#But he has to so that she can finally be safe

[ktownshizzle]

Watermelon & Suga | myg

✎ ˎˊ˗ Pairing: Min Yoongi x plus size female!reader ✎ ˎˊ˗ Genre: idol!au, Fluff, Smut, Drama, Whirlwind romance, Love at “second” sight

✎ ˎˊ˗ Summary: Inspired by the events of Dday Phuket Vlog, Yoongi meets you, the island girl of his dreams, and now he can’t stop thinking about you.

✎ ˎˊ˗ Warnings: Dday rockstar Yoongi, I love this MC I think she a baddie, writing might feel a little too indulgent at times, A world with no language barriers, A relevant time skip, check the dates. Sex on a boat, public sex/slight exhibitionism kink, unprotected sex (be safe!), oral (m&f), spanking, fingering, squirting (in that order lol), slight degradation and dirty talk but MC likes it, sweet pet names, tell me if I missed anything, but yeah… sex on a boat and then some, Yoongi is down atrociously bad for our curvy queen and is desperate to worship her and validate her <3

✎ ˎˊ˗ Word count: 10k!

✎ ˎˊ˗ Notes: Finally!!! Worked on this for months ever since some of y’all plagued me with Phuket vlog Yoongi as honeymoon hubby material and I couldn’t stop the fantasy from unfolding. It did take me a while to bang this out (I blame the Nerds), sorry. Nonetheless I hope y’all enjoy this lil slice of paradise. 💜 Thank you Aqua for betareading.

🗓️ June 2023 - 📍Phuket, Thailand

The air smells like salt and sunlight, a mix you’ve grown so accustomed to that it no longer feels special. Just another Tuesday workday on the Andaman Sea. 

It’s nice and calm out today, barely a ripple on the surface. There’s a light breeze from the southwest, nothing too exciting, just enough to keep things cool. No storm on the radar, and the water's warm enough for a good snorkelling sesh. Basically, a perfect day to fall in love (with the sea).

Your usual clients are giddy tourists, high on Tiger beer and oyster omelets. But today seems quieter, more chill somehow, even though your group today is unlike your typical clientele. Today, you were asked to sign an NDA.

The rest of the group has boarded already. Some seven men and women that comprise a group of musicians currently in town for their concert tour. Now, you’re just waiting for the last member to join. The VIP, apparently.

So who’s the diva? 

Well, after 15 minutes, he finally decides to grace you with his presence. 

“Min Yoongi?” you call tentatively.

He nods, barely glancing up as he steps onto the boat. A quick bow, respectful but distracted. You direct him to a seat near the stern, his cologne lingering in the air as he passes you.

To be fair, he’s not flashy, no monogram logos in sight, no jewelry, or any other loud proclamations of being the proverbial shit. Dressed in a black and white shirt with a plain black rash guard and shorts, a baseball cap tugged low over his eyes, he could’ve been mistaken for anyone. But there seems to be a deliberate nature in how he moves, careful and understated, like he’s trying to avoid notice but not entirely succeeding. 

Swag can’t be faked, even if he did walk a little bit like your grandpa. Those New Balance slides? Yeah, you’ve seen it in your halbeoji’s home.

You turn to speak with Soomchai from the coast guard—a moderately cranky but well-meaning old man who’s been doing this for decades. He scratches at his scalp through his faded fisherman’s hat as you hand him the passenger manifest.

“You’re staring too hard,” he quips, licking the pad of his index before flipping the pages.

Huh? “I’m not.” You say.

“So they’re famous, eh?” he reviews the names on the clipboard, surreptitiously glancing over your shoulder.

You look behind you, half of them are already asleep, half basically on their phones.

“One of them, yeah. You know BTS?”

His face remains unchanged as he counts the passengers. “I don’t and I don’t trust the lot of them. Want me to accompany you?”

“Loong Soomchai,” you smile at the man who has taken you under his wing since you moved here last year. “Chill. Besides, I have a black belt in taekwondo, if you already forgot. I can easily toss them overboard, then they’ll really be your problem.”

“Aish,” he waves a dismissive hand at you. “I’m on line 3. Stay safe.”

“Roger, that,” you speak into your hand-held radio, your voice blaring on the receiver tucked into the older man’s cargo shorts. 

