grabbed his wrist one night, stopping him from leaving—her grip hesitant but firm—he realized she was beginning to see him too.

And that? That was more dangerous than any mission he had ever taken.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

CHAPTER LIST

Chapter 1: A Thorn in Her Side

Chapter 2: Day One - Unwelcome Presence

Chapter 3: Cracks in the Ice

Chapter 4: In His Care

Chapter 5: A Quiet Moment

Chapter 6: Curiosities

Chapter 7: Rain, Candy, and Curiosty

Chapter 8: The Sound of Rain and Heartbeat

Chapter 9: Almost on the Line

Chapter 10: A Worry He Couldn't Name

Chapter 11: An Unwelcomed Familiar Face

Special Chapter 1: Her Dress and His Necktie

Special Chapter 2: An Intimate Moment (Sneak Peek)

______________________________________________________________

Might actually make this into a full-length fanfiction with 10-20 chapters at most. I already have drafts but I still need to polish them. But idk we'll see :')

[mintywolf]

A Long Road Home - Page 108 Author's Notes

Page 108

In an earlier draft of the script there was another page in between this and the last one, mainly dwelling on that they are in fact still lost, cold, and hungry in the wilderness.

---

Panel 1: In a little alcove in the rock face, formed partly by the fallen ruins of a massive carved statue. Imogen is huddled by a fitful campfire, wrapped in blankets and both of their cloaks. Laudna is steadying a cup for her to drink as she's shivering too badly to hold it without spilling.

Panel 2: Laudna sits up with her back against the statue, keeping watch and resting her hands on Imogen while she sleeps with her head in her lap.

Panel 3: The next morning. Imogen wakes to find her still sitting in the same position.

Imogen: Mornin' already? Laudna, why didn't you wake me? I could've kept watch too.

Panel 4: Closer on Laudna, who is staring vacantly ahead with her eyes half closed.

Imogen: Laudna?

Panel 5: Imogen sits up. Laudna shakes herself awake, coming slowly back to herself.

Laudna: Oh . . . good morning.

Imogen: Didn't you sleep at all?

Laudna: No, I . . . wasn't tired.

Panel 6: Imogen watches bleakly as Laudna pours hot water from their kettle onto some pine needles to make tea, absently chewing on a leather strap of her haversack. There's nothing else.

---

I ended up cutting it for the sake of conciseness as well as clarity. Both here and in the parallel plot arc in Come In From the Cold it’s becoming apparent that Laudna is Struggling. In the fic it’s because she’s been taking care of Imogen at the expense of herself, and while that’s also true here, what’s really going on is an internal conflict with Delilah (evidenced by the abrupt failure of her magic at a crucial moment, and also I believe what was meant to be the reason she’s afraid of sleeping in the deleted scenes) that’s getting ready to boil over. So I felt like additional scenes of her neglecting herself for the sake of Imogen’s survival muddied that message a little.

[trading-attitude]

🚀Analyse technique NVIDIA, TESLA et GOOGLE - Faut-il acheter ?

[alexander-arcturus-black-lupin-r]

FBI!Spencer Reid x Fem Reader aka ✨️DAY 5✨️

You didn't know what was wrong with you. Derek and Spencer were nearby arguing about something and you were just staring, not at Derek. But at Spencer. You're eyes roved over his FBI vest and his askew glasses and messy hair.

The nerd looked so fucking fine.

You felt your throat constrict at the vulgar things playing in your head.

You stop your staring as you head over to your car for a drink, to cool down. When all of a sudden you're pined to the car, you try to remember your FBI training when the person whispers in your ear.

"Did you really think I didn't notice." Spencer

You're core was burning at the very position, Spencer moved his leg forward having his knee in your crotch. . All you could think about was how long you would last if he looked at you. You were actually very ready to cum in your pants.

Spencer knew what he was doing, his knee grinding against you, suddenly he stopped. He moved back and you turned watching him watch you.

"What are you doing," you ask your voice betraying your need. All he did was hum in response. Then he took out his phone and typed something fast. Your phone pinged.

It was the group chat.

Spencer: Our little Miss Detective isn't feeling well so I'm taking her home.

Derek is typing.

Derek: 👌🏾

JJ: Aww poor babyyy

Hotch: Ok

You looked up from your phone watching Spencer.

All he did was smirk.

Your phone pinged again.

Spencer: Do you guys mind if I stayed with her?

JJ: ABSOLUTELY NOT YOU USE YOUR GENIUS BRAIN AND HELP HER

Derek: You heard the miss

Hotch: It would be beneficial. You are dismissed.

Suddenly the door behind you swung open.

"Sit,"

Along side the Ghostface Spencer hope y'all enjoy

@controversialkattyluv

@bunny-script

@futuremrsreid

@nan0p0d

[stagefoureddiediaz]

Go with me here - I have thoughts!

