Fics I’ve Read!!

MUGGY. THAT WAS one word you’d use to describe the temperature in Portugal. It was slightly warm, but the air felt thick around you.

The group had started the trip on a negative note already, as Chip had accidentally claimed someone else’s bag and then spent an hour trying to find a decent car rental service.

There was a very amusing statue of Cristiano Ronaldo’s head outside the airport that the boys spent a brief while taking the mick out of before walking across the road to the main car park where the rental car was to be collected from.

Arabella was perched on Alfie’s forearm as he carried her around to stop her from whining about her feet aching.

Chip spoke in the lift, “The journey begins boys, who’s ready to get fucking—“

“I actually am pretty hyped about this one chat.” Alfie put on a funky voice.

“Yuck.” You muttered, causing Greg to laugh.

“For anyone wondering why AB’s mrs is here, it’s because she’s a controlling leech who won’t leave her boyfriend alone. Psycho.” Chip joked, “No, I’m messing. It’s because she wanted to come and they couldn’t leave Arab at home.”

“Buttle family outing.” Greg hummed.

“I’m not even part of the Buttle family.” You scoffed, holding your ring-less finger up to the camera, “Never have kids out of wedlock guys. They take the piss.”

Alfie gave you a dirty look, eyebrows furrowed and head reared back, “Excuse me?”

“You’re excused.” You shrugged before wheeling your suitcase out of the lift behind you once it had come to a stop.

“Top ten coldest Reader moments.” Chip narrated, “Anyway, I’m excited for the vibes. AB’s gonna get his beautiful body out.”

“You’ve been saying this all day on the plane.” Alfie said, sliding his sunglasses on.

“God forbid a white boy try and hype up his boys.”

“You’re not even white.” You chimed in.

“I’ve never had a mate that’s been more attracted to me than you.” Your boyfriend adjusted the backpack slung over his shoulders before jogging lightly to catch up to you.

“Mummy.” Arabella whined, trying to reach out to you.

“What?”

“Hold.”

“No.”

You wouldn’t have been opposed had she not been in your arms five minutes prior and begging to go back to her dad’s.

“Please!”

“Bella, can I hold you?” Greg tried.

The two year old seemed to think about it for a split second before nodding, letting her dad pass her over to his mate.

Alfie began explaining some previous events while taking Arabella’s suitcase from you, “We were getting off the plane and this— the flight attendant goes ‘Can I ask you a question, are you single?’ to Greg, and then he was like ‘I am’ and she went ‘You’re hot’.”

Greg pulled out proof in the form of a brown napkin with a number written down and the words ‘I think you’re really cute, never done this before lol’.

“How cute.” You smiled, raising your shoulders before dropping them.

“Oh, yeah, Reader’s fuming ‘coz the other one tried it on with AB even though he was carrying Bella’s bag and she was carrying her.” Greg laughed.

“That was ballsy.” Alfie nodded before holding his hands up, “Wasn’t a fan. Don’t appreciate the attention. I’m a taken man.”

“I’m not fuming.” You said, “I’m slightly annoyed.”

“I’m fuming for you.” Chip said, “I want his sexy body all to myself.”

“… What?”

“What sessy?” Arabella asked, face screwed up to block the sun from getting into her eyes.

“Alright, that’s enough of that.” Alfie grunted as he slung his backpack forwards to retrieve her little white sunglasses with flowers on the side from the front pocket. “What do we say?”

“Thank you, Daddy.” She grinned as he put them on her face.

“Very stylish.” Greg hummed in approval.

“Sylis.” She tried to replicate the word.

“Yep.”

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“I reckon I can touch this.” Alfie announced once you were under some shade.

The roof was quite high up, and as tall as he was already, you highly doubted he could touch the surface. He’d be lucky if his fingers grazed it at all.

“No, no jumping.” Greg spoke like a wound up parent, “Let’s do something proper.”

Alfie swung his arms back before leaping upwards and managing to touch the ceiling.

Once he’d done it, you ordered for him to lift you up so you could do it too. You grinned as you flattened your palm to it before he lowered you back down, patting your bottom lightly.

You looked straight at the camera, “Editors, make it so I did that all on my own.”

The boys then began discussing the plans of the day, going through the details of their gym session that would inevitably be happening because they made sure to rent a house with a gym inside of it.

“I can do arms. I can do arms.” Chip said when Alfie denied his ability to work out due to his ‘boob job’. “Speaking of my boob job, I need help tying it up.”

“I’m not tying up your corset, bro.” Alfie shook his head, “That’s where I draw the line with friendship.”

Chip suddenly lifted his shirt, showing off the strange, corset-like binder he was wearing underneath to support him after the surgery.

The spontaneous rapidity of his movement caused you to burst into laughter, leaning on the handle of your suitcase.

“You laughing at my boob job? Fine, but let me laugh at yours.” Chip said.

“What? I didn’t get a boob job.”

“He’s saying ‘coz your boobs got bigger.” Alfie chuckled.

“Yeah, Chip, breast feeding will do that to you.” You kissed your teeth.

It was an undeniable fact that your boobs had grown in size since having Arabella, and though they’d shrunk down a little since you’d stopped breastfeeding, they were still a cup or two bigger than before.

“This might be a, uh, personal question, feel free not to answer on cam, have you made love with that corset on?” Alfie asked.

“Yep— Errr, to who? My hand?”

“To someone excluding you.” Greg added.

“Yes.”

“Wow. That’s true love.” You hummed.

“You wouldn’t have sex with Alfie if he got his boobs removed?” Chip turned it on you.

“Me and Alfie have never had sex.” You shrugged, “And never will.”

Everyone went quiet as the camera panned towards Greg, who was still holding Arabella, the living proof that your declaration was a lie.

“I’m joking. I actually like his boobs.” You reached out, squeezing at his pecs, “Honk honk.”

“Bro!” Chip laughed loudly.

Alfie slung his arms around you, jolting you to the side aggressively and cupping your tits before squeezing at them and making the same sound.

“Alfie!” You screeched.

“You two are so strange.” Greg stared in bewilderment.

“Mummy boobs.” Arabella giggled, stretching an arm out herself.

It caused a wave of cacophonous laughter from everyone, including Frampton as the camera began shaking from it.

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Chip was doing a car reveal for the video when an elderly couple walked past, the woman taking a second to wave and coo at Arabella. The toddler beamed, waving back.

“You have a very beautiful baby.” She spoke to you and Greg.

It caught you off guard for a split second before you realised how this looked to any outsiders. With you being the only girl with a group of boys, and Greg being the one holding Arabella, any strangers didn’t have a much better conclusion to come to.

“Oh, no she’s not mine.” Greg laughed before turning to Alfie, “She’s his and hers.”

“Oh, right! Sorry.” The lady laughed, “It’s just because you were holding her.”

You snorted, looking towards Alfie, who was standing there awkwardly.

“Either way, she’s very beautiful.”

“Say thank you, baby.” You whispered.

“‘Hank you.” Arabella smiled, squishing her eyes shut.

Once the couple had walked off, she prodded at Greg.

“Down now.”

“Yeah? You walking?” He hummed, lowering her so her feet were on the concrete and she was making her way towards Alfie.

“Y’alright?” He blinked at her.

“Hi daddy.” She grinned.

“Hi.” He chuckled, “What you doin’?”

“Walk.”

“I can see that.” He nodded.

“Big legs.”

“… What?”

“Make big.”

Alfie grinned at the sight of his daughter trying to explain what she was doing, “Stretching your legs?”

“Yes.”

“Good, you should.” He hummed before pointing to you, “Go walk to mummy and back.”

Arabella did as he said, toddling over to you, losing a bit of balance but clutched onto your leggings for stability.

You let your hand drop down and rest on top of her head.

“You okay?”

“Mhm.” She muttered, focusing on her feet as she manoeuvred the other way around and stomped back over to her dad.

“In you go!” He grunted as he picked her up and moved to put her in the booster seat.

She let out a loud scream, clutching onto the outside of the car, “No!”

“What the fuck was that?” Chip mumbled.

You peered your head around the back of the car.

“Why you screaming?” Alfie frowned.

Arabella started crying out of nowhere, clutching her dad’s shirt for dear life, “No alone!”

You huffed, walking around and crouching in front of her.

“You’re not sitting alone. We’re all getting in the car. Stop screaming and stop crying.” You gritted out, wiping his cheeks with your hand, “You’re being silly.”

She nodded, sniffling, “Silly.”

“She alright?” Greg asked.

“She’s being dramatic. It’s because she’s hot. She’ll cry at anything.” Alfie explained.

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In the car, thankfully, Greg managed to have her in a laughing fit as he spewed off random words that sounded German. You weren’t sure if they were actual German words, or he was just putting the phonetics of the German language together, but it had Arabella cackling like a witch in her booster seat.

Cameras had been stuck to the front window so that Frampton didn’t have to film in the car journeys, and he could just sit in the back row chilling. You and Alfie were on either side of Arabella, while Chip was driving and Greg was in the front.

It took Chip far too long to figure out how to get out of the car park, but once he had, the drive was smooth, which you were overly thankful for because you didn't want to deal with Arabella vomiting.

“Look at this plane tryin’ to land.” He pointed out.

“Ah, yeah,” Alfie faked enthusiasm to peak Arabella’s attention, “Look Bells.”

She craned her neck forward, looking through the skylight “Plane.”

“That thing looks like it’s about to go down.”

“Chip!”

“Sorry.” He paused, “Did you guys ever used to lips up your own hand before you’d ever kissed a girl back in the day?”

“Yeah …” Alfie seemed unconvinced, “It’d be good if you didn’t swerve when you did that and wipe out my whole family.”

“Yeah, sorry, bro.”

You placed your hands over Arabella’s ears for your next sentence, “I never made out with my own hand but I used to practice giving head when I ate a banana.”

“What the fuck?”

“Did you know about this?” Greg turned to Alfie.

He nodded with pursed lips, “Told her to drop the banana and come give some real slops.”

Thankfully the conversation came to an end just as Arabella began whining about having her ears covered, pushing your hands away.

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Upon entry, the house was lovely. The floors were a chilling cold which felt amazing considering the heat outside, and there was so much space in every room.

The gym had to be one of the largest rooms there, and was undoubtedly going to be the one the boys spent the most amount of time in. You couldn’t say the same. You wouldn’t say your ideal habitat was in a gym room with four men while your daughter did god knows what halfway across the house.

“Look at the basketball chair. This is the only reason I wanted this gaff.” Alfie grinned, sitting down in the chair that was indeed shaped and styled like a basketball. “Bells, come.”

Arabella waddled toward her dad, “Ball.”

“Yeah, big basketball chair.” He hummed, picking her up and setting her in his lap, “Reader.”

You lifted your head out of your phone, looking at the sight and then awing before getting a picture that would undoubtedly be used in an Instagram dump on one of your accounts.

“Yeah, you’ve been messing with basketball chairs the whole time I’ve known you.” Greg played along, “And now you’re getting your offspring on it. I rate it.”

Alfie pulled a face, “Offspring?”

“Yeah, Arabella’s your offspring.”

Alfie adjusted, swapping places so Arabella was sat alone on the basketball chair and he was free to test out the gym equipment and darts board.

He wasn’t very accurate with his throwing, but he towed you into a bet of giving him head tonight if he got a bullseye.

He didn’t, in fact he missed one of the shots and the dart clattered to the ground, but he still glanced at you expectantly.

“You missed.”

“I won’t miss tonight.” He jeered.

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After a game of crocodile dentist, which was won by your boyfriend, he got to pick the biggest room to stay in, and that had you feeling like a smug winner by association as you unzipped your suitcase.

“Reader making herself right at home.” Chip commented.

“My fella won, I get to reap the benefits of that. Cry about it.” You gave him a fake smile.

The boys all cuddled together on the bed, Alfie uncomfortably sandwiched between the two of them, to which you stared blankly while Arabella stood at your feet.

He saw them out so the three of you could get well settled in the room, waving them off.

“I’ve got a rule for this room; no dirty piggies allowed.”

Greg burst out laughing while Arabella giggled from the bed, snacking on her fingers.

“Ah!” You snapped at her.

Sheepishly, she pulled them away, knowing she’d been caught doing something she wasn’t allowed to do.

You and Alfie had been trying to get her to stop gnawing on her hand whenever she got bored or fidgety, because quite frankly, it was gross and no one in public wanted to see a toddler’s slobber everywhere.

“I might as well just fucking wait for everyone to pick and you lot let me know which one I’m in.” Greg huffed as you all made your way down the stairs, “You fuckin’ muscly, stupid football playing charity match prick.” He aimed at Alfie as he followed right behind him, “Get here, I’m gonna fuck ya!”

“That’s my job, Greg.” You sighed, shaking your head.

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On the way to the restaurant you were having dinner at, Greg grabbed a ‘traditional Madeiran hat’ from a shop and refused to take it off throughout the whole meal.

The American diner was great, it was well decorated and the seats were comfy. The boys seemed to be umming and arring over the quality of the food, but you didn’t think it was too bad, and neither did Arabella.

She was back on Alfie’s lap as he tore up little pieces of the chicken tenders and blew on them so they were an appropriate temperature for her to eat.

She took the torn off piece and leaned forwards, stretching across the table to dunk it into the pot of sauce that Chip had acquired.

“Bella!” You gasped at her audacity to just take from someone else, “You have to ask, baby.”

She blinked from you to Chip and then down to her chicken covered in sauce, “Have please, Uncle ‘Ip?”

The boys weren’t half as bothered as you were, finding the situation rather funny instead.

“Yeah, ‘course you can.” He nodded, nudging the pot further in her direction.

“‘Hank you.” She beamed, continuing to eat.

You shook your head at her as she waved lightly at you.

“You have … sauce all over your hand.” Alfie grimaced, grabbing a napkin and wiping his daughter's hand over, twisting at her fingers to make sure they were properly clean.

“It’s literally just chicken in cornflakes.” Greg shrugged.

“Yummy.” Arabella spoke with her mouth full.

You gave her a stern, disappointed look, and she glanced up to her dad, expecting him to say something in her defence. Alfie shrugged and then held his finger to his lips, shushing her, to which she copied.

“I might’ve had a slight fumble here.” Chip admitted.

“Definitely.” You agreed.

“Nuh uh!” Arabella, once again, spoke with her mouth full.

“Bella.”

She stared directly at you and began purposefully babbling loud, disruptive noises while smacking her lips excessively.

You shrugged, “Alright.” and then turned your body fully away from her, having your plate in your lap instead.

“Uh oh, Bella’s in trouble.” Chip sang teasingly.

“No, mummy!” Arabella hit your back.

“Oi!” Alfie lifted his daughter, manoeuvring her to face away from you, “What you doin’?”

“Mummy—“

“No. You don’t hit people.”

“Y’know, it’s mad weird watching AB be a proper dad.” Greg spoke to the camera, while Alfie continued to scold Arabella gently, “Like, not ‘coz I expect him to be bad at it, it’s just … I dunno.”

“Mummy.” Arabella patted your back softly.

You turned back to face her.

“Mummy, hug?”

“Are you sorry?”

She nodded and you opened your arms for her. She beamed brightly, wrapping her tiny, pudgy arms around your midsection.

“That was good, bro.” Chip said to Alfie, slightly shocked by the way he handled the situation so maturely.

Alfie shrugged, “Dad life, ennit?”

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The evening was beautifully chilled. You and Alfie were lounging in your bedroom while Arabella sat on the floor (by choice) in her pyjamas, while watching a childish YouTube video on her dad’s phone, something about surprise toy eggs covered in Play-Doh.

Somewhere between talking casually and doing nothing, your lips had found his and had begun moving the rhythmic dance that was to blame for starting the very activity that was the reason you were parents at such young ages.

You couldn’t help but grin into the kiss, your hands coming up to cup his cheeks while his fell to your waist, slowly but surely turning his body until he was hovering on top of you.

It was when his fingers snuck round your front to slide beneath the waistband of your leggings that the both of you had to pull away and stop yourselves.

“Not while Bella’s in the room, Alf.”

He closed his eyes, groaning in annoyance before spontaneously standing up.

Downstairs, Chip was still filming for the video, talking mindlessly to the camera beside Greg while the football played on the large TV.

It was a very amusing clip to see Alfie come jogging down the stairs carrying his two year old, rambling off the title of some YouTube video for her to watch, dumping her on the couch and then legging it back upstairs.

Chip got a shot of him and Bella in the frame together, staring at each other through the camera, though he knew it wouldn’t be half as funny in the video because his editors were going to have to blur her face, so the viewers weren’t able to see the humorous blankness of her expression.

“Well, now we’re watching a … I don’t know, actually.” Chip hummed, panning the camera to the TV, which was now displaying a video for Arabella.

She was watching it very intently, despite having barely a clue as to what was happening in it. He supposed she was just very enticed by the bright colour of the Play-Doh and the cute toys that came out of the plastic egg.

He then turned the shot to include Greg, who was sitting on the other side of Arabella, phone face down and also very attentively watching the YouTube video.

“Doggy.” She giggled as a plastic doggy was opened up from a blind bag.

“Do you know what sound a doggy makes?” Greg asked her, “Sound, AB?”

“Woof woof!” She mimicked what she knew.

“Yeah, high five!”

Her palm smacked against his, and he pretended that she was far too strong for him, clutching his hand to his chest and making her cackle heartily.

“Just me and Window Kid entertaining little AB while big AB and his mrs have a shag up there— They’re definitely doing that by the way.”

“What, shagging?” Greg tilted his head up.

“Yeah.”

“Hundred percent, bro.”

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After yours and Alfie’s … strenuous activities, you hopped in the shower together, in which he handed you his razor and encouraged you to help him shave as neatly as possible. Once that was done, he then offered to do yours, and in response you blinked and told him you didn’t need help with that, but he insisted (“Nah, girl, I can get all up in there, trust. Spread ‘em.”).

You threw on one of his shirts and a pair of his boxers to head downstairs and join everyone else while he settled on a simple towel.

Chip already had the camera on and recording as you descended, the pair of you looking like you were doing the infamous walk of shame.

“First of all, bro, I just did, like, a half an hour shave of my whole shit.” Alfie laughed breathily, “Gave Reader the razor and told her to give me a low taper ‘coz I was bored.”

“Nah, your boy does a full shave for a Chippo vid.” Chip mocked.

“Your boy has an everything shower.”

“Your fella begs to shave your bush.” You added, startling them both.

“What?! AB, what the fuck!”

“Nah, nah, I don’t support deforestation ‘n’ that—“

Chip wheezed, “—Deforestation—“

“—But she did mine, thought I’d be gentlemanly and offer to do hers.”

“Right, well, enough of that. Go in there. Go in there,” He pointed to the bathroom, “It stinks so bad.”

You stood far back, picking Arabella up off the sofa and holding her in your arms while Alfie walked towards the downstairs bathroom, going over Greg’s ‘overflowing/ flooding shit’ story.

“Mummy.” Arabella said quietly through a yawn.

“I know, baby. Bedtime, okay?”

She whined in protest, but still buried her face in your neck.

Just as Alfie poked his head into the bathroom, he gagged, coughed and immediately walked away, ignoring any of Chip’s pleas for him to come back and do it again.

“Reader, smell it! Smell it!” He said excitably.

“Shh!” You shushed the man while walking back and forth with your daughter, hoping that soothing movement would lull her to sleep, “Also, no. I’m not smelling Greg’s literal shit.”

On the way up the stairs, Alfie paused to talk to Greg, who was fully naked in his bathroom with just his head poking out of the door frame. While they were talking, Chip zoomed in on Alfie’s chest, the camera picking up all the little hairs growing across his pecs.

“Did an everything shower but couldn’t sort your chest out?”

“What are you doing?” Alfie giggled.

“Couldn’t sort the chest out?”

“Bro, trust the process with the chest.”

“Oh, you tryna grow something new?”

“Reader likes it, so I keep it.” He gave an unbothered shrug.

“Alfie.” You hummed, looking down at where Arabella was drooling excessively while gnawing on her fingers.

“Alright, another one of those nights.” He sighed heavily, “Let’s just get her down and see if she sleeps through it.”

“What’s this?” Chip asked.

“She’s got her last baby teeth coming in and they really hurt at night. I apologise in advance if she wakes you up by screaming and crying.”

“Shit, it’s one of those?” He winced.

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Thankfully, she had gone down without much of a fight, and you both tucked her in to the little cot in the corner with a kiss on the forehead and making sure that her cow plushy was hugged tight to her chest.

Back downstairs, Chip thought it was funny to walk around, fully bent in half with his hands clutching his ankles. He looked like something out of a horror movie, especially in the low light of the living room only being illuminated by the football back on the TV.

“Eugh!” Alfie groaned, pointing at him.

He’d put on a pair of adidas shorts for now, which you knew would be coming off when you went to bed.

“Imagine he starts running like that.”

You gasped, sitting up.

Alfie looked at you, “No, no, no.”

“I can run in a back bend.”

“No way!” Chip cackled, standing up straight now, “Do it, do it.”

You stood, tucking the shirt into the boxers so you didn’t flash anyone, and arched backwards until your hands were on the floor whilst your head was upside down. You then began moving at an extremely fast pace around the living room.

Greg screamed, tucking his knees to his chest on the sofa while Chip writhed uncomfortably and bounced from foot to foot.

“Stop, man.” Alfie chuckled as you came right up to him, “Bare weird, girl.”

“That’s fucking disgusting.” Greg cackled, “Please teach Arabella to do the same and then both freak AB out at the same time.”

“Bro, no!”

It was like perfect timing, because the moment you stood back to full height, Arabella began shrieking upstairs.

“There we go, that’s the teeth.” You huffed, already making the move to go upstairs.

“Does she get nightmares?” Greg asked, scratching at his beard.

“Uhhh … not really?” Alfie replied, “Only sometimes but a quick cuddle and she’s alright.”

“Bella.” You cooed, flipping the light switch on and crouching in front of her bed.

“Mummy daddy!” She sobbed loudly, crawling towards you while suckling on the ear of her stuffed cow.

“I know, I know.” You whispered, lifting her up, “Alf!” You called out.

“Comin’!”

By the time he’d wrapped up downstairs with the boys and scaled the stairs, you’d gotten comfy against the headboard of your own bed, Arabella pressed up against your chest while still wailing.

You were trying to lull her back to sleep, shushing down her ear while stroking at her back and head.

She kept rubbing her jaw against your collarbone, seemingly trying to soothe the pressuring ache inside of her mouth.

“Hey.” Alfie spoke softly, closing the door behind him and crawling into bed beside you.

Her harsh waterworks restarted at the sight of her dad, craving comfort from the both of you.

He snuggled closer, resting his cheek on your bicep while stroking his thumb over her cheek, wiping her tears as they fell.

“Daddy, hurt.” She cried.

“I know it hurts, Bells.” He frowned in defeat, “I know.”

She reached out for his finger, trying to put it in her mouth.

“No, we’re not allowed to do that, remember? No fingers and hands in mouths.”

The rejection only hit her harder as her face screwed up in distress.

You sighed heavily, pressing a kiss to the top of her head and adjusting so that you were sat better up straight.

A knock came from the door, and Alfie let the person know they were okay to enter.

It was Chip, and he was holding one of Arabella’s dummy’s.

“This was downstairs, I dunno if it’s gonna help.”

“Cheers, bro.” Alfie took it from him with a nod.

“We’re all coming bed now though— No pressure, don’t rush her to stop crying, just thought I’d let you know we’re shutting off.”

“Alright, see you in the morning.”

“Night Chip.” You smiled tiredly before whispering to Bella, “Wanna say night night to Uncle Chip?”

Instead of speaking, she raised an arm and waved as much as she could through the concentrated pain in her jaw.

“Night, Arab.”

And then the door was closed again.

Alfie tried to slide the rubber end of the dummy between Arabella’s lip, but she was having none of it, instead deciding to rear her head back with a sobbing whine.

“Bella, please, baby.” You muttered, “It’ll help, okay?”

She clung to you tighter, squeezing your shirt in her fist.

You gave Alfie a nod, signalling for him to try again.

This time, he was successful, and Arabella’s wails were dulled to a light sniffling and the occasional dribble of tears.

“There we go, darlin’.” He smiled, taking her off of you and proceeding to pace the floor to help her doze off.

She’d worn herself out with all her crying, so it didn’t take long for her eyes to shut and her soft snores to fill the room.

Once she’d been put back down in her cot, Alfie clambered back into bed in his boxers, wrapping you up in his arms tightly and dotting kisses along your hairline.

“G’Night.”

“Night.”

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In the morning, Alfie had been the one to bathe Arabella while you stood in front of the large bathroom mirror, doing your makeup and occasionally pulling faces at your daughter through the reflective glass.

She giggled loudly at you before swiping a hand out and covering Alfie’s cheek in soap suds.

“Bella!” He groaned, wiping them off using his shoulder.

“‘Oap!”

“Yeah, I know, girl. But, I’d appreciate it if you didn’t get it all over my face.” He muttered, tilting her head back and pouring water in little splashes over her hair to rinse it free of shampoo.

Once she was done and bored of splashing about, he heaved her out of the bath and wrapped her in her dressing down.

“Cold, daddy.” Her lips trembled as she hugged her hands to her chest.

“I know, let’s go get dressed.”

When you finished your makeup, you returned to the bedroom, finding your daughter in a pair of denim dungarees that had little butterflies stitched on, and a baby yellow t-shirt on underneath.

“Good fit?” Alfie asked while tugging a t-shirt on.

You hummed and nodded, pleased by his choice before rummaging around through your own clothes to find something to wear.

You decided on a pair of tiny shorts and a retro Adidas shirt that was striped with green and cream. The fabric was relatively thick too so it wouldn’t leave you too cold.

“Socks and shoes, baby.” You crouched in front of Arabella, shoving some socks onto her feet.

“No!” She whined, throwing herself backwards and trying to kick them off.

“Bella.” You said, tone firm but trying to be patient, “Stop kicking please.”

“Off! Off!” She screamed, fighting back as you pushed her foot into her shoe.

“What the fuck is going on?” Greg poked his head in whilst shrugging a plaid shirt on.

“She doesn’t wanna put shoes on.” Alfie huffed, sitting on the bed and pulling Arabella into his lap to hold her in place while you wrestled with her feet to cover them up.

She wasn’t just screaming anymore, she was bawling.

You pursed your lips, keeping quiet and ignoring her protests as you did the velcro strap and put her feet down.

“No!” She cried, tears streaming, “Don’t want!”

“You’re not walking around the streets barefoot, Bella.”

Alfie lowered her back down to the floor, and she dramatically threw herself onto it, rolling around and wailing.

Instead of giving her any form of attention, you walked around her and unplugged your phone from its place on charge at your bedside. Alfie sat on the edge of the bed, staring at her with a blank expression along with Greg.

“Daddy, off!” She tried, kicking her feet into his shin.

“Oi!” He snapped, reaching down and taking a hold of her ankles, “Do not kick me. Understand?”

“I want off!”

“You can’t. We’re going out. I’ll say it again, do not kick me. It hurts, it’s not nice.”

It didn’t hurt. She was only two. But he had to find some way to acknowledge her bad behaviour.

“Alfie, don’t shout at her.” You whispered while putting earrings in, “It won’t help.”

“I know, I know.”

She thrashed her legs again, and this time, Greg crouched down to her level.

“AB, look, mate.” He pointed to his shoes, “Look at my shoes. Aren’t they cool? We can both have our shoes on.”

“I don’t like it!”

“Yeah, I don’t like wearing shoes either, but we can do it together, yeah?”

She thought for a moment, and then began shuffling toward Greg, and then curled herself up in his arms.

“Aw, this is nice.” He grinned, “Thank you, AB.”

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In the car, Arabella was still in a mood with Alfie for shouting at her, and demanded that Greg sit in the back with her. She held his hand the whole time, babbling his ear off in short bursts all while he nodded along.

“Let’s go back to parrots, has anyone deeped how they can actually speak English?” Chip asked from the driver’s seat.

Alfie sighed, “They can’t, though.”

“Yes they can.” He mocked the sound of a parrot, making Arabella laugh.

“No, they can’t. They just mimic, like, the pitch— I can’t remember how it works but they can’t actively speak English, they can just mimic noises and how words sound. That’s why they only say words they hear a lot.” You explained, peering your head around the seat to talk to Chip.

“Didn’t realise we had David Attenborough in the car, fuckin’ hell.”

“I remember— ah, have I said this before? I don’t even wanna say it.” Alfie shook his head.

“Nah, just say it now. You can’t start and then not finish at all.”

“We watched the Romeo and Juliet film in English, um, like Leonardo DiCaprio one, and um, like, in lesson, I think there was a bit of boob on show at one point, and the second I got home, I bought that film on YouTube and I paused on that and just went nuts on it.”

“Alfie!” You groaned, your expression one of utter disgust as you shook your head.

“And I told my mates ‘coz I thought they’d find it funny and I’m pretty sure next time we were with a group of girls they went like ‘Oi, y’know AB fuckin’ wanked over Romeo and Juliet’ and they were all like ‘Ewwww’.”

“Good. That’s what you get for being with other girls before me.” You sneered jokingly.

“Fuck, she’s got you there.” Chip murmured.

“That’s actually quite romantic, bro.” Greg spoke up.

“Me wanking to Shakespeare or my mrs being mad I spoke to gal before her?”

“I mean,” He scoffed out laughter, “Both. I rate you for the wank, and I rate her for the possessiveness.”

“10/10 couple.” Chip added on.

“Yeah, 10/10 but they can’t get their daughter to wear shoes.” Greg joked, making Arabella give him a high five. “Wait, you know how girls, like, uh, read erotic books and toss themselves off—“

“A Court of Thorns and Roses.”

“Ball knowledge.” You smirked at Chip’s mention.

“Do you think some lads read books and wank?”

His question caused a wave of laughter and a light debate started before Frampton added in his own thoughts.

“My mrs is obsessed with Draco Malfoy and Hermione fan fiction.”

“Oh God!” Alfie groaned and laughed.

“That’s actually crazy, bro.”

“That’s like … that’s peak teenage girl fan fiction.” You giggled, starting to reminisce yourself “Like, pulling all nighters during summer just to read— Wow, what a time.”

“You used to read that?!” Greg exclaimed.

“Okay, personally I never indulged in a Dramione fanfic—“

“—Dramione—!”

“— But the first fanfic I ever read was a Ron Weasley one and I still remember it to this day.”

“What did you read it on?”

“Wattpad.” You shrugged.

“Aren’t there shit about me on there?” Alfie turned to you.

“I dunno, probably. There’s loads of Sidemen fanfics on there.”

“Really?!”

“Yeah.”

“Probably all for Wroetoshaw, mate.” Chip guffawed.

“Harry.” Arabella cooed from the back.

It went silent for a little until everyone began laughing again.

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Out of the car, there was a long trek down to the restaurant you were going to for brunch, and on the way you discovered that there was a car park further down, which would’ve saved you the entire journey.

Arabella whined at the sloping concrete, tugging on the bottom of Alfie’s shorts.

“What, Bella?”

“Up.”

“Oh, what, now you like me?” He sassed.

“Daddy, up.” She whined, burying her face in his leg.

“What do you say?”

“Please.”

After she used her manners, Alfie caved, lifting her up and settling her in his arms to carry her the rest of the way.

In the restaurant, one of the men that worked there recognised Chip through his collaborations with the Sidemen and then saw you all to a table. They pulled up a special highchair for Arabella so she didn’t have to perch on yours or Alfie’s lap the whole time.

The food you’d ordered was good, and you were relatively surprised when Alfie actually ate most of what he’d ordered, though you’d spent half of your meal trying to encourage Arabella to eat and your own food had gone cold.

“Reader, swap.” Alfie motioned, moving to take your seat so that he had the responsibility of feeding your daughter and not you.

“Are you sure—“

“Sit down and eat, please.”

There was an entire fish on the table that everyone was taking the mick out of, including Chip, who decided it would be funny to mimic a Jamaican accent while toying with it just as the waiter approached again.

“Sorry about my mate using it as a Jamaican puppet.” Alfie said, causing you to bark out laughter.

Towards the end of the meal, Frampton ended up losing the drone to a ridiculously tall tree. You all ventured down to the tree line and Alfie tried numerous different tactics to get the drone down, including shaking the tree, throwing more sticks up at it, and even attempting to scale the entire thing at one point.

“Alfie, get down!” You exclaimed.

“Why?!”

“Because I need you alive?!” You scoffed, “Seriously, come down before you fall down.”

Unfortunately, Frampton didn’t get his drone back, but the restaurant did give you all the meal for free, which was very lovely of them to do. So you returned to the car with full bellies and more cash in your wallets than you’d expected.

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The next adventure for the day was a cable car journey up a section of Madeira, and then to get back down you’d be put in little wooden sleds and pushed down sloping roads with two residents guiding you.

Chip upgraded you all to glass floors, which meant the entire cable car was made of glass and gave you a completely unfiltered view of the city around you.

Arabella kicked up a fuss about it, freaked out about being able to see the drop beneath her, so she sat on your lap and kept her gaze on the window looking outwards rather than down.