Soomchai’s slouched frame disappears as the boat pulls away from the dock. You brace your legs and adjust your stance. The boat shifts beneath you—but you don’t. Learning how to move with the water, how to balance your weight just right, was something that came with time.

Before you officially start the tour, you check your rash guard, snug across your chest, and smooth down the high-waisted swim shorts that you are wearing. You’re quite happy with your fashion choice today. It made you feel like a Bond girl—but curvier, tougher, more badass.

Usually, you would take a moment to observe your audience, make eye contact and exchange smiles to open the communication. Your VIP, though, sits with his arms resting on his thighs, gaze fixed on the water as though it holds answers to questions only he knows. You wonder if he’s the type to make small talk or if he’d prefer you stayed silent. 

Still, it’s your job to guide, to narrate, to fill the spaces between the silence and the sea. You start with the usual pleasantries and introductions, your go-to joke to break the ice, and you’re off. 

“If you look to the right,” you gesture, “you’ll see Koh Tapu. You may have heard of it as James Bond Island, because a scene from The Man with the Golden Gun was filmed there.”

A polite murmur rises from the other guests. Some snap photos. Min Yoongi doesn’t look up.

You let the silence stretch, wondering if you should say more. It’s not often you get guests like him—someone who seems so unbothered, yet weighed down at the same time. 

It isn’t until you glance back at him again that you realize he’s watching you now, his eyes sharp beneath the brim of his cap. Caught, you quickly look away, focusing instead on the shimmering turquoise of the water.

“How many times have you done this tour before?”

The question surprises you. You’re not sure if you should be offended, but you answer swiftly anyway. “Hundreds of times,” you admit with a shrug. “But the sea changes every day. It’s never exactly the same.”

You smile at him, genuine. “I imagine it’s a bit like your concerts. You practice it a thousand times, but it's still different in every show, every city, every audience… Makes things interesting.”

Something in your words seems to resonate with him. He leans back slightly, his shoulders relaxing just a fraction. “I get that,” he says softly, more to himself than to you.

After that, you noticed Yoongi’s guard begin to lower. He’d nod occasionally at your explanations, even ask a question here and there—about the history of a limestone karst or the kinds of fish they might see while snorkeling. His voice was quiet, with a faint rasp from overuse that made him clear his throat now and then.

“You know this fish?” Yoongi asks, holding out his phone to show you a screenshot.

“Wow, that’s beautiful…” you lean forward slightly.

He coughs a bit, scratching the back of his neck as he leans back. “Yeah, uh, they said it’s native to these parts.”

“I’m not familiar,” you squint. “Can you send me the photo? I can ask one of the other guides—I’m still no expert on marine life, I fear.”

There’s a pause. He gives you a look you can’t quite read, brows slightly raised, lips pressed in something not quite a smile. But it’s not disapproving either. Just... 

Oh shit. You just asked for his number. Or to exchange Kakao. Same thing. You basically asked to link up.

Such an idiot. A flush creeps up your neck. Stupid, stupid girl. You weren’t thinking. God, he probably thinks you’re trying to pull a fast one on him—playing the helpful guide when really, you just wanted an excuse. 

People don’t just ask for Yoongi’s number. Of course not. Unless they’re someone. You hope he doesn’t file a complaint after this.

You straighten, your voice a little brighter, a bit too eager to salvage what’s left of your professionalism. “But, um, actually, no need. We’ll see a ton of species later when we get near the caverns. I’ll make sure to keep an eye out for that one.”

“Mmh.” He nods. You can’t quite tell if it’s thoughtful or distracted by your word vomit.

But as you turn to walk across the deck, you can feel his eyes burning holes on your back. Low on your back. Maybe lower even.

Should you look? Maybe you’re just imagining it. 

You chance a quick glance. And your eyes meet his. Looking at you with an interesting glint. His lips lift slightly. You tilt your head, curious. Pulse racing. Giddy.

Okay, maybe your job is safe after all. But your heart? Eh.

When you serve them a plate of watermelon slices, the group’s energy shifts. One of them jokes about how they should’ve brought soju, while another eagerly reaches for a piece, groaning in satisfaction the moment he tastes it.

You place the tray in front of Yoongi, and he immediately plucks a slice. He bites into it, and for the first time all morning, you see a full-blown smile—pretty enamals and pink gums on show.

“Good?” you asked, unable to stop your own grin from forming.

He nodded, wiping his thumb along the corner of his mouth. “It’s perfect.”