So I’ve been thinking about this since we got the stills, of both Buck and tommy at the loft, but also the divorcing couple, but then the quote from Tim got me feeling more convinced than ever!

Tim has revealed quite a lot in this quote - it confirms that whatever it is is about Tommy and about the BuckTommy relationship - its not about other outside things - there are only a couple of things that that could mean.

I don’t think it’s going to be about Abby - but I do think she is relevant! I’m very much still sticking with my theory that Tommy is an alt version of Buck and things are feeling more and more like this is in fact the case. See if Tommy is alt Buck then we have some very interesting parallels and contrasts to explore, especially around the part of my theory that BuckTommy is a reversion of the BuckAbby relationship - only this time, Buck is in the same place as Abby - so the one who wants out of the relationship whilst not knowing how to actually end said relationship.

Buck and Abbys relationship was Bucks entry level relationship into the concept of actually dating and being with someone - not just for sex - but for them as a whole person. Tommy has been described by Tim in the same way - as an entry level queer relationship for Buck. Buck is the main character here, so he needs to show growth and development - so putting him into the same place Abby was - having him figure out how to end things on his own terms - talking to his family and actually recognising what it is he wants - showing us that on screen -that would be a good thing.

Say we get a inadvertent confession from Tommy early on in the episode - where Tommy implies that he was interested in Eddie first - pursuing Eddie before he switched to Buck - just as a throw away comment that can be read in multiple ways, but is enough to send Buck spiralling and seeking the advice of Bobby and of Maddie and Josh - everything then ‘becomes clear’ later on towards the end of the episode when Tommy fully reveals and confirms that he was into Eddie not Buck. It makes complete sense to play it in parallel to Buck Abby - it’s the way it creates a spiral that allows Buck to avoid Tommy for a short period so that he doesn’t have to start thinking about his own feelings at the start of their relationship - he doesn’t have to confront the fact that he might’ve got things wrong and that it wasn’t Tommy he was feelings things for - he was threatened by Tommy - because he posed a threat to Bucks relationship with Eddie - and if that is the case then Buck has to face up to the reality of his feelings for Eddie - that they are not actually platonic.

Ultimately Buck will realise he’s got to end things with Tommy and give himself the space to work out the Eddie of it all - that it’s not fair to be in a relationship he can’t fully give himself to. It gives him the closure he never really got from Abby when she left him and gives him a large amount of growth and it also gives us pining Buck as we head into Hiatus and when we start 8b.

I’m not just pulling this out of thin air either - there are a few things that back up my theory from a costume and set perspective - and from a script and directorial perspective too.

Firstly we have divorcing couple storyline - a man quite literally spilling his guts - a man who it seems from the episode blurb, doesn’t want a divorce. He is wearing a plaid check suit jacket - which mirrors the plaid we have seen Tommy wearing so far this season - and ties into the suit jacket at the end of Episode 5. The ex wife is wearing yellow and blue - the Buck and Eddie colours (see mine or @lover-of-mine ‘s many metas on the subject of blue and yellow and Buck and Eddie!) the set of that scene is also heavily yellow blue coded - the painting on the wall especially.

Then we have the fact that Tommy has been located in the exact same place as Eddie was in the coming out scene from 705 - and wearing Black - I think its really really ket that we note this fact - mirroring that scene is a very loud directorial, set and costuming choice. Tommy is meant to mirror Eddie from that 705 scene - Eddie is making his own confessions in that scene - he is basically figuring out how to break up with Marisol because he didn’t know this big thing about her (and that big thing is hitting a bit too close to home for Eddie) and we get a whole thing about buck and tommy having the right idea - to just hang out with the boys etc. Eddie basically reverts on his plans to end things with Marisol when Buck makes his own confession.

So we have a scene about confessions in an episode called confessions paralleling a scene about confessions in an episode called you don’t know me - that is a choice - a very intentional one. Plus there is the fact that Tommy is sat in Eddie’s seat saying he thought Eddie was gay would be really great paralleling to Eddie taking Bucks coming out to mean for him to fix things with Marisol because Buck had become available and unavailable to Eddie. Eddie now has the knowledge that Buck was an option, but that he’s not available as an option. So a Tommy confession that plays into the buddie of it all both helps the queer Eddie arc along as well as driving Bucks arc forward - creating a big enough hurdle for Buck to chose to end the relationship, but also a hurdle that the relationship could successfully navigate its way over if both parties wanted to.

The thing is - Bucks costume tells us all we need to know about which direction this will ultimately go in - he is wearing Blue in the scene with Eddie - the one time he actively chooses to come out to someone (the fact its Eddie is telling all on its own) - and that specific blue is very heavily connected to Bucks journey in figuring himself out - who he is and what he wants in his life - its a colour very much tied to Eddie - he wears that shade of blue in Eddie heavy scenes - and tends to wear different shades of blue in connection with other characters (look at my s6 costume metas for more on the subject!) The fact that buck is in green for this upcoming Tommy scene is an indicator that the relationship is nearing its end - Buck wears green when relationships end - this bears out all the way back to season 1 - he is wearing a green plaid shirt at the airport when Abby leaves to go to Europe. Buck doesn’t wear green all that much and like I have said in a previous post - the darker greens are always connected to break ups. All this is showing us that Eddie is the right person and Tommy is the wrong one.