“AB, look, it’s fine.” Greg said, stranding on the glass floor and walking back and forth.

Of course it caused the cable car to shake a little, and Arabella screamed in terror, diving back into your neck and sobbing.

“Fuck, I thought it would help.” Greg put a hand to his mouth and sat back down.

“Bro.” Alfie laughed, shaking his head.

“Arab, it’s okay, I don’t like it neither.” Chip muttered, stroking her cheek.

“Want out!”

“I know, I’m sorry. It is my fault. I upgraded without thinking about it.”

“Should I lay my jacket out on the floor?” Alfie asked.

“No, just pass it over here.” You motioned.

He chucked it over, and you spread it out, covering the top of Arabella’s head so her view is restricted to you only. Her cheek rested against your chest, feeling for your heartbeat to soothe herself.

“This is the bread and butter of Madeira.” Chip commented, gazing out of the window once he was a little more comfortable, “Ronaldo would’ve just been living up in a house like this, then he probably went to that football pitch to kick ball.”

“Apparently he used to do keepie-uppies inside his … when he was a kid, on his way up to the mountain.” Greg gestured to the outside.

“Used to play crossbar challenge in that diner as well.” Alfie added with a little smirk, making you chuckle under your breath and shake your head.

“Do you reckon Ronaldo’s been to that diner?” Chip asked seriously.

“I … I think it’s a slim chance.”

Halfway up the mountain, Greg and Chip began farting continuously, being amusing to only them as you and Alfie sat shoulder-to-shoulder, jokingly covering Arabella like she was about to be attacked.

“Why we doing that? Why we all farting?” Alfie scratched his ear.

It was then that a little ‘poot’ came from your lap.

The boys went quiet as you lifted Alfie’s jacket from Arabella’s head, only to find her giggling to herself.

“Whoopsy mummy.” She whispered with her hand over her mouth.

Your head reared back in hysterical laughter while Alfie chuckled and pinched his nosebridge.

Greg was leaning forwards on his knees, tears pricking in his eyes as Chip clutched at his stomach.

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At the top of the mountain, Greg paid for a print out of the photo you’d all taken, and then got a round of drinks that he thought was going to be alcoholic based on the presentation of them.

They’d carved out a pineapple and filled the inside with a drink. Chip and Greg were sharing while you and Alfie did too.

Once you’d all finished your drinks, and taken a load of pictures together (mainly of you and Alfie, sometimes with Arabella) you ended up walking through a little museum that was surrounded by rainforest-like trees.

Arabella insisted on walking by herself, so you put her down and she waddled her way through the museum, stopping to look at only the most intricate of paintings.

The contemporary, modern pieces didn’t interest her in the slightest, but all the large ones with numerous colours had her looking at them in awe.

You stayed close to her while the boys lingered behind, doing a few bits for the video before continuing on outside.

“It’s butt plug man.” Alfie sniggered while pointing his camera at a statue of a man with a tear-drop shaped head.

“Where’s your one, Alf?” You hummed.

“I don’t have one.” He scoffed.

You looked at him sceptically, as if you knew otherwise.

“Where’s yours?” He retorted.

“In your boxers.”

“That was cold.” Chip chuckled, nodding in approval, “That was fucking cold— Y’know what?” He gave you a high five and you shrugged nonchalantly.

“I’m here all day. It’s just what I do.”

“We could be in Thailand. This looks like the places those monkeys, like, steal your shoelaces and shit.” Alfie explained, filming the area for his own vlog, “D’you agree, girl?”

You hummed and nodded, “I know what you mean, it does.”

“Yes.” He hissed, pumping his fist, “Mrs approval, that’s all I want.”

You all walked around outside for a little while longer, and you grabbed a few photos of Arabella staring out at nothing, along with a few of her next to her dad, before venturing into the next part of the museum which was designated to crystals.

You had to remind Arabella that she had to hold Alfie’s hand throughout the entire time, and if she let go then she’d have to be carried for the rest of the day. You didn’t want to risk her touching things and damaging them, so instilling this rule was your safest bet.

The boys weren’t too arsed, except for Chip, whereas you were mesmerised by all the beautiful colours and intricate designs.

“Isn’t it mad that nature can just do this.” You whispered, looking at the camera Frampton was holding, “Bella’s dossing about with her dad ‘coz he doesn’t give a shit but this is so cool to me.”

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Unfortunately, the queue for the sledding down the hill was ridiculously long, so you all made the unanimous decision to come back in the morning before it got popular.

There was a little convenience store around, so you all grabbed some snacks and drinks.

The monsters they had were tiny, just about the size of Alfie’s head and he could hold one between his thumb and first finger.

You would be lying if you said the size comparison didn’t have your tummy doing little flips, but you were also in public, so that was a thought you were going to have to keep to yourself.

Until Alfie looked at you, noticing the look in your eye and laughing, throwing an arm around your shoulders.

“You little fuckin’ freak.”

“Did I miss something?” Chip frowned.

“Nah, nah.”

You giggled, unfurling yourself from his arms and going to get some stuff for yourself.

When you returned with a bottle of Dr. Pepper and a small tub of Texas BBQ Pringles, you found Alfie holding the tiny can to his mouth and uttering about wanting to ‘fuck it’.

You blinked, expression blank.

“Your mrs caught you, bro.” Chip cackled.

“Nah,” Alfie whispered, turning to you, “Nah, you too, girl. C’mere.”

“No. I see how it is.” You shrugged, “You’d rather make love to a can of white monster than the mother of your child. Fine.”

“I made love you last night, is that not enough?”

“I knew it!” Chip gasped, “I fucking knew it.”

“Mummy?” Arabella came waddling over to you holding a KitKat, “TeeTat please?”

“No, you’re already having Magic Stars.”

“Please!” She begged.

“No.” You repeated.

“I love the way you talk to her like she’s 20.” Chip chuckled, “Just straight up ‘no’.”

You shrugged, “If I baby talk her, it makes her think she’s close to getting her way.”

“Daddy.” She pouted, “TeeTat.”

“I know.” He hummed, “KitKat or Magic Stars?”

She huffed at being given an ultimatum, before shuffling off.

“AB.” Greg whispered to her at the counter.

She perked her head up, watching as he gestured for her to hand it over. A triumphant grin took over her face as she passed it to him, observing as he paid and then slid it into his pocket.

“I’ll give it to you later, don’t tell mummy or daddy.” He winked, ruffling her hair.

She giggled, stomping her feet excitable and nodding before running back to you, only to stack it right at your feet.

“For God sake.” You huffed as her lower lip trembled and tears brewed in her water line.

Alfie took your snacks from you so he could pay and give you the room to pick her up.

You were lucky to make it outside before she started properly wailing.

Finding a bench, you sat down with her on your lap and checked over her body, making sure she hadn’t cut herself anywhere or hit her head off the shelf.

“Oh, Bells.” You frowned as she cried, “You’re okay, chick. Big fall, hm?”

She nodded, coughing and leaning into your chest.

“Mummy’s here, you’re alright.”

“Hurted.”

“I know.” You cooed, wrapping your arms around her tighter.

She managed to calm herself down after you placed a soothing hand on her back and rubbed back and forth.

Alfie came out the shop with a white plastic bag, carrying everything for the three of you.

“Bells, we’re going hat shop. Wanna go get a hat?” He cooed, tickling under her chin.

“Daddy.” She sniffled, reaching for him.

“Oh, I know, darlin’.” He sighed, handing you the bag so he could carry your daughter around.

In the hat store, Greg got another hat and Alfie got a red bucket hat. Arabella ended up picking out a purple cap with little yellow flowers dotted all over it.

“That’s pretty, baby.” You grinned as they walked out in their new hats.

She grinned at the compliment, giggling shyly.

The walk back to the car was leisurely, the journey even more so as you pulled into the car park of where you were headed next.

“Ask me about my fit!” Alfie said to Chip.

“Oi, tell me about your fit.”

“Pwwwww … what?!” Alfie blew out air dramatically, causing a lot of chuckles and head shakes.

“I thought you were gonna run through it!”

“Ah, yeah yeah yeah,” Alfie nodded, “Head—“

“If you’re offering.” You smirked.

He pointed to you, “Behave. Head, CR7 bucket hat, priceless—“

“Boring!”

“Reader, shut up, man!”

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The water was fucking freezing. You had no doubts that it probably would’ve been lovely had the weather been above mediocre, however it wasn’t. The sky was grey and cloudy, and the water you were standing in shot goosebumps up your skin.

Arabella stood on the side in a little one piece that had a frilly skirt around the edge. She stared at the water like it might reach out and bite her.

“You coming?” You hummed, reaching out for her.

Alfie sat down entirely, submerging his full body apart from his head in the water, deciding to just soak himself to get over the constant shivers.

“Scared, mummy.” Arabella sniffled.

There was a little red mark on her knees from where they’d made contact with the floor of the convenience store earlier, and the physical evidence of her hurt made your heart weep, but you knew this was just what came with being a toddler. You were sure there were numerous times where you would’ve injured yourself in public and won’t remember it anymore.

“I know, it’s a little scary, huh?” You spoke with a light tone, trying to encourage her to get in, “But look, me and daddy did it. Do you wanna join us?”

“Bells, come join me, darlin’.” Alfie beckoned her closer.

“Bella, Bella, Bella.” Greg chanted for her.

She also had inflatables wrapped around her biceps, making her arms stick out a whole lot more than usual. It made her look kinda silly, but you were okay with her looking slightly ridiculous if it meant she’d be alive.

“Otay, I come.” She finally agreed, stepping one foot into the water before screaming at how cold it was.

You all laughed heartily at her reaction.

“Daddy’s coming to get you.” Alfie stood up to his full height, water dripping from his swimming trunks.

“Daddy, too cold!”

“Nah, you just gotta get used to it, Bells.” He said, picking her up under her armpits and holding her to his chest before sitting back down in the water.

Her cheeks puffed out immediately, and she flapped for a while before finding her dads shoulders and latching onto them.

“Good girl, baby!” You cheered, clapping.

“Fuckin’ell, she’s braver than me!” Chip guffawed, finally finding it within himself to submerge below his stomach.

“Let’s go swim, yeah?” Alfie kicked out into the deeper end, treading water and holding Arabella out by her hands, “Kick, okay? I wanna see big splashes from your feet.”

She grunted while trying to hold her head above water, but kicked as she’d been taught in her swimming lessons, creating a splash that would’ve been considered dramatic and big for anyone her size.

“If I let go, will you swim to mummy?”

Arabella nodded.

Alfie slowly let go of his daughter's fingers, however he kept his arms outstretched in case it all went wrong and he needed to intervene as soon as possible.

“Look at that!” Greg exclaimed as Arabella basically doggy-paddled toward you.

“Yay, Bella!” You beamed at her, lifting her into your arms once she reached you.

She coughed and wiped her face, squeezing her eyes shut before opening them again.

“Too cold, mummy.” She whimpered, lips chattering.

“Okay, we’ll get out.” You kissed her cheek, rising from the shallow end and stepping out, “I’m proud of you, though.”

You found her pink and orange towel poncho amongst the other items you’d brought out and left near the sun loungers, putting it over her head until she was wrapped and warming up again.

“Where’s she gone?” Chip threw his hands up.

“It’ll be too cold for her.” Alfie tutted before flipping off of a surface into the deep end.

Once she’d warmed up again, she wanted to go back in.

“Why doesn’t Uncle Chip hold you, yeah? Because he can’t go in properly?” You proposed the idea.

“Sounds good.” Chip nodded, taking Arabella from you.

He remained on his knees in the shallow bit, holding onto your daughter like his life depended on it, occasionally bringing her up and down out of the water to make little splashes.

You and Alfie had ventured far off into the deep end at this point, swimming around each other with teasing grins. The sensual looks were merely because you’d noticed his eyes giving your body a whole lot of attention, and he could say the same about you.

“You look so fit right now.” Alfie sighed, wrapping his arms around your waist.

“Mmm, careful. We’re in public.” You tutted, your hands clasping at the back of his neck.

“I would literally fuck you right now if it was sanitary and you didn’t care.”

“In front of our daughter and your friends? Very classy, Alf.”

“Okay, maybe if they all fucked off, yeah.”

It caused you to laugh audibly and lean further into his touch, resting your cheek on his shoulder.

“Maybe you’ll get lucky tonight.” You murmured.

“Really? Two nights in a row?”

Teasingly, you shrugged, “I said maybe.”

“Fuck … you’re actually a nightmare.”

You scoffed, reeling back and slapping him playfully.

“Nah, a good nightmare. My favourite nightmare.”

“Okay, ew, cringe.”

“Bro!” He huffed, “Can’t a guy compliment his mrs anymore?”

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After another battle with another car park and struggling to get out, you managed to make it home safely. The boys gave a quick scan of the shitty bathroom that had been contaminated before getting changed to go out.

You sighed, shaking your head as you held Arabella on your chest on the sofa.

“Bro, just leave her here and come with us.” Chip suggested jokingly, “She’ll be fine.”

“Chip, I’m not leaving my two-year-old at home by herself so I can go out drinking. Besides, even if I did, I would be shitting it the entire time I was out. It’s okay. Have fun, me and Bella will have a little girls night at home.”

Alfie came jogging down the stairs in his new outfit, fitting a cap over his head and adjusting the belt that was holding up his black denim jeans.

“I’ll see you in a bit. Call me if you need me, I love you.” He rambled, pressing a kiss to your forehead and lips twice.

He felt guilty about you not being able to come out and drink with them on the strip, and he really did want you to come along with them. However there was a two-year-old that needed managing and Alfie was there for an actual video shoot with Chip, meanwhile you were technically only there because of him and his inability to leave you and your daughter alone for longer than three days at a time.

“Bye, love you too.” You grinned, kissing him once more before they left.

Indeed, you and Arabella had a lovely girls night in.

You put on some random cartoon for her to enjoy while you ordered some food.

You went through the photos you’d taken throughout the day, favouriting the ones you were going to use in your Instagram before looking back and finding your daughter passed out, drooling onto a pillow.

You smiled softly at the sight of her asleep, and reached over, caressing her cheek and dotting kisses along her face.

She truly was your peace on Earth and the reason you woke up in the morning.

Her being unconscious only encouraged you to wrap up downstairs and go up to bed. You switched off the lights, although you knew the boys were likely to return in the early hours of the morning and cause some sort of ruckus, and took yourself and your daughter upstairs for bed.

When Alfie came home that night, he immediately made his way toward your shared bedroom.

He knocked at first, just to give you a warning of another presence, before walking in. He half expected to find you awake and doomscrolling, but what he did find was even better.

You had completely passed out, sprawled across the mattress next to your two-year-old (despite her having her own bed in the room). And to make things better, you were in nothing but one of his shirts.

It was moments like these that really reminded Alfie of why he kept going, of why he did the things that he does.

It was all for you.

He shifted Arabella out of your bed and into her own before stripping down into his boxers and sliding into bed beside you.

With a whine, you ended up snuggling right up to him, latching onto his bare torso.

“Alright, girl?”

Your response was a muffled nothing, something you gave him whilst being in the space between half-asleep and full unconsciousness.

He snorted, letting you curl yourself fully around him before returning the favour, making sure everything was perfect in the little space of his family before letting his eyes shut for the night.

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As promised, in the morning of your last day, you got in the car and went straight to the basket ride down the mountain.

On the way there, you, Alfie and Arabella made sure to call his mum to wish her a happy birthday. She was elated to see her son and the family he’d created, uttering an emotional ‘thank you’ before letting you go to queue up and resume filming for Chip’s channel.

You were a massive fan of Alfie’s outfit today. It was just something about your man in a crew neck jumper that really did it for you.

He had Arabella in his arms again, being cramped into a little basket next to Chip with her in his lap was rather humorous to you as you giggled before being shoved next to Greg.

“Well, this is cozy.” You commented mindlessly.

“Reader, don’t say that. You’ll make me feel like your mistress.” Greg joked as the men on the back of your basket began pushing you down it.

“Mistress?!” You guffawed, cheeks beginning to hurt from how much you’d smiled already this morning.

“I don’t know what it’s called! What’s the male version of mistress?”

“Greg.”

“Ooo, yeah, true.”

Halfway down the road, you managed to pick up quite a bit of speed, which spooked you a little and you couldn’t help but wonder how Arabella was doing ahead of you.

You couldn’t hear her crying, which was a good start.

In fact, she was having a whale of a time. She was clinging tight to her dad while giggling down his ear, enjoying the feeling of the wind in her hair.

At the bottom of the hill, you all got out and reunited.

Arabella was beaming.

Her eyes were half shut and there were tears streaming down her cheeks from the wind hitting them, but she was grinning like the Cheshire Cat nonetheless.

“Fun?” You gasped at her.

“So fun!” She giggled, dancing around your feet.

There were some pictures to collect that had been grabbed on the way down, so once those were paid for and in your possession, you moved on to finding somewhere to grab a drink.

There was a vending machine nearby, to which Chip grabbed an original, and a white Monster, whereas you grabbed a diet coke for yourself and water for Arabella.

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You ended up going for brunch in a little cafe where all the boys ended up ordering far too much for themselves, especially Chip, who was already groaning despite there being half a plate of food left for him to devour.

Arabella was shovelling porridge into her mouth, rather strategically flicking the banana slices to the side and ignoring them.

“Eat them, please.” You said, picking up on her habit.

She whined but slid it onto her spoon with her fingers anyway.

“Thank you.”

“Here.” Alfie coughed, sliding one of his sausages onto your plate.

You gave him a bamboozled look, but the way he was leaning back into his chair and groaning told you that his eyes had been bigger than his belly once more. You rolled your eyes at him but indulged in the food he’d given to you anyway, cutting it up beforehand.

It was then that you noticed Arabella shifting uncomfortably in her seat and tugging at the hem of her skirt.

“Alfie, can you take her to the toilet please?”

He sighed and stood from the table.

“Don’t huff at me.” You retorted.

“Wh— I didn’t!”

“Daddy.” Bella slid off the chair, trotting from foot to foot excessively.

“Alright, I know. Let’s go.” He guided her towards the restroom after taking the bag you’d packed in case of any emergencies or accidents.

“He listens to you so well.” Greg cackled, “Honestly, I’ve never seen a man be more obedient.”

“Good.” You shrugged, “I didn’t carry our child for nine months and tear my vagina for him to sit around and do nothing.”

“Fairs. I hear it.” Chip nodded, reluctantly taking a bite of toast as to not waste so much food.

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The CR7 was not your first choice of afternoon activity, and it wasn’t entertaining to you or Arabella in the slightest, however, you did have a very amusing time taking the piss out of all the statues for looking nothing like Ronaldo in the slightest.

It was funny how an entire building dedicated to one person could get so many things about his facial symmetry and harmony wrong.

The only thing that did seem to catch your daughter's attention, was the massive statue of Ronaldo made from chocolate.

“Look at that Bells, all chocolate.” Alfie hummed.

“Yummy.”

“Yeah, but you can’t eat it.”

“Otay. No hungry.” She turned her back on both Alfie and the statue.

“Okay, you’re not hungry anyway, that’s good.” He chuckled as Greg keeled over, watching the two year old walk away from her dad like he meant nothing to her.

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Going back to the house and mucking about by the pool might’ve been the highlight of your trip. Just you, your daughter, your boyfriend, and his mates splashing about and cracking jokes left right and centre.

“Alfie!” You screamed as he jumped in right next to you, sending a tidal wave your way.

Greg, for some reason, had brought all the hats he’d acquired down, and was swapping between wearing them all in the pool.

Arabella was sitting on the side, her little legs dangling into the water, feet swaying back and forth as she watched you with a smile.

Chip was reclined back on a sun bed, still wearing his entire outfit (shoes included) and blowing into the air holes of her armbands, filling them up so she could put them on and go for a swim.

“Arab, here!” He exclaimed once they were done.

She toddled over to him, cautious of the wet decking around her and let him slide the rings onto her arm.

And then she was in; swimming around her dad, clambering up his torso and splashing you.

“Under!” She begged.

“No, you can’t. It’s not safe.” Alfie shook his head.

With a huff, she turned her back on her dad in the water, but still let him hold onto her.

“Hold onto my arm, here.” He patted his forearm.

Once she was latched on, he held his arm out and spun around, making her squeal in joy at the water coating her face.

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The time spent by the pool was brief, because Chip had other plans of going to see a statue designated to Jesus.

The skies had cleared up by the time you reached the monument, and a few jokes about God being the reason why were passed between your group.

You’d wrapped your hand around the meat of Alfie’s bicep, vlogging for him as he held Arabella in his other arm. Her legs were far too tired from all the kicking and swimming, and she was adamant about being carried for the rest of the day.

If anything, this trip had taught you that maybe paying the extra fee on a plane for a pushchair is worth it, and you’ll definitely be doing so next time you go away, because although Alfie had no issues hauling his daughter around all day, it did feel a little unfair to you that he didn’t have full mobility.

Unfortunately, all the boys were still super gassy, and Chip began chuckling loudly after an audible fart.

“You can’t fart on Jesus, bro.” Greg groaned.

“Wait, did you just emote on him?” Alfie chuckled, “Ah, so much of this is gonna be a toss up of who—“ He waved his hands up and down in a motion that had Arabella giggling, “Oh yeah, six sevennn.”

She cackled loudly, repeating the action.

“Your baby’s brainrotted, bro. Two years old and doing 67. Cooked.” Chip tutted, shaking his head.

You spent a few minutes taking photos, laughing as Chip did some rather questionable poses while Greg held his phone.

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The wind was mental, and you weren’t even properly on the coast.

You were stood on a hilly section as Chip and Frampton went back and forth about which Star Wars scene was filmed here, and whether it was actually here, or on a separate island just off the coast.

“Mummy, cold.” Arabella tugged on the sleeve of your shirt.

“I know, it is chilly, isn’t it?”

One look at Alfie and he was making a trip to the car and back, returning with a little blue GAP hoodie, zipping it up at her front so she was warm enough to still stand there as Chip got some content for his video.

You did end up making your way further to the edge of the hill, so much so that you could taste the salt in the air from the ocean.

Greg had snuck Arabella the KitKat he’d bought her yesterday, and she was currently sitting amongst the grass, breaking it up herself and making her way through it.

“Bella, wanna get a picture with mummy?” You cooed, sitting next to her and pulling out your phone.

She grinned at the camera as you snapped a few photos before putting it away and staying in your position on the grass, enjoying the view from the floor. It was also good to rest your feet for a little while.

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For dinner, everyone had relied on Alfie finding a good spot, and judging by the looks of things on the menus, he hadn’t done too bad. There were some good pasta options for Arabella and yourself, and the boys were most definitely eyeing up all the meaty options.

Frampton ordered a pizza, Chip a chicken parm, Greg some bolognese (matching with Arabella) and Alfie was sharing a large pizza with you.

The food was very good, and you were very pleased with Alfie’s decision.

Despite having a good meal, once you were all back at the house, your boyfriend was stuffing his face with dry cereal on a sun lounger hole while Greg splashed about in the pool again.

“Despite not doing much stuff, and it’s all been a little bit weird, I’ve had the best time of my life.” He said, leaning on the decking to talk.

“Well, ladies and gentlemen, on that note, we say goodbye to Madeira, and we say goodbye to you.” Chip spoke to the camera.

“Bye!” Arabella yelled obnoxiously while throwing one of her barbie dolls in pool.

“Yeah, she’s far too hyper, I’m not happy.” Alfie shook his head, watching his daughter mess about.

“It’s gonna be awful putting her to bed.” You commented.

“Oh, don’t even!” He groaned, throwing his head back, “Bells, do you wanna just go to bed now?” He tried, despite knowing it wouldn’t even remotely work.

“No!”

No hate to the man in question at all, it’s just that typical Scotland-England football banter. He does look the type to lick the bus windows though. 

“Won’t be saying that when England batter Croatia later.” He’s so confident they will, and honestly you think England will probably win but it should be a good game anyway. 

Like most of the Scots in the States, you’re just here for a party. You know Scotland have a slim chance to even qualify for the last 32, nevermind win the tournament. It’s just an excuse for sun, football and pints. Plus, whoever England plays, that’s who you’re supporting after Scotland.

“Whether you win or lose, he still looks like the type to lick the windows on the bus.” 

Alfie continues putting golf balls, missing every single one. 

“You’re so shit at golf,” you tease. 

“I’m saving all the luck for England tonight, s’alright.” He’s standing there with the putter over his shoulders, hat on backwards, shorts slung low on his hips, the waistband of his boxers peaking out over the shorts. 

God, you’re no better than a man. The thoughts you’re having would get a man cancelled. Unholy, filthy, something belonging in a smutty romance novel.

And then he decides to do something so Alfie.  He swings the golf club over his shoulders, knocking the hat off his head and absolutely smashes one of the golf balls across the garden. It rattles off the wooden fence with a loud smack! 

The two of you pause, locking eyes with a look of ‘oh, fuck’. It’s early, everyone’s still asleep, you’ve got neighbours. Aflie chucks the putter down, grabs the camera from where it’s perched and quickly pulls you back into the house, the two of you laughing like kids trying not to get caught.

You both collapse onto the couch inside, chuckling away at just how silly Alfie can be. He pulls you to lay on top of him, your fingers immediately reaching to run through his soft curls, his hat still laying on the ground outside. 

 “You know what you need? A cowboy hat,” you suggest, twirling a curl around your finger.

It’s nice having these quiet moments with Alfie. This trip, you’ll be surrounded by friends, cameras when everyone’s vlogging, fans in the stadiums and pubs. These quiet moments, as if you’re at home just the two of you, are lovely. Although taking the piss, teasing and rage baiting each other is your love language, you both enjoy being a little sappy and lovey too. 

“I’m gonna look for one when we go Walmart later.” A smirk tugs at his lips. “Why? You into that sort of thing.” 

“Could be, you know what they say,” you shrug, a coy smile on your face. 

“What’s that?” 

“Save a horse, ride AB.” 

That gets a laugh out of him. “What? You actually gonna ride me if I get one then?”

He knows you being on top is a love hate thing. You love when he sits against the headboard, face to face, how deep you feel him. You hate the way your thighs burn after a while, the way your hair gets in the way all the time, and sometimes if you think about it too much you get a bit self conscious about how you look on top. But also, you love how Alfie’s size means he can just manhandle you and move you however he likes when he’s on top, makes you feel dainty. 

“Tell you what, I’ll make a deal with you,” you offer, leaning up to meet his eye, “Croatia win tonight and I’ll ride you like the cavalry in the Battle of the Bastards. England win, you ride me like Khal Drogo rode Daenerys… when they actually liked each other, obviously.” 

The Game of Thrones reference just to sweeten the deal. You’d both binge watched the shit out of it again not that long ago, the first few seasons are just pure filth, all they do is shag. 

“Hold on, girl, surely if England win, then you ride me.” 

“No, cause if England win I’ll need cheering up, and if Croatia win you’ll need cheering up. There’s a method in the madness babe.” 

“Alright, deal.” 

England are clear favourites, so there’s a high chance you’re getting absolutely railed later. 

Nice. 

-

You, Alfie and Cal take a walk down to the Walmart five minutes from the house and come back with bags full of alcohol for pres. You’d added some sweet treats to the trolley, some cookies, cupcakes and donuts because why not? It’s coming up to the 4th July celebrations here so everything is covered in frosting and sprinkles. Plus, Alfie got his cowboy hat so it was a very successful trip.

The guys all start arriving for pres before the match, it’s England shirts and testosterone galore. The sun is shining, music is playing, and drinks are flowing. It's a good day. Again you’ve all started a drinking game, whoever misses a put has to do a shot. 

Ethan misses by about two feet, he sounds so unbelievably gutted to have to do a shot, his voice dripping with sarcasm,“Oh, no, how terrible.”

Alfie misses by an inch, the ball rolling right over the edge of the hole, and Cal nearly drowns him with the melon Buzzball. Ethan has Alfie’s camera shoved in Alfie’s face as he drinks. You do the girls who watch a favour and hold your own camera at a more flattering angle showing off his sharp jaw, toned abs and slim waist. 

“Oh, that’s a thumbnail right there,” you laugh as Alfie pulls away from the Buzzball. “Harry, if you take yours off too, I’ll make the girlies on TikTok very happy.” 

When the girls comment on your videos and TikToks thirsting over Alfie you don’t get jealous or possessive over it, you join in. Like, ‘yeah, he does pick me up and throw me around’. The one that gets circulated every so often is when someone commented on your TikTok of Alfie at the gym saying ‘Spit in my mouth’, you replied ‘I asked, he looked at me weird’. 

“Ey!” Alfie whips his head around to look at you. 

“What?” You reply innocently, “just keeping the girls happy. If we had Arthur, Bach and George here, that’d be vlog of the year. I’m a girl’s girl, I know what they want.” 

“Shut up and miss the putt so you can take a shot.” 

To anyone else it’d probably sound like he meant that, but everyone who knows you knows that’s how you are together. 

“Oh no, a shot of 13.5 percent alcohol, how will my liver cope?” Your sarcasm is just as bad as Ethan’s. 

You take the putter, half tempted to just smack the golf ball across the garden like Aflie did earlier, but knowing your luck you’d hit one of the boys standing about watching. 

Alfie takes his camera off Ethan and stands behind you as you take your shot. You can feel how close he is and when you bend over to take the shot. 

You’re about to swing the club when smack! Alfie’s hand lands right on your ass. 

The guys all erupt into a mix of ‘for fuck sake’ and ‘red card!’. 

“Alfie, don’t touch what doesn’t belong to you!” You scold playfully. 

“You know what they say, I bit it, so it’s mine.” 

Again, another round of ‘red card!’ comes from the boys, a few ‘freak’ comments are thrown out. Alfie doesn’t care, he just says that he can’t be blamed because you’ve got a great arse. 

Fair. 

You miss the putt spectacularly, hitting it too hard and sending it flying into the wall. Either way it’s a win/win. You’d either have been the first one to actually sink the put, or take a shot. 

Alfie takes the Buzzball from Cal and stands behind you. It’s insanely hot the way he uses one hand to tilt your head back and the other to pour the alcohol into our mouth. Sometimes he just does something, it can be anything, and you think it’s simply the hottest thing you’ve ever seen, but this tops the list. When you’ve swallowed the shot, a little drips from the corner of your lips and he swipes it away with the pad of his thumb. 

“I look at you two sometimes and I think ‘yeah, you’re that couple’,” Cal says, looking at you and Alfie, “and then other times I think how the fuck has he not given you the ick?” 

“Like rattling a golf ball off the fence at 8am this morning when the rest of us were sleeping,” Chip adds, looking at you like a disappointed parent. 

“Gotta keep her interested, ya know. Never let her know my next move.” 

True to his word, the big idiot passes the Buzzball off to one of the boys and gets you in a headlock acting like he’s in WWE. His other hand wraps around your waist and traps your arms as he pulls you down onto the grass. 

“Alfie! For fuck sake!” You shriek, quickly holding down the hem of your skirt and crossing your legs. “I’m about flashing the whole of Texas!” 

-

England won. 

You got a little bit too over confident when Kane missed the first penalty. You’d celebrated quietly, because you were surrounded by the enemy and didn’t want someone starting on you, and then it was re-taken for whatever reason and he scored the second time round. Alfie loved getting a snapshot of you just standing there, stoney faced while every other England fan in the stadium celebrated. It ended 4-2 to England, but either way the night would end well because you were on the receiving end of the bet you and Alfie had made earlier. 

You’d gone back to the house for more drinks before going back out again tonight. Alfie is the unfortunate soul who throws up before you leave the house. A day of living off Buzzballs, Modelo, and sugar cookies doesn’t go well with the sheer heat of Texas, especially after drinking for eight-ish hours already. 

You’d decided not to drink too much after Alfie threw up, the others were drinking enough for the both of you anyway. It’s been over twelve hours of drinking, you and Alfie both still tipsy and maybe even a little clingy with one another. 

Alfie’s barely had his hands to himself since you got here. Not lipsing in front of everyone, but his arm around your shoulders, a hand on your thigh, arms wrapped around your waist when you’re standing at the bar. 

You decide an Irish goodbye is best, over twelve hours of drinking. The thought of going back to the house and having it to yourselves at least for another couple hours until Cal and Chip decided to call it a night was just what you needed. 

Alfie was right about one thing yesterday, you do get freaky when it gets to that one week of the month, and everything he’s done today has had you wanting him even more.You checked your app this morning and sure enough, the week was highlighted in green. You’re horny for him all the time anyway, but this week just turns it up to eleven. Like this morning with the hat on backwards and the golf club slung over his shoulders. The way he tilted your head back to pour the shot in your mouth. Walking about topless all day with his shorts sitting low on his hips. God, he’s so fit.

You reach the house easily enough, but when you get inside you stop Alfie before he can take the first step upstairs. You stand on the first one so you’re eye to eye with him, one hand curling around the back of his neck. 

“England won, you know?” 

“Did they?” He replies, a knowing smirk on his face. 

“Yeah, shame that,” you hum, gently scraping your nails over the nape of his neck, “but we made a deal earlier.” 