“What’s your favorite fruit?” you throw out a neutral question as you struggle to ignore the stray liquid he’s trying to chase down with his tongue. 

“Tangerines,” he replies. “The ones from Jeju Island are the best. Have you ever been?”

“No, unfortunately.”

There was a beat of silence before he adds, almost to himself, “But this… this is nice.”

He pushes the plate towards you. “You should have one.”

“Ah, maybe later.”

“Don’t be shy,” the plate moves another inch closer. You pick up a slice, mumbling a thanks.

Sugar fills your mouth as you sink your teeth on the watermelon, juice dribbling on the side of your lip which you immediately catch with your tongue.

Unlike you though, he’s watching. Openly. Shamelessly. The way his eyes dart from your mouth to your eyes is not lost on you and you can’t help but feel excitement pooling in your belly.

“Sweet.” you remark, before sucking the juice from your thumb. Baiting him.

He smirks, “Looks like it.”

“You always flirt using fruit?”

“You’re the one licking your lips.”

You grin.

As a tour guide, you’re used to the art of the harmless flirt. It comes with the job—tourists with sun-soaked nerves and too much vacation confidence, tossing compliments like loose change. You’ve learned how to play along just enough, to keep things light, fun. A wink here, a tease there. Part of the act. People like feeling charming, and you don’t mind giving them the illusion.

But this feels different.

Right now, it’s just you, the sea, and this idol watching you like he’s the one mesmerized.

And maybe it shouldn’t matter, the way his gaze lingers—not over the places you’ve been taught to hide, but the ones you’ve learned to own. The dip of your waist. The curve of your hip where your swim shorts sit snug. 

There’s something about being looked at like this—not with hunger or pity, but with curiosity, appreciation, even. And it makes you want to keep his gaze a little longer.

‘Cause you know who he is. You’d recognized the name when you saw it on the manifest and when you signed the documents. He’s an idol. Part of Bangtan Fuckin’ Sonyeondan. A man with a carefully manicured image, a life guarded by rabid fans, dissected by media men with too many opinions, surrounded by sexy, slender women.

You’d think men like him don’t get to have ‘normal’ moments like this. They don’t make casual conversations about fish or share food with a rando. But here he is, acting like this is real. And god, why does it feel like it might be?

Honestly, maybe it’s nothing. Maybe you’re not the only one who knows the art of the harmless flirt. Maybe he’s not even that interested.

But you’re gonna play along. See where this goes. At least for now.

Later, after anchoring in a secluded cove, you bring out the snorkeling gear. Most of your guests dive in with ease, their laughter echoing as they race toward the reef. Yoongi lingers on the boat, fiddling with the straps of his mask.

“Need help?” you ask, stepping closer.

He looks up, sheepish. “Is it that obvious?”

You laugh softly. “A little. Here, let me.”

He hands you the mask, watching as you adjust the straps. His gaze feels heavier now, like it’s searching for something beyond the simple act of fixing the gear.

You’re used to people skimming past you with their eyes, but when Yoongi looks, you feel like your skin is on fire. His gaze dips, just for a second, on the spot where the zipper of your top sits against your boobs. He doesn’t comment, doesn’t smirk—probably thinks he’s being sly. But you’re on to him. 

“You’ve done this before, right?” you check, eyes teasing, as you pass the mask back to him.

He shrugs. “A long time ago. I’m out of practice.”

“Good thing I’m here.” You flash him a reassuring smile and step into the water, gesturing for him to follow.

You surface and nod. He hesitates only briefly before jumping in—but his foot slips slightly on the boat’s edge, and he lands with an ungraceful splash and shriek that echoes across the cove. You can’t stop the laugh that bursts out.

“Grand entrance,” you say, grinning as he surfaces with a shy expression.

“Glad I could entertain you,” he mutters, pushing his wet hair back, and if that isn’t one of the sexiest actions you’ve ever seen done by any human being. God.

“Here.” You take a chance to reach for his hand, and to your mild surprise and relief, he takes it. “Just relax. The water will do most of the work.”

He follows your lead, his fingers tightening slightly around yours as you float together. The reef comes into view below, vibrant and teeming with life. You glance at him, his face half-hidden by the snorkel mask, and find him watching you instead of the reef.

“You’re missing the best part,” you pull your hand away, pointing toward the colorful fish darting between the coral.

“Am I?”