And then we have the lighting and the set. The lighting is starkly different - we. Have the warm yellows and low light levels of the Buck and Eddie scene from 705 while this Buck and tommy scene is brightly lit and the light is cool toned. This does two things - in the Buck Eddie scene it created intimacy and warmth - it allows the confessions from both of them to read as being important but ultimately changes little in their relationship - it remains intimate and warm - as the hug backs up. In contrast the Buck tommy scene illuminates everything - its not intimate - it is harsh and revealing - the lighting gives no place to hide and the cool tones play into the cooling of the relationship - it will be interesting to see if the direction of the scene also plays into this - the Buck Eddies scene we saw the distance between them narrow and end in the hug before Eddie departs. My expectation is that this Buck Tommy scene will either maintain a distance between them that doesn’t really close - or it will show the distance increasing between them as the scene progresses.

We have lots of threes in the set design for this Buck Tommy scene too - the three jars in front of Buck, there appears to be 3 baseball caps on the coat rack and we’re have the three coloured jackets on the coat rack as well.

The three jackets are basically the writing on the wall for the relationship. They are saying so much while they just hang out there behind Tommy in seemingly innocuous fashion. Their meaning becomes even louder now we know that Eddie is going to be in yellow this episode. Buck is the blue jacket and Tommy is the green one - they are together right now like those jackets are hung together, but the yellow jacket - on it s own on the other side of Tommys head is there waiting. The yellow jacket is Eddie. The green one is in between the yellow and blue - in the same way Tommy is in between Buck and Eddie .

Blue and green represent a break up in Buck terms and with the green jacket being the same colour as bucks shirt - it is saying that the break up is in Bucks hands and once it does, the yellow and blue will be there on separate pegs - but unimpeded by a relationship. The break up will move us one step closer to the yellow and blue joining together.

The bike being gone is also part of the symbolism - no more Buck without brakes - he can put a stop to things now - he has control.

One other things is that I’ve been parsing over the meaning of the plane emergency fro the opening 3 episodes - because the show always foreshadows all of the character arcs through the main opening emergency - if you look at all the opening disasters you will see that it echoes through the season for each character arc. The cruise disaster from s7 plays into each character arc perfectly - characters lives being turned upside down in some way - Eddie upending his life through his choices - the Kim of it all leading to Chris leaving. Buck’s life being turned on its head as he figures out he’s bi. Hen and Karens lives being altered through Mara coming into their family and then losing her because of Ortiz. Maddie and Chims wedding being knocked off course and turned upside down through Chim going missing because of the illness he develops. Bobby trying to retire and then the bathena house being burnt down. Athenas storyline with Harry - they are all arcs that play into the idea of being capsized.

So I’ve been contemplating how the plane emergency is relevant - and I know a lot more will become clear as the season unfolds, but right now we have some interesting things going on looking at it from the Buck and Eddie perspective. So we have the bike symbolism in connection with Buck - which plays into the loss of his bike from the wall, but there is the fact that he highjacks a bike in the opening disaster - buck is on someone else’s bike on an empty bit of road - symbolic of his relationship with tommy - he’s the only one in it but it’s not the right relationship - when he gets off that bike he can signpost Eddie in to land - the bike he gets off being a metaphor for tommy and the plane being one for Eddie.

The fact that Eddie is broken and unable to change direction at the moment - like the plane - and he’s looking for a place to try to land - him managing to land safely in the end is a bit of foreshadowing for buddie going canon - Buck will initially direct him to a landing spot but will also be there waiting for him when he does manage to land - in the place for bobby. It continues the Buddie parallels with bathena - Bobby there waiting for Athena in the same way buck will be waiting for Eddie.

Plus the Jem of it all works too - him being representative of Chris - so the idea that Chris coming back into Eddies life will help Eddie land his plane is pretty loud as well. That Chris will help lead Eddie to Buck - in some way. I keep thinking about the simulation game thing as well - something about Chris being with Helena and Ramon being like a simulation - its pretend and not the real thing - and it will cause him to crash - but he can walk away from it and when it comes down to it - to the real thing - he will step up and be successful in it. That Chris will be the one doing a bit of directing Eddie on how to heal and land the plane.

[absolutebl]

Best 24 of BL 2024 - Quirky Awards

ONLY shows that ENDED their runs in 2024 are up for awards.

SHOCK & AWE AWARDS

1. Biggest BL surprise of 2024:

Cherry Magic Thailand. TayNew's version was truly a lovely experience and very much its own take on the original, an adaptation rather than a remake. I'm so relieved and grateful that GMMTV managed to pull it off, and sad it wasn't more widely available.