“I suppose I should hold up my end of the deal then.” 

“I guess you should.” 

Before he replies, Alfie scoops you up and over his shoulder and carries you up the stairs to your room. 

You let out a surprised yelp, laughing as he runs up the stairs. 

Alfie drops you onto the bed and you land with a soft bounce, Hair splayed out behind you and a little breathless from laughing. You pull him down on top of you, wrapping your legs around his waist and pressing your lips against his. 

Alfie props himself up on his arm, his free hand snaking up your top leaving goosebumps as he goes. He rubs his thumb over your nipple through the lace of your bra causing you to gasp against his lips and he uses that as an opportunity to roll his tongue over yours. 

You arch up into him, your denim skirt riding up your thighs. You roll your hips against his feeling him hardening through his denim shorts. He groans against your lips, pulling back just enough to nip at your bottom lip. 

“Get this off,” he murmurs, standing off the edge of the bed to undo the button on your skirt and peel it down your legs. The denim ends up thrown off to the side somewhere and his top follows suit. 

You undress one another between kisses, clothes thrown over the room until there’s nothing separating you. Alfie sinks down onto the floor at the edge of the bed and grabs your hips, pulling you down to the edge, legs thrown over his shoulders. He swipes his finger through your arousal before circling your clit with the lightest, teasing touch. 

“Alfie, don’t tease,” you plead, lifting your hips towards him. 

He hooks his arms under your thigh to hold your hips down on the bed. Fuck, you love it when he does that. He flattens his tongue against you, licking a stripe from hole to clit. Your hips try to buck against him again, but those thick, muscular arms hold you in place. He doesn’t tease, he licks, sucks and kisses your pussy like he’s making out with it. 

“Fuck, Alfie!” You cry out, head thrown back against the sheets, back arching off the bed. And when he pushes two fingers into your soaked hole, your eyes roll back as a choked moan falls from your lips. 

Thank fuck the house is empty. 

You feel Alfie smirk against you as he sucks on your sensitive nub, he knows he can make you fall apart so easily like this, and when you’ve been horny for him all day it really doesn’t take much. 

He continues the perfect rhythm of sucking, flicking his tongue and curling his fingers inside of you until your thighs are shaking around his head. You’re close, so close, toes curling, fingers tightening in Alfie’s hair as the most lewd moans and whines fall from your lips. 

And then he stops. He just pulls away, panting, your wetness spread over his lips and chin as he looks up at you smirking.

You let out a whine at the loss of contact, aching for release. “Alf, babe, I was so close.” 

“I know,” he smirks, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand and sucking his fingers clean. 

He doesn’t wait for a reply, just grabs your hips again and flips you over onto your stomach. He pulls your hips up, moving you into the position he wants. Ass up, face down, back perfectly arched. 

“This what you wanted, yeah?” 

“Please.” 

He doesn’t waste any time, he lines his cock up with your entrance, slowly pushing in inch by inch. Alfie’s groan mixes with your moan as he sinks all the way in. His body curls against yours, peppering kisses to your shoulder as he gives you a moment to adjust. His hand sinks into the hair at the back of your head, tilting you back just enough to to press hot, open mouthed kisses down your neck, sharp teeth grazing your skin as he starts to thrust. Slow but deep. 

Slow and deep doesn’t last long and his hips start snapping against your backside. His hands grip your hips, pulling you back to meet his thrusts. 

Your fingers curl into the sheets, knuckles white from how hard you’re gripping them. You let out a choked moan, not having to hold back thanks to the empty house. The noises you make just spur Alfie on. 

“This what you wanted?” He asks, his movements getting rougher, more frantic.

He doesn’t hold back either, moaning and groaning when your inner muscles clench around him. You love that he’s vocal in bed. There’s nothing hotter than a man moaning because you feel so good. 

“Yes! Fuck!” You cry out. 

The noises filling the room are nothing short of pornographic. Skin slapping against skin, moans and whimpers, the panting. Alfie pushes your thighs just a bit further apart making the arch in your back deeper, and fuck, you feel the tip of his cock hitting that soft, spongey part inside of you over and over. 

“You’re fucking perfect,” he groans, fingers digging into your hip as the other reaches around, index and middle finger rubbing slow, teasing circles on your sensitive clit. 

Your thighs start to shake, heat pooling in your lower stomach as you get closer and closer to release. You don’t think you’re even making sense any more, eyes rolling in your head, toes curling, a mix of curses and his name tumbling from your lips. He feels too good, knowing exactly what makes you gasp, what makes you moan, what makes you cum. 

“Are you close already?” He sounds so cocky about it.

“Your fault.” It is, maybe it would be something to joke about if he hadn’t been doing the most unintentionally hot things all day and then teased you right to the edge and stopped.

The hand on your hips moves and tangles in your hair, tugging enough to make you gasp. The mix of the slight pain, his fingers circling your sensitive bud, his cock hitting all the right places is what sends you flying over the edge. 

Your toes curl, muscles tensing as the force of it has a loud moan catching in your throat. Alfie’s hips stutter as you clench tightly around him. 

“That’s it,” he grits out, working you through it. A few more thrusts and his hips stutter again and he cums with a loud groan, pressing himself impossibly deep in you as he fills you with his hot cum. He gives a couple more gentle thrusts just to see your thighs quiver with overstimulation before gently pulling out. 

You roll over and pull him down beside you, the two of you breathing heavily and coming down from the high. You know you’ll need to get up and clean yourselves up, but you lay tangled together as your breathing evens out. 

Alfie pulls you to lay on his chest, gently pushing your hair off your sweaty forehead as he leans down to capture your lips in the softest kiss. “I love you,” he mumbles. 

“I love you, too.” You whisper.

THE SUN HAD JUST STARTED TO PEAK THROUGH THE CURTAINS WHEN ALFIE BLINKED AWAKE. For a moment, he just lay there, watching you sleeping peacefully beside him. You breathed softly, getting some much needed rest after a very long week.

You had had a lot on your plate the past week. Alfie had been off on a trip for YoungLA, leaving you home with your two year-old, Willa. Normally, you would be fine handling Willa on your own, but the day that Alfie left Willa had gotten a stomach bug.

Willa was sick for days, and caring for her had left you drained. She was feeling better now, but all of her unspent energy from when she was ill had caught up to her, and now she was barely sleeping through the night. Which is why Alfie heard the low muttering of her talking to herself in her room through the baby monitor.

He slipped out of bed slowly, careful not to wake you as he bent down and pressed a soft kiss to your temple. He padded out of your shared room and toward Willa’s, rubbing his eyes of sleep.

The second Willa saw him, her eyes lit up. She lifted her arms up toward him from where she sat up in her cot. "Daddy!"

"Morning, bug," Alfie whispered, wrapping Willa into an embrace. He picked her up and held her at his hip. She rubbed her eyes as he stepped out into the sunlit hallway and headed downstairs.

"Where Mummy at?" Willa asked, resting her little head against Alfie’s chest as they entered the kitchen. She was always so sleepy, but she still insisted on waking up in the early hours of the morning for some reason.

"She’s asleep." Alfie sat Willa on the counter as he began getting things they’d need from the cupboard. He pulled out a big mixing bowl and put it beside Willa on the counter. "We’re gonna surprise her with some breakfast. Does that sound good?"

"Yeah!" Willa called, immediately trying to grab the bowl Alfie had just sat down. "Pancake?"

Alfie smiled down at his daughter, tucking a strand of her messy hair behind her ear. He leaned down and pressed a small kiss to her forehead. "Of course pancakes, Willa. Mummy's favorite."

They didn't even last ten minutes.

The kitchen was a complete disaster. They had used approximately 30 different bowls, flour was scattered across every surface imaginable, and somehow batter had ended up in both Alfie's and Willa's hair.

"Right, bug. It's time for us to—" Alfie turned around to see Willa stealing blueberries with a mischievous look on her face, thinking Alfie couldn't see. He pointed the wooden spoon he'd been using for the batter at her. "Oi! Put those down!"

Willa froze with a handful of blueberries incriminating her. Without even batting an eye, she ate the rest. Then she laughed in Alfie's face like a true daddy's girl who knows her dad won't yell at her for it.

Alfie just sighed, then scooped Willa up and brought her over to the stove. "We've gotta start cooking these, bug. Before your mum wakes up."

She nodded like she had a mission now. "'Kay!"

Alfie touched the pan lightly to see if it was hot enough and hissed as it burned to the touch. "Fuck!"

Willa looked at Alfie with a mischievous glint in her eye. She opened her mouth to repeat Alfie, but he spoke up before she could. "Do not repeat that! Your mother will kill me..."

"Kill?" Willa asked, turning her head to the side out of curiosity. Alfie just dropped his head, accepting defeat that he had taught your daughter some new vocabulary words this morning.

Willa watched with an excited grin as Alfie got the bowl of batter and poured out the first pancake. It was going great. Until he flipped it and it fell apart completely. The next one looked promising, however.

"Now we're cooking, Will!" Alfie ruffles your daughter's hair before turning around to grab a plate for the pancakes. He was not even turned around for five seconds when he smelled something burning.

He turned around quickly, running over to the stove and pulling the pancake out of the pan. It had somehow transformed into a hockey puck in the five seconds he was across the kitchen.

Smoke curled up from the stove and toward the ceiling, and Willa pointed to it and laughed like the menace she was.

Then the smoke alarm started up with a loud: BEEP, BEEP, BEEP.

"No, no!" Alfie yelled as Willa continued laughing. He lunged into action, grabbing a tea towel and waving it frantically at the smoke. He cracked the windows in the kitchen as well, then grabbed the smoke detector and pulled the batteries out. He grabbed Willa from the counter and sat down on the kitchen floor, catching his breath.

"Fuck," Willa giggled, looking up at Alfie. He couldn't even be mad at your daughter for swearing, because she used it in the perfect context.

"Yeah," Alfie said, rubbing his brow. "Fuck."

Upstairs, you jump awake at the sound of chaos downstairs. You basically fall out of bed, leaving your room and heading down to where the noise was coming from.

You take in the state of the kitchen. Alfie and Willa must have used the whole bag of flour, judging by how much of it was throughout the room. The smoke detector that had woken you a few seconds before was on the counter with the batteries taken out.

And on the floor, right in the middle of the kitchen, was Alfie and your daughter Willa. He looked out of breath, clutching a tea towel for some reason. Beside him, Willa just grinned.

"Mummy!" she smiled and jumped up, arms out for a hug. You reach down and scoop her up. “We make pancakes!"

"Really?" you ask, raising an eyebrow at Alfie. "Where… are they?"

Alfie shakes his head, standing up from the ground. "I’m sorry, love. We wanted to do something nice for you. But we’re just so shit at cooking and we kinda fucked it. I’m sorry."

Your chest tightened as you looked between your beaming daughter in your arms and your doting boyfriend in front of you. Your eyes watered slightly as you thought about how lucky you are for your little family. Even if they can’t cook for shit.

"That is very sweet, Alfie," you said, putting Willa down.

A faint pink rose to Alfie’s cheeks as he rubbed the back of his neck. "Yeah?"

"Yeah," you said, wrapping your arms around his waist. You kissed him slowly, tasting the pancake batter on his lips. 

On the floor behind you, Willa dropped a metal bowl with a loud clang. "Fuck!"

You had never pulled back from Alfie quicker. Your eyes were open wide at him, but he avoided eye contact. You turned slowly toward Willa.

"Willa." you picked her up and propped her on your hip. She practically melted into your side. "You can’t say that word, baby."

"Daddy says it!" Willa said, pointing to a very guilty looking Alfie.

You narrowed your eyes at Alfie. "Well, daddy’s gonna be in big trouble for saying that."

Alfie just grinned that wicked grin he had when he was saying something inappropriate. "Guess you’re gonna have to punish me then."

chip was too busy trying to breathe through his laughter while calfreezy gasped next to him, “no way, the dogs do you dirty like that! you don’t still live at home, do you?”

“no, no, this was just before i got the grotto. probably the last time before i had enough, not gone back since,” he grinned as the others proceeded to laugh. “final straw. slammed the deposit down on the table after that.”

“man, i can’t imagine the struggle having y’gal over when you’re still living at home,” chip chuckled as freezy took a laughing fit this time. “we been lucky that way, we moved out real young.”

“until you move out, you don’t realise how mad it is but,” alfie shrugged, “what ya gonna do. i think back to times and get goosebumps i’m like was i possessed or something when i was tryna slip it in n’ the MIL strutting about the landin’, tryna get the washing done.” he watched the other two laugh wildly at his diabolical confession. “true story that.”

“bro,” cal chuckled greatly, fanning himself with his card, “red card! red card.”

ok yeah, this was definitely not what you were expecting 10 seconds in.

▶︎‖ ─•──── 10:55

“so what is your situation? do you have a girlfriend? a situationship? single?”

“no, i got a girl,” he confirmed.

“you have a girl?”

he nodded, “yeah,” scrambling for his phone, he sat comfy on the couch of his first proper podcast appearance. he clicked the lockscreen button and all three pairs of eyes glancing to the mesmerising photo of the bikini-clad girl sat at a table opposite AB. you actually hated the photo, slouched in the plastic chair whilst waiting for your food to come after spending almost 2 hours in the pools at the waterpark, hair drenched from the slides and your boyfriend throwing you under water, you looked like a hot mess in your opinion.

all alfie saw across from him was some tanned, busty model sprinkled in water droplets looking like something straight out of a porno mag.

of course, when you kicked off at the sight of it, he said it was ‘lovely!’

“that’s your girl?”

“yeah.”

“do the people know you got a girl?”

“i think so. i mean i don’t hide it. if i bring her up, i bring her up, i don’t try to avoid it or whatnot. i think that makes a bigger deal than what it is. she’s not been in my vids or anything but i’ll talk about her. if she is it’s no longer than a minute or such,” he gave a quick swipe through the other wallpapers on his phone that rotated every hour, showcasing your beauty with cute smiles and gorgeous outfits and the odd one with him in it. he put his phone back in his pocket. “yeah.”

“wow. how long you been together?”

“uhh, coming up three years this year.”

“oh no way!”

“yeah.”

“how’d you guys meet?”

“uh, basically went through school together,” he bounced his leg over the other. “she hated me for majority and then 6th form,” he shrugged, “got wham and she wanted a bit,” he winked at the camera.

“actually?!”

“nah, nah, not entirely. i mean she did fuckin’ hate me in the beginning.”

they laughed at him. “no!”

“yeah, like, i was a nobody to her. she didn’t give a fuck - to be fair, she hated all guys in school like she was never the type that was interested in boys - you know how when you’re first year and you start fancying people and you meet up at parks n shit, have a cheeky kiss behind the swings, talk for a bit on snap — yeah she never did that. nobody had her, even in year 7 like, she fancied no one. when she said man-hater she meant man-hater.”

“is that what you got up to in year 7?” they snickered.

“nah bro, i was – up until 6th form, i was still like, late bloomer bro like no gal wanted me,” he laughed, “i was too busy playin’ minecraft with the boys.”

“so this the only girl you been with?”

alfie closed his eyes and fought back a nervous smile, “broo, y’gonna get me strung up by my gyal, man,” he said in his roadman accent, rubbing his eyes.

you smiled at the sight of him looking like he was walking on eggshells.

“we don’t talk ‘bout that, know what i’m sayin’.”

calfreezy and chippo laughed, seeing the guy perfectly represented how all guys felt when the mention of other females came up prior to their girl.

“nah, she is my first girlfriend, like, proper, in love, relationship,” he awkwardly explained. “just . . drips n drabs before that — fuckin’ hell, you man sweatin’ as well?” you laughed out loud when he dabbed his actually slightly sweaty forehead.

calfreezy kicked his feet as he laughed at the sight of alfie visibly dreading this topic despite laughing nervously.

▶︎‖ ─•──── 10:55

“nah, 10 times out of 10 i go by myself. the gym with my missus is a whole thing. ‘cause she doesn’t want to work arms . . and i don’t want to work legs . . ‘n then she just gives up ‘cause she can’t be bothered which annoys me but then i annoy her when i try to push her . . then guys come in and i can’t chill ‘cause i feel like they’re looking at her and it’s like fuck . . i’m gonna have to establish dominance here by taking a drink from her fruity ass pink water bottle.”

▶︎‖ ─•──── 10:55

“so did she fancy you in school?”

“i mean, she didn’t really like anyone outside her own little circle in school. let me explain this vibe of my gal alright? her friends were a group of cunts,” he didn’t flinch at their dropped mouths, “i can say that ‘cause they’re not friends anymore, but pure, like, horrible girls when she stopped hanging with them. it’s a whole story, but basically the friend group - i mean, it was mostly one girl stirring it, but the rest followed her like the leader. they were unbearable the last few months of school, like, genuinely, i couldn’t stand them. but y/n like . . you kind of never bothered with her anyway ‘cause she was just like . . i’m not saying you didn’t stand a chance with her but you didn’t. just because . . . she just didn’t like any of the lads from school. she just wasn’t interested in relationships. everyone thought she went with someone from a different school ‘cause there no way she was single out of choice like — she — i mean i’m gonna sound biased but she genuinely was the stunner of the group. of the school to be fair. and the nicest, she was most easiest to approach, it was kind of like a pity she was associated with that group. that was her only flaw.”

“that was her red flag!”

“yeah literally! it’s like . . who are you really if you’re hanging with them? something’s up . . . but nah, like she just wasn’t fussed on lads. she was years ahead in maturity and it was probably like taking on a child in her eyes to get in a relationship at that age. you know what it’s like.”

“no totally, we’ve all been that age. we’re still not fully mature. the immaturity don’t leave us. still get called a manchild by my mrs.”

“yeah! the immaturity, lack of seriousness. proper delusional thinking you could get with someone at that age and expect genuine respect, proper loves you, won’t cheat, will last together type thing. i mean who comes to mind when you think of your old schoolmates who were together that are still together?” he rambled.

“valid. valid.”

“you could talk to her, chance your arm, but it’d be a waste of time, you got nowhere. and the lads weren’t exactly tryna make new mates, y’know what i mean? and she was always with her little crew anyway, so you just dodged the lot of them. her friends said they hated guys too but then got with every man goin,” he had his little vent on that dreadful old friend group of yours, “not my gal though,” he winked at the camera.

“so you won her over.”

“basically, but not in a i-wanted-to-be-her-boyfriend way like i genuinely just wanted her to like me as a person ‘cause she had this whole image painted entirely wrong of me and it used to bug the shit out of me. i was like i’m making it my mission to get you to like me ‘cause i swear i’m not some player–fuckboy type. i’ve got two chihuahuas, mate. i come home, i eat my chicken nuggs, i hop on minecraft and i mind my own business. i might look like i’d cheat on you with some fiat 500 batty but i get nervous ordering at greggs. don’t let the fade fool you, i-i can hardly look a gal in the eye. trust, i ain’t got that roadman ting going on.”

“oh did she think you were a prick?!”

“yeah, like, we were pretty calm in school, we got put through this same class for four years, GCSE to a-level, it was really small, like 10 people and none of my friends were in it, none of hers were so we were like - we still weren’t close but like . . if she needed caught up on notes, she was asking me, y’knaa—” he flicked his hand like he was flexing his rizz on the boys.

“she was asking me for notes—” freezy hit chips arm as he laughed.

“s’like yeah girl, write your number in there while you’re at it,” he joked, “nah but then she dragged me into a argument i weren’t even a part of in front of the whole canteen and made a dick of me so.”

▶︎‖ ─•──── 10:55

“i’m actually really romantic?” alfie defended himself against the older boys in the middle of filming a football shoot.

“what’d you do for valentines?”

“i actually got her a A3 card.”

“that said what? ‘best girlfriend ever?’” chris rolled his eyes.

“uh, it was personalised, i’ll have you know.”

“what was the photo?” harry asked.

“uhhhh.”

he had to scroll to find a photo of the card but he did. the cover was a photo you’d taken from the shower, your arm raised high above you to capture just from your shoulders, upwards and alfie also standing in the bathroom next to it, using the toilet but thankfully half-covered by the glass pane of it. “i–it’s basically us in the bathroom. she was taking a shower and i was taking a piss. y—you obviously can’t see anything b—”

“jesus christ.”

“and she put that up for her mum and dad to see?!”

▶︎‖ ─•──── 10:55

“would you say you’re the jealous type? does your girlfriend get jealous?”

“pffftttt,” alfie spat into the mic, looking wide-eyed across at tays and ginge, “jealous? bros i got a pure psycho on my hands, i can’t lie,” he put on that stupid voice again.

“oh seriously?!” ginge sat up, intrigued.

“she not let other women breathe near you either?” tays said.

“she’s an unpredictable psycho. she likes to play a little guessing game w’me when i come home sometimes. have to figure out what mans did wrong. she let me breathe around one woman, i breathed around two, s’like shittt girl, my bad. ” the two boys laughed opposite him, getting him to laugh himself. “nah she my little demon. i like it. i like when she goes a bit crazy, feel like she might murder me. turns me on, lowkey,” again, with the weird voice. “i like a fiery ting, is she gonna kill me, is she not.”

▶︎‖ ─•──── 10:55

“nah i do have fun with my girl on nights out, i know some lads dread being the same place with their gal in the club ‘n that but i’m guaranteed to have more fun in her company than some of my boys like, some of my boys down 4 bottles and their knocked out like some 60-year-old dad in the corner booth. it’s like mate, allow it. my brother – we were on holiday a few months back with my family, and me and my brother said we would go on the strip like go to the club one night, got all hype about it, and then when it came to it he was like ‘nah bro, can’t be bothered.’ i turned to my mrs, said ‘d’you want to go out tonight?’ she said ‘yeah, will we get a bag on the way?’ i said ‘girl is the sky blue?’ — nah i’m jokinnn’ she didn’t say that, she didn’t say that. not that time. but you get what i mean, she meets my level.”

▶︎‖ ─•──── 10:55

“I’M SCARED TO BRING HER AROUND YOU LOT INCASE YOU DON’T LIKE HER!” he confessed stressfully to his youtube squad. “SHE’S REALLY BAD AT FIRST IMPRESSIONS ‘N THEN I’M GONNA HAVE TO SMACK YOU ALL WHEN YOU SAY SHE’S A SOUR-FACED BITCH!”

▶︎‖ ─•──── 10:55

“you know what? i do feel bad, i feel like i’ve really exaggerated her to be this raging, controlling, psycho bitch, you lot are all gonna be like free AB but she’s really not, like, she gives me so much freewill—it’s me who brings out the psycho in her.”

▶︎‖ ─•──── 10:55

“i call it lemon and lime time.”

“ . . . wot.”

“come again?”

“lemon and lime time? because–no, listen, right— on boxes of tampons you get – there’s different colours. green and yellow -maybe orange, or i might be making that up- either way. she sent me out to get her some one time ‘n i was like ‘what flavour d’you want? lemon or lime?’ they must be scented or something, i dunno, and she voice note me back really laughing and said lemon, lime, whatever. found it really funny. whatever. but now it’s like a hack ‘cause you know when you ask your mrs ‘you on your period’ it’s like—”

“–aw bro, it’s like starting world war three.”

“–it’s a tricky situation.”

“–it’s a set up.”

“it is!” alfie sat up straighter, passionate about the topic, “but now i just say ‘is it lemon and lime time’ and she’ll answer without blowing my head off,” he smiled proudly, “life hack or what?”

“it’s pretty clever, actually. is that why they’re different colours then? flavoured or scented?”

“i think so,” he nodded.

▶︎‖ ─•──── 10:55

“—she’s the one who came up with gimpy perm boy. i picked her up from a night out and we were sort’ve arguing beforehand, nothing serious but when i picked her up she was still in a mood, and she got in the car, rambling on to herself ‘n was all ‘yeah talk to me when you get a decent haircut, y’gimp. gimpy gimpy perm boy.’ it was the funniest thing ever, we both laughed when she said it ‘cause it was just so shit and the way she was talking to herself as if i wasn’t sat right next to her. . . and then i nicked it for my own video. SO the people who say they don’t like my gal and don’t think she’s funny - it’s her joke you all constantly comment on my vids, so suck on that,” he held up his two fingers to the camera.

▶︎‖ ─•──── 10:55

“no but i have punched someone before.”

“have you?!”

“i’m not — i’m not a fighter like i don’t want to fight anyone, ever. and my girl always says to me like especially on nights out ‘just because you can, doesn’t mean you should’ - and im not that guy anyway, y/n would be fuming if i got into a fight like that’s the last thing she wants to see and i would never do anything she didn’t want me to. . i genuinely just want a nice night. maybe a kebab, go home, cuddle, that’s me. but like . . yeah. apparently i’ve got a bit of a temper when it comes to her. my mum says it all the time, like, ‘you go blind where that girl’s involved’ and i used to be like what’s she on about? blind where? i’m chill, i’m calm, i’m zen,” he shrugged cluelessly, “but then . . yeah. one night i got it.”

he shuffled comfortably on his seat. “it was late at night and we were all waiting on a taxi. can’t really remember what we were out for but just left the club, waiting to go home, getting hangry for a mcdonald’s and me and my mates were standing in the street. y/n came and met up with us so we could go home together,” he explained. “i remember i was all agitated anyway with just drunk people doing my head in, shouting and smashing things, guys looking at my girl - nothing major, s’just worse when they’re drunk, like, they’re not discreet about it, ‘n i get it: she’s a rocket. then this guy spawns in from nowhere - proper npc behaviour. already being loud, off his face, lingering round us. my mates were laughing at him, but i wasn’t. i clocked him straight away—weird vibe, ‘n he starts coming in on my girl, looks her over once and says the most - i be fuming thinking about it” he almost laughed psychotically, “says the most diabolical, gruesome shit ever like stupid little comment. i literally — i swear down — i-it—it was like one minute i was just standing there watching him . . . and then, i blinked, and i was still just standing there, except, he was on the floor and i genuinely like—” he stares into the void for a second, still baffled.

“NO!”

“HAHA! CLASS!”

“no, no, honestly lads, it’s — i don’t even remember moving – i - it could have been anyone who hit him ‘cause i genuinely didn’t move a muscle from my spot. it didn’t register. i didn’t even get this–this rush or urge to bang him, it just happened. it was y/n who like, was gripping my arm, panicked, going, ‘alfie?! what the fuck?! why’d you do that?!’ and i’m like, just as confused like why she blaming me? i’m looking at my own hand like . . wait what? what she on about? did i . . ? didn’t feel a thing. no rush, no blood boiling, nothing. it was. like my arm just acted out without telling me. i was stood there trying to remember if i actually hit him or if he just like, tripped on a crack in the pavement and karma did its ting.”

the boys were in cackles but you were laughing into yourself more so at alfie’s genuine confusion and despair as he reflected back to that night. “nooo wayyyy, bro.”

“my mates were there, they were like we couldn’t even stop you if we wanted to ‘cause it was like a twitch. like—bam. we couldn’t even clock it. and the guy’s friends came out after and were standing about and they didn’t even try anything, they were like . . yeah bro, he did have that coming but like . . . is he alive though?’ — y/n’s the one making sure the man’s breathing while i’m just hovering like an absolute muppet. and then i’m apologising to her like she’s the one i wronged which i guess i did . . .” he sighed stressfully. “swear, i felt the hangover kicking in and i just did my last shot like 10 minutes prior! stood there just thinking how’s this even happened? i was literally craving maccies two minutes ago, now i’ve apparently assaulted a man and my girlfriend’s out here playing paramedic to someone who just tried to undress her with his eyes!” he exhales like he’s just relived the whole thing. “but then . . yeah it’s chill. it’s all good. had to grovel a bit in the taxi to make sure she was still coming back to mine but,” he shrugged, “it was calm.”

“yeah, like she couldn’t be annoyed at you.”

“yeah, she wasn’t annoyed at me, she was just annoyed the way it puts her in a kind of awkward situation, like cleaning the mess up. but it was fine. i was like ‘fine, just tell me next time and i’ll stand behind you while you swing’,” he chuckled.

“class bro,” they applauded him and you rolled your eyes at the screen.

“but yeah, in–in conclusion, i have - wouldn’t say fought but . . i’ve hit a few people before. but it’s always in defence or something like that.”

“i’m so glad i’ve never had to defend my girl like that, then we’re both getting disrespected.” chip said.

“my ego couldn’t take it.”

“this is why you’ve gotta get wham, so you can defend your bird,” alfie winked at the camera. “had to back my boys up when it kicked off at a maccies though, one time after school. true story.”

▶︎‖ ─•──── 10:55

“i’ve learned in my time that ‘i’m fine’ really translates to ‘figure it out you stupid dickhead.’”

▶︎‖ ─•──── 10:55

“—same as when you’re feelin’ yourself, y’know? maybe get a fresh trim, hit the gym real quick, clean fit — and then your girl walks in, probably in her fucking pyjamas, little tank and shorts on and it’s like . . how you gonna out-do me like that like i was feelin’ pretty leng then and you just show up and bring my rating down to a solid 4. don’t even get me started when they are all glammed up.”

▶︎‖ ─•──── 10:55

“yo girl, can i get your number? take you for a little spin ‘n that,” you recognised this clip as alfie vlogged from his brand new car (at the time) while passing each other on the road to both your houses. it was so weird and a little sad how you both had the same car and now his was gone and replaced with his new defender. you used to joke your audis were boyfriend and girlfriend too, his grey, yours white.

now he was just driving a military tank on the road that god forbid you left a lip liner in.

“i got a man. or actually i dunno where he’s gone. some guy in a tractor tank just pulled up thinking he’s peng,” you shielded your eyes from the sun as you looked up at him through your rolled down window.

he grinned, continuing his roadman persona. “say less. man’s here now, innit. jump in, i’ll take you nando’s, get you lemon and herb, maybe medium if you behave.”

“medium? you think i look like a medium kinda girl?”

“my bad, you’re right. you’re giving extra hot, still, might need to calm you down with a drink after.”

you leaned your head on your hand out the window, “what are you after?”

he adjusted his cap and slyly smirked, “just a man in his defender, tryna wife up a fine ting in an aldi A1.”

“aldi A1? as in . . the same thing you used to drive about like it was a range just last week?” you grinned.

he nodded, “allow it, girl, it’s a lifestyle. i can’t be seen in a basic whip anymore.”

“oh basic is it now?” you couldn’t hold back your smile at the audacity, “careful, mocking your roots. car’s gone to his head already.”

he laughed and shrugged, “yeah, well. we grow. we evolve.”

“into what? self-absorbed arseholes?”

“aight, be off then in your aldi A1, i got some rockets i need to chat up in their corsas,” he pulled his handbreak down.

“right, well, have fun in your debender,” you widened your eyes, hitting the indicator and speeding off around him before he could even finish turning his wheel all the way. you got to see how he laughed into himself over the interaction, as you remembered seeing him laugh through your rear view mirrors.

and that was when the debender joke was born.

▶︎‖ ─•──── 10:55

“some girl from uni commented happy birthday legend with the little hand heart emoji and she screenshotted it, sent it to me, and just said, ‘legend, yeah?’”

“—OOOF.”

“—that’s rough.”

“that was it. i had to just let it simmer for the rest of the day. didn’t talk to me all day and when i pointed it out she’s all nonchalant like no obviously not i just been busy and i’m just like rightttt ok,” he rolled his eyes at the memory, but a smirk tugging on his lips.

▶︎‖ ─•──── 10:55

“i used to be so scared of getting a girl and meeting her parents over dinner type thing ‘cause i’m such a picky eater, like my diet is a joke, but then she told me that she’s not the most adventurous eater either and basically orders chicken everywhere she goes, so’s like a match made in heaven. and she hates red sauce. soulmates.”

“you’re kidding.”

“swear. although she does love bbq which is just as bad, i can’t have that. need her to bleach her mouth before she even thinks about coming near me. moving like that.”

▶︎‖ ─•──── 10:55

“nah, even with my girlfriend, before she was my girlfriend, we didn’t go to our school formal together but we basically did but when i asked, it was so awkward, i was like ‘you going to formal?’ ‘yeah’ ‘you going with anyone?’ ‘no’ ‘oh nice, nice, yeah me neither’ . . . that was it.”

“fuck sake bro.”

▶︎‖ ─•──── 10:55

“nah she makes me laugh though. we were out the other day and this girl smiled at me when i held open the door for her — just a normal smile, like, polite human — and she was like, ‘do?? do you wanna go back and hold it open a bit longer??? orrrr??’ like the dramatics do make me laugh sometimes.”

▶︎‖ ─•──── 10:55

“so i’ve just ran into the shop, going to make a quick stop and see trouble . . . see peng ting . . see sneaky link,” he buckled his seat belt and turned on his car, the passenger seat occupied with his recent purchases. “she’s had a pretty shitty few days, really stressed out with work and uni ‘n shit, and i’ma good boyfriend, so i’ve bought her some—some bits, what we got here? chocolate . . crisps . . her favourite drink . . an ice coffee and flowers, just to hopefully pick her up a bit. it’s not much but it’s the thought that counts guys, alright? she’ll be grateful. my shayla . . my shayla!” he swung out onto the road.

▶︎‖ ─•──── 10:55

“nah, boys, my girl just text me, i haven’t replied to her in an hour, she said what position you got her in?”

▶︎‖ ─•──── 10:55

“chat’s blowing up. when’s your birthday? august. what are you doing for valentines? my bird. what do you get a girl for valentines? honestly, they’re happy with the little things my guy. get the flowers. get the chocolates. book the hotel room,” he clicked and pushed buttons on his controller from his set-up in the spare room. “my girl’s thing has always been jewellery, she loves all things jewellery - it doesn’t even need to be expensive, as long as you know what she likes,” he continued, transfixed on the screen. “even in my warehouse job, i always made sure to save a little extra for those important dates for a bit of jewellery ‘cause that’s when you do splurge a little. i got her a bracelet and she never takes it off. actually, i got her two bracelets she never takes off. one little diamond piece and one you can buy different charms? that’s a shout. then you can just buy charms for different occasions. little memories. like . . i got her big ben for when we went to london for the first time even before youtube . . or a suitcase when we went on our first holiday. she’s got the letters AB for me. she’s got a dog for her dog. what else did i get her? the charm bracelet’s the best shout i reckon. they’ll love that shit.”

▶︎‖ ─•──── 10:55

“yeah nah, she’s mad jealous. a girl in the shop could look at me for too long and i can feel her soul leave her body. but i rate it, it’s like . . kind of a primal thing, innit? sexy. i mean i’d rather that than someone who doesn’t care, like i’d be annoyed if she was like ‘yeah, have him.’”

“you like that little bit of friction.”

“yeah, s’like behave. but if you don’t, that’s fine too.”

▶︎‖ ─•──── 10:55

“we left the pub one night and she wouldn’t speak to me, like proper angry, seething vibes — arms folded, walking ahead. i didn’t know if she was gonna cry or kill me. we were passing the chippy ‘n i was starving, i had to order something, she was even more annoyed ‘cause she had to wait on me - ‘cause it was so late and she couldn’t walk home on her own. i actually felt bad even though she wanted to kill me. we were both waiting ‘n i was like ‘. . . do you want chips or do you want a fight?’ like stuffing my face, it was probably so jarring.”

“it’s so unintentionally funny like i know if we were there’d we’d be making the situation worse ‘cause we’d be laughing!”

“literally! i got the fight for anyone wondering by the way,” he deadpanned.

▶︎‖ ─•──── 10:55

“do you get weird when girls hit on you?”

“i feel like i’m awkward around people in general, but it depends on the girls ‘cause some can genuinely just be nice and others are straight up like — ‘so are you single or not’ and i have to be like ‘nahhh, i’m pretty locked in.’ just flip them the lock screen.”

“the lock screens always a shout. you don’t even need to say anything, just hit the button.”

“yeah, exactly. i had some girl say i had nice eyes and i was like ‘cheers,’ and even at that i feel disgusting. i’m like i hope she weren’t thinking – like was else do i say to that? thanks, i have a girlfriend, then i just sound like a massive knob when they might just be genuinely paying me a compliment for the sake of it? i freak out over stuff like that, s’just like . . don’t compliment me . . please. respectfully.”

▶︎‖ ─•──── 10:55

“your mrs ever laugh really loud at another bloke’s joke and then you’ve to spend the next hour being funnier to re-establish the dominance?”

▶︎‖ ─•──── 10:55

“oh my god, but d’you get when it’s not even your fault?! i was coming out of the petrol station one time, we’d just left the gym and this girl calls out ‘oi sexy!’ i just put my head down, got in the car — girl’s sat there, jaw hanging open as if i was the one who called her sexy! she just goes ‘take me home’ i’m like FUCK SAKES! DIDN’T EVEN DO ANYTHING!”

“but she expects you to go punch her in the throat.”

“literally! she’s like ‘you were suppose to ride me in front of her’ i’m like,” he pulled his most bizarre face.

▶︎‖ ─•──── 10:55

“yeah, bro, when you text them first before you text the boys chat, it’s over.”

“oh it’s so over,” the boys at pitchside agreed.

▶︎‖ ─•──── 10:55

“the way you talk about your girl — people think she’s got you on a leash,” bach said from his host seat. “which is fine, i know from experience,” he quickly held a hand up with comedic laugh.

alfie laughed, “yeah, nah, i do make her sound like a bit of a psycho. she’s not though. she’s just got a low tolerance for nonsense — especially if it involves other girls. which, fair enough. i’d be the same. i don’t exactly help the image either, the way i wind her up. but honestly? i rate it. i like knowing someone’s that bothered about me.”

“you’ve been with her since, what, you said 18?” arthur tv guessed.

“yeah, ‘n people always say like i’ve been locked in too young and i should be out getting with all different girls, enjoying single life with no responsibilities and all that, but like . . i don’t feel like I’m missing out on anything. i am enjoying life and my relationship’s easy like i’m not miserable. if i was miserable, i wouldn’t be in it, you know? it’s jarring sometimes.”

“i like that you’re deeping it.”

“no it’s true through, people act like when you’re with someone young you’re making a sacrifice, like you’ve given something up but it’s the opposite. like, she’s literally my best mate. i know people hate hearing that but your girl should be your mate as well. we’ve got our own vibe, our own jokes, we rinse each other all the time, we’re never serious — i get to live life with one of my favourite people - it’s like when you’re with your boys and you’re like, ‘ah, imagine living together, that would be sick,’ – that’s how i feel with her like i want that, i would enjoy that. i don’t dread the thought of that.”

“so you’re not trying to be out here playing the field?” arthur smiled.

“jesus, no. trust me, no part of me wants that. i’ve got the girl, the banter, the comfort — everything. i don’t need saving, none of that free AB shit. i’m not stuck. i’m—i’m sorted.”

“he said sorted. oo, he’s in love, guys.” bach teased.

“exactly. i’m not whipped - maybe a bit - but i’m happy. big difference.”

▶︎‖ ─•──── 10:55

“ass or tits? boyssss, come on, it’s all in the personality,” he said from his computer chair, leaning back as he let out a sigh at their ridiculous questions. “. . . but have you seen the rack on my girl?”

▶︎‖ ─•──── 10:55

“so last time i vlogged, i just put a wash on and text my mum if she was in so i can go get the dogs and bring them on a walk so at least i’m doing something in this vlog,” he spoke from his bed, not knowing what else he could do to spice up the grotto vlog. “i should probably pay a visit to my mrs, i feel like i’ve abandoned her the last couple days just ‘cause i been so busy. she’s been busy too but still, i should probably call in and see her,” he paused.

“i know, she knows that i’m not fond of askin’,” he sang next on his way to yours.

“hey,” the next clip was when the camera lens pulled out directly from your forhead as your boyfriend stood directly above you, “say something for the viewers at home, girl,” he put the roadman voice on.

you looked at the lens and then smacked your hand over it, doing (what you remembered) the most diabolical filthiest gesture that alfie flipped his camera to show his jaw almost on the floor with a heavy laugh in his chest. “DO THAT AGAIN. RIGHT NOW! GO! SHOW THE CAMERA!—”

▶︎‖ ─•──── 10:55

“yeah like AB. AB and his girl.”

“i’ve actually met his girl and she’s very dead on. she’s not what he makes her out to be on cam,” joe weller told his co-hosts. “quite witty. i remember when we went to LA, we were going out one night and one of the clubs was a stripclub and he was on facetime, telling her what he was up to, and i, for some reason, brought up the stripclub and i was like ‘oh shit!’ like felt so bad - i didn’t want him thinking i was throwing him under the bus or trying to start something! - but she was just laughing ‘n was like ‘oh yeah no worries at all babe! what better things would you be doing! you go watch star and sapphire shake their arse while i do your dirty washing and clean out your wardrobe, it’s no problem! have fun! i’ll be right here when you get back!’ but like genuinely joking, it was so funny. i thought she would’ve freaked ‘cause you know, he makes her out to sound a bit mental but he turned to me and was like ‘nah, like, she mightn’t like it but she trusts me, that’s the big difference. and she knows me, she knows i’m probably gonna be mad awkward the whole time’ and to be fair . . . he was. boy’s head was in his phone or stuck to the bar, he didn’t know what to do. he really loves her, he told me a lot of their lore.”

▶︎‖ ─•──── 10:55

“yeah, mine neither. she’s surprisingly not that bothered by people before her - not that i had proper relationships before - but girls i’ve talked to like - she doesn’t care, but neither one of us want to talk about it anyway. i don’t fucking want to bring them up. she brings them up for a laugh when we have an argument ‘cause she knows i be mortified,” he laughed as the boys began to laugh at his confession, his face reddening. “so embarrassing.”

▶︎‖ ─•──── 10:55

“aw, no yeah — monaco vlog? dog house.”

“HOW?!”

“you tell me.”

▶︎‖ ─•──── 10:55

chip was laughing, nursing a beer in one hand, the mic in the other, “bro, i don’t know how you do it. your girl’s intense, she’s like . . on you, all the time. proper psycho attachments. she puts me on edge.”

alfie stopped mid-laugh, still smiling, but his eyes locking in on the older boy. “alright, relax,” he shot him a look, “she’s not a psycho. she just gives a shit ‘bout what i’m up to and doesn’t know you lot well enough to know if you’ll look after me properly,” he said. “just ‘cause sabina doesn’t give a shit about what you get up to.”

freezy was laughing, cracking up at himself, “sabina sends him off to thailand hoping he doesn’t come back!”

“i rate my little psychopath, you lot don’t know how psycho i can be too,” he smirked to himself, bouncing his feet kicked up on the coffee table.

“she just acts likes she forgets who was here first, y’know . . . ” chip continued, letting out a deep sigh as if exhausted by your games.

“bro, you met me a year ago,” alfie, whether purposefully or accidentally, killed the joke he was trying to run. to your delight.

“nah bro, come on, unc was there when you were born. i know my neph like that.”

alfie just screwed his face at the camera like he didn’t know what the fuck he was on about.

you smirked, mentally pumping your fist.

chip 0 - 1 you

▶︎‖ ─•──── 10:55

“i remember in school - oh my god, this is actually so embarrassing, i actually have never told her this,” he covered his mouth as he cringed at himself, “i remember overhearing her talking to her friends about guys who wear chains and talking about haircuts and how they dress, and back then i was obviously so chopped, snapchat mems haunt me, had shortest fucking back and sides ever, flat top, rocking the silver chain — after hearing that, i grew my hair out, let the length grow—” already the boys were laughing and so was alfie, realising how pathetic he was when he wasn’t even sure if he liked you as a person, yet took your word for gospel.

he remembered taking in your words - not that there was nastiness behind them - it was just a genuine opinion, no talking bad about people (maybe jays trim inspired the conversation starter) but you weren’t being bitchy about it (unlike few of your friends). you simply voiced how guys needed to understand girls liked length on hair, how they didn’t find chains cool and needed to stop with the roadman tracksuits.

“got a clean fade, stopped using shampoo and the texture of my hair went how it is now,” he ran his fingers through it subconsciously, “got rid of the chain - huzz were flocking me after that.”

“NAHHHHHHH—”

it was weird, because he remembered the following year, it was like you were ahead of the trend and guys did start to change their look how you said you wished they would.

for that, he joked about your witchy ways, taking your opinion on manifestation seriously. to you, you simply told him this is why he needed to believe you were never wrong.

▶︎‖ ─•──── 10:55

“you lot overrate me, big time. if i broke up with my girl, she’d be the one playing the field. you think i can pull anyone i want? it’d be me to break up with her, ready to sleep around and get none, meanwhile she’d be doing numbers. she’d be racking up the numbers EASY. she’d have guys lined up left, right and centre. she’s had blue ticks in her DMs. it’d be light work for her.”

▶︎‖ ─•──── 10:55

“do you try to keep your relationship off cam?”

“i don’t want her on cam all the time, i do want to keep things private but it’s her decision like, her tiktok’s public, her other socials aren’t. she doesn’t like to be on cam most of the time. if she happens to be in the car when i’m vlogging, i don’t mind if she wants to be in or out of it, or if she wants to say her piece with just her voice or if she does want to show her full self, it’s up to her. but i do try to keep it on the down low, i like keeping her to myself.”

“i like that, man.”

“like the other day, i was dropping her into town for drinks, she was all done up, hair, makeup, sexy little dress ting on. i was vlogging and was like ‘. . d’you want in it or no?’ ‘n she was like ‘fuck yeah, i’m gorgeous today’ so,” he shrugged, smirking, “viewers got blessed that day.”

“some of the girls want her in a vid.”

“bro, she can do what she wants. i don’t think she’d mind doing a feature every now and then but she likes the privacy too. although she has said to me stop talking shit or she’s coming on the pod to out me.”

▶︎‖ ─•──── 10:55

“nah, me and my girl, we got a nightly routine at this point. nearly every night we do rock, paper, scissors for who has to make a nutella toastie.”

“a nutella toastie?!”

“a nutella toastie. oh my god, greatest invention ever. i mean it’s just toast so like . . nothing special but oh my god. we’ll be lying in bed and one of us will go ‘aw . . d’you know what would be so nice right now? nutella toastie.’ ‘awww, go make us some’ ‘no you go’ ‘no you. you make them better’ ‘no you’ ‘no you’ ‘rock paper scissors’ but then we usually just end up joining each other in the kitchen. it’s like midnight. both just standing in pjs, cooking up a storm.”

“bro that’s actually really cute.”

“i need to try that.”

“you should,” alf agreed, “she put me on them. s’great”

he didn’t mention how sentimental he got on the nights you didn’t stay over and he’d be laying in bed and the thought of a nutella toastie would pop in his mind, and that’s when you usually got a text message in the middle of the night:

missing my lil nutella toastie rn

▶︎‖ ─•──── 10:55

“she’s actually not that bad. like i’ve ran into fans before and she offers to take the photo and is like ‘oh my god alfie, put your arm around her!’ like she’s not fucking lethal like.”

▶︎‖ ─•──── 10:55

“would you ever get any tattoos?”

“no. i mean . . i’ve talked about getting a deer as a red dead redemption reference but i don’t think i’d actually ever do it. i just got this on a drunk night out in mallorca.” he held up his wrist to the camera. “was crashing out, spiralling badly ‘n went and got it.”

his boys laughed at him, “what is it?”

“you can barely see it, it’s quite faded. it’s just a tiny letter and little heart beside it. my girl’s initial.”

“eeeeshhh, nah bro.”

“no way.”

“fuck off”

“i know, i know,” he faked embarrassment and dread as he put his hand to his head. “nah i actually don’t care though, like this was the argument she had with me on facetime at the time, ‘cause i was on facetime to her telling her i was gonna get one, she was like ‘no alfie, don’t be so stupid’ was going on about obviously if we broke up and i met someone else and i was fuminggg, i was like i don’t care! if i marry another bird, they’ll have to deal with it ‘cause i’ll love you more than her! i’ll look at her walking down the isle and kiss it — really crashing out, really ready to prove a point, ‘n yeah, woke up with this bad boy,” he slapped the side of his wrist. “could be worse, could have got like, a fuckin’ . . dolphin on my tits or something, there’s definitely worse tattoos. i know a mate of a mate got his mum’s phone number tatted on him.”

“FUCK OFF.”

“swear down.”

▶︎‖ ─•──── 10:55

“aw mate my girl buys thee tiniest handbags so when we go out my pockets are basically jammed to the brim with all her shit. fucks me off so bad, the look i give her when she asks me for her lip liner shit every 10 minutes - i actually did fuck it into a lake one time ‘cause it was literally every 10 minutes she was asking for it. she was like ‘you’re lucky that was 20p from primark because if it was one of my expensive ones, you’d well be in that ocean with your snorkel and goggles on’ and i-i fully well would have been.”

▶︎‖ ─•──── 10:55

“bro. first time i saw you two together — swear down - i need to say this—” danny sat up properly in his chair as he got giddy. “it actually stuck with me. it was in that club, lights going crazy, flickering like mad — you know that big london one, sidemen always throw their parties in? i think that’s what it was actually, that time.”

“yeah, i know the one.”

“the one everything’s dark except them long flashes hitting every few seconds. you were in the all black fit, just sat back, man spreading the whole couch, on your own, corona in hand, rolex catching the light, you looked cleannn bro. y/n was just in front of you on the smaller stools, but like, half turned away talking to someone beside her. her arm was resting on your leg, she was still close. and the way you were just watching her was like . . bro was scary! was intense! like the vibes, man, the aura. it was sick. like, proper cinematic,” he shared excitedly.

“you didn’t have to do anything — like anyone who saw knew like they’re together. d’you know what i mean? like, i swear, it gave me goosebumps. you were so cool. it stuck with me. i was like i wish people saw me and ten like that. we just look like two dweebs. people see us and think, ‘oh bless them, they’re trying.”

tennese laughed in the background, agreeing with him wholeheartedly.

“nah, i was like ten we have to do something about this. went home and ordered youngLA after that,” danny continued, rubbing his eye.

“DID YOU!” alfie laughed.

“yeah, man. and tennese ordered the dress y/n had on. we’re so lame. you guys are so sick, you’ve no idea.”

▶︎‖ ─•──── 10:55

“we were at the pub and some girl asked to borrow my lighter and i gave it to her —not even a convo— and my girl just raised her brows. like i–if you saw me i was like a deer in headlights, i was like fuck, was that a test and i failed?”

▶︎‖ ─•──── 10:55

“jay-z ‘n beyoncé, 03’ bonnie and clyde. that’s our song. we played that really early on in our — i think we actually went a late night drive playing it before we were even boyfriend and girlfriend.”

▶︎‖ ─•──── 10:55

“what’s the chat saying? . . . are you a lover boy?” he sat back in his gaming chair, clicking the mouse with his headset on. “i’ll be honest boys . . you lot will rinse me for this, but i was out the other night in the club, out in london, and i got a whiff of her perfume on another bird, and i–i literally had to go home. i just left and got the train home to her. three hours. was supposed to stay at chip’s place. just came home. stayed over at her place,” he shrugged. “what about it?”

▶︎‖ ─•──── 10:55

“i love seeing the free AB shit, it makes me laugh. ‘bro, blink twice if you’re in danger’” chip laughed at the comment, “‘she’s probably tracking your location right now’!”

“she’s got him chipped, my man’s not been seen out past 10pm in three years,” cal chuckled.

alfie smirked, ignoring the two laughing next to him as well. “they need to chiillll. i know it’s my fault, i’ve made her out to sound like my own airtag but she’s really not. no one’s got me on a leash. i’m here ‘cause i wanna be.”

“do you ever think like . . maybe you did lock in too early? you haven’t really had that single lad freedom.”

even through video, you could see the point when alfie got his back up a little. “see, that’s what people always say, like i’m missing out and i have no freedom but i don’t feel like that at all. i’ve never once looked at the so-called ‘single life’ and thought, yeah, i want that. nah. you lot go on your little nights out trying to impress girls you don’t even like. i go home to someone who gets me, who rinses me for my dodgy haircut, knows when i’m in a mood without me saying a word, and still fancies the shit out of me when i cringe myself out.”

“damn, you’re getting deep bro.”

“its not deep, it’s just the truth. people act like i’m trapped in a relationship against my own will but it’s not that. she’s my best mate and yeah — she’s intense sometimes. so am i. it works.”

“i can’t imagine you being intense. like doesn’t she get crazy jealous when girls chat to you? ‘n when they look at you too long?”

“yeah, she does. and? that’s not a flaw, to me that’s someone who cares. i’d rather have someone who feels that protective and loving towards me than someone who gives up and lets me do whatever. it’s not a control thing. she loves hard and so do i. we’re solid bro.”

“so you’re saying you don’t need rescuing?”

“bro, i’m not in a burning building. i’m in a warm fucking house, eating toast with the love of my life. i’m good,” he laughed.

▶︎‖ ─•──── 10:55

“do your mates not rinse you for you and your girl?”

“no bro, never. they—they love her, they really rate her. she takes care of the whole group. they’d back her before me. i write shit into the chat and they’re like ‘perfectly valid, i’d behave the same.’ one time i wrote in ‘going shopping with the mrs to get sorted for the lads holiday. anyone need anything?’ and none of them have girlfriends anymore ‘n three of them write back: ‘aw can we come? will y/n choose sort us out?’ four of us just trailing about town, y/n’s sorting us one by one with holiday fits, telling them she’s gonna wax their unibrows, making sure we don’t look a tit.”

“HA! i love that!”

“yeah, they rate her. like they’d tell her if i was doing something wrong or to come get me ‘n stuff. sisterly shit.”

▶︎‖ ─•──── 10:55

“you can tell you both don’t play about with each other.”

▶︎‖ ─•──── 10:55

“aww, fuck guys, i forgot to end the vlog. this is me just editing. hope you enjoyed. peace n guidance. see you in the next one.” he held up the peace sign as he signed off, laying on the bed with his laptop in front of him and your arm wrapped around his neck, your pointy acrylics massaging his scalp and playing with his hair, just how he liked every day to end.

Morgan’s leaned forward in his chair, headset on, mid–GTA race, completely locked in. Chat’s flying past, Spike’s somewhere underfoot, and everything feels normal.

Then you appear in the doorway.

He notices straight away.

You’re holding Spike against your chest, arms wrapped around him like you need the comfort. Your face is serious not upset enough to panic, but quiet in a way that makes his focus slip.

He misses a checkpoint.

Morgan sighs, pulls one ear cup off, and swivels his chair toward you.

“You alright, love?”

You walk over slowly and stop beside him.

“Baby,” you say, very serious. “I don’t think I can pay the mortgage this month.”

He just stares at you for a second.

Then he huffs out an amused, disbelieving laugh.

“Love,” he says, blinking. “I don’t think you’ve ever paid the mortgage.”

Chat immediately starts going mad.

You snort despite yourself. “Well... I could,” you say defensively. “I help!"

“I know,” he says easily, already turning back to his screen. “I know, love.”

He pats his knee without even looking.

You smile and sit sideways on his lap, Spike settling between you like it’s his rightful place. Morgan’s arm comes around you automatically as he carries on racing like nothing just happened.

Chat is absolutely losing it now.

CHAT:

LMAOOO

He didn’t even hesitate

That TikTok prank FAILED

Too nice for his own good 😭

Morgan squints at the chat between turns. “What are you lot chatting rubbish for?”

You’re laughing quietly now, face tucked into his shoulder.

“Nothing,” you say innocently.

He glances down at you. Then back at the chat. Then back at you again.

“…Was that a prank?”

You finally break, laughing properly. “Yeah.”

He pauses the game.

Slowly turns toward the camera.

Raises his eyebrows.

“Oh.”

Chat goes feral.

He looks back at you, mock-offended now, hand to his chest. “You tried to stress me out on my own stream?”

“You didn’t even flinch,” you grin.

“That’s because,” he says, pulling you a little closer and pressing a quick kiss to your temple, “you don’t need to pay the mortgage. You just need to sit there and look pretty.”

You gasp. “Morgan.”

“I’m joking,” he laughs, unpausing the game. “Mostly.”

You settle against him, Spike snoring softly between you, chat spamming hearts and laughing emojis.

Morgan glances at the screen one last time.

“For the record,” he says smugly, “that prank only works if you date someone who isn’t emotionally stable.”

You kiss his cheek.

Too late.

Rationally, you knew your existence couldn’t stay a secret, yet it was different being faced with a room full of gang members. Hongjoong had explained the dinner, more a show of power and a chance to squash dissent.

“I wouldn’t want you there,” he told you firmly, “not if there was a choice.”

“But it’s more dangerous for me not to be there, right?” you guessed.

The leader brushed a strand of hair behind your ears and cupped your cheek. “If we don’t show you, someone will try and find you,” Hongjoong said with such certainty, “and we wouldn’t be able to protect you all the time. We won’t cage you, keep you trapped in the house because of our own fears. So, we show you off. Show that you’re one of us. Show that you’re protected.” 

“It’ll be a performance,” Seonghwa commented mildly from the other side of the office. His expression was set, sure, but his eyes were intense, heavy with the worry and resignation they’d all been feeling, “You won’t need to say anything. We’ll do all the talking.”

“Mysterious,” you muttered and leant into Hongjoong’s touch.

His lips quirked into a bitter smile. “Let them think you’re a protected jewel,” he said, “so that when you show your teeth, they won’t know what’s coming for them.”

Your teeth weren’t the same as theirs. You weren’t physical strong, though you had been working out more. But you were smart and you were quick and you knew without fail that your boys would burn the world down for you.

“Aren’t these supposed to be allies?” you challenged.

“Allies are more dangerous,” Seonghwa mused, “they’re the closest to you.”

“But the punishment for betrayal is a higher risk,” Hongjoong added.

You hummed in understanding. “How fancy is this dinner? I don’t have anything beyond 35,000 won that doesn’t belong to one of you.”

“Wooyoung will sort the dress, he’s good at that,” Hongjoong answered.

Seonghwa jumped in and said, “we’ll make sure it’s work appropriate.”

You all knew that if Wooyoung was going to pick your clothes, he’d find the most flattering but the one that teases. Clothing choice was a type of foreplay for that man, and honestly, you weren’t sure if you – or them – should be distracted by a plunging neckline at a time such a this.

It didn’t have a low neckline in the end, but the back was a sweeping deep curve, leaving your back exposed to the elements. There was a slit that ran up your leg, stopping mid-thigh, and the whole dress was made from some kind of satin or silk. You loved how it felt on you; was delighted by how Mingi’s eyes had gotten wide and San had bitten down on his bottom lip at the sight of you.

Jongho kissed the exposed line of your neck and said you looked beautiful.

Yeosang’s hands had shook just a little when he hooked your necklace on, at your request.

You were starting to regret the choice with the eyes on you now. At the door, you’d watched as your boys hardened into ATZ. They’d straightened, tensed their shoulders, fists curled into pockets, jaws locked, eyes turned blank. It was startling to see, a reminder of the first day you’d met them – though it was only months, it felt like years.

“Remember, follow our lead,” Hongjoong gave the last order. Seonghwa pulled you in close and the nine of you entered the restaurant like you owned it.

They didn’t. You’d asked. It was owned by an associate of SVT, old gang money, who ran the city over. The bar sat on the border and was often used for gang meetings. Hongjoong said they were all arseholes but good, so you guessed that meant he trusted them, as much as you could trust another rival gang.

Today though, the space had been blocked out for them and was filled with the underlings. Smaller groups that ATZ had consumed or remains of gangs they had crushed beneath them. Everyone was dressed to the nines, but you knew that under each coat, weapons and darkness lay.

Interested eyes followed you and you tried not to let it show that it was making you uncomfortable. You weren’t used to being on display. Seonghwa rubbed your hip soothingly as if he just knew.

The group was led to a large table on a balcony that overlooked the whole restaurant. You ascended the metal staircase like a princess climbing her tower. The positioning was purposeful – with the others but above them, kings amongst men. The table upstairs was round, but none of the chairs were placed by the railing – no backs on display.

Yunho pulled out a chair and you murmured your thanks, lowering yourself carefully into the offered space. He dipped his head to brush his lips against the top of your head as he tucked the chair in behind you, a silent show of affection, before he spent to the other side of the table.

It seemed they all had their spaces. Hongjoong was in the centre, leaning back with practised ease in his seat. You were on his left, and Seonghwa to his right, poised and carefully shuttered. Mingi and Jongho took the ends, body angled outwards, legs splayed and guns very clearly on display in the pocket of their suit jacket. Yunho was next to Mingi, legs stretched out under the table to San. Yeosang was beside you, carefully placing his napkin in his lap, while Wooyoung across from him, next to San, angling his head up to whisper something to the uncharacteristically stoic man.

The waiter that fluttered around you looked oddly calm, like they were unfortunately used to all this grandstanding. They greeted the table pleasantly and offered the best wine the house had – “it just came through the ports,” he explained calmly.

Hongjoong agreed and offered the table with ease. You didn’t dare question him, not with a stranger around, and watched until the waiter disappeared down the staircase.

“Pumpkin gnocchi?” you questioned. You’d ask how they knew you liked that, if it wasn’t for Yeosang’s quirk of a grin in your direction. Ah. Of course.

Things went well until they weren’t.

You tried the wine but didn’t like the harsh bite of red wine, so had shifted to lemon water only. It was for best, you’d assured – “I don’t want to embarrass you,” you admitted.

Hongjoong’s hand was on your knee, stroked the sensitive skin there. “You’d never,” he promised.

Still, you were careful in how you ate, careful about where you put your hands, careful to take small sips and not undignified gulps. You spoke quietly when addressed and made sure to keep your back straight, as if slouching would somehow come back on your boys and end them.

It was halfway through the meal when you began to feel…weird. The pumpkin didn’t taste quite right or the gnoochi was harder than you thought it should be. You didn’t know. You took three sips of water and put it down with trembling hands. You started at them, confused by the action. Why?

“Baby,” you raised your head at San’s voice, who was now looking at you across the table with narrowed eyes. “Are you okay?”

“I…” you tried to ease his worry, but your words wouldn’t obey. They caught in your throat – a throat that was itchy, you noticed, swelling, tightening – and you coughed, the loudest you’d been all evening. It might well have been a gunshot from how quick your boys moved, standing up in unison, reaching for you.

Mingi said your name alarmed. You pressed a hand to your mouth, tried to suppress the cough wrecking through your body. Your head felt lighter, dizzy, your vision blurring in front of you.

Your doctor mind tried to kick in through the panic, to give a clear explanation and cure when as your body shook from lack of air. Tight throat, change in sense of taste, lack of control of limbs. Losing ability to sit up right, you added when you felt hands on you, lowering you to the floor and you felt the weakness in your bones.

There was only a handful of conclusions, but it was Jongho who reached it first. It was his blurry face above you and then his voice that cut through the blood pounding in your ears. “Poison.”

Oh, yeah, of course. Poisoning.

You shuddered a breath and were lost to the world.

-

Yunho swept you up into a bridal carry. He was moving faster than he had ever moved in his life. His heart pounding in his chest, nausea curling horrifying into his stomach, he would single minded in his decision.

“Hospital,” he barely gritted out, taking steps two at a time. He didn’t stop to hear any replies, to hear anyone second guess or agree with him. He just knew he needed to get you help.

His car was still out front of the restaurant, and Yunho only paused his sprint to lower your form – weak, sweaty, shallow breathing, fuck – into the back seat. On the other side of the car, the door opened and revealed Wooyoung, lips pressed into a grim line, eyes darkened with anger and fear. Yunho hadn’t even heard him follow behind him.

Climbing into the driver’s seat, his eyes kept flashing backwards. To you, eyes remaining stubbornly closed, and Wooyoung, who cradled you so sweetly against him, your head rolling listlessly against his neck.

Yunho put the car in drive and the wheels squeaked on the tarmac as he moved. Local hospital was about 7 minutes away. Yunho pushed down hard on the accelerator.

He’d make it in 3.

-

Yunho and Wooyoung had barely disappeared down the staircase before Hongjoong was on his feet, palms flat on the table. His expression set – a façade of calm, cool control.  “Seonghwa, look the doors behind them. No one gets out.”

Seonghwa moved smoothly, swiftly, expression blank to hide the torment whirling inside of him.

“Yeosang, cameras. Mingi, talk to the wait staff. Jongho, San, take the room.” Hongjoong continued his orders. He didn’t look at anyone, could only stare at the space you once were. Once smiling so sweetly, humming in delight at how good your food tasted, to the way your face went pale, your fingers shaking, those terrifying rasping breaths. 

God, he’d never heard anything so horrible in his life.

This wasn’t the first time that you’d gotten hurt because of them. He wanted to scream and curse and wreck anything he could get his hands on. He didn’t though, couldn’t let himself lose control like that. Not here, not now; not when he needed to find out who.

And make them suffer.

Hongjoong wished he could be down there like the others were, but he couldn’t. He was the big boss. Even with his heart breaking, he still had a job to do to.

He clicked through phone numbers and pressed call. He tapped an irritated beat against the abandoned table. The call was answered on the second ring, and a familiar voice came through the speaker.

“Hongjoong. What do I owe the pleasure?”

He let out a heavy breath. “Not pleasure, Seongcheol. A shit storm for both of us.”

-

Mingi had spent his childhood being angry. The uncontrollable kind that would only be subsided by the horrific destruction of people and property. He’d learnt to control it as he got older because he would have burned out too quickly, just another victim of the system. And he refused to stay that way. Before ATZ and now a part of it, his job as an enforcer hinged on keeping his cool.

There was only a handful of times as an adult that Mingi would stay he was genuinely angry.

Any other time, he might have found amusement in the fact that at least two of those times involved you, but he was too enraged to think about that.

When he slammed the waiter up against the wall of the kitchen, a shelf mounted to the wall shook, sending a random collection of spices tumbling down. The waiter was just some kid, a part of the world just like had had been, he reasoned, but that kid might have just killed the one thing he loved more than anything.

Intention or otherwise, Mingi would make it hurt.

“Explain.”

“W-what?” he stammered, eyes wide. Mingi could feel the kid’s heart beating against his fist. Good.