2. The “that country did WHAT?” award:

Meet You At the Blossom from China. From start to finish it is exactly as it claimed to be, wuxia BL, including more than the expected amount of sexual claiming (dubious consent to the point of rape) and actual kisses, wife language, floaty sleeves, you name it. FROM CHINA!!!

3. Biggest casting whoa! where did you come from? award:

Up & Poom in My Stand-In. I mean, WHERE did you two come from and how did this happen? Holy smokes. My goodness are we grateful!

4. That studio did WHAT now? award:

Youku putting Unknown out wide and easily avaiable on YouTube (for most of us). It's just really rare for a Taiwanese BL to get any kind of distribution. And to do that with arguably the best TaBL of the year and not some sad little mew mew? Amazing.

5. I’m sad you were ignored award:

Sugar Dog Life - such a charming JBL, so hard to find. I'm so sad it didn't get distribution. It's charming, one of my favorites of the year, worth tracking down if you can.

6. 2024 BL That Actually Made Me Lose My Mind Award?

I gotta be honest, it was The Sign. I was such a chaotic mess of a show but never once was I bored. It was the only one that drove me into memes and captions and silliness.

I did go a bit feral for a while over Love for Loves Sake and Wandee Gooday not to mention The Only One (until it went tits-up).

NARRATIVE AWARDS

7. Best story 2024:

Cherry Magic (Thai remake). I know, but it worked just as well in another country, if not better. I always enjoy this kind of magical realism concept (after all Color Rush is one of my all time favorite BLs) and despite the increased length, the pacing was solid on this one... even from Thailand.

8. Best narrative structure 2024 award:

Love For Love's Sake. A KBL isekai about a man who must win a game by convincing a reserved teen outcast to fall in love with him. Of course, that teen represents himself and his own unhappiness. I drowned in this show and liked it that way.

9. Best 2024 dialogue (script) award:

We Are, it was just so much fun. And so FUNNY.

10. Favorite scene 2024:

Like anyone needed to ask. Unknown, of course.

11. The most rewatchable BL of 2024 award:

We Are

It's just all the couples are so cute and the core friendship group is so charming and endearing.

ACTORS & CHARACTERS AWARDS

12. Best performance of a queer actor in a leading role:

no award this year, yeah the whole damn industry should be thoroughly ashamed of itself

13. Best pining 2024:

The Time of Fever. That feeding him orange while lying on the floor scene ALONE.

14. Best wingman 2024 (The Namgoong Award)

Yai in The Sign.

15. Biggest OMG I LOVE you boys together, YAY!

SailubPon from Pit Babe & This Love Doesn't Have Longbeans, from the softness of one to the health code violations of the other. Sure their shows are bonkers, but man are these two good at bonkers (and bonking).

With a nod to BigPark from Monster Next Door.

16. Most unexpected return of a BL pair? award:

OffGun. There were rumors that Off was out at the beginning of 2023. And then they came back with 2 shows in 2024 (Cooking Crush and The Trainee)!

17. Well aren't you two just the prettiest? award:

I dithered a lot (Babe's damn waist and OMG The Sign's sex scenes hawt), but in the end it had to go to GreatInn. They were just so good at showing their characters having FUN together. There is a lot of beauty in enjoying sex and another person's company. It's so rare to see that portrayed in a BL (and it shouldn't be rare).

18. LIFETIME ACHIEVEMENT AWARD

I'm actually giving it to OffGun. Ya know, where others falter, these two just keep going. It's kinda amazing.

RANDOM PICKS

19. Favorite Linguistic Moment of 2024:

The general flirtatious banter from Last Twilight.

20. Biggest disappointment of 2024:

Addicted Heroin (Thai version). Some of the very best original material + one of my favorite Thai actors (who I've been waiting eons to see in a BL again) and THIS was the result? They could have fixed China's worst BL mistake, instead the made everything worse. I'm gonna be bitter for a really really long time.

I gotta sat The Only One comes a real close second tho. And I'm still mad about Last Twilight, too.

21. Best Wardrobe/Prop Use 2023

Meet You At The Blossom - I love a pretty boy pissing contest over who has the biggest sleeves. Twirl you beautiful bastards, TWIRL!

22. Best Queer Rep 2024

Again, not great this year. I loved the fun sex and play in Wandee, but there were precious few femme characters, and in general it felt like we took some steps back from queerness this year. So I'm gonna give it to Deep Night, because at least they gave us honest poly for the first time.

23. Best Meta Trope call out

Love for Love Sake - Korea taking to task the Dead Fish Kiss when they are often the worst offender was...... amusing.

But Deep Night having male sex workers having to act like they were in a BL for a couple chicks...... literally gay for pay depicting gay for pay and just, well, that's frankly a gut punch. There was some sarcastic clapping on my side of the screen.