Mingi tutted unhappily. “My girl has been hurt and someone in this kitchen knows something.” He angled his head slightly, taking in the frozen figures of chefs and other staff members, “I suggest you tell me what I want to hear fast, before I lose my sense of propriety.”

-

Seonghwa glanced over his shoulder as Mingi rounded the corner. He rubbed his knuckles, a little bruised and cut, but nothing that would require stitches. Hwa didn’t know whether he’d punched a wall or a person, but either way, it seemed worth it for the information that spilled from his lips.

“Digoxin,” he said flatly. “Someone paid the waiter to add crushed tablets to her water.”

Seonghwa rolled the word around his head. His strength was knowledge more than brute force. Usually, it was to do with pressure points and pain receptors, but he had a decent working knowledge on drugs, the ones they sold and the otherwise.

“Digoxin is usually for heart conditions,” he murmured, “but taking too much…” He clenched his fists and didn’t finish that sentence. “Call Woo. Pass it on. The doctors will need it.”

In front of him, San and Jongho were making a mess of the main dining hall. Twisted smiles and tense shoulders, bloodied knuckles and broken noses. Seonghwa had threatened to shoot anyone who tried to get out and put a bullet in the ankle of the one person who tried.

See, ATZ looked after their people. Each of those in this room had status and money, fancy suits and food on the table. They’d not always had that, not under previous management. 

But in a line of work like this, it was easy to get too comfortable. To start believing there was a little more than you could take, a little more than you were owed. Seunghwa had shut down a few of these hopefuls himself on the way to the top. He understood the urge, even if it disgusted him. After all, Hongjoong had been his friend since kindergarten and the idea of betraying that would ridiculous.

He had wondered whether bringing you to such an event had been a good idea but truthfully, there were little options. Keep you hidden – you become a mystery, something to whisper about and ultimately try to covet because lord knows men like him hate not knowing. Show you off – while you might be under their arm, a visible show of you being under their protection, it made you a visible target.

They were supposed to protect you.

Seonghwa counted to 10 before he started his own interrogations. He glanced at his watch, the slow ticking of the clock mocking him. It had only been 15 minutes, and it felt like a lifetime. He wanted so desperately to be at your side but that would come.

First, they had work to do.

-

Yunho had answered the phone right away when it rang and passed the information off with speed to the surrounding doctors. It was like a lightbulb went off; all answers cleared from the haze of uncertainty they had originally been presented with. 

Apparently, there was a common antidote, as easily bought over the counter as the cause of the reaction itself.

Still, Wooyoung was sure he wouldn’t be able to breathe properly until the wires and attachments that was attached and stuck into your prone form were removed. 

It was strange seeing you like this, so still, so quiet, so lifeless. He couldn’t even pretend the pain away, convince himself that you were sleeping because your skin was blotchy in places and awfully pale in others. There was an uncomfortable rasp to your breathing and reactive bags under your eyes.

You’d wake up soon, the doctors had promised when you were moved into recovery. It was just a matter of time.

Wooyoung was not a patient person. He’d never learnt that virtue, much preferring to throw himself into everything headfirst and deal with the consequences later. It was stifling to have to wait now, scratching at his skin uncomfortably.

He held your hand while Yunho held the other. Limp and clammy hands clutched tightly in their calloused and bruised ones. You seemed smaller now, he thought unhappily.

It brought back the worst memories, being here. The heavy scent of sickness and death lingering in the air, the horribly gentle touch of a loving hand and the devastating question of the unknown. 

He hated hospitals but Wooyoung refused to leave, not even to take a piss. Not until you were okay. Not until you woke up. Not until you could crack a smile and call him baby.

“She’ll be fine,” Yunho tried to reassure, tried to keep his voice even, though his lips were pressed into a thin line and his left leg was bouncing.

“Yeah.”

“She’s stable,” he continued, “we just need to wait for her body to gain energy.”

Wooyoung swallowed around the tightness in his throat. “Yeah.”

Yunho rubbed at the skin in the palm of your open hand. “We’re giving her a bullet proof vest and a bag of antidotes.”

Wooyoung bowed his head to brush his lips against the back of your hand and fought the urge to cry. “Yeah.”

-

The answer unfolded quickly, but not fast enough for San’s liking. He wasn’t usually ones for impatience. He knew things too time, enjoyed it too. He liked the tension of the stake out, the growing fear of a hostage, the accumulation of strength.

But now, it was like San couldn’t move fast enough.

The thrill of the chase was gone only to be replaced by this rabid desire to reach the conclusion.

Luckily, his – and Jongho, stalking between tables more visibly tense than ever before – reputation proceeded them. All it took was one too quick more, one too loud noise next to a man’s head and the truth came tumbling out.

It wasn’t even about you, just the unfortunate recipient of someone’s desire for bloodshed. Wu Kwangjin was one of the new guards, had grown up in parallel worlds to Hongjoong and just hadn’t made it as big as he wanted to. With war, there would be deaths, be roles to fill, would be steps to climb.

The man’s voice had trembled as he tried to explain himself.

San’s jaw tightened, grinding down hard on his teeth until they groaned in protest. Such selfish petty goals that you could be dying for.

His heart seemed to shrivel at the thought. If you died…San didn’t know what he’d do, what places he would burn, what lives he would end. It felt like a blank void of nothing opening before him, a terrifying prospect.

San gave a short shake his head, as if to lodge the thought lose. No. You wouldn’t die. You were not dead.

You were theirs, his, and he’d fight God himself for you.

But first, he’d destroy the person responsible for putting you in that position.

Of course, they let Hongjoong do the talking first. Their collected leader looked down the bridge of his nose in disgust and speaks with such certainty when he says that Wu Kwangjin is not worth the dirt on the underside of his shoe. That he is pathetic and worthless and shortsighted in his foolhardy desire to destroy the kinship between ATZ and SVT.

Hongjoong doesn’t do violent shows as a leader. He cut with words, hands in his pockets and distain in his eyes, and then he’d turn to those whose job it was to inflict the right type of pain.

Which was why it was almost surprising to San when Hongjoong pulled his gun from his coat and pressed the barrel to the center of Wu’s forehead. He clicked the safety off, an audible sound in a large room, every witness holding their breath. They knew not to make a noise and they knew not to look away.

San would admit, in any other circumstance, it would have brought him twisted pleasure to watch their leader take control like this. Joong was an beautiful when deadly and couldn’t hide that when he took control, it was very much a turn on.

But now, it just filled him with a bitter sense of disappointment.

He wanted to be the one who ended it all, who painted the walls with the brains of the person who tried to take you from them.

San barely kept the frown off his face, because realistically, he knew that it had been Hongjoong. It was his face and his authority that had been challenged, his girl that had been hurt. If he stepped back like he usually would, it would give the impression that he didn’t care.

By putting pressure on his index fingers, a message was sent. This – you – would bring the boss to use his own bullets. You were important, you were protected and if you didn’t want to die like a dog, you’d do best to remember that. 

Wu’s blood splattered against tablecloths and observers’ faces if they had the unfortunate luck of being placed too close. There was splash back, the ends of Hongjoong’s white shirt now red.

No one breathed. No one moved.

Hongjoong put the safety back into place and returned the gun to his pocket.

“Beonggyu,” he called.

The man shot out of his seat. “Yes sir!”

Hongjoong rolled his shoulders. “Call clean up. I want this place spotless as a favour for SVT.”

Beonggyu bowed so low that the top of his head nearly touched the floor. “Yes sir!”

“Everyone else, get the fuck out of here,” he ordered.

Seonghwa unlatched the door. The crowd could only obey.

-

Jongho felt like he was sinking until the moment you opened your eyes. From the moment you dropped, the world was muffled, people’s faces became unrecognised blurs and the only sound he could hear was the rush of blood in his ears.

See he knew he loved you, but he hadn’t considered living in a world without you in it.

You were going to live, he knew that, but the very threat of your absence had left him off kilter, trembling, lost in a way that he hadn’t been in a long time.

They hadn’t left the hospital room you were recovering in. A nurse had tried to tell them that there was a two-visitor policy and that visiting hours ended at 9pm. Maybe it was the exhausted devastation so clear on their faces, the bruises on Mingi’s knuckles or the blood clear on Hongjoong’s cuffs, but no one mentioned it again and so they all stayed.

You’d woken for a moment, vision unfocused and blurred, just long enough for the doctor to check your vitals, give you another sedative and send you back to a restless sleep.

It was about 2am when Seonghwa – ever the sensible right-hand man – had unfurled his tense body from the uncomfortable hospital chairs and reluctantly made the journey back home for clean clothes.

“Darling will want something to change into,” he had said, voice straining.

It was 3am when he returned with laden duffel bags. They’d all taken turns listlessly cleaning themselves off in the hospital toilet and changing out of their suits. Jongho had shoved it as deep in the bag as he could. When he got home, he’d burn it. Wished he could burn this memory away.

When the sun rose, work had to continue. Wooyoung and San had to check on shipments. Hongjoong and Seonghwa had to debrief the under-leaders from last night, Yunho reluctantly following behind for backup. Yeosang had evidence to wipe and lose ends to tie up on projects that had deadlines he couldn’t afford to miss. That left Jongho and Mingi to watch over your slumbering form.

The most precious mission they’d ever been given by their leader.

Hongjoong pressed a kiss to your forehead for a long time before he had finally been able to drag himself away from your bedside. Seonghwa fussed with the edge of your sheet. Wooyoung kissed your hand. San brushed loose hair from your sticky forehead. Yeosang made sure he’d hacked into the hospital’s security system. Yunho pressed his forehead against your temple, a silent pray given, before he stepped away.

Mingi fell into his space, long form out of place on the placed chairs and clutched your hand in his. Jongho was on the side of the bed where the needles and tubes were sticking out of you, so inside he curled his pinkie finger around yours.

When you awoke, before noon, it was felt in the flex of your fingers first. The twitch that had both him and Mingi sitting up straighter, hearts pounding in their chest, painful hope tightening their throats.

Mingi’s voice was rough. “Baby?” he called.

You twitched, head rolling towards him for a moment.

Jongho shook when he said your name. It fell out of him like a whisper, a pray, a desperate plea.

When you opened your eyes, nose scrunching as you tried to focus on him in your addled state, he felt like he could cry in relief. You tried to move and hissed, at the pull of tensed muscles, of stuck needles. “What…what happened?” you sounded horrible and Jongho felt like he could cry all over again.

Mingi might beat him too it though. The man was blinking rapidly as if to keep the tears at bay. “We…we thought we lost you,” he admitted.

Jongho clenched his jaw.

But you – you just smiled. It was weak, more grimace than anything else, as the pain in your body, the discomfort on your insides, truly hit you, but it was there. Your smile. “Gonna need more than that to take me out,” you slurred.

Mingi laughed. Jongho thought he did too, but the sound was still distance, somewhere far beyond him. All he could focus on was you.

“I love you,” it slipped out, a confession that he’d only whispered against your sleepy head. “Fuck. I love you.”

You frowned at him. “Pabo, why are you telling me now?” you complained.

“I’ll tell you again at home but I’m telling you now,” Jongho insisted, “I love you.”

“Hey,” Mingi interrupted, “I love you too. Why do you get to say it first?”

“I was faster,” Jongho retorted.

Mingi looked at you seriously. “I’ll say it first at home.”

“Not if I get there first again,” he shot back, “you’re just slow hyung.”

You laughed, a painful sound that shook your body and made both of your boys jump to you, demanding that you stop this instant. Even though everything hurt, everything burned, all you felt was warmth.

“I love you too,” you said, “Jongho. Mingi. All of you. I love you.”

And Jongho felt like he had been pulled from beneath the murky ocean’s waves. His feet were on solid ground and though it was disorientating, it felt right. It felt like the world had realigned itself. It felt like he could breathe again.

-

“Careful,” Yeosang’s voice was edged with panic as you tried to swing yourself out of the car without him. He held on to your arm swiftly and lowered you slowly until you were comfortably back on the ground. He still didn’t let go of you, arm slipping around your waist and pulling you close to his hip.

You didn’t resist the urge to huff your annoyance. “Sangie, I’m fine.”

Yeosang deliberately ignored you, focusing instead on getting you inside and back to bed. You’d complain about that too, he knew, but if you knew what was best for you, you’d listen to him. He’d already rigged your bedroom to alert him if you so much sneezed without someone there with you.

Maybe he was overreacting, maybe it was too much for their own home, already protected and secured by the most intense seven men he knew. But every time he let himself dwell on those thoughts, he would find himself back there, at that dinner table. You coughing, gasping for air, face going purple and he – just helpless to solve it. 

He tugged you closer. No. Not protective enough.

Yeosang’s pretty sure that Wooyoung has cooked enough to feed the Korean army, started the week you were supposed to be fit enough to come home. Hongjoong and Seonghwa had brought an excessive number of pillows and blankets for your bed, and San and Jongho had spent an ungodly amount of time making sure it was perfect. Yunho and Mingi had made makeshift beds on the floor ready for their planned rotation to never let you out of their sights.

At the door to the house, you let out a long sigh. “You guys aren’t going to leave me alone, are you?”

Yeosang shook his head and keyed in the entrance code. “Not even for a moment.”

Your hand shot out and rested over his, pausing him before the last number. “Then can we just stand here for a moment? My last moments of freedom.”

Yeosang felt scandalised. “You’re not going to jail.”

You sighed dramatically. “At least my guards are pretty.”

He didn’t know whether to blush or frown so he did both, but it becomes hard not to be mesmerised when you are looking at him this close, head tilted, smiling so fondly at him. “Thank you for bringing me home,” you murmured.

Yeosang shook his head. “You don’t need to thank me,” he said and didn’t let you know that he’d had to win seven rounds of rock, paper, scissors to get the honour. “I’m just…glad you got to come home.”

He winced at how it came out, that panic uptick of his heart reminding him how close that came to not being true. You though, like a maniac, smiled wider. “I always will,” you insisted, “because I have you guys to protect me.”

You sounded so sure of yourself, so certain, when it was them that had – “We didn’t protect you this time,” Yeosang was quiet but firm, his voice more forceful than he thought he could manage, “but we won’t make that mistake again. I, we, I can’t lose you.”

“I knew that there were risks loving you,” you confessed. “I knew there was a chance that…it wouldn’t end well. For me. For one of you.” You swallowed around your trembling voice and when you spoke again, it was stronger, “But it doesn’t matter. Because I love you.”

Yeosang nearly left go of you in his surprise. His eyes widened, his bottom jaw dropped and a flush danced itself across his cheekbones. “You what?”

“I love you. So much.”

It was like the best song that Yeosang had ever listened to. He ducked his head to press his forehead against yours, as if by this touch he could convey truly how he felt, because words didn’t seem like enough.

“I love you too,” he breathed.

Beside them, the door swung open and there was Mingi, who’s eyes darted between them for a moment before he pouted. “Did Yeo say I love you?” he demanded, “Because it was my turn to say it first.”

“Who’s saying I love you?” Wooyoung had appeared near the kitchen doorway, apron around his waist and offense written on his face.

Mingi pointed at a baffled Yeosang accusingly. “It was my turn.”

“Hey, I should get to say it first,” San appeared at Mingi’s shoulder when a frown. “I met her first.”

Wooyoung corrected. “We both met her. And our baby was fixing me up, that should count for something.”

“Technically, I said it first,” Jongho announced, a grin tugging at the corner of his lips. He swept closer, lifted you out of Yeosang’s hold to bring you to him. “Welcome home baby.”

“Our baby bear said it first,” Wooyoung looked outraged. “When? Where?”

“I told you to stop calling me that,” Jongho complained but was easily distracted by the sweet kiss you pressed to the corner of his lips.

“In the hospital room,” you told them, “I had just woken up. It was all very unromantic.”

“Which is why I was supposed to stay it when we got home, but Yeosang got there first,” Mingi complained.

“Technically, she said it to me,” Yeosang pointed out, stepping over the threshold and shutting the door behind him. “I just said it back.”

Seonghwa was walking down the stairs with Hongjoong in tow. “Sang got her first I love you? That’s unfair.”

“Definitely feel like it should have been me,” Hongjoong sniffed pointedly, “I’m in charge. Hierarchy should count for something.”

“Tough shit,” Jongho shot back. He lowered his voice when he demanded you, “Say you love me.”

Your smile is dopey with warm affection when you comply. “I love you.”

Jongho visibly melted.

“Me next,” Yunho insisted, appearing over the youngest shoulder. “I love you as well.”

“Nope, me,” Wooyoung was already at your side, hand sliding across your back, “I love you more.”

Hongjoong pinched the bridge of his nose. “Don’t make it a competition.”

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

right on cue, the doorbell rings.

nanami stands to open the door, with you trailing behind curiously, and in walks shiu kong, looking smug as ever with a cigarette dangling from his lips, he puts it out the second he steps inside, because nanami gives him a firm look.

and behind him—oh gosh—looms toji. big, broad-shouldered dog hybrid with messy black hair, sharp green eyes with ears to match, and a tail that’s already wagging slow and lazy like he knows exactly why he’s here.

his ears twitch at the scent of your heat the moment he steps in, and a low, rumbling chuckle leaves his chest.

mister kong, that’s how you address him, unfortunately doesn’t stay very long. just after exchanging greetings with nanami, he turns to toji with an incredulous “be nice”, and is soon gone.

“well well,” toji drawls, voice deep and gravelly. “look at the cute little bunny all worked up. smells like you need a big bad dog to fix that ache, huh?”

you squeak and hide your burning face against nanami’s back, tail fluffing up huge. it seems you’re trying to whisper, but the shake your voice isn’t lost on either of them, “k-ken… he’s so… so big…”

but he only reaches back to squeeze your hand, trying (and failing) not to look amused. “toji’s here to help, sweetheart. only if you want him.”

you peek out, ears flopping sideways again. “you’ve got a… a knot, right?”

toji grins, sharp. “oh i’ve got one, bunny. thick enough to keep all that mess right where it belongs.”

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ₊ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ 𓈒⊹ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎

and you soon realize he wasn’t kidding. at all.

“fuuuuck, look atcha,” toji laughs low and mean, big hands clamped around your squishy hips, lifting you up and slamming you back down so hard your ears flop wildly. “such a needy little bunny slut. creamin’ all over my dick again already? that’s the third time, ain’t it?”

even if you kept track of it, you can only squeak and drool by now, head lolling against his broad chest, having given up on trying to stay upright as he bounces you, your soft bunny ears brushing his stubbled jaw. “t-tojiii… s-so biiig… hnnngh—!”

he’s been pounding you for what feels like forever, relentless and as cocky as you’d thought he may be, making you gush and squirt and cream until your thighs are shiny and trembling. every time you start to tip over the edge he grins wider and slows down just enough to drag it out, teasing you mercilessly.

“aww, what’s wrong, cottontail?” he coos, voice dripping with fake sympathy while he holds you down firmly on his fat cock, grinding your swollen little cllit against the scratchy hairs on his pelvis. “can’t handle a real hybrid knot, huh? your fancy owner had to call in the dog next door ‘cause he can’t stuff you the way you need to be, isn’t that right?”

you whimper pathetically, little hands clutching at his broad scarred shoulders, fluffy tail puffing up as another orgasm rips through you. “nngh! toji—tojiii—‘s toooo much, ‘m gonna—!”

“hm? ‘s ok, make a mess,” he growls, bouncing you faster, the wet schlick-schlick-schlick of your soaked cunt filling the room. “keep that cute cunt gushin’ f’me. your owner’s being real polite but i bet he can’t stand that i’m ruinin’ his precious pet.”

from the corner of the room, nanami sits with clenched jaw, glasses slightly askew, watching with dark eyes as you fall apart on toji’s cock. sure, he’d asked shiu for help when your heat spiked again, but he hadn’t expected toji to be quite this… enthusiastic. good thing he was here to make sure the dog doesn’t take a literal bite out of you.

toji suddenly lifts you almost all the way off, just the fat head of his cock stretching your puffy entrance, and you cry out in protest, ears pinning back.

“n-nooo—put it baaack—please please please—!”

“beg nicer, bunny,” he teases, giving you just the tiniest shallow thrusts as he glances over at nanami with something between a grin and a snarl. “tell me how bad you need this fat dog cock. c’mon, show your dear nanamin how much better it feels than his polite little human dick.”

your brain is all fuzzy and melty, heat making everything hazy and desperate. “n-need it— need toji’s cock—need the knoooot, p-please.. so emptyyy—!”

he laughs, dark and seemingly satisfied, and yanks you back down, bottoming out so deep you see stars for a moment. your fluffy tail spasms, legs kicking uselessly as you cream around him again, slick gushing everywhere.

but toji isn’t done playing yet. with a low chuckle he suddenly flips you over onto your tummy, ignoring your surprised yelp as his unfairly strong hands manhandle your hips up so your cute ass is high in the air and your chest is pressed into the messy sheets.

your ears flop forward, cheek squished against the bed as he mounts you from behind like the big dog he is.

“there we go, cottontail… ass up, just like a proper breeding bunny,” he purrs, voice all rough and hungry. he spreads your shaky thighs wider with his knees, his hands groping your cheeks and holding them apart. the sight of your tail twitching erratically makes him huff out a chuckle, and he leans forward to spit a glob of saliva right under it, watching it dribble down to mix with the overflowing juices of your heat.

he rubs it allll in for good measure, his palm covering your whole cunt with ease even as you try to jolt away. after a few deceptively reassuring pats , he pulls his hand away and soon enough he slides back in with one heavy thrust, the new angle punching even deeper. your tail thumps wildly against his abs as he starts rutting into you hard and fast, the wet slap of skin on skin, his firm thighs hitting the back of your softer ones, echoing louder than before.

“tojiii— too deeeep!” you squeal, little paws scrambling at the sheets, ears twitching every time his fat cock kisses that spongy spot inside you over and over, slick drooling down your thighs helplessly.

he leans over you, one hand fisting around your bunny ears to keep your head tilted back, the other gripping your soft hip so tight you know you’ll have little bruises shaped like his fingers tomorrow.

“i know, bunny girl, but ya feel it real good right? this is how a real hybrid breeds. gonna fuck you so stupid like this, till ya can’t even remember your owner’s name.”

you can only babble and moan, drooling onto the sheets, eyes glassy as another orgasm crashes through you. “mmmngh— c-cummin’!”

“good girl,” he growls, hips never slowing, pounding you so deep your belly feels full with every thrust. he keeps you pinned there, ass jiggling with every impact, your tail thumping helplessly against him while nanami watches the show.

finally, toji snarls and yanks your hips back one last time, forcing you down onto his cock as deep as you can take. his knot swells—thick and perfect—popping past your entrance slowly and locking deep inside with a wet schlurp. the sudden stretch and pressure against that aching spot makes you wail, cumming so hard your vision whites out.

“thaaat’s it,” he groans, somehow managing to turn you to him so he can lay back with you wrapped in his arms, holding you flush against him while his knot pulses and pumps your womb full. “take every drop, dumb little bunny. grind on it—yeah, just like that.”

you’re completely gone—nothing but a soft, drooling, cockdrunk puddle. your fluffy tail twitches weakly as you mindlessly rock your hips against his swollen knot, tiny whimpers and “more… more… so full…” spilling from your lips. your ears flop over his chest, body boneless and trembling with aftershocks.

toji smirks, one big hand petting your sweaty bunny ears while the other keeps your hips pressed tight so you can’t pull off even if you wanted to.

“look at that,” he chuckles, glancing over at a very quiet nanami. “turned his sweet little rabbit into a brainless knotslut in one go. real cute.”

you just nuzzle closer, grinding slow and dreamy against the thick knot stretching you so perfectly, so dumb and happy and finally full.

“g-good… doggy…” you mumble, voice all floaty and slurred, tail giving one last happy little thump.

“yeah. good bunny.”

“WAH– WAS THAT THUNDER?” felix calls out, rushing from the bathroom over the loud clap that resonated through the house. his charcoal face mask was half washed off, giving the illusion that he had a comically dark and full beard. 

the newly bearded blonde keels over with laughter when he discovers the source of said ‘thunder’: hyunjin, their tall and strong alpha, clutching his ass cheeks as he rolls around the floor on pain, booty mapping abstract shapes in the air. 

“what’d he do to deserve that?” felix stammers out through gasps of air, clutching his stomach. hyunjin scowls from his place on the floor – the blonde’s finding his misery a little too amusing right now. 

“stand in front of me.” minho replies, corner of his lip quirked up like the cat that ate the canary. “you know you can’t be teasing like that, jagi.” 

han pouts from his place next to the alpha – who responds by grabbing the omega by the scruff of his hair and pulling him in, smacking their lips together. 

“hyunjin made a joke that they’re worse than minho and han.” chan pipes in, tilting his head towards jeongin’s closed (and locked) door. behind it, was a bittersweet symphony of bed squeaking and mattress thumping. oh, and how could you forget all the moaning and clapping too, of course. audible action that the rest of the pack had no privy to – when they’re all dating and living together, mind you. 

“well,” felix shrugs, crossing his arms. “they have been holed up in there for a while. neither left the room yet today?” 

“nah. i left some lunch at the door and the next time i checked it was gone.” chan replies. 

“damn. they might actually be worse.” 

“careful, feeelix.” hyunjin chimes in, sitting up as he rubs the sting from his poor ass. “homotron will come for your ass next.” 

“yeah nah, he won’t. he already had it for breakfast.” felix flashes a proud smirk, strutting away like the pampered princess he very much is. 

he runs into changbin in the hallway – on his way out from the toilet – and the pair of omegas lightly scent each other, wrists brushing briefly as they pass by. it’s familiar within the pack to be clingy for no real reason, other than the simple fact that they enjoy it. 

“what happened out here?” changbin asks as he returns to the living room, oddly flushed and sweaty. the rest of the pack narrow their eyes at him. “sounded like thunder.”

“were you jogging on the spot in there..?” hyunjin asks in a snicker – referencing how changbin had made everyone wait for him before game night could begin, insisting he ‘just had to pee’. they’ve been sat here for 20 minutes at this point. it’s why felix even put a face mask on, to kill the time. 

“binnie, you said you only needed to pee!” han sulks.

“yeah, and i thought that was all. but when nature calls–”

“–TMI! TMI, changbin. let’s just play this game already.” chan cuts him off before he can talk about his…toilet endeavours, reaching for the card box on the coffee table. 

felix returns after washing his face mask beard off, settling down in the spot next to changbin and curling around one of his big biceps. hyunjin sits next to han, side-eyeing the freaky alpha at his side who won’t stop smirking at him. 

“gonna play, seungmin?” chan asks, taking notice of the omega that’s been almost uncharacteristically quiet since they all settled down on the couch. none of his usual sly quips or muttered insults. he hardly smells like himself either, his scent faint in comparison to the sickly sweet vanilla he’s been parading around the house as of late. around you. 

seungmin had actually been spacing out, vision going blurry as he stared at the wall ahead – ears honed in on all the muffled sounds leaving jeongin’s door instead of what was actively happening around him. 

bits and pieces had managed to break through the trance-like focus, like minho slapping a man’s ass (typical) and changbin taking forever in the toilet (also typical). he just held no reaction, face carved from stone with a mouth set in a permanent frown. 

everyone’s been cracking jokes about jeongin’s recent possessiveness over you, like this is all light-hearted, it’s casual fun. no one seems to actually understand how selfish this is of him. he’s lucky that most of the pack have just recovered from their heats and ruts (courtesy of felix for setting them all off), otherwise he’d have seven angry partners banging down his door and demanding he shares you. 

now, there’s just one angry partner. 

seungmin has the bedroom right next to jeongin’s. initially, it was jeongin who complained about the room arrangements – begging someone to swap since he had to listen to you blowing seungmin’s back out every other night. but jeongin’s room stayed because, quote changbin: “no one wants to hear that shit.”

now seungmin’s the one reaping the karma of it. ever since the young alpha’s rut earlier this week, all seungmin’s been able to hear is fucking, more fucking, and then some through the poorly insulated walls. every slap on skin, every moaned word. he couldn’t do anything but lay as audience in his bed, hands snaking down his pants as he listened to his partners get off; imagining what you and jeongin were up to, doing to each other, painting a picture with each muffled noise while he struggled to keep his own down. 

he didn’t want to interrupt, of course. this was a special day for jeongin – his first rut after stopping his blockers! seungmin took them too, but for his own different reasons. he’d choose whenever he wanted to come off them and have a heat on his own terms. jeongin’s been taking them consistently since before he met any of the pack. it’d be selfish of seungmin to try to wedge his way into a monumental moment for the young alpha, y’know?

by the next day, seungmin had transformed into a horny fiend that was worse than selfish. the fomo was strangling his neck and his cock alive. he barged into the room and practically begged to be let in on the fun – only for jeongin to promptly kick him out, very unnecessarily aggressively. nearly turned it into a household fight when chan overheard jeongin’s nasty tone and almost whipped their youngest into shape. 

he really is acting almost as bad as minho. way back when, minho was the last to join their tight-knit pack, and the alpha had leached onto han – trying to push out the rest of you even though he was still ‘the new guy’. of course, you’ve all fallen in love since and set healthy boundaries, so it’s little more than a silly memory now. one that they can all look back on and laugh over (and get smacked on the ass if you joke about it in front of him). 

the pack’s been proud of their youngest for embracing his nature and finding solace in your intimacy, seungmin just feels… left out. and needy. 

seungmin’s been skipping his suppressors too, making all of this a thousandfold more unbearable. with han and felix’s consecutive heats, seungmin was expecting his own to hit in no time. he’s been waiting patiently, cuddling up to their beloved beta and kissing at your scent glands, enticing you to spend it with him when the time comes. 

he’s still waiting. 

maybe the stress of their youngest’s recent behaviour has been postponing it, but he still feels the way it lurks, imminent – simmering under his skin and prickling up his ribs. 

seungmin had dibs first! jeongin dishonoured the rule of waiting your damn turn and snatched you up with nothing but a moan through the wall here or there left for poor ol’ seungmin. he’s been on this earth for a whole year longer – jeongin’s their youngest, he has no right to eat before his hyungs. 

seungmin chose to sit out on the game of cards against humanity (the australian edition, of course), knowing he had no energy to give and unwilling to bring the mood down. he just felt so sensitive today in particular. he finds a little comfort in how much the pack seems to be enjoying it, even minho – who insisted that “this game isn’t even funny” but has been slapping han’s thigh in laughter over every potty humour card. 

“‘what do i think about during sex?’” chan narrates the prompt, then draws from each card played: “‘big, hot, stinky balls’, this sounds like han’s … ‘my ex who isn’t so bad when you get to know him’, alright whoever put this can see themselves to the door …. ‘memes’? man whose unfunny ass card–”

ruckus erupts over the coffee table, felix steadfast in defending his card while the rest all jump in on the debate. sour citrus clashes with sharp sea salt in the air as the alpha leader and blonde omega give each other shit, scents spiking with adrenaline. changbin takes the opportunity to grab some snacks, while han rushes to the toilet. (he’s been holding his bladder, since minho’s just gripped him tighter with a deadpan “no” each previous time he’s tried to leave.)

they all agreed to retire cards against humanity for the night when felix started claiming chan was ‘oppressing omegas’ by calling his card unfunny. seungmin broke his silence to offer up his nintendo switch, and so game night continued with rounds of mortal kombat. chan versus felix to start.. so they could sort out their beef.

“minho, could you pass the kimchi?” hyunjin asks, watching minho and changbin absolutely demolishing a container of it from the opposite end of the couch. 

the alpha paused, then smirked. “say please.”

“please.” 

“in a full sentence.” changbin piped in. 

hyunjin sighed. “could you please pass the kimchi?”

“now call him daddy.” changbin added.

(distantly, han yelled ‘daddy’ from the kitchen, not even knowing what was going on.)

hyunjin levelled them both with eyes full of hatred. 

“daddy.” 

“in a full sentence.” minho repeated. 

“could you please pass the kimchi daddy?” 

changbin snickers, “there’s two of us, say please daddies–”

hyunjin leaped up from his seat and launched at the pair jumpscare style, prying the container of kimchi from their hands as they all fell into a pile of chuckles. 

they’re all so engrossed in their own little worlds that none of the pack even register a certain door swinging open down the hall – none other than seungmin, of course. he watches the hallway with wide eyes, ears tuned in on the soft pad of footsteps on the floor, until all the oxygen is sucked from his lungs and flooded with a familiar, heady scent: yours. 

endless sex has left you with wild hair and glistening skin, but a glowing air around you, and a more potent, bright scent to match. the pack all smell you before they see you – faces splitting into smiles, seven chipper voices greeting as you round the corner. 

you head straight for the kitchen with little explanation, a few of them on your tail while the rest fight over the switch controllers. 

“i was almost forgetting your face..” felix pouts, reaching to lace his fingers with yours.

“innie keeping you chained to the bed in there or something?” chan teased, watching you go to the fridge and then reaching for it first – just so he could make a show of opening it for you. 

you sigh, amused at how they’re flocking around you. “no, he’s not. but, he needs someone.”

“i need you too,” seungmin steps around to your side, bending down and wedging his head through your arm. you chuckle in disbelief at him, but still let him pop his head through and curl his arms around your middle. “how long is he keeping this up for?”

“seungmin,” chan says, his tone of voice just teetering on the edge of being an alpha’s command. seungmin feels the way his body responds, spine curling with the instinct to listen. “play nice.”

seungmin frowns, nuzzling his neck into your armpit, aiming for your scent gland. he knows he’s hit it when you sigh a little, scent spiking – his own vanilla and jasmine curling into the edges of your senses. 

the fridge rudely interrupts when it starts beeping, and you’re pulled from your little moment with the omega as you grab out a water bottle, allowing chan to push the door and shut it up. 

you’re already turning – as best you can with a grown man hanging off of you, anyway – uncapping the bottle and headed back to jeongin’s room. just like that. 

seungmin’s mind starts to race, knowing you’re on your way to get swallowed up and lost in jeongin’s sheets again. he needs to make the most of this little opening he has. 

rich honey spikes in his nostrils, causing seungmin’s head to snap up to attention at the hallway. 

jeongin lingers down by his room, leaning against the doorframe with his arms crossed, signature scent radiating off of him with a sticky trace of something like.. annoyance. watching the guys all over you in the kitchen, standing there all menacingly and shit. he’s got a stick so far up his ass it’s a wonder it’s not poking out of his eyeball. is this how he was before blockers? this greedy? the type they warn men about in the bible? seungmin knows damn well his rut’s over by now, yet you’re both fucking like two omegas in heat. 

this is so unfair, not letting the actual omega in on all that… 

channeled by pure spite, seungmin grabs a handful of your ass. you squeak, tilting your head down at him with a grin while his hands start mapping a path over your curves. squeezing here, fondling there. nearly cups over your clothed crotch because grabbing up on you is making his days old pent-up energy rush to the forefront of his brain, but he just manages to shoo the impulse away. 

seungmin dares to flick his eyes up at the grumpy alpha down the hall – jeongin’s nose scrunched, probably from how seungmin’s sickly sweet vanilla is just pouring out as he scents all over you. intentional of course. he wants to piss him off. he wants you to go back to jeongin’s room, laying in his bed and making it smell like seungmin. 

without directly asking, he’s begging for a morsel of your attention, hoping all his pheromones clinging to your skin like melted sugar is enough of a request. 

you chuckle fondly, rewarding his efforts with a kiss. seungmin takes all he can get – pressing his body impossibly closer, gripping you impossibly tighter, and kissing you back. his tongue traces your lower lip, your teeth grazing across his. for a second, he hopes that you’ll sink them in, kiss him with a bite. god, it’s been so long since you’ve marked him. 

rather, you just pull away – one last sweet peck on his nose before you’re twisting your way out of his arms. seungmin lets them fall away, faced with your back as you walk off. staring longingly at the soft sway of your hips with each step. 

surely you know what you’ve done to him; the state you’ve left him in. and you’re not going to take responsibility? 

seungmin bites the inside of his cheek so he doesn’t call after you, attempt to provoke you into turning back around and kissing him some more. not when his gaze meets jeongin’s – that classic alpha entitlement burning behind his blown wide eyes. ah, he’s really embracing his nature now.. good on him. asshole. 

jeongin can’t say shit though – not when you stroll right back into his room, door locking behind you and shutting the rest of them out again. 

you’re all dating, yes. you all love each other and none of you would rather be anywhere else. but as nine people in a relationship, there’s bound to be favourites, and you’re all in agreement that there’s no restrictions on wanting to ‘claim’ someone for a bit. pheromones, territorial instincts and all that. 

most of the time, seungmin likes being thrown around until he forgets whatever was on his mind. but there’s other times when a partner needs his hands to soothe, or perhaps his mouth to sting. there’s times where seungmin wants fuck to something or have something fuck him so badly that he ditches his pills and parades his unfiltered omega scent all over the damn house until one of his partners pounce. everyone has varying moods and different boundaries in terms of intimacy, so there’s never been any limits on ‘exclusive’ partners within the pack, so long as they’re temporary since you’re all in this relationship together. 

seungmin thinks he’s finally found a limit to the agreement though, shaped in jeongin’s name. 

that night, seungmin gently nudges open changbin’s door, softly shutting it behind him as he slips into the pitch black room. changbin stirs from his bed, jolting a bit in surprise when he feels a warm, sweet smelling body sliding under the covers right next to him. he breathes in, a smile gracing his lips when he recognises the jasmine and vanilla. 

“seungminnie?” changbin drawls, voice thick with sleep. he drapes a heavy arm over the younger omega’s middle, thumb nudging under his waistband to draw circles into the hipbone. 

seungmin realises the assumption changbin’s half-conscious brain drew – that he’s here to relieve his frustrated energy. little does he know, seungmin already tired himself the fuck out jerking off listening to you and jeongin for yet another night, so all he wants to do now is just be held and comforted. 

seungmin lost his virginity to you. you’re the reason he even opened up to the other partners, holding his hand through letting them touch him and feel inside him. and yeah, beating the dead horse: you’re everyone’s favourite. but it’s especially important to seungmin. jeongin knows that you’re seungmin’s unforgettable first time, that whenever he’s in need his body can’t help but remember what you’ve taught it. and jeongin’s just slapped his balls all over that fact and said “fuck off and starve, she’s actually more important to me right now.”

he’s starting to really fucking hate that guy… and just to think, here seungmin was thinking that he might’ve been jeongin’s preference in those rare moments that he’s wanted a fuck (before coming off his blockers and taking you as prisoner, of course). 

seungmin doesn’t realise he was breathing so heavily until changbin’s knuckles gently brush across his cheek. back and forth, back and forth. seungmin’s nostrils fill with changbin’s fresh pear scent, breath evening back out. changbin hums, a deep noise that rumbles where his chest is pressed into seungmin’s ribs. 

“you’ve been so sensitive, seungminnie.” changbin grumbles, fingers tapping along the slope of the young omega’s neck. “think you’ll be in heat by tomorrow.” 

seungmin agrees, not realising that the reply didn’t actually leave the voice in his head. distantly, he thinks he must already be asleep…

—

with how seungmin crawled into his bed, distraught in the middle of the night – changbin took matters into his own hands to intervene. he left a kiss on seungmin’s hair before unabashedly barging into jeongin’s room and announcing that they were going to the gym. not asking. hyunjin tagged along, teasing and seducing the young alpha with a barrage of smooches until he relented. they damn near pried his arms off of your naked body to get him to leave the bed that reeked of fresh sex. 

you encouraged the guys by insisting that your legs were too sore to go for another round anytime soon, so jeongin went to release his fresh morning energy in the gym. changbin ducked back into his room just before the trio left, gently waking seungmin up and whispering that you were free. 

seungmin thinks he got out a nod as he stirred from sleep, brain slugging awake and distantly hearing the door shut behind changbin. 

his blood felt molten, thick and hot in his limbs, body weighed down into the mattress by some invisible pressure. he blinked, struggling for his vision to come into focus on the ceiling fan – and then he winced, stomach rolling with a sharp pain. 

heat. 

unmistakable, unwelcome. he’s dealt with it for most of his life, and he still thinks he’ll never get used to the slew of pain it brings. once the realisation clicked in his head, it was like a domino effect on all the other symptoms toppling over his body – breaking out in a sweat, head dizzy and eyes spinning, cramps rolling through his stomach in waves.

he’s not quite sure how long he laid there, spacing out at the wall as the pain crashed over him, until he decided to actually do something about it.

seungmin gritted his teeth as he sat up, channeling what was left of his diminishing energy into planting his feet on the floor and walking through the hall – one step after the other, until he’s pushing open a door and trudging inside. 

he flops onto the bed without a word, invading the space and cloaking it with his heady aroma. 

you sit at the head of your bed, watching the omega curiously as the distinct smell hits you. your whole demeanour changes from, whatever it was before he walked in. your eyes narrow – hunger bristling just behind your concern. 

seungmin manages to turn his head, cheek in the blanket as he looks up at you through dazed eyes. yours are half-lidded, and he can recognise the telltale way your body reacts to the potency of his heat. you want to help, he can see it – but you want a taste too. that look is exactly what he’s been waiting all week for. 

seungmin uses heat suppressors liberally – he can stop or start taking them as he likes. it’s all about having control: over his own cycle, and over how others treat him. his partners wouldn’t bother him if he didn’t want it, of course not – but stopping or starting suppressors on a whim is how he’s always been doing things, and it makes sense in his head. he doesn’t like the attention of being an omega, doesn’t like being figured out and treated differently because of it. not until he wants it. and when he wants it, it’s when he wants to be fucked. 

“what are you doing..?” you ask, voice treading lightly. you can’t help how your lip lilts in a grin with how gentle he looks, laid out like a tired puppy. 

“bothering you.” he says around his cheek smushed into the mattress. “are you sick of men now?” 

“seung,” you level him with a look, pushing the covers from your body and crawling to him. “jealousy’s so cute on you.” 

you lay parallel with him on the bed, arm reaching out to rub up his back. your fingers find his hair, softly playing with the strands, and seungmin sighs contentedly when your nails scratch the scalp. 

“innie’s allowed to get a turn, just like everyone else.” you coo to him, enjoying the way he’s like putty under the touch. you know he must be in pain, it smells like his heat’s freshly hit him – but your hand in his hair seems to be doing a good job of distracting his mind from the cramping in his belly. “just like you.” 

seungmin shivers at how your breath grazes his earlobe, every nerve end on fire from the barest stimulation. he can feel the way his cock reacts, filling out his pants with eagerness. 

“i had dibs first,” seungmin pouts, lightly pushing his hips forward and dropping his mouth open at how his cock presses into the plush of the mattress. “‘s not fair.” 

“no?” you hum, fingers tracing the shell of his ear, drawing down across his jawline. you stop just short of the scent gland on his neck, nails feathering the edge of the sensitive spot, and you hear a light whine leave seungmin’s throat. “you only tease, baby. jeongin was going through a rut in silence – it wouldn’t have been fair to just ignore him for you.” 

“but you left me out!” he sulks, heightened senses making his emotions volatile. he knows he sounds like a child throwing a tantrum as he says it, but he also doesn’t care. he’s hard, he’s in heat, and he wants to provoke you into doing something about it. even if you were going to regardless – it’s all the more satisfying when it’s on his terms, when it’s to put him in his place, rather than simply ‘help’. “and he was a bitch to me..” 

you hum, listening. you scratch the scruff of his hair, watch the way his head preens into the touch and his hips press further into the bed. 

“poor baby… how do you want it, hm? soft?” you ask, and seungmin gives no response – which is the response. knowing him, you grab a fistful of the hair and crane his head back, exposing the slope of his neck. “or do you want to be a bitch?”

seungmin nods feverishly, throat bobbing with a gulp as drool pools in his mouth. you’ve been teasing the edges of his heat, keeping the urges at bay with each of these gentle touches – but now it’s time for it to all spill out. 

his need all topples over when you plant your mouth over his scent gland, causing seungmin’s vision to white out at the extreme sensitivity. he doesn’t register the moan that leaves his mouth as you suck a bruise onto the spot, jasmine sweet on your palate. he also doesn’t register the hands riding his shirt up, not until the fabric’s pulling around his neck and your mouth is popping off from the skin. 

he takes the hint, raising his arms up to let you pull the garment up over his head. you discard it somewhere on the floor before diving back in, ravaging the rest of his neck with kisses, nose nudging at the scent gland every so often – stars flashing in his vision. his cock throbs, hips inching further into the mattress for any friction he can get right now. 

you throw your leg over his back, body pressed right up against his side as your arms wrap around him. you’re nearly laying on top of him as you go in for a kiss, seungmin’s omega soaring at the relief. he can taste his own sweat on your tongue as you lick into his mouth, teeth knacking his and scraping his gums. it all spurs him further on, and he begs for you to mark him more with each moan into your mouth. 

one hand wedges its way under where his body’s pressed into the mattress – fingers grazing his nipple, sending goosebumps racing across his flesh. seungmin encourages you with a whimper, cock twitching as you play with the sensitive nub. 

your other hand travels south on the side of his body, knuckles grazing over his ribs, until your fingers hook around his waistband. seungmin lifts his pelvis eagerly, allowing you the space to reach your hand in, before he’s laying his lower body back down – length pressing perfectly into your palm. 

he chokes on a gasp when you grab him through the fabric, palming him almost roughly – fingers still flicking at his nipple and causing little jolts of his hips into the warmth of your hand. 

precum seeps from his cock in rivulets, the skin of your hand moist from all that he’s been leaking out through his pants onto the mattress. you let him hump your hand as your tongue slides against his, feel the fabric get wetter and wetter until the kisses are more of his desperate moans than anything. 

it’s fast movement from there as you slip your hand quickly into the front of his pants, wasting no time in wrapping your fingers around his length. seungmin damn nearly screams from the attention, instantly bucking into the circle of your fist. you revel in all the helpless noises falling from his mouth, gripping his length tighter as you start to move your hand. 

you pinch his nipple, combine it with a flick of your wrist around his base, and seungmin’s not sure if he’s about to cum or pass out. his pelvis stutters to meet each stroke of your hand, each movement sloppily loud from the copious amounts of precum. 

seungmin’s babbling at this point, begging for things he doesn’t entirely understand himself. you seem to make out enough of his nonsense, mouth coming to hover just above his neck, breath fanning his pulse point and making his cock pulse violently. it’s all the warning he gets before you dive in, biting a mark next to his scent gland, and seungmin is seeing fucking stars. he helplessly cums into your fist, and you focus on jerking him off through it – spurts of the hot liquid coating your fingers and soiling the fabric of his pants. 

just when he thinks he’s about done, you don’t seem to agree – switching from strokes over his length to just sharp twists around his tip, and a broken moan leaves seungmin as he only cums more and more. he can’t tell if it was the same orgasm or a hundred separate ones. it definitely felt like the latter. 

despite it all, his body hasn’t wavered. you were expecting so anyways – seungmin’s like a dog with the zoomies when it comes to his heats. it never ceases to amaze you each time, seeing the way the want pours so incessantly out of your partner’s bodies with their cycles; surpassing their physical limit, endless adrenaline and nonexistent fatigue. sometimes you’re grateful to have been born a beta – dealing with this every other month, you just don’t understand how anyone could get through it without substantial help.. 

after a moment to catch his breath, seungmin looks up at you with a big dopey grin. he looks refreshed, reenergised after that. like shrugging a weight off of his shoulders. but, he’s not deterred – heat still cloying thick at his skin, boiling in his belly. 

he’s not done, not just yet. so you leave pecks where you’ve marked his neck, gently retracting your hand from the front of his pants, seungmin making a small noise at the loss of your warmth. 

he doesn’t get to pout for long though, since you’re bringing that same hand up and tapping it to his lips. seungmin glances at you, eyes sparkling, before he’s wrapping his lips around your pointer and middle. you hiss at how feverishly his tongue sucks at your skin, his eyes nearly rolling back at the taste of his own cum – hips right back to softly thumping on the mattress, still-hard cock chasing his very next orgasm. 

seungmin’s so occupied with licking every last drop from your fingers, he makes a muffled noise of surprise when your free hand reaches down the back of his pants – grabbing a handful of his ass. 

you shush him, thumb rubbing his face softly until you feel his body un-tense. your hand travels further down, stopping between his cheeks, dipping a finger into the pool of slick there. seungmin whines around a mouthful of your fingers, lashes fluttering at your fingertips prodding at his hole. 

“you okay?” you check softly. seungmin nods, and you watch as his puppy eyes go crossed as your finger slides in. just one, feeling the wet heat of his hole gripping you, before he relaxes – and you add another. 

seungmin whimpers so beautifully as you finger him, entire body practically vibrating with overwhelming pleasure. you rotate your fingers inside of him, reaching to curl at his prostate, and his face falls into the bed with a strangled noise. 

you’re not even pressing that hard, or fingering that quickly, but seungmin’s fucked up all the same. you pay attention to his prostate for a few thrusts of your fingers before he’s clenching around you, body shaking as another orgasm crashes over him – cock untouched as he releases into his pants. 

warm cum mixes with the existing dried stain. he’ll probably have to throw this pair out tomorrow. 

popping your fingers out from his hole, you rub at seungmin’s back with your palm, waiting for his sign of what happens next. for a heat that’s only freshly started, he’s already came a fuckton. you’re surprised he hasn’t fainted. 

seungmin, on the other hand, doesn’t think he’s had enough. he’s still thinking coherent thoughts, for one. his mind is sound enough to register the heat cramps sizzling in his lower belly, not quite put to rest yet. he wants more, wants you to fuck him. his cock or his ass, doesn’t matter. then he wants to fuck you when he gets some of his strength back. 

but instead of getting to voice any of that, black swallows him – and the omega drifts off into sleep, having bitten off far more than he could chew. 

— 

“what the fuck?!” 

seungmin jolts awake, registering arms gripping his waist and a body curled into his back. he blinks groggily, vision coming into focus on a pissed off jeongin standing at the edge of the bed. he blinks again, tilting his head to see you cuddling him from behind. 

jeongin appears to have just come home from the gym, hair freshly damp from a shower, and smelling like an angry beehive – probably looking for some fun with his favourite beta, and finding seungmin already in your bed instead. 

now that seungmin’s awake, his heat senses it too – beginning its assault on his body, cramping his stomach and turning his limbs to jelly. he winces as it all rolls over him, his sense spiking with the need radiating off of him. you rub at his back as a comfort, saying something to jeongin that seungmin doesn’t quite catch. 

he raises his head to glance at the alpha’s reaction, and jeongin.. just melts. he did walk in here angry, but any alpha is helpless to smelling a partner’s heat. the physical effect is instant, his alpha instinct fraying at his edges to help the poor omega. his cock stirs in his pants just smelling you both, bodies still sticky with arousal and slick. 

“are you here to help?” you ask the alpha, an underlying sternness in your words in case he starts his possessive shit again. 

as if in a trance, jeongin nods, instinctively pulled in without his mouth agreeing yet. 

“yeah,” he finally replies, swallowing thickly as he sits on the edge of the bed – movements stiff from the increasing tightness of his pants, eyes honed in on seungmin like a fox hunting prey. so odd, that the alpha was eyeing him for a different reason just yesterday night. hunger for you – now seungmin’s seeing it directed at him.

prior to stopping his blockers, jeongin getting intimate with anyone was scarce. when he did have an itch to scratch, seungmin was the one there for him, more often than not. but, this jeongin, unrestrained in how his alpha bears its teeth… seungmin doesn’t know if he’s ever been this attracted to his partner. funny, the way their biology works. 

you get seungmin’s attention by twirling the tendrils of his hair, smiling softly as he glances up at you through heavy lashes.

“more?” 

the omega nods. 

“do you want him here?” 

his eyes flick over to jeongin, regarding him for a moment – before he repeats the gesture, nodding. 

your smile deepens, hand trailing down the slope of his cheek, stopping to ghost over his adam’s apple. it bobs under your fingers when jeongin begins to shift closer. 

you splay your fingers over seungmin’s neck, pressing out an airy moan as your other hand creeps over the growing bulge in his pants. seungmin casts a look downward to watch the movement, noticing that you changed him into a new, clean pair while he was asleep. this one won’t suffer the same fate as the last, as you’re quick to drag the waistband down before his precum can make too big of a stain. 

you lean in for a kiss, lips gentle on his, as your fingers wrap around his length once again. seungmin whimpers into it, pelvis canting up on instinct, feeling the ache in his thighs from his incessant humping into the bed earlier. you part with the omega to study his expression as you stroke him, and he catches a movement in his peripheral – glancing down to see jeongin palming himself, eyes blown wide, focused on your hand around seungmin. 

you beckon jeongin over, and he follows – leaning his hips out for you to tug the fabric down, cock springing free and slapping against his shirt. seungmin’s entirely breathless at everything happening before him, body coursing with anticipation as you guide jeongin to sit facing him – thighs bracketing his. 

“chan said something to me earlier this week,” you drawl, grip loosening around seungmin’s cock as you tilt it forward, nodding for jeongin to shuffle closer. “he said you both should wear one of those ‘get along’ t-shirts.”

seungmin chokes on a gasp as he realises where this is going – watching as your fingers stretch to fit jeongin’s length into your palm, their cocks pressing against each other. jeongin winces, pre rolling out from the head, and seungmin can’t help but whine at the sight. your grip curls tighter, rubbing their tips together before your hand strokes down. the boys moan in tandem, leaking into the circle of your hand fucking them together. tips bumping, underside of their lengths rubbing. 

jeongin throws his head back with a guttural groan, getting real into it as he humps into your fist, cock rutting so perfectly against seungmin’s. the omega’s vision goes blurry from the tidal wave of pleasure – he can’t tell if jeongin’s this turned on because you’re the one jerking him off, or because he’s frotting seungmin. 

you pull your hand away abruptly, causing a pained noise from the alpha and something like a sob from the omega. he felt so close to slipping under, to painting your fist and the alpha’s cock white. it doesn’t occur to him that’s the reason you even stopped – it’d be a waste of his cum. 

you gently push jeongin off, replacing his spot on seungmin’s thighs. the omega bleerily blinks up at you, and he didn’t realise that you’d stripped your bottoms off somewhere during that – hovering over him bare from the waist down. 

realising you’re waiting for permission, seungmin nods his head rapidly, words beyond him at the sight of your pussy leaking. 

you brace yourself with hands cupping either side of his neck as you sink down, sopping tip sliding easily into your damp warmth. seungmin clutches the sheets beneath him, gritting out a sob through his teeth. it feels so, so fucking good. 

impatient, you barely take him the whole way in before rocking your pelvis, his head nudging into your g-spot just enough to make you whimper. seungmin’s mind is some place other than earth as you start to ride him with a hurried pace, his balls slapping into your ass with each bounce. jeongin sits his chin on your shoulder from behind, his large hands gripping your waist and guiding you through each thrust on seungmin. up, and down – his cock slipping between your cheeks, getting him off simultaneously with every move – up, and down. 

“like that,” jeongin praises from your shoulder, licking at the sheen of sweat on your skin. “s-shit, yeah, that’s it–”

both of your combined efforts to fuck the omega is all too good, too much for him – his face screwing with a silent sob, back arching off the bed as he cums. you don’t immediately realise, squeaking with the first warm spurt into your pussy. you try your best to ride it out for him, legs aching from the position. 

jeongin’s quick to realise and tighten his grip on you, hoisting your body up and down to fuck seungmin through his orgasm; clenching his jaw as he tries to reach his own, cock rubbing between your ass. he doesn’t quite get there before you’re suddenly collapsing forward, his dick throbbing painfully as you unintentionally edge him. your sweaty body lays limp on top of seungmin’s, his length half slipped out of you, a creamy ring of white gathered at his base. 

a grunt from behind is the last thing you hear before jeongin manhandles you, pushing you forward until seungmin’s dick slips out. you gasp, the noise grounding seungmin from wherever the fuck he went during his orgasm – and he watches with dazed eyes as your face scrunches in a cry, jeongin sticking his cock into you and ramming you twice as hard. 

you just take it, trying to prop yourself up on your elbows but falling back down with the force of the alpha’s thrusts. seungmin weakly wraps his arms around you in a hug, tears beading in his eyes when his still-hard cock slips between your folds from the rough jostling of your bodies. his tip perfectly bumps your clit with each movement, while jeongin assaults your g-spot from behind – your ears ringing from the combined stimulation. 

even as you’re chasing your own breaths, your lips seal around seungmin’s in a desperate kiss. jeongin cusses as you clench around him, his fingers fumbling between your bodies, dipping into the slick gathered at seungmin’s hole. the omega flinches, long past sensitive as the alpha’s lithe fingers breach into his rim and curl. 

“fuck!” jeongin shouts, feeling both of your holes sucking him in. all three of you break out into trembles as you’re catapulted over the edge – a domino effect as you cum around jeongin’s cock while he cums into you, seungmin coating your clit.

the alpha grits out your names as he pulls out – length coated in a mess of cum from you, seungmin, and himself. his cock twitches at the sight. 

jeongin laughs hoarsely, playfully slapping both of your asses as he stands from the bed. he says something about if “seungmin got what he wanted” – neither of you really understanding as you huff and puff, bodies stuck together with sweat. 

you recover first – lips tracing seungmin’s jawline with gentle pecks. “how do you feel?” 

“ah,” he sighs, shaking his head in pure amazement. “spoiled.” 

you giggle, peppering his cheek with kisses. “nothing but the best for our pup, hm?” 

seungmin hisses as he feels a cold sensation between his thighs, craning his neck to glance over your body and seeing jeongin there; gentle as he cleans the sticky mess with wet wipes. 

seungmin’s sort of like a lost puppy as he watches the alpha be so.. doting, after everything – sleep pulling at the edges of his brain. 

“are you letting me stay?” the omega asks through a yawn. his heat’s reduced to but a warm lull, not yet finished but more than sated for the time being, thanks to you and jeongin. 

“of course.” you insist, casting a glance at jeongin – who nods. 

as much of an asshole he’s been.. seungmin does get it. you do just bring that crazy possessive side out of all of them. that’s the effect of their beloved beta. 

once jeongin’s wiped you all off, the three of you fall into a pile of cuddles, warm limbs tangled in the blanket. seungmin can’t help but smile to himself over how spoiled he is. when he inevitably wakes back up, stomach curling with the demand for more, he won’t have to ask for the attention this time – you’ll both be here and ready to smother him in it. 

he had a way of making you feel guilty that you were allowing him to get his hands on you and do what he pleased. guilty that he knew what buttons to press and what knobs to twist in a way that made you feel so good it hurt.

it was wet, dirty, and hot. a shower afterward was a non-negotiable.

it was hard to make your moans sound pretty when they were so pure. guttural and broken, unfiltered with how deep mingi was pounding your puffy cunt. but he liked it more when you sounded like that, when you sounded like one more thrust might kill you.

when you sounded like you were in pain, but in truth, he was just fucking you so good that maintaining a front of “pretty” was not your main concern at the moment. your main concern was not passing out while he was inside you. fucking your pussy like he was trying to commit the feeling to memory.

"god, im so deep thats gotta hurt huh, baby? does it hurt you?”

you cries and groans are muffled in the pillow you’ve shoved your face into, your hands gripping the sheets by your head like they might ground you on earth. mingi is on his knees behind you, strong thighs keeping him upright, while his palms held your hips in place for him as he shoved his cock inside of you.

arched so prettily in front of him, your ass bouncing off his body every time his hips slammed against you, a filling, heavy rhythm that sends vulgar “plap” sounds bouncing off the walls.

you were covered in sweat, skin shiny and wet, your hair sticking to your neck from all the exertion. mingi was just as sweaty as you, surely more. but god he was having so much fun.

all the adrenaline that he channeled on stage when he performed, he funneled it into the bedroom too. acting nasty like he was performing for someone.

he opens his mouth and sticks out his tongue, his eyes lasered in on where his dick slid in and out of your gushy cunt, coated in a white cream that only seemed to build every time he filled you up again.

he laughs lowly as a string of saliva falls from the tip of his tongue and lands directly on the length of his cock in just enough time as he shoves it back inside of you, his fat mushroom tip catching that sensitive ridge along your walls that makes your legs shake.

“she’s creaming on my cock, baby,” he moans as he sucks his bottom lip between his teeth and drags his hands away from your hips and up to the rippling flesh of your ass. he palms the soft skin with his big, heated hands and spreads them slowly so he can get a better look at his cock filling you out.

it bewildered you every single time because mingi liked to embarrass you. he wanted you to hear the sounds that your body made, the filthy, sticky sounds that you couldn’t control.

“shhh, baby. not so loud, listen to yourself.” he reached over your arched body and pressed his hand flat against the back of your head to further muffle you against the pillow. “listen to her talk back to me.”

and hearing it always made you ashamed beyond comprehension. and yet he always felt you get so tight around him when the noises registered.

his spit, your arousal, the stirred-up sounds of your guts being rearranged hit your ears like a truck. mingi’s hungry groans that you could feel all throughout your body with every deep stroke he pounded into your cunt.

he’s big, and thick, and very purposeful with his hips. you’ve seen him on stage, rolling his body with sensual intentions that only allow a glimpse into how he could really put those hips to use.

he watches, his tongue swiping over his bottom lip as your wetness clung to his v-line in a white sticky web. the shine of your ass from the sweat and all the times he’s practically drooled on your body.

he purposely slows his hips so the sounds get deeper, hollow and louder. your moans break into breathless whines that only make mingi wanna abandon any remaining composure and fuck you til you snap.

“yeah, yeah… cunt’s asking for a baby. isn’t she?” he takes his hand off your head and moves both of them to your shoulders, curling them over the bone and pulling your body up, arching you even more.

you whine when you feel him slip his soaked dick out of you, a gross, slick sound as he pulls out. and god, it seems endless when the tip finally pops out of you. you cry at the emptiness, and mingi giggles as he watches you shake your ass side to side to try and coax him to fill you up again.

your head throws back as he pulls your head out of the pillow, and you could hear him spitting into your stretched pussy, the saliva dripping down your puffy folds.

“gotta keep you messy, sweet girl, makes this more fun for both of us.” he digs his nails into your shoulders and groans so low you could feel it in your belly as he glides right back inside of you.

there was really no friction at all, and he's nearly kept slipping out since you started. each stroke of his veiny cock is punctuated with a deep, staccato rumble in his chest.

his lips part in misty pants, watching with enamored adoration as the stickiness of your combined arousal clings to your bodies like this was really some kind of perverted home video.

the wet noises fill your ears again, and now you can’t muffle your moans in the pillow anymore with the way he holds your body up. they come out primal and desperate, helpless as mingi forces your pussy to take his shape.

“mmhm, wish i could see your pretty face.” he mumbles, the loud slaps of his hips against your ass nearly drowning out his voice.

“but i'd rather see this pussy keep sucking me in.” he laughs again and enunciates with a deep, rough thrust that makes your toes curl.

“wanna see her dripping with me once i fill her up. fuck a baby into my pretty girl.” his moans are an encouragement that further tighten that knot in your stomach, your cunt clenching around him like a vice with every nasty word that leaves his mouth.

he presses his palms into your lower shoulders, simultaneously working out a building knot of stress, all the while he fucks you into a worthless puddle in his sheets.

“fill this pussy up all the way to the fucking back.” he leans over your body and presses his lips to the small of your back, his mouth opened in low moans as he eases his hips into a swifter pace, pressing wet kisses against your fluttering skin.

his dick glides in and out of you with painful ease, every full thrust that drags the thickness of him against your gspot pulling you more and more under.

“get you all pretty and swollen with my babies.” he whispers against your back, and you whine so loud you swear it was going to tear up your throat.

if the sloppy mess between your legs wasn’t a cry for just that, you weren’t sure what was.

“p-please-!” you cry out, and you shiver when you feel his lips form into a pout and kiss your back like he was trying to soothe you. “w-want… want you t-to-“

“think it’ll take like this?” he teases, shoving his cock so hard and so deep inside of you he might’ve breached your throat. he stays there, unmoving, forcing you to feel the twitching and the throbbing of his dick against every inch of your gooey pussy.

he hums, and suddenly you’re empty again, and you whine at the loss. but then you’re moving, his hands grab your waist and turn your body over, your back hitting the mattress. “probably not.”

seeing him nearly undoes you, a sweaty, crazed wreck. his hair sticking up everywhere, his chest rising and falling with heavy breaths, his v-line a sticky mess. his hands grab the backs of your thighs and push your legs up so they’re pressed against your shoulders.

you squeal and are hardly given ample time to register what was happening before he slides his cock back inside of you, the new position having him deeper than ever before. mingi’s entire body shivers when he fills you to the hilt, your own body pulling taut at the invasive fullness.

his hands keep your thighs against your shoulders, folded in half underneath him in a mating press. “fuck, that’s better,” he sighs, immediately rolling his hips into you with every deep thrust. his lips spread into a greedy smile, his tongue swiping over his teeth. “hi baby, look so fuckin pretty.”

you cry out and throw your head back against the pillow, your hands reaching around and clawing at his broad shoulders.

“lemme pound this pussy, need you to cum before i breed you mkay? work for me pretty, give me what i need.” mingi chews on his bottom lip, his moans filling your ears, you’re unable to look away from where his cock disappears into your cunt, the wet noises seemingly even louder now.

he slides inside with slippery ease and glides right back out coated in a sheen of white. over and over and over again. maddeningly deep and too fucking fast.

his eyebrows are knitted in such a pretty, concentrated expression, his cheekbones poking through his skin from where his mouth begins to part with every thrust that seems to only drag him further towards his own orgasm.

“cum for me, baby. wanna feel this pussy cum around me, wanna fill you up so bad. wanna give my beautiful girl a baby.”

and as always, you do as he says, shattering like glass while he fucks you through it, determined to drag your orgasm out of you until you've been completely wrung dry.

"atta girl." he growls through his teeth, leaning down and taking your nipple in his warm mouth, suckling and circling his thick tongue around the softness of it. "can't wait till these are full of milk," he moans around them, muffled. "i'm sure the baby wouldn't mind sharing."

it clicks with you then and there that he was completely serious. the man literally wanted you pregnant. he sinks his teeth into your areola, and you cry out when you feel him slow his hips to a punishing, intentional grind into your cunt.