24. Well aren't you getting all Live Action Yaoi retro with your bad self?

Dominant Yakuza and Wimpy Corporate Slave gets my vintage af award. I flipping LOVED it. Would I recommend it? Only if you, yourself, are a bit vintage.

Final question: which of the 24 was the hardest for me to pick?

20 Biggest disappointment of 2024. Look I had some pretty high expectations of some returning pairs, some great ideas, and some intriguing remakes. 2024 was full of disappointments.

2022's Version of the Quirkies

2023's Version of the Quirkies

Remember I only pull from shows that were completely finished by the end of 2024.

(source)

[ronanceautistic]

Here is my mostly Ronance, mostly Nancy-centric fic masterlist :D

Meta

Nancy Wheeler full character analysis with a focus on autistic traits (the autistic nancy doc)

Over 200K

Stranger Things rewrite where Nancy goes missing instead of Will (Ronance, Wheeler Siblings, platonic Stobin) - 41 chapters

50K - 100K

Nancy and Robin gay pining during summer 1986 (Ronance, minor Byler) - 15 chapters

10K-50K

A collection of prompts given to me from my asks - (Nancy-centric, click here for specific list of prompts) - 13/? chapters

Ronancetober 2024 posts - (Ronance) - 10/10 chapters

Modern Selective Mutism!Nancy AU (Ronance) - 15/? chapters

Nancy grew up in Hawkins Lab AU (Karen & Nancy, Ronance, Barb & Nancy ((unrequited love))) - chapters 9/9

The Last Of Us AU (Ronance, Max & Nancy, Max & Robin, platonic Stobin & minor Lumax) - 8 chapters

Nancy can freeze time (Ronance, platonic Ednancy) - 5 chapters

Grosse Pointe Blank AU where Nancy is a hitman for hire (Ronance, platonic Ednancy, platonic Stobin) - 6 chapters

Season 4 rewrite where Nancy is cursed instead of Max (Ronance) - 4 chapters

One shots set inbetween Season 1 and 2 (Jopper, Boyce, Byler, Wheeler Siblings, Eleven & Robin) - 6 chapters

5-10K

Six years after they save the world, Robin and Nancy reconnect (Ronance platonic or romantic, Holly & Nancy) - 1 chapter

Nancy & Robin fall in love, Nancy recovers from OCD (Ronance) - 1 chapter

Nancy is stuck in a death loop, Robin has to watch (Ronance) - 1 chapter

Modern AU where Robin and Nancy do a school project (Ronance) - 1 chapter

The Good Place AU (Ronance, Minor Steddie) - 2 chapters

Two one shots, werewolf!Robin and werewolf!Nancy (Ronance, platonic or romantic) - 2 chapters

Pirate AU based on Monkey Island (Ronance) - 1 chapter

Under 5K

A more detailed S4 rewrite where Nancy is cursed instead of Max - (Ronance) 1/9 chapters

Robin and Nancy meet on Nancy's first day of Kindergarten (Ronance, platonic or romantic) - 1 chapter

Depression/Healing fic where Robin takes care of Nancy (Ronance, platonic or romantic) - 1 chapter

Nancy has a flashback with only Mike around to help (Wheeler Siblings) - 1 chapter

Nancy angst with Robin loving her (Ronance, platonic or romantic) - 1 chapter

Ronance aquarium date! (Ronance) - 1 chapter

7 year old Nancy scripts a D&D-ish game for Robin (Ronance, platonic or romantic) - 1 chapter

Robin needs stitches, but is afraid of blood. Nancy is here to help and pine. (Ronance) - 1 chapter

Horror Movie AU where Robin & Nancy stay the night at the Creel House (Ronance, platonic or romantic) - 1 chapter

Nancy and Robin are werewolves, who turn during S4 E7 (Ronance, platonic or romantic) - 1 chapter

Nancy is not okay, Robin notices (Ronance, platonic or romantic) - 1 chapter

Nancy’s Vecna Vision from Max’s POV (Max & Nancy, minor Lumax) - 1 chapter

Robin and Nancy take care of each other after the gates open (Ronance, platonic or romantic) - 1 chapter

Nancy is afraid of heights (Ronance, platonic or romantic) - 1 chapter

Nancy survivors guilt character study (Ronance, platonic or romantic) - 1 chapter

The night after Fred’s death (Just Nancy) - 1 chapter

Nancy loneliness character study (Just Nancy) - 1 chapter

[kyber-crystal]

all i needed || benji dunn

summary: you’ve always cared for benji, but it takes him teetering on the edge of death for you to realize how much you truly loved him

words: ~2.7k

warnings: some angst, mentions of violence, two oblivious pining idiots

a/n: HI HELLO! finished writing this while sick bc i wanted to get it out of the way before i got my wisdom tooth out. to anon that requested this, please note that i haven’t seen rogue nation in FOREVER so forgive me if some details seem off! i had to go back and look at the script to make sure i got the general timeline right. ALSO if the time skips seem weird…ignore that LOL. i tried to modify some scenes (btw any and all movie quotes included are not MINE, creds go to MI:5). the first part of this is pretty benji pov heavy—i’ve never tried this before 😅

Benji’s not hopelessly in love with you. Definitely not.

“You know I’d spend the rest of my life with you if I could,” you had drunkenly admitted to him one night in a bar somewhere in Eastern Europe. “Just you and me, forever…sounds like a dream.”

If only it wasn’t.

He doesn’t get attached. He knows better than to get attached. But it’s entirely his own doing; he tells himself—you’ve been glued at the hip since the day you first met. Ever since you swore to him that you’d never let him go, he knew he would be in deep.

Now, he was sinking…fast. And he hated quicksand.

(He definitely hasn’t almost gotten caught in some before. The only reason why he didn’t drown in sediment was because you were there to save the day.)

Casablanca was far too hot for his liking, but he’s standing in the scorching heat anyway because you’re here. You effortlessly glide through the glittering water like a mermaid and he can’t help but stare a bit.

Somehow, you sense his presence and emerge from the pool, dripping wet. “What are you doing out here? It’s 100 degrees and you look like you’ve been deep-fried.”

“I needed some sun,” he responded quickly. (Great excuse, he internally smacks himself.) “Need a towel?”

“Oh, yeah.” You flash him a gleaming smile and take the fluffy towel from his hands, quickly drying yourself off. “Thanks a bunch.”

“The sun is treating you pretty nicely,” he tries to compliment. “You look great.”

Your face lights up at this. “Really?”

“You always do.”

Doing a little spin, you smile again, “Thank you!”

“Man,” Ethan chuckles as you push the sliding glass doors open and walk back inside the house, “it’s almost painful to watch.”

“Quit it,” Benji mutters. “I don’t want to hear any of your nonsense.”

“You are aware that what you’re doing won’t get you anywhere.

“My personal life is none of your business.”

“Except it is,” the agent grins, “since most of the time that you’re not busy working is spent talking about her.”

Benji opens and closes his mouth, but no words come out. He knows he’s right.

“But it’s funny,” Ethan continues, “because she can’t see it. You’d think that a woman that smart would be able to tell, but she can’t.”

“Then let’s keep it that way. This conversation is over,” he feels his face burning a bright red that he knows has nothing to do with being sunburnt. “Agent Dunn, out.”

“She’s going to be the death of you one day,” he hears Ethan call out as he turns around and walks inside. “Watch your step.”

Benji isn’t the jealous type. Definitely not.

But all that registers with him when he glances in the rearview mirror at you and Brandt is fifty shades of green. You’d just finished laughing at something he had said, and envy spills over him like boiling hot oil. You were supposed to be laughing with him and him only. He told the better jokes (right? Right?) and you spent far more time together. So who was winning, really?

But nothing he tells himself seems to make him feel better.

Noticing Benji’s clenched jaw and tight grip on the wheel, Luther decides to break the tension. “That was a damn good stunt you pulled back there.”

“Effortless.”

“Wait, Benji…” you pause mid conversation. His grip immediately loosens the moment you open your mouth to speak. “Please tell me you still have a copy of that disk.”

He holds up the drive. “Yup, still got it.”

“Where to now?” Brandt asks as he hands the handcuff key through the glass to Ethan.

“London.”

It’s daybreak when you board the plane to Heathrow. Nobody on the team is even trying to hide the tiredness on their faces.

Even with heavy dark circles under your eyes, you still managed to look so beautiful, Benji thought to himself. He didn’t understand how you did it—you could run on twenty minutes of sleep and still walk straight.

“Let me help you with that,” Brandt offered and you gave him a grateful look as he put your duffel bag into the overhead bins.

Benji held his tongue (miraculously enough).

You sat down in your seat and stretched your arms in the air, letting out a loud yawn. “I can’t do this today. I want to just…give up and do nothing.”

“Can’t we all,” he replied.

You made eye contact with him and motioned to the empty seat on your left.

“Do you want me to—” he began, and you nodded. “Yeah. Sure. Of course.”

Almost immediately, your head lolled against his shoulder. You looked up and offered him a sleepy smile, and he swore he’d self-destruct at that exact moment.

“Tired?”

“Very,” you yawned again. “I haven’t slept in thirty-six hours.”

“Then get some rest,” he squeezed your shoulder. “I’ll let you know when we land.”

You hummed in reply and allowed your eyes to flutter shut. “You’re my favorite, Benji Dunn. I hope you know that.”

“I do,” he murmurs after you’ve fallen asleep.

He watched you in a trance-like silence, your chest rising and falling in a steady rhythm. You were still wearing the tan woven bracelet on your left wrist—it had become battered and stained from prolonged wear, but you refused to take it off because he made it for you. One ATV ride, two hours, and three shots later, that was what he’d come up with as your latest “souvenir”.