"you're gonna make such a good mommy, baby." he drools around your nipple, stilling his hips and damn near whimpering like a bitch as he holds himself there. you could feel him spilling inside of you, hot ropes of cum that seep to the back of your cunt just right.

mingi purrs and groans while he rides it out, massaging the backs of your thighs, his cock throbbing deep inside of you.

sticky, filled, and spent. he doesn't move yet, holding himself inside of you while you both take a moment to catch your breath. when you shift underneath him, he pressed his palms harder against the backs of your thighs to hold you still.

"uh uh, don't move. tryna keep you plugged, can't have any spilling out right?" he smiles and trails wet kisses up the side of your neck and you sigh and relax under his body.

you hope to god it works, because you're not sure if you'd be able to handle another session of "trying" with him and make it out with your legs intact.

fuckboy!Chris who fucks like a man with something to prove. He’s used to girls falling apart in ten minutes and he’s bored of it, so with you he takes his time just to see what happens. He lays you out on his bed, gets your dress rucked up around your hips, panties shoved to the side, and spends way too long just… looking. Big hands spreading you open so his thumb can swipe through your slick, middle finger teasing at your entrance but not pushing in yet.

fuckboy!Chris who talks you through it like he’s slipping under your skin—voice all gravel and honey right by your ear while his thick cock stretches you out, inch by inch, until your nails leave crescents in his shoulders. He hitches your knees up high, folding you almost in half so your feet barely have anything to press against, your whole body pinned and helpless under the weight of him.

“That’s it,” he groans, head dropping to your throat as he bottoms out, so deep you swear you feel him in your lungs. “Take all of it for me. Knew this pretty pussy could handle me.”

fuckboy!Chris who loses his mind over the size difference—how your hand looks when it wraps around just the base of him, how your thighs tremble against his ribs when he really starts to move. He watches you in the mirror across the room, the way your tits bounce with every rough snap of his hips, your face going slack and pretty when he hits that spot inside you over and over until your voice cracks.

“Look at you,” he pants, leaning back just enough to cage your wrists above your head with one hand, the other bracing under your thigh as he pounds into you. The bedframe slams the wall, your whimpers spilling into the room. “So fucking pretty under me… you hear yourself? All those little noises just for my cock?”

fuckboy!Chris who swears he doesn’t kiss girls, not really, not the way that matters—but somehow his mouth keeps finding yours mid-thrust, stealing your breath, swallowing your broken, wrecked sounds. He groans when your legs lock around his waist like you’re trying to keep him there forever, like you’d die if he pulled out.

“Fuuuck—yeah, hold on to me,” he rasps, voice fraying. His forehead presses to yours, sweat-slick and desperate. “Clingy little thing, aren’t you? You want me to stay?”

fuckboy!Chris who was supposed to pull out. He always does. That’s the rule. No sleepovers, no cuddling, no finishing inside. But then your nails rake down his back and he feels you clamp down around him so tight he sees white.

His hips stutter, rhythm breaking as he drives into you harder, deeper, chasing it.

“Shit, baby, I’m—fuck, I’m gonna—”

He should pull back. He knows it. Instead his hand flies to your jaw, thumb pressing into your cheek as he forces your head up so you’re looking right at him when he spills, cock throbbing, hot and thick inside you. He groans into your open mouth, eyes squeezed shut.

“Fuck… shit, look what you made me do,” he pants, staying buried, cock twitching as his cum leaks out around the seal of you, sticky and obscene. 

fuckboy!Chris who tells himself that’s it. One time. You were good, sure, but there’s always someone else. Except then he’s in the shower later with his head against the tile, jerking himself off to the memory of your fucked-out face, the way you gasped when he lifted your hips and pushed you down onto him like a doll. He comes too fast, embarrassingly fast, and the worst part is he still isn’t satisfied.

fuckboy!chris who tells himself he only comes back because you’re convenient. Because you’re close. Because you’re good. And you are—fuck, you’re good. You look up at him with those glassy eyes while you’re on top of him and he has to brace a hand against the mattress so he doesn’t shake, veins in his forearms popping as he rasps out, “slow down, baby, fuck— you tryna make me fall in love or what?”

fuckboy!Chris who starts seeing you everywhere after that—your lip gloss in the corner of his sheet, your hair tie on his nightstand, the faint bruise your teeth left on his throat. His phone lights up and he pretends he’s not waiting for your name, but his stomach flips every time it’s someone else.

fuckboy!Chris who texts you at 1:43 a.m. u up? fully expecting you to ignore him. When you actually answer, his fingers tighten around his phone, a slow grin spreading across his face.

yeah. why?

you know why, he sends back before he can talk himself out of it. come over.

fuckboy!Chris who never, ever fucks the same girl twice—who built a whole persona on that, on being untouchable, unbothered, too busy chasing the next warm body to even think about repeats—until you.

Until he’s on his knees between your thighs the next time, shoulders spread wide against your inner legs, licking into you like a man starved because just feeling you around his cock isn’t enough anymore. Until he’s growling against your pussy, voice rough and wrecked:

“Gonna ruin you for everyone else, you know that? You feel what I’m doing to you? No one’s ever gonna have you like this but me.”

fuckboy!Chris who starts staying after. He’ll finish with you—deep, messy, your cunt still fluttering around him—and then he’ll realize he’s still inside you ten minutes later, just lazily rocking his hips while you whimper into his neck, your fingers tracing patterns on his back. He tells himself he’s just catching his breath, that’s all.

fuckboy!Chris who hears his friends joking about how he never sticks around, never calls, never double-backs… and doesn’t say anything about the fact he’s already been in your bed three times this week. Or the way his jaw tightens when you mention some guy from class, tongue pressed into his cheek when your phone lights up with another name while you’re straddling his lap.

fuckboy!Chris who suddenly gets really opinionated about your love life for someone who “doesn’t do relationships.”

“Why you even talking to him?” he mutters, peeping over your shoulder at your phone. “His texts are dry as hell. You seriously into that?”

fuckboy!Chris who pretends it doesn’t bother him when you say, half-teasing, “Relax, you’re not my boyfriend,” after he snatches your phone and flips it screen-down. He scoffs, leans back on your pillows with his arms behind his head like he’s unbothered, shirt riding up just enough to show the cut lines of his stomach.

“I know,” he says. “I’d be a shit one.”

But he fucks you mean that night, rougher than usual, your knees hooked over his forearms as he drives into you, eyes dark and focused like he’s trying to fuck the word boyfriend right out of your vocabulary. Every thrust is deep, punishing, your breath hitching into little choked-off cries.

“Not your boyfriend,” he grits, hips slamming into the backs of your thighs. “But you let me fuck you like this, yeah? You let me be the only one who sees you like this?”

fuckboy!Chris who can’t stop talking once he’s in deep and losing it.

“Look at this little cunt,” he pants, eyes fixed where you’re stretched around him, where his cock disappears inside you again and again. “Always so ready for me, always so tight—shit, bet you’d take whatever I give you, huh? Fingers, tongue, anything I want.”

You whine his name, broken and high, and feel him shudder behind you.

“Fuck, you’re so fucking hot,” he gasps, eyes rolling to the back of his head. “You were made for this fucking cock, swear to God.”

fuckboy!Chris who starts doing stupid things, out of nowhere. Like showing up with takeout on a night you didn’t invite him. Like remembering how you take your coffee without ever meaning to. Like shrugging off his hoodie and tugging it over your head when you shiver, grumbling, “you say you run hot and then complain about being cold, unreal,” while his brain quietly short-circuits at how cute you look in it.

fuckboy!Chris who gets reckless with his own rules. You spend the night once because it’s late, and then again because you “accidentally” fall asleep on his chest, and then again because he mumbles, half-asleep, “Just stay, yeah?” into your hair, and you do.

fuckboy!Chris who wakes up hard against you, arm heavy over your waist, face tucked into your neck, and realizes—horrified—that he feels… calm. Not trapped, not itchy to leave. Just… good. Your breath soft and even, your hand curled around his fingers like you trust him with something fragile.

fuckboy!Chris who panics and pulls back. Starts answering slower. Starts making excuses. Starts trying to prove to himself he’s still the same as he was before you, going out more, letting girls press up on him in clubs, flirting just enough to remind himself he knows how.

fuckboy!Chris who can’t follow through. He gets them back to his apartment, hands on autopilot, mouth saying all the right things—until they touch him in a way that isn’t yours, until they laugh at the wrong moment, until they look up at him and he thinks, not you. Everything in him goes flat.

“Actually,” he says once, stepping back with a crooked, apologetic grin, “I just remembered I’ve got an early morning.” “Now?” she scoffs. “Seriously?” 

He shrugs, already walking her to the door. “Yeah. Sorry, sweetheart.”

fuckboy!Chris who shuts the door on someone else and somehow ends up in his car, engine rumbling under his hands while his brain short-circuits. He tells himself he’s just going for a drive, just clearing his head. Definitely not typing your address into his GPS even though he could get there blindfolded by now.

fuckboy!Chris who’s halfway up your building’s stairs before he realizes he doesn’t have a reason to be there. No real one, anyway. Not one that doesn’t sound pathetic when he says it out loud.

I missed you.

He stands outside your door for a full minute, fingers flexing uselessly at his sides, heartbeat loud in his ears. He almost turns around. Almost.

He knocks.

You open the door in an old t-shirt and tiny shorts, hair a little messy, eyes going wide when you see him.

“Chris?”

He did not plan what to say. Panic hits so fast his brain grabs the first thing it can find.

“I’m sick,” he blurts.

You blink. “…What?”

“I’m—” he fakes a cough on the spot, winces at himself halfway through it and commits anyway, hunching his shoulders like he’s in a drama. “S’bad.”

There’s a beat of silence where you just stare at him, taking in the hoodie, the faint smell of cologne.

Then your mouth curls, unimpressed. “If you wanted to come over to fuck,” you say flatly, “you could’ve just said so.”

His ego flares like a personal emergency. Absolutely not. No way is he admitting that he bailed on another girl and came here because he—what, missed you? Needed you?

He coughs again. 

“Nah, I’m serious,” he insists, putting a hand to his forehead like he’s checking for a fever. “Think I’ve got, like… the plague or some shit.”

You squint at him. “You walked here with the plague.”

“Drove,” he corrects, like that helps. “Didn’t wanna give it to anyone. ‘Cept you, I guess. Sorry, baby.”

You exhale, half a laugh, half a sigh. “You’re so stupid.”

But you step back to let him in.

fuckboy!Chris who instantly sheds his shoes and beelines for your couch like he lives there, flopping down with a dramatic groan. He drapes an arm over his eyes, other hand fisted in the hem of your throw blanket like he’s on his deathbed.

“Let me feel,” you mutter, stepping closer.

His brain promptly exits the chat.

“Feel what?” he asks, voice pitching up, because there are about five different answers he’d like to give that have nothing to do with health.

“Your forehead, dumbass.” You plant a hand on your hip.

He swallows and sits up a little, and it hits you—he does look off. Not just tired. His hair is a little damp at the hairline, cheeks flushed in a way that doesn’t look like his usual post-gym glow. His breathing isn’t labored, exactly, but there’s something… off-rhythm about it.

You reach out, press your palm flat to his forehead.

fuckboy!Chris who has had your hands on every inch of him and somehow still feels like he’s going to combust from the simple, cool weight of your palm on his skin. His eyes flutter shut on reflex, lashes brushing his cheeks, shoulders slumping.

“You’re hot,” you say, even though he’s not.

He opens one eye. “In a sexy way or—”

You smack his shoulder. “Christopher.”

He winces, but there’s a ghost of a grin there. It fades when you lean in again, thumb brushing the side of his neck like you’re checking his pulse. Your brows knit.

“On a scale of one to ten, how fake is this illness?”

He peeks at you from under his arm, lashes low. “Nine point seven,” he admits. Then, quickly, “But the part where I feel like shit is real.”

Your expression shifts, just a little. “Headache?”

“Yeah.” He swallows, the lie burying itself under the truth. “Headache.”

You hover for a second longer, still clearly suspicious, then your shoulders drop. “You could’ve just said you were having a bad night,” you mutter, brushing a bit of his hair back from his forehead with your fingers before you can stop yourself.

He goes very still under your touch.

“I’m having a bad night,” he says quietly.

fuckboy!Chris who says it like a joke at first—even now, his instinct is to twist everything into something lighter, something you can both laugh off later. But it sits between you too heavy to be funny, and when you don’t immediately fire back, he realizes he said it a little too honest.

You exhale, the edge in your shoulders softening against your will.

“Yeah,” you say quietly. “I kind of figured.”

You end up herding him toward your bedroom like he’s some oversized, sulky cat. He sits on the edge of your mattress, suddenly shy in a way that makes no sense given how many times he’s had you naked and begging under him.

“Top on or off?” you ask, rummaging for an extra blanket.

His brain immediately supplies a slideshow of you asking that in very different circumstances. His cock twitches in his sweats. Not the time, not the time, not the time—

“On,” he croaks, in case his body betrays him. 

You snort. “Relax, I wasn’t trying to strip you. I just don’t wanna wash hoodie lint out of my sheets if you start writhing around in your ‘death throes.’”

“I don’t writhe,” he mutters, which is a lie and you both know it.

You flick off the lamp by your dresser, leave the one by your bed on low. The room shrinks around the soft pool of light, everything quieter, edges blurred. You toss the extra blanket onto the mattress, then gesture.

“Lie down properly,” you say.

He hesitates, then swings his legs up, sitting stiffly with his back against the headboard like he’s in a waiting room. His hands are flat on his thighs, fingers drumming restlessly.

You crawl onto the bed beside him, the mattress dipping with your weight. That gets his attention; his gaze tracks the movement of your body, the hem of your t-shirt riding up just a touch as you settle.

You pat your lap. “Here.”

His brows lift. “There?”

“No, the floor,” you deadpan. “Yes, here.”

He stares at you like you’ve offered him something dangerous and he’s not sure he should touch it. This is stupid, he thinks. He’s put his head between your thighs without blinking and now he’s nervous about putting it on them.

“You sure?” he asks, and even he can hear how rough it comes out.

You roll your eyes, softer this time. “Chris. C’mere.”

fuckboy!Chris who has never, ever laid his head in anyone’s lap in his life like this, not unless it was on the way to sliding down their body. 

fuckboy!Chris who has never been shy about taking what he wants when it comes to your body, but somehow feels like he’s crossing a line just by shifting down the bed, turning, and easing his head onto your thighs. The mattress springs sigh, your warmth seeping through the thin cotton of your shorts.

You adjust him without ceremony—one hand at the back of his neck, thumb rubbing at the tense knot there as you guide him until he’s exactly where you want him.

“Better?” you ask.

He didn’t know he needed this until the second his head finds the curve of you and everything inside him… drops. Unwinds. Lets go.

“Yeah,” he breathes. “That’s… good.”

Your hand finds his hair like it’s been waiting there all along. You start to card your fingers through the strands, slow and deliberate, nails scratching lightly at his scalp.

fuckboy!Chris who has taken you apart with his hands, his mouth, his body—who has bent you and folded you and held you down—and yet somehow, this undoes him more than any of it.

His eyes slide shut before he can stop them. His shoulders, always so squared and ready for impact, gradually sink into the mattress. Every stroke of your fingers sends a little shiver down his spine, not sharp, not electric—just… warm. Soothing. Intimate in a way he doesn’t have a category for.

“Tired?” you murmur after a moment.

“Mm.” His voice vibrates against your thighs. “Yeah.”

“How bad was it?” you ask quietly. “Your day.”

He swallows. His first instinct is to say it was fine. To make a joke. To say something glib and easy that keeps everything on the surface where it’s always been safe for him.

Instead, your nails catch on a tender spot behind his ear and his answer slips out softer than he means it to.

“Shit,” he says. “It was shit.”

You hum, fingers never stopping. “Yeah?”

He could tell you about the girl he almost fucked tonight and couldn’t. About how he stood in his own kitchen with someone’s hands on him and felt… nothing. About the way his chest has been tight for days, like there’s a fist around his ribs that only loosens when you’re close.

Instead, he swallows it all down.

“Doesn’t matter now,” he mutters.

You don’t push. You don’t pry it open or ask for details or turn his bad day into a post-mortem. You just make a quiet, noncommittal sound and keep stroking his hair, nails lightly scratching at his scalp in slow, steady passes.

It’s such a small kindness it shouldn’t knock the air out of him.

But it does.

He feels it in the way his body reacts—like some invisible tension wire inside his chest finally snaps loose. His shoulders sink further into the mattress, muscles unspooling one by one as your fingers comb through his curls, carding from his hairline all the way back to the nape of his neck.

He lets out a sound he doesn’t recognize.

It’s tiny. Half-sigh, half-whine. It slips out of him on the exhale, vibration buzzing against the soft skin of your thigh. He goes still immediately after, like he can pull it back in by force.

You’re an angel for pretending you didn’t hear it.

Your hand just changes angle, fingertips dragging from his temple, over the shell of his ear, back to that spot at the base of his skull. You circle there, gentle pressure and lazy scratches that make his toes curl in his socks.

He doesn’t mean to, but another little noise escapes him—deeper this time, a soft, broken-edged hum that sounds suspiciously like a whimper.

“Feels that good?” you murmur, almost amused.

His cheeks burn. “Shut up,” he mutters, but it comes out breathy, not sharp at all.

“Didn’t say it was a bad thing,” you say. Your thumb strokes along his hairline, catching the dampness there, smoothing the flyaways back. Your nails skim his scalp again, slower, firmer.

He shudders.

The hand on your leg tightens, fingers digging into the flesh of your thigh like he needs something to hold on to. His other hand, the one on his chest, slides lower to grip the hem of his hoodie, knuckles going white as he clenches.

You keep touching him like you have all the time in the world. No rush, no goal, just long, repetitive strokes that make his thoughts blur at the edges.

It’s obscene, almost, how good it feels. Every drag of your fingers through his hair sends a warm, lazy heat spilling down his spine, settling in his chest, his stomach, the backs of his knees.

“Mm,” he hums, eyes squeezing shut when you scratch a little harder at his scalp. “Fuck, that’s…”

He trails off, jaw slackening. Another small sound slips out, embarrassingly close to a whine. It makes the corner of your mouth twitch.

“Good?” you supply.

“Yeah,” he breathes. “S’good. So good.”

You slow it down even more, changing the pattern—fingers threading through his curls, separating them, letting them slip through the spaces between your knuckles. You use the pads of your fingers to massage small circles into his scalp, working from one side to the other, like you’re trying to erase every leftover thought clinging to his brain.

His breathing changes.

It’s softer now, coming in slow pulls. Every exhale brushes warm over the inside of your thigh. You can feel the way his body keeps reacting in tiny involuntary flinches: the twitch of his shoulders when you scratch behind his ear, the little kick of his foot when you drag your nails right at the nape.

A soft, breathy whimper falls out of him, high in his chest, broken off halfway like he tried to swallow it and failed.

You don’t stop. If anything, your touch gentles, fingertips tracing the curve of his skull with almost ridiculous care.

“There you go,” you murmur, more to him than anything. “Just relax.”

He lets out a helpless huff of laughter. “I am,” he says, voice fuzzy. “That’s the problem.”

“Is it?” you ask.

He doesn’t answer, not really. Just hums again, the sound low and wrecked, pressing his cheek more firmly against your thigh like he’s trying to burrow inside it.

You can feel how warm he is. Not sick, not feverish, just thoroughly undone. His lashes lie dark against his cheeks, his mouth parted around soft, involuntary breaths. The notorious fuckboy, the one who always has the upper hand, the exit strategy, the next option—reduced to a whimpering puddle because you’re playing with his hair.

Your fingers slide down, combing through the curl at his nape, then drifting to stroke the side of his neck. You trace absent patterns there—little loops and lines that make his pulse jump under your touch.

He squeezes your thigh, a small, desperate gesture.

fuckboy!chan who starts to melt in earnest, muscles slack, hand slipping from a grip on your thigh to a loose, warm weight. Every so often, he makes a sound—tiny, half-formed, the kind of whine he’d mock someone else for—but he’s too blissed-out to care.

If he could hear himself, he’d be mortified. If his friends could see him, he’d never live it down.

But it’s just you here. Just you and the soft light and the quiet and the gentle drag of your fingers through his hair. And for once, he lets himself have this without thinking about what it looks like.

Without thinking about what it means.

He tips his head a little to the side, just enough that his nose brushes the inside of your thigh through the fabric. He inhales, deep and slow, like he’s trying to memorize your scent. Your hand automatically slides down again, cupping the back of his head, thumb stroking behind his ear.

“Y’gonna fall asleep on me?” you ask after a while, voice barely above a whisper.

“Maybe,” he whispers back. His words are getting fuzzy at the edges, each one a little slower than the last. “You’re… dangerous, you know that? Could get anything you want from me like this.”

“Good to know,” you say, amused. “I’ll start drafting my list.”

He huffs a quiet laugh that dissolves into a tiny, breathy “ah—” when your nails scratch lightly behind his ear again. His toes curl under the blanket. He has never been this defenseless in front of anyone, and somehow it doesn’t scare him. It just… feels right.

“You are so adorable, Channie,” you murmur without thinking, the words slipping out on a breath.

His entire body jolts.

Heat rushes up his neck, flooding his face, his chest. He feels it burn all the way to the tips of his ears. A strangled noise catches in his throat and he grips your thigh again, harder this time, fingers biting into your skin.

He doesn’t know what to do with that. With you. With the way his tough-guy persona, the fuckboy mask, all of it feels so flimsy in the face of this quiet, devastating tenderness.

So he doesn’t do anything.

He just lies there, whimpery and boneless, letting you pet him like he’s yours. Letting himself be soft where no one else can see.

fuckboy!Chris who can talk you through every way he wants to fuck you, who can narrate your own pleasure back to you in filthy detail without flinching—completely wordless now beneath your hands, all his slick lines burnt away by the simple, devastating luxury of being petted and held.

fuckboy!Chris who thought he’d come over tonight to take the edge off, to use your body like a distraction—now humming quietly into the softness of your stomach, eyes half-closed, letting you turn him into a whimpery, pliant mess with nothing more than your fingers in his hair and the steady warmth of your lap.

“what happened?” seungmin asked, confused at the sudden change in your voice.

before you could answer, the muffled sound of voices drifted through the thin walls. your roommate. and her boyfriend.

“ugh,” you groaned, dragging a hand down your face. “it’s happening. again.”

seungmin laughed. because of course he did, with your misery being his main source of entertainment. “what is?”

“it’s sooha and her boyfriend. chris? i’d told you about them, remember?” you replied, lowering your voice instinctively. “they can not keep it in their pants, man, i swear. she’s been dating this guy for, like, two weeks now, and almost every day they decide our dorm is their personal love hotel. it’s so fucking annoying.”

“sucks to be you,” seungmin said, completely unhelpful and way too used to your roommate’s antics.

you huffed, half annoyed, half exhausted, and he moved on, ranting about something else entirely. some professor. some deadline. his voice droned comfortably in your ear, familiar and grounding, and yet your attention betrayed you.

because the noises didn’t stop, they never did. 

they only continued till you felt like you were losing your mind.

to be honest, it wasn’t truly even that bad. your rooms were on the opposite ends of the cozy living room, and the walls were thick enough that you could continue with your work without needing to blast music at full volume if you were focused enough. 

but it was never about the sounds, no matter how much you told yourself, but it was always about his presence. 

the noises started almost immediately— soft at first, the creak of the mattress in the next room, her breathy laugh turning into something softer, needier. then his low murmur, the kind that carried just enough bass to vibrate through the wall. you could picture it too clearly: his hands on her waist, her head tipping back, the way the bedframe would tap rhythmically against the wall soon enough.

you swallowed hard.

“hey? you there?” seungmin’s voice sharpened, his concern cutting through the haze.

you blinked, grounding yourself. “what?”

“you went quiet,” he said. “you okay, angel?”

of course he noticed. he always did. he knew your pauses, your tells, the way your breathing changed when something was wrong. and now this, apparently.

“yeah. yeah, of course,” you said quickly, laughing a little at your awkwardness. “sorry. i’m just… yeah. it’s nothing. continue.”

but it wasn’t nothing.

you’d complained to him countless times about your roommate. about the noise, the lack of boundaries, the frustration of trying to study or sleep through it all. 

what you didn’t tell him was the part that made your stomach twist with guilt. the part you buried so deep you barely admitted it to yourself.

that sometimes, in the quiet moments when you were alone with your thoughts, your imagination betrayed you. that sometimes you pictured her boyfriend in places he had no right to be. 

the idea unsettled you as much as it lingered, and the shame of it burned hotter than the thought itself.

“i need to go now,” the muffled sound of seungmin getting up and moving around brought you back. “you sure you’re okay? you can come by if you feel too uncomfortable or something? i’ll just tell the guys to reschedule—”

“no, no, minnie, that won’t be necessary, i’m fine. thank you for offering though,” you say. “sorry for making you worry, i was just… thinking about what we’re gonna do with the project.”

“okay then,” he didn’t sound convinced, but didn’t press further. “all the best, angel.” he ended the call, and silence settled in, making it harder for you to ignore the couple next door. 

it had been weeks since your last call with seungmin. assignments, group meetings, finals prep; the usual excuses had kept you both busy and orbiting around each other at a safe distance. 

quick waves across the lecture hall, a shared eye-roll during a particularly brutal presentation, but no real time. no late-night rants, no movie marathons, no accidental silences that meant too much.

now that your exams were finally over, it felt as if a weight had been lifted, and you had called seungmin over to make up for lost time. 

you hummed to yourself as you fired off yet another text, wearing your most comfortable tank top and shorts; double, triple checking if he had picked up all the snacks you had asked him for; 

seung seungmiinnnnnnn u got the spicy ramen right? AND the chips i told u about?? DON’T YOU DARE FORGET THE SOJU minnniee my loveeeee pls come quick baby i’m starving

his reply was instant, predictably teasing;

crazy how you only care about me when i bring snacks yes mom i have everything stop spamming or i’ll eat them all in the hallway

you practically skipped out of your room when the doorbell rang, bare feet padding across the cool floor, already rehearsing the dramatic “finally!” you were going to greet him with.

but then you stopped dead in your tracks when you saw him. 

chris was sitting on the couch, legs spread comfortably, elbows on his knees, thumbs flying across his phone screen with that same focused frown you’d seen a hundred times from across campus. he looked up when you froze in the doorway, and his expression softened instantly into that polite, disarming smile.

“hey,” he said, voice low and easy. his gaze flicked over you— quick, not lingering, but enough to make heat crawl up your neck anyway. you were suddenly hyper-aware of the thin strap slipping off one shoulder, the way the shorts rode up your thighs when you shifted.

“sooha’s not here,” you voiced your first thought, because apparently your brain had forgotten the concept of small talk.

“oh, yeah i know,” he looked sheepish. 

no matter what complicated feelings you had about him and sooha, you still knew chris was a good person, who was oblivious to whatever was shared between you and his girlfriend. 

and standing there alone with him now, you felt a pang of guilt for how thoroughly you had been avoiding him on campus these past weeks, your eyes finding everyone but his when he waved or smiled at you from across the room. 

“sorry for coming here unannounced,” he continued, “but—”

the doorbell rang again, cutting him off, followed almost immediately by seungmin’s unmistakable voice.

“yah, did you die or something? open up before i eat all your snacks! don’t test me!”

you laughed despite yourself, the tension cracking like thin ice as you excused yourself, hurrying to the door.

“i had literally been standing here for, like, three hours,” seungmin complained as soon as you opened the door, his hands reaching to loosen the tie he was still wearing from his part-time job. then suddenly his expression shifted, eyes sliding past you to the living room. “chan hyung? what are you doing here?”

“chan… what?” you echoed faintly, stepping aside to let him in, your brain short-circuiting at how easily that nickname had rolled off seungmin’s tongue.

chris looked up, surprised, then grinned wide. “minnie?” 

seungmin stepped fully inside, kicking the door shut behind him, eyes darting between you and chris like he was trying to solve a math problem in real time.

you moved on autopilot, taking the bags from seungmin’s hands and mumbling, “i’ll just… put these in my room,” before you heard the two of them exchange a few words, laughter spilling out effortlessly. you softly clicked your bedroom door shut behind you and leaned against it for a second, breathing.

what the actual fuck?

a few moments later the knob turned. seungmin slipped inside, eyes comically wide, voice dropping to a dramatic whisper the second the latch caught.

“when you said sooha’s horny ass boyfriend was chris, you meant chan hyung?” he was unsure whether he found this funny or horrifying. 

“how do you know your chan hyung anyway?” you huffed, somehow feeling annoyed at this new information as you plopped down on the edge of your bed, arms crossed over your chest.  

“we used to go to the same high school... was in the same friend group for a while,” he said with a soft smile, his eyes drifting to the way your breasts looked pushed up for a split second. “and we had a few classes together this semester, too,” 

he didn’t mention the part where they’d fucked girls in the same room, sometimes at the same time.

“well then how come you never mentioned this friend of yours?” you muttered. your annoyance hid something worse; embarrassment. 

seungmin shrugged, an amused smile on his face. “i mean… i don’t know, you never asked? he’s just someone, y’know? it just never came up.”

he dragged your desk chair over and sat facing you, knees almost touching yours. the easy teasing from earlier was gone; now he was watching you carefully, like he could see the embarrassed flush creeping up your cheeks and the way your fingers found the hem of your tank top, an obvious nervous tick.

you huffed, trying to play it off. “great. so i’ve been ranting to you about this guy for weeks, and you’re just… casually friends with him. fan-fucking-tastic.”

seungmin’s mouth twitched, fighting a smile. “to be fair, you never said his name until like… a month in. plus, i think i know like, i don't know, three chris-es? c’mon. i just never connect the dots.”

you groaned, flopping backward onto the mattress, arms over your face. “i hate everything.”

he laughed fondly, shaking his head at your reaction. a silence washed over the room as he watched you, giving your thoughts room to drift back to months earlier, when it had all begun.

you and sooha were civil in the way strangers sharing a small space learn to be. 

polite smiles. short conversations about laundry schedules and whose turn it was to take out the trash. you never fought, but you never clicked either. there was nothing to talk about, no shared humor, no late-night confessions. just co-existence.

and then there was chris.

you were strangers at first, your life more peaceful when you didn’t know of his existence. 

but then one mundane day you saw him, laughing with his friends, and something about the way he just existed made everything else blur. 

you only knew he was a semester ahead of you, nothing else, but ever since then, you seemed to find him everywhere. 

the library steps. the cafe outside the campus. outside your lecture hall. he always smiled at you when your gazes met, not in a way that felt intrusive, just… warm. polite. but somehow intentional enough to feel that his eyes always found yours. enough to make your chest feel oddly tight every time.

a few nights later, you told sooha, the day a blur of cheap alcohol and lowered defenses. your living room smelled like spilled soju and burnt popcorn, and the music from someone else’s room thudded through the walls. you remember sitting cross-legged on the couch, both of you giggling at nothing, courage borrowed from the green bottles.