His heart aches in more ways than one. Here he was following you around like a hopeless romantic and yet, you were completely oblivious to all his signals. And he doesn’t have a single clue as to why you stick around at all—with your beauty that he believed could rival Venus herself, you could have anyone you wanted. Hell, you could have Brandt in an instant if you tried.

But you insisted on sticking by him—the exact reason, he probably won’t ever figure out—and he’s grateful for it. Even though he feels as if you deserve better…a lot better.

“As promised, I have a job for you,” you heard Lane’s distant voice over the phone as he spoke to Ethan. “And for the sake of your friend, you’ll do it.”

“I’m listening.”

“Your mission, should you choose to accept it, is to bring me the unlocked disc by midnight tonight. Now say the words.”

Ethan paused.

“Say the words,” Lane repeated.

“...I accept.”

“I knew you would.”

The call ended and you went back to fiddling with the bracelet on your wrist, trying to fight against the growing lump in your throat.

“Y/N…”

“Ethan, if you’re going to tell me to stop moping around, then I don’t want to hear it.”

“No, that’s not it. You need to listen to what I’m about to tell you.” He sounded more serious this time. “We need to get him back. And to do that…”

“...We need to unlock the disc,” you finished. “And to do that…”

“We have to take the Prime Minister…”

“Wait, think about this for just a minute—”

“It’s the only way to get Benji back.”

“Just think. It’s exactly what Lane wants us to do.”

“Which is why it HAS TO HAPPEN!” he raised his voice. You swallowed hard, and, noticing your sullen expression, he softened his tone. “This is how we beat Lane. This is how we make everything right.”

You could still see the image of Benji’s unconscious body being dragged away—it was fresh in your mind as if it happened only a minute ago. “Yeah. I know.”

If he noticed the longing look in your eyes, he didn’t say anything about it, but he could tell you cared about Benji much more than you were letting on.

“I’m going to find him, and he’ll be alright,” Ethan added after several minutes of silence had passed. “I’m not letting anything happen to him for your sake.”

“And why am I not coming with you?” Your blood began to boil.

“Because it’s not safe, Y/N. I care about your safety, and if both you and Benji want to live, I have to go alone.”

“That’s such bullshit.”

“You need to trust me on this one.”

You grumbled something under your breath. “This is the last time I’m letting you throw your ass on the line with barely any backup.”

He grinned. “Ma’am yes ma’am.”

Meanwhile, Benji had just stirred awake to see a dark figure walking over to him, something heavy in hand.

Maybe Ethan was right, he realized. You would be the death of him someday. And that seemed particularly likely now.

“Where is the disk?” Lane questioned.

“You’re looking at it. I am the disk,” Ethan replied, voice cold, “I memorized it. All two point four billion in numbered accounts. If that vest goes off, you get nothing. And without this money you’re nothing. Without me you’re nothing.”

He stared at Lane through the screen, watching him grow more irritated. The timer continued to count down

“Right now you’re thinking it’s a bluff. I’d never let my friends die. I couldn’t possibly memorize the entire disk. There’s only one way to be sure. Let Benji go.”

Lane stood and paced around the room before finally pressing the button, stopping the timer at just :03. Benji and Ilsa let out loud. long sighs of relief.

Vinter and his goons stepped closer.

“If they come any closer, shoot me.”

Ilsa smiled and slid her seat next to him, planting the barrel of her gun against his ribs.

“Stop. STOP,” Lane demanded, and Vinter and the others stopped what they were doing,

“Remember when I said some day you were going to take things too far...and that’s me speaking—not him,” Benji reminded Ethan.

“The only way this ends is you and me, Lane. Face-to-face. Only this time I won’t be locked in a glass box or half-dead on some highway.” Ethan leaned closer to the camera lens. “You want your money…the bone doctor’s gonna have to beat it out of me... Now let Benji go!”

Finally… “One three nine…”

Benji looks down at the keypad on his chest and nervously punches in a series of numbers. The light on the timer dies and the five-point harness springs open. He sheds the vest as discreetly as he can, wrapping it in his overcoat.

“Go.”

“Ethan—“

He slid a phone across the table to him, “Y/N’s waiting with Luther and Brandt. Go.”

It was far too cold in the office building. Add on the fact that you’d been in there for what felt like hours, and you felt like you were being tortured. You knew Ethan always kept his promises, but were still unsure if Benji would be coming back alive at all.

You had bitten and picked at your nails until you drew blood. The stinging sensation had stopped bothering you a while ago. So did the crimson stains on your skin.

But then you heard a lock click and a loud ringing noise, and suddenly, he’s standing there. Panting and sweating and looking burnt out, but very much alive.

You froze in place for a second, unsure of what to do.

“You’re real, right?” you asked, hesitation in your voice as you gingerly cupped his face in your hands. “Please tell me this is real. I don’t want to wake up and not see you in front of me.”