“you know chris, the one with the australian accent? i think i have the biggest crush on that man. he's soo fine,” you giggled between hiccups, the first time you had admitted that fact to yourself. 

sooha had gone quiet, just looked at you with those unreadable eyes, then shrugged. “cool.”

you'd laughed it off, feeling happy with your first genuine interaction with your roommate, and had passed out on your bed still in your jeans.

and then the next day, head heavy from the hangover and clothes sticking to your body, you found chris on your living room couch. 

kissing sooha. 

chris's eyes flicked to you for half a second— surprise, maybe guilt— before sooha pulled him back in deeper, choosing to ignore your presence. 

you'd slammed your door as you retreated back into your room, hangover soup or a shower be damned. after that day, your secret stayed buried, known only to you. 

that was the moment resentment took root. you told yourself that it was about loyalty. about boundaries. there was hatred, yes, but not just for her, although she carried the weight of it. 

but if you were honest, the ache burned brighter whenever you saw him. for her getting to taste what you'd only daydreamed about. for the casual way she'd claimed something you'd never even had the courage to reach for. 

at first, it was more than just the noise that annoyed you. it was the inconsideration, the timing, the way they never seemed to care if you were studying or trying to sleep. you complained about it endlessly, venting to seungmin, shoving headphones over your ears.

until one night, something shifted.

you were lying on your bed, laptop open, a movie playing that you had lost the plot to hours ago. and like clockwork, the sounds started again.

you waited for irritation to rise. for anger. for that familiar knot of resentment.

it didn’t come. 

instead, for once, the noises weren't loud enough.

you shifted, thighs pressing together almost automatically. the bedframe started its steady rhythm—slow at first, then building. you could hear the hitch in her breathing, the way it caught and released. but your mind wasn't on her anymore.

it was on him. always. 

your body moved without asking for permission, your cheek pressing against the door before you had even registered leaving the bed. there was a heat that didn’t belong, coiling low in your stomach. your thoughts turned traitor, slipping into places you hadn’t allowed them to go.

you hated it. you hated yourself for it. yet still, that didn’t stop you.

you fell to the ground as your hand slipped under the waistband of your shorts without thinking, without letting yourself think.

shame flared hot behind your eyes, but what was hotter was the way you imagined chris's hands, the same ones you'd seen gripping her waist that first day, sliding up your sides instead. his mouth on your neck, the plush lips giving you wet and sloppy kisses, marking you. his hips rolling into you with that same deliberate pace, making the frame knock just like that. the low groan you'd heard him make once or twice, rough and wrecked, vibrating through the wall and straight into your core.

your breath came shorter, fingers brushing over sensitive skin, already slick from nothing more than imagination and sound. it was humiliating how fast it built.

every thrust in the next room echoed in your head as if it were yours. suddenly his weight was pinning you down, fingers tangled in your hair, pulling just enough to make you gasp. “you enjoying this, huh?” he smirked, his voice making your core vibrate. he said your name, his lips touching your ears, his voice low, broken, and desperate.

you bit your lip to stay quiet, but a small whimper escaped anyway.

the rhythm picked up—faster, harder—and so did your hand, circling, pressing, chasing.

when you came, you let out a load moan, your body feeling limp and hot. 

you opened your eyes and you saw no one but yourself on the mirror in front of you, your arousal staining the floor and your nipples hard against your tshirt, shorts abandoned somewhere near your ankles. 

the emptiness of the room hit you like a shockwave; sharp, silent, shameful. you lay there afterward with heavy breaths, heart hammering, staring at the ceiling with wet fingers and burning cheeks.

you hated how good it felt.

you hated even more that you knew you'd do it again.

seungmin’s low laugh pulled you back to the present like a hand pulling you from under water.

you blinked, realizing you’d been staring at nothing—lost somewhere between the memory of that first humiliating night and the present, where your thighs were pressed so tightly together the muscle ached, your breathing shallow and uneven.

he was still sitting in the chair he’d dragged over, elbows on his knees, close enough that you could see the mole under his left eye, and the faint dusting of red on his cheeks and ears. 

“your breathing’s all fucked up, angel” he said quietly, no teasing this time. just observation. clinical, almost. “and your thighs—” his gaze dropped deliberately to where your legs were clamped shut, then flicked back up to your face. “—are clenched so hard i’m afraid of what i’ll see when i push them apart.”

heat flooded your cheeks so fast you felt dizzy.

you opened your mouth to deny it, to laugh it off, to say anything that would make this moment less real— but nothing came out.

seungmin didn’t look away.

instead, the corner of his mouth lifted, just a fraction, just enough to make your stomach flip in a way that had nothing to do with embarrassment.

“do you listen?” he asked, voice so soft it barely carried. “when chan fucks her. when he gets loud. do you… listen in?”

“i—” you tried to say, but all that came out was a breathy gasp as seungmin put his hands on either side of you, caging you between him and the mattress. his breath tickled your neck, and you shivered. 

you’d always known seungmin was attractive. objectively, of course (or that's what you told yourself). the kind of attractiveness that made people do double-takes in the café line. the kind that used to make you stare at his fingers when he strummed his guitar, and maybe lose your breath when sometimes he would engulf you in a hug and you felt his hard muscles press against your soft skin. 

but you never let those thoughts linger, no matter how hard that was for you, because losing him would gut you worse than any crush ever could.

you stared at him now— really stared— and saw the boy who’d held your hair back after too many shots, who’d stayed up until dawn helping you cram for midterms, who’d once driven across town at 2 a.m. because your voice cracked on the phone and you couldn’t say why.

but right now, with his face buried in your neck, pupils dark and steady, that careful boundary felt paper-thin.

“seungmin,” you whispered, hands clutching his arm to… push him away? but your hands stayed in place, involuntarily giving his arm a squeeze to ground yourself. 

on hearing your fragile voice, seungmin pulled back a bit, and your body instinctively arched forward at the absence of his warmth. 

he searched your eyes for a moment. “you’ve been disturbed by their noise for so fucking long.”  he said, voice just as low, “maybe it’s time you gave him a taste of his own medicine, angel.” 

your breath faltered at his proposition, the weight of what he was implying settling between you. but before the words could fully sink in, his mouth finally found the side of your neck.

a surprised, sharp gasp tore out of you. his lips were warm, soft at first, then firmer as he pressed an open-mouthed kiss just under your jaw. heat exploded under your skin like someone had struck a match. your hands flew to his shoulders—not pushing, just… holding on.

he pulled back again just enough to meet your eyes, a slight frown at your tense reactions. 

“hey,” he said, voice rougher yet somehow softer now. “this doesn’t have to change anything between us. this is just me… helping my best friend take some revenge.” his thumb brushed your cheek, gentle, even if his gaze burned. “if you don’t want this, any of it, tell me to stop. tell me and i’ll stop right now.”

your mouth was dry. your whole body felt like it was vibrating.

you searched his face, looking for the joke, the safety net, the signs of mirth on his face after he would prank you. it wasn’t there.

all you saw was him. waiting. wanting. 

but still giving you the power to end it.

but you were just a girl, with a stupidly attractive best friend whom you trusted more than yourself.

“don’t stop,” you whispered, your lips desperately reaching for his. you felt him smile against your lips as he finally kissed you, and he kissed like he had been wanting this for years. like he wasn’t just helping you get revenge. 

his mouth found your collarbone again, and the way he groaned gave you an inkling that maybe the times he had stared at your neck was not him just admiring your necklaces. suddenly, you felt something sharp—his hand pulled a fistful of your hair to gain better access— and you expected to feel pain at his rough actions, but instead, you let out the loudest moan. 

outside the room, you heard a thud, as if something had fallen. 

“that’s right, baby,” seungmin smirked, giving your hair another pull. “you’ve got to scream for me tonight, show him what he’s been missing,” 

seungmin’s hands were firm on your hips as he pushed you back onto the mattress, the springs dipping under your combined weight as he lay your head on the pillow. you landed with a soft bounce, breath catching, and before you could even process the shift, he was hovering over you, knees bracketing your thighs, one palm planted beside your head, caging you in without touching you anywhere you desperately wanted him to yet.

his eyes were dark, amused, predatory in a way you’d never seen directed at you before. the boy who used to steal your fries and fall asleep on your shoulder during movie marathons was gone— in his place was someone who looked like he’d been waiting to unravel you for longer than you’d ever suspected.

you tried to steady your breathing, tried to look at anything but at his face, only for your gaze to snag on the way his shirt stretched across his shoulders, the faint sheen of sweat already gathering at his throat.

then he moved.

he shifted to the side, reaching for your nightstand drawer with casual familiarity, like he’d done it a hundred times before. the drawer scraped open and your stomach dropped.

no. no fucking way. 

“you think i don’t know about this?” he pulled it out slowly—your slim, purple vibrator, the one you kept buried under chargers and old files like it was national secrets. the same one you’d used on those nights when chris’ low groans had pushed you over the edge faster than you cared to admit.

seungmin held it up between two fingers, turning it lazily so the light caught the smooth surface. then he looked back at you, smirking, looking triumphant. 

your face was already burning, but the heat that rushed through you now felt nuclear. you wanted to disappear into the mattress, wanted to snatch it from him. you wanted—fuck—you wanted him to keep looking at you like that.

“you’re not as slick as you think you are, angel” he murmured, voice low and velvet-smooth. his thumb flicked the base once—just once—and the toy buzzed to life for a split second before he clicked it off again. “i’ve heard it through the wall more times than i can count.”

your mouth fell open. no sound came out.

he leaned down until his lips brushed the shell of your ear. “every time you think you’re being quiet? every time you bite your pillow so hard and think i can’t hear?” he dragged the cool tip of the vibrator lightly down your chest, grazing your hard nipple over the thin tank top. you arched without meaning to. “i know exactly what you sound like when you come, baby. and i know you’ve thought about me fucking you just as much as you’ve thought about chan.”

a whimper slipped out before you could stop it. seungmin pulled back just enough to meet your eyes again. his smile was slow, filthy.

“such a little slut,” he said softly, almost tenderly. “getting off to the sound of your roommate getting railed. using this pathetic thing while you pretend it’s his cock instead.” he pressed the vibrator against your inner thigh—still off, just the promise of it making your skin crawl—and dragged it upward in a lazy line. 

“but tonight? tonight you’re gonna make noise for real. loud enough that chan can’t pretend he doesn’t hear. loud enough that he’ll lie there next to her wondering who’s making his sweet little neighbor sound like she’s being ruined.”

your thighs trembled. you couldn’t look away from him. “min…” 

he clicked the vibrator on—lowest setting—and settled it against the damp cotton of your shorts, directly over your swollen clit. the thin fabric dragged deliciously against you with every tiny buzz, giving the sweetest friction, but also the worst kind of tease, because it still kept him so far  away that your hips already ached to shove the barrier aside.

you gasped, sharp,and involuntary, and seungmin’s free hand shot up to cover your mouth, thumb pressing against your bottom lip.

“uh-uh,” he whispered. “not yet. save it. i want him to hear every fucking sound you make when i finally let you fall apart.”

he dragged the toy in slow, torturous circles, watching your face the entire time, watching the way your brows knit, the way your hips jerked despite yourself.

“tell me,” he said, voice rougher now. “tell me you want him to hear how wet you get for me. tell me you want him to get jealous.”

your head thrashed once against the pillow, the words stuck in your throat, thick with shame and need.

seungmin leaned in, lips grazing yours, just a tease. “say it,” he breathed. “or i stop.”

you swallowed. your voice came out wrecked, barely there. “i… i want him to hear.”

“hear what?”

“how wet you make me, min,” you cried out, desperate for more. “i want him to hear how wet i get for you.”

seungmin’s eyes flashed. “good girl.”

with one hand, he reached for his tie, and the sight of him taking it off was enough to make you cum. he caught your wrists in his hands, tying them with the satin fabric before turning the vibrator up a notch. 

and then he kissed you again, claiming, while his other hand shoved your shorts and panties aside just enough to press the toy directly against your bare skin.

the first real moan tore out of you before you could stop it. loud. unmistakable.

“that’s it baby, make him hear how much you enjoy being heard.” seungmin felt it. the way your hips jerked up against the vibrator. the way your thighs trembled around his knee. he chuckled.

“oh, you like that, don’t you,” he said, almost sweetly. “you like knowing he’s right there, hearing you fall apart for someone else.” he clicked the vibrator up one more setting. the buzz intensified, ripping a sharp gasp from your throat before you could swallow it down.

“louder,” he ordered, pressing the toy firmer, grinding it in tight circles that made your vision blur at the edges. “come on, show me how much of a whore you are.”

you whimpered, high and needy, and seungmin’s free hand slid up to cup your throat, not enough to hurt you, but enough to make you know who’s in control. 

“minnie… ah, seungmin, i’m so close,” you were surprised at your ability to form words, for all that was currently occupying your brain was seungmin, seungmin, seungmin. 

it was all to much, the buzz of the vibrator hitting your swollen clit, his hands around your throat and your inability to do anything. and worse of all? the way he was looking at you. 

“not yet,” he turned the vibrator off, throwing it aside. you cried out, your needy whimpers making him smirk. he removed your shorts and panties, and his eyes seemed hypnotised by the way your juices were spilling out, already making a wet spot on your bedsheet. 

“look at you,” he breathed, and for the first time that night, he was the one who looked speechless. 

in an instant, his mouth was on your cunt, his tongue making patterns on your wet walls that made you see stars. as if that weren’t enough, without warning he pushed his finger inside you, making you scream, fighting against the restraints your hands were tied in. 

“such a fucking slut,” he murmered, the vibrations of his voice against your skin making your hips jerk. “getting wet at the thought of him hearing you, aren’t you? picturing him on the other side of the wall while you leak all over my face like a desperate little whore.”

your breath hitched, and you felt fresh heat flood between your legs at the words. you wanted to deny it, to close your thighs, anything to hide how true it was, but your body betrayed you: another involuntary roll of your hips chasing the pressure, a tiny, broken sound slipping out before you could stop it.

he chuckled, dark and knowing, his free hand coming up to push your tank top aside and grip your breast, giving your nipple a firm squeeze. “yeah, there it is. listen to yourself. bet you’d come even harder if he knocked right now, didn’t you? if he walked in and saw what a pathetic, cock-hungry mess you turn into the second someone teases this slutty cunt.”

he inserted another finger inside you, and your back arched off the bed with a choked moan. your cheeks burned; shame and arousal twisted so tight in your stomach you could barely breathe. you shook your head weakly, no, no, that’s too much, you wanted to say, but your hips kept grinding, the sound of his digits pumping in and out of your slick folds filling the room. 

“tell me exactly what you want him to hear. go on, paint the picture for me, you desperate fucking whore. do you want him to hear you moaning my name? begging for cock like the needy bitch you are? or—” his voice dropped even lower, lips coming up to brush yours as he spoke, “—do you want him to hear you be ruined? scream it loud enough that he knows exactly what a dripping, shameless slut is in the other room?”

your hips bucked once, twice, chasing harder pressure you weren’t allowed to have yet. shame burned hot in your cheeks, your chest, but it only made you wetter, slicker, more frantic.

he felt it. of course he did. “don’t you dare hold back now,” he growled, nose brushing yours. “say it. tell me you want him to hear you come so hard the bed shakes. tell me you want him to know you’re getting off thinking about his cock while i play with your greedy little hole. use your fucking words, angel,”

your throat worked, lips trembling as another helpless roll of your hips grounded his fingers deeper against you. any remnant of denial was gone; only raw, humiliating need left.

“i… i want him to hear me come,” you whispered, voice cracking, barely above a breath. “fuck, min— i want him to hear how loud i get… how wet i get for you… how much i need… how much i need your cock inside me,”

your eyes fluttered shut for a second, mortified, but your body kept moving—small, desperate thrusts against his fingers like you couldn’t stop even if you tried.

he laughed softly, cruel and pleased, rewarding you with a rougher pace and another finger that ripped a choked moan from your throat.

“good girl. that’s my nasty fucking slut.” he murmured, lips grazing your ear again. “keep going. tell me you’d let him listen every night if i told you to. tell me you’d spread these legs wider just so he could hear how filthy you really are.”

“i… i would,” your breath came in short, ragged gasps now, thighs quivering, clit throbbing. you were shaking now, teetering right on the edge, humiliated and so unbearably turned on you could cry. “p-please seungmin, i’m so close,” you moaned, your voice hoarse from your screams. “please, let me cum,”

“you’ve deserved it baby,” he chuckled, his tongue finding your clit again. “cum for me, my filthy little angel,” he commanded, voice thick with  satisfaction as he sucked your clit between his lips, humming deep so the buzz traveled everywhere. “don’t you dare hold back. scream it—loud enough for him to hear every fucking second of how wrecked you get for me. let the whole damn apartment know what a desperate, dripping slut you turn into when i own this pussy.”

your body obeyed before your mind could catch up. the coil snapped hard, white-hot pleasure ripping through you in violent waves. your back arched off the bed, thighs clamping around his head as a raw, broken scream tore from your throat: his name, over and over, ragged and shameless, repeated like the only prayer you knew. “fuck—seungmin! yes—fuck! yes!”

each pulse of your orgasm milked more slick from you, coating his tongue, his chin, the sheets beneath. you shook uncontrollably, fingers twisting in the restraints, your thighs around his head pulling him closer even as overstimulation made you whimper. 

tears pricked your eyes from the intensity, cheeks burning with the fresh wave of humiliation—he’d made you loud, made you obvious, and god, it only made the aftershocks hit harder.

he didn’t let up right away, lapping lazily through the mess as you trembled, murmuring against your oversensitive flesh. “that’s it… good girl… screaming like the needy whore that you are.”

the aftershocks still rippled through you in slow, lingering waves. your body felt molten, legs splayed open, chest heaving, seungmin’s tie still circling your wrists, no longer tight, loosened by every restless movement you’d made. the sheets beneath you were a mess, damp and cooling where your release had soaked through. seungmin’s mouth was slick with you, chin glistening as he finally lifted his head, eyes dark and shining with satisfaction.

he crawled up your body slowly, deliberately, pressing soft, wet kisses along your stomach, your throat, the corner of your mouth. “fuck,” he breathed against your lips, voice wrecked and soft. “you sounded so pretty screaming my name like that. think the whole building heard.”

you managed a shaky laugh, half sob, too overwhelmed to form words. your clit still throbbed faintly from overstimulation, every tiny shift of your hips sending sparks up your spine.

seungmin kissed you properly then, letting you taste yourself on his tongue, with one hand tenderly caressing your cheek. when he pulled back, his thumb brushed over your swollen bottom lip.

“i’m gonna get you some water, okay?” he murmured, pressing one last kiss to your forehead. “and maybe clean you up a little before round two. don’t move.”

he slipped off the bed with that easy grace of his, and paused at the door, glancing back at you— spread out, flushed, wrecked— and his mouth curved into something dangerously sweet.

“stay right there, angel. i’ll be back in two minutes.”

the bedroom door clicked shut behind him, leaving you alone with your thoughts. as you forced yourself to take deep breaths, trying to calm down, you tried to process exactly what had transpired between the two of you.

you had never thought this day would come— you, cumming on seungmin’s tongue and him, promising you a round two — but somewhere deep in your heart, you also felt that this was a long time coming. 

he had told you at the beginning that things between you didn’t have to change after this, but after getting a taste of what you both could offer each other, you knew there was no going back, and you couldn’t deny the excitement curling in your chest as you looked toward this new stage of your relationship.

but no matter how much you tried, there was still something at the back of your mind, or rather someone—

you heard footsteps. but not seungmin’s light, familiar steps; they were heavier, slower. hesitant. 

and the breath caught in your chest as the door opened— and there stood chris. 

he looked… wrecked. hair mussed like he’d run his hands through it too many times, shirt sleeves pushed up to his elbows, forearms tense. his eyes, dark, pupils dilated, locked onto you immediately. they dragged down your body: the hickeys blooming on your neck and chest, the tie still loosely binding your wrists, your legs parted just enough that he could see the slick mess between them, the wet spot darkening the sheets. your brain told you to sit up, to cover yourself, but your body was too tired. and your heart? well…

chris didn’t speak at first, just swallowed hard, adam’s apple bobbing. his chest rose and fell like he’d sprinted here, as if he hadn’t just been sitting a few feet away, his ears picking up on every little whisper.

“i—” his voice came out rough, cracked. “i…  heard everything.”

the shame that should have crashed over you instead twisted into something hotter, sharper. your thighs trembled under his stare.

he took one step inside. then another. the door swung shut behind him with a soft click. he took a seat on the chair seungmin was occupying, not saying a word. 

“baby,” he breathed, his hands on the mattress, as if touching you was something he hadn’t earned yet. “you don’t know what you’re doing to me.”

you squirmed under his gaze, happy to finally see him look at you the way you had always wanted, but there was something stopping you from truly enjoying his stare, from telling him to come over and ruin you. 

“what about…?” your voice trembled, trying to make sense with whatever strength you had left in you. 

his smile almost wrecked you. “i broke up with her weeks ago. she asked me to come get a few of my things today, that’s why she went out,” he whispered, his voice vibrating through your whole body. “i couldn’t continue the relationship… how could i, when even when i’m with her, my mind always wandered to the room next door?”

“what?” you regretted not being friends with sooha, because then you could’ve known this vital piece of information ages ago. “but i thought… i thought it was you in her room yesterday… doing… y’know?” you blushed before you could complete the sentence, feeling shy despite the fact that you were literally lying naked in front of him and that he had probably heard you say worse things in the past hour. 

“did you see me?” he smirked as you shook your head no, getting up on the mattress, his face inching closer to yours with each words. “or did you hope… did you imagine it was me, each time you heard her get railed. or worse… did you imagine yourself in her place? did you imagine yourself getting fucked,” his breath tickled your cheek, so close yet too far apart. “by me?” 

up close, he smelled like clean sweat and something woodsy— his cologne, the one you’d caught whiffs of in passing for months. his eyes flickered to your bound wrists, then back to your face.

“seungmin tied you up?” his voice was low, strained. almost primal.

you nodded once, barely. chan’s hand hovered near your cheek, hesitant, then gently brushed a strand of damp hair from your forehead. the touch was so careful it made your chest ache.

“did he make you come like that?” he asked, thumb tracing the edge of one hickey. “screaming loud enough for me to hear every second?”

another small nod. your lips parted, but no sound came. he leaned down slowly, giving you every chance to turn away.

instead, your back arched, wanting him to be closer.

his mouth found yours, tentative at first, like he was testing if this was real. then deeper, hungrier, tongue sliding against yours with a groan that vibrated through your whole body. one hand cupped the back of your head; the other slid down your side, fingers digging into your hip like he needed to anchor himself.

when he broke the kiss, his forehead rested against yours, breathing ragged.

“i’ve wanted this,” he confessed, voice barely above a whisper. “every time i saw you on the couch, your bra strap fucking inviting me to snap it and hear you moan. i’ve wanted you ever since i saw you across campus, looking so damn angelic that you almost blinded me, doll. 

“i’ve wanted you every time you looked away… i wanted to pin you against the wall and make you finally fucking look at me. really look, without your eyes drifting away.”

his hand slipped lower, fingers brushing the soaked mess between your thighs. you jolted, oversensitive, but arched into it anyway.

“seungmin got you this wet, huh?” he murmured, almost awed, circling your clit once, gentle, testing. you whimpered. “i gotta thank him for this then,” he smirked. 

in a flash, he had rolled you over, pushing down on your head as he aligned your ass against his bulge. you shivered when your wet folds came in contact with the rough material of his jeans, and let out a loud moan as his hand landed on your cunt as a sharp slap.

“tell me to stop,” he said, echoing seungmin’s earlier words, but his voice was thicker, more desperate. “tell me, and i’ll leave right now, i promise.”

you met his eyes, dark, burning, pleading. “don’t stop, chan,” you whispered.

chan groaned at the way the nickname rolled out of your mouth, like the words had punched the air out of him.

he pushed his jeans and boxers down just enough, cock springing free, heavy, thick, already leaking at the tip. he fisted himself once, twice, eyes never leaving yours.

then he notched himself at your entrance, slow, careful despite the tremor in his arms.

you gasped as you felt his tip enter, already stretching you perfectly, the slight burn blending into pleasure so intense your toes curled.

“i’m gonna fill you up,” he rasped, pushing in inch by inch, your loud cries about him being too big, too much, falling on deaf ears. “gonna fuck you so good you forget anyone else ever touched you.”

with every firm thrust, you felt your bed frame thud against the wall, the sound of your fantasies coming alive making your head dizzy and your moans louder. 

“louder,” he growled against your ear, voice wrecked. “scream for me like you did for him. let kim seungmin hear it when he comes back. let him know who’s ruining you now.”

your hands, still tied up, found you clit, as you erratically touched your swollen bud. “fuck, yes, yes! you’re filling me up so good, channie, oh fuck.”

the rhythm chan had set was brutal, deep, punishing strokes driving fresh, broken cries from your throat. you were loud, deliberately so now, moaning his name like a chant, letting it echo through the thin walls, through the cracked bedroom door.

“fuck—channie, yes, right there—harder, please—”

your voice cracked on every syllable, your brained so hazed that you didn’t even realise it at first when the door opened again.

seungmin stepped inside, two water bottles dangling loosely from his fingers, a warm washcloth in his other hand. he stopped in the doorway, eyes sweeping the scene: you face-down, ass up, chan buried to the hilt behind you, one hand fisted in your hair to keep your back arched, the other gripping your hip hard enough to bruise.

as your face turned towards him, for one terrified heartbeat, you thought he would be angry, rightfully so, your brain chided you. you thought that the easy affection in his eyes would shatter, that he’d storm out, that everything would end here in shame and silence.

instead, Seungmin tilted his head.

a slow, lazy smirk curled his lips.

he leaned one shoulder against the doorframe, crossing his arms casually, like he’d walked in on you eating snacks instead of getting railed within an inch of your life.

“didn’t know you were such a greedy little slut, angel,” he drawled, voice soft and amused. “one cock wasn’t enough?”

something about the way he was looking at you, not like he was surprised, but rather entertained, broke you in the best possible way.

your cunt clenched hard around chan, visceral and involuntary, and chan groaned low in his throat, hips stuttering for a second. seungmin noticed too, the way your eyes rolled back and the fingers on your clit when slack for a moment.

“fuck— she just squeezed me so tight,” chan rasped, glancing over at seungmin without slowing down. “think she likes this more than we thought.”

seungmin’s gaze flicked to you once again, your flushed face, your trembling thighs, the way your mouth hung open around desperate little gasps, and then back to Chan. 

something wordless passed between them: a knowing look, a tiny nod, the kind of silent communication that only happens when two people have already decided the same thing long before walking into the room.

they weren’t surprised.

they weren’t jealous.

they were… prepared.

seungmin pushed off the doorframe and walked over slowly, setting the water bottles and cloth on the nightstand like this was just another tuesday. he stopped right in front of your face, fingers sliding under your chin to tilt your head up so you had to look at him while chan kept fucking into you from behind.

“look at you, such a desperate little cumslut,” seungmin murmured, almost sweetly. his fingers brushed your cheek, then trailed down to roughly squeeze your breasts, another hand came up to your mouth, thumb brushing over your swollen bottom lip. you whimpered around the pressure of his thumb slipping into your mouth. your tongue curled instinctively around it.

“greedy little whore. all tied up and drooling already. you really couldn’t wait two minutes for me to come back before you let hyung stuff you full, huh?” you whimpered—half apology, half plea—as chan drove in particularly deep, making your whole body jolt.

seungmin murmured, chan chuckled darkly, slapping your ass for good measure as he slowed his thrusts just enough to make you whine in frustration.

“she’s been loud,” he said conversationally, like he was discussing the weather. “kept moaning my name— channie this, channie that. thought you might want to hear it up close.”

seungmin’s fondly rolled his eyes as he smirked at chan, his eyes darkening with satisfaction.

“oh, i heard,” he said softly. “every filthy little sound.” he pulled his thumb free with a wet pop, smearing your own spit across your cheek. “but i think she can be louder, can’t you, baby?”

he unbuckled his belt with one hand while his other hand fisted the base of his cock, already hard again from watching you get wrecked. in an instant, his shirt was also discarded, falling somewhere beside your tank top that you didn’t even realise had been taken off in your haze. 

chan pulled out almost completely, leaving just the tip inside, making you sob at the sudden emptiness.

“open,” seungmin ordered.

your mouth fell open on instinct, tongue dipping out.

he slid in slowly, inch by inch, until your nose brushed his pelvis and your throat fluttered around him. you gagged softly, fresh tears springing to your eyes, but you didn’t pull away.

“good girl,” he praised, fisting your hair as he thrusted into your mouth in a rough shove. “take it all in.”

chan pushed back in at the same time, filling your cunt while seungmin fucked your mouth. the dual stretch, the rhythm, the way they moved in perfect tandem like they’d rehearsed this, sent your brain to complete, blissful ruin. no thoughts, no shame, only the primal need to be used, filled, and fucked stupid by both of them in perfect, cruel sync.

they talked over you like you weren’t even there, like you were just the perfect toy they’d finally decided to share.

“she’s so fucking tight,” chan groaned, hips snapping forward. “feel that? she’s clenching every time you bottom out in her throat.”

seungmin’s fingers tightened in your hair, guiding your head in shallow thrusts that matched chan’s pace.

“angel likes being used,” he murmured, almost tenderly. “look at her eyes, rolling back already. bet she’d come just from this. from being our fucking hole, made to be used only by us.”

your body agreed before your brain could catch up.

your cunt spasmed hard around chan, clit throbbing untouched now, and a muffled, desperate scream vibrated around seungmin’s cock as another orgasm ripped through you, sharp, blinding, humiliating in how easily they pulled it from you.

seungmin groaned at the feeling, hips jerking forward once, twice, before he pulled out just enough to let you gasp for air.

“again,” he said, feeling himself reach his limit. “come again while we’re both inside you. show hyung how greedy this pussy really is.”

chan’s hand cracked down on your ass, sharp and stinging, and you screamed again, louder, voice hoarse and wrecked.

they didn’t stop.

they just kept going, fucking you between them, filling every hole, praising and degrading you in the same breath, until you were nothing but trembling, overstimulated sensation and their names on your lips.

chan broke first, a low, guttural groan tore out of him as he buried himself deep and came hard, flooding your cunt with his thick cum. when he finally pulled out, his cum immediately seeped out, hot, obscene, trickling down your thighs, mixing with everything already leaking from you. he fisted his penis as more hot liquid flooded out, marking your back.

the sudden gush, the slick warmth coating your insides and dripping onto your back, snapped the last thread in you. you came again, violently, clenching around nothing, a choked sob ripping free as your whole body seized.

seungmin followed suit, and he gripped your jaw tighter, tilting your head back. 

“open wider, angel, don’t you dare waste it.” he fucked your mouth in short, punishing thrusts until he spilled down your throat, thick and bitter and endless. you struggled to swallow around him, gulping desperately while he milked every last drop, hips stuttering, voice wrecked. “that’s it… drink it all like the good girl you pretend to be.”

when he finally eased out, strings of spit and cum still connected your lips to his tip. he wrapped long fingers around your throat, watching with dark, possessive eyes as you swallowed hard, throat working visibly. then he pressed two fingers against your tongue, dragging it out flat.

dazed, wrecked, stupidly proud, you stuck your tongue out further, showing him the mess you’d taken, lips swollen and glossy, a dazed little smile curling the corners even as tears streaked your cheeks.

seungmin’s thumb brushed your lower lip almost tenderly. “fuck… look at you,” his voice was soft now, completely different from when he was calling you a greedy slut. “ruined and still so pretty.”

chan’s hand slid up your spine, slow and grounding, as he leaned down to press a surprisingly gentle kiss between your shoulder blades. 

both men drew back for a moment, giving you room to sink bonelessly onto the sheets, chest heaving in the sudden, fragile quiet. 

“yeah, just like that princess,” chan whispered, “deep breaths.”

seungmin climbed on the bed, laying down facing you, and he folded out his arm, inviting you. 

you giggled as you settled against his hard chest, and he engulfed you in a warm embrace, caressing your hair and trailing soft kisses over your cheeks. “you’re okay, right? did we go too far?” his eyes searched yours, concerned. you shook your head earnestly, caressing his cheek. 

“you did so good, princess,” chan whispered, hands massaging your ass, softening the red marks he had left. “so perfect for us.”

chan then reached for the washcloth seungmin had left on the nightstand and began cleaning you with careful, gentle strokes. the damp fabric glided over the sticky mess on your inner thighs, between your folds, wiping away the evidence of how thoroughly they’d used you. his touch was soft, almost worshipful, thumb occasionally brushing soothing circles over the sensitive skin as you hummed in satisfaction. 

after a moment, chan settled beside you on the bed, his larger frame curving protectively around your back while seungmin stayed pressed to your front, caging you gently between their warmth. chan’s hand found your arm, stroking slow and firm from shoulder to wrist, grounding you as your pulse still hammered beneath your skin.

you bit your lip hard enough to taste the faint copper of it. slowly, you eased out of seungmin’s loose embrace just enough to lift your head and meet both their eyes; first chan’s steady gaze, then seungmin’s softer, searching one. the question clawed its way up your throat, small and scared.

“are you guys… sure you’re okay with this?” your voice came out barely above a whisper, trembling on the edges. “that i might want you both just as much?”

you hadn’t realized you were holding your breath until their low, shared chuckle rumbled through you. 

“we want you, and want to take care of you princess,” chan said simply, no hesitation, a wave of understanding passing between him and seungmin. “both of us. and we’re not gonna make you choose. ever.”

seungmin hummed in agreement, nuzzling into your hair.

“your needs come first,” he added softly. “always. and if you want both of us, then that’s what you’ll get. no jealousy. no games. just us taking care of you.”

chan leaned in, pressing a slow, lingering kiss to your lips, gentle this time, full of everything unspoken. When he pulled back, his eyes were soft, steady.

“we’re not going anywhere,” he promised. “you’re ours, and we’re yours. however you want us.”

and since then, the noises continued, only now you had zero complaints.

peach notes: lowk regretting the fact that kim seungmin was not inside her, but i felt too tired to write more lol. also, can you tell that i'm a fucking whore for the both of them? 😮‍💨 no lube no protection and allat. sorry if chan's part felt too rushed, lowkenuinely entered flow-state writing min's parts. (#need that) ( pls don't ask me abt if min went to freakin antartica to melt a glacier to get her the water lol, nothing about this is logical anyway, honestly i just needed them to fuck by that point, i'm just a girl ┐(˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶)┌ ) and wdym there's more than a 100 (hundred!!?) of you here already!!1? thats insane, i could kiss u all. and i'm really overwhelmed by the love you've given me on my first post, truly thank you so much, i'm so grateful to each of you who reblogged and/or left a comment. pls feel free to drop by and send an ask to lmk your thoughts or literally anything, i would love to chat with you all <3 you'll see me next in march, unfortunately exam szn doesn't let me be horny 💔