“It’s real. I'm real,” Benji reassured you as he gripped your forearms. That was all the confirmation you needed before you threw your arms around his neck, hugging him as tight as you possibly could. You were trembling, holding on so strongly because you were so afraid that he’d slip away if you let go.

“Oh my God, oh my God, oh my God,” you repeated over and over. You pressed your lips to his, hard, before pulling back to stare at him again. His cheeks turn pink as he barely has time to react and kiss you back. “I’m so glad you’re alive, I don’t know what I would’ve done if you—“

“Did you—“ he stammered, suddenly at a loss for words. “Did you just—“

“You know I loved you all along,” you explained breathlessly. “It just took me a while to realize the fact.”

“Well, I love you too.”

One of his hands steers the wheel, while the other holds yours and absentmindedly rubs circles into your palm. You’re sipping your ultra-specific go-to coffee order that nobody—unless they were Benji—would bother to remember. It feels so normal—like something that has been routine for a long time.

The team tries their hardest to pretend not to notice the newfound closeness. (“But these idiots have been like this for ages, they only just realized it. Let them be,” Luther had said. He shared the team’s singular brain cell 50% of the time, which meant that he was always the first one to catch on to things. Ilsa shared the other 50%, she was very cunning.) But it’s hard when they almost crash because Benji keeps glancing at you out of the corner of his eye.

It’s hard to get a moment alone when 90% of your job consists of you jumping as a group from place to place. So you’re grateful for the few in between that you’re lucky enough to steal.

This time, you found yourselves in a quiet townhouse somewhere in Strasbourg. Ethan wasn’t snoring tonight—maybe it was because Ilsa was next to him this time. Luther was upstairs, probably filing and cleaning out mission reports with a croissant you’d bought him. He never slept, and he never made a sound.

The place was quiet, the only thing you could hear being the chirping crickets outside and the quiet crackling of the fireplace in front of you. You hadn’t felt this kind of peace in months.

“It’s cold at this hour, isn’t it? Meanwhile I thought France would be a bit nicer this time of year.”

Benji comes out from the kitchen holding two mugs of tea, as well as a blanket around himself. The amber flames illuminate his face in a way that makes him look almost angelic, and your heart skips a beat.

He sits down on the plush rug right next to you and offers you one of the mugs, and you accept it gratefully. After taking several long sips, you set it down on the small coffee table in front of you and lean back against the couch.

“You’re staring,” you say suddenly.

“Sorry…can’t help it,” he replies with a sheepish grin, then holds part of the blanket out—an invitation. You shift closer, allowing him to pull you in and wrap the rest of the soft fleece around you. “You’re very…breathtaking.”

This elicits a small laugh from you, but you can feel your cheeks heat up. There’s something different in the air—maybe it’s because those feelings are finally out in the open, or maybe because this moment feels so domestic and it’s both unfamiliar but comforting at the same time.

“Y/N…”

“Hmm?” You’re starting to drift off at this point, getting comfortable in his presence.

“I always wondered, you know…”

“Wondered what?”

“How we’re always ending up together—why you decided to choose me,” Benji admits.

The words come out of your mouth so easily. “What do you mean? You’re my person, Benji. I looked at you and I just knew you were right. You had to be.”

“I don’t get it. I thought you and Brandt—“

You shook your head and smiled, tracing patterns on his leg. “Don’t be silly. He was actually—he was the one who made me realize I was in love with you.”

“Wait, what?”

“Oh, Benji,” you laughed, “don’t tell me you were jealous.”

“O-of course not!” he spluttered, face turning bright red, “All I want is for you to be happy!”

“Well…you know how I told you you’re my favorite, right?”

“Uh huh…”

“That hasn’t changed, you know. I love the Benji that knows how I like my coffee, and the Benji that carries me to bed when I’m too drunk, sick, or injured. And the Benji that always has my back. Especially the Benji that sits in front of the fireplace with me at 3am because he knows I enjoy his company more than the 387 crickets outside.”

He presses a kiss to your temple in response, unable to stop the corners of his lips from turning up in a grin.

“You know I’ve always got your back.”

tags: @kenobismullet @ilsastrenchcoat @voguesir @fl0ating @lady-elena-adeline @the-multiverse-of-fandoms @joyfullyswimmingface 

[litgarchive]

Transparency Report - April 2025

After checking the current files and notes, this is what I have:

Day 6 to 13 mostly based on one route (mostly Harry's), with some routes included

Day 5 Parts 1 to 3 divided into scenes

Day 5 Part 2 fill-up ongoing

My workflow is:

Getting the base script into its proper individual files based on Day and Episode (e.g. Day 5 Part 1, Part 2, Part 3);

Dividing each Episode into scenes and sub-scenes;

Filling in choices;

Adding in Ink to make it interactive;

Testing; and

Wrapping it all up in Atrament to make it playable.

Day 5 should be dropping next month, barring any major incidents IRL.

💕 Pine