You take your mask off only to roll your eyes. “Are you always this smooth?”

He pulls the mouthpiece out just enough to smirk at you. “Only when it works.”

You couldn’t help the giggle that escapes you. 

“Admit it,” he says, leaning closer, his voice low. “You’re having fun.”

You don’t deny it. Instead, you start wading away, gesturing towards the reef. “Come on. The fish are much better company.”

Back on the boat, the atmosphere is lighter. Yoongi is more relaxed now, his earlier distance replaced by a quiet warmth. As you steer toward the island for lunch, you feel his gaze on you again.

When you glance over, he doesn’t look away this time.

“What?” you ask, raising an eyebrow.

“Nothing,” he says, though his lips twitch into an understated smile.

At the island, the group disembarks for lunch, their excitement palpable. Yoongi lingers by the railing, his gaze flickering between you and the others.

“Come with us,” he says, his voice low enough that the others don’t hear.

You shake your head, smiling apologetically. “I can’t. Protocol.”

He looks as though he wants to argue, because he seems like the type that gets everything he wants, but resignedly nods, his lips pressing into a thin line. “Next time, then.”

“Next time,” you echo, though you’re not sure if you believe it.

While they eat, you stay behind on the boat, finishing your own lunch, which one of the island ahjummas hands you as soon as you dock. There’s still some leftover watermelon, so you have it for dessert. It’s sweeter than any you have had all summer, but not sweet enough to distract you from the thought spinning in your head: Did the Min Yoongi really just invite you to join their group for lunch?

He was probably just being polite. Right? But then why did he stare at your lips for ten whole seconds when you were exploring the caves?

Fuck. You really need to get Lasik because your eyes cannot be trusted. Maybe a psychiatric evaluation too, while you’re at it.

Who are you kidding? At this point you can only afford the oh-so ahjumma-chic wide-brim hat so your lone brain cell is not fried by the sun.

BUT. Why does it feel like you had a connection?

Him with his kind eyes and that sexy smile. You’re so fucked.

Shaking your head, you grab a beer from the cooler and chug it, the cold brew doing its damnednest to wash down your delusions. For a moment, the only sound is from waves against the boat’s hull.

But then, footsteps.

You glance over your shoulder.

Yoongi is walking into the shaded area of the boat, pushing damp strands of hair with his beautiful fingers.

“Hey,” you say, clocking that he’s coming in alone. Your pulse races.

“Hi.”

“Craving more watermelon?” you ask, smiling as you gesture to the plate.

He leans against the table, his gaze steady, but there’s something else there. “I was,” he says, his voice softer now, “but I think I’m craving something else.”

Your breath stutters. The plate in your hand feels heavier. The tips of his fingers brushes along the edge of the table as he walks closer, and closer.

“There’s, uh, more delicacies on the island,” you try to use your tour guide voice, but you’re faltering. “Thailand has, umm, over 1,000 species of fruit, you know…”

“Mmm.” A faint smirk touches his lips, but his eyes are fixed on you. He’s literally in front of you now, so close that the air is sucked out of your lungs. You notice every macro detail—the faint streaks of sunscreen on his cheek, the fine grains of sand clinging to his hair, the way his scent is a mix of the sun and the ocean and his own musk. And those lips. Goddamn those lips.

“What is it that you like?” you ask, your voice small and shy as he studies you, too.

“I think I prefer,” he murmurs, before leaning in. “This.”

His kiss sparks upon contact against your mouth. His lips are a little chapped, but still soft. A hand slips around the back of your neck, guiding you closer until your lips part, and his tongue slides in. There’s not one second of hesitation, like he knows exactly what he’s doing.

You angle your head and kiss him back, a little messy, a little breathless. It’s not the kind of kiss meant for daylight, not while you’re at work, not something that belongs on a boat in open water, but fuck if it ain’t so goddamn good you forget where the hell you are.

His other hand settles on your middle, firm, squeezing against your soft waist. You’re keenly aware of every place your bodies meet—your chest against his damp shirt, your thigh brushing his leg, the faint heat radiating off his skin in the humid air.

You’ve never done this. Nope. Not while working. Not with guests, especially. But Yoongi doesn’t feel like a guest anymore. Doesn’t feel like a fantasy or a celebrity or whatever version of himself the world thinks he is.

He doesn’t feel new–like someone you just met. It sounds crazy that you connected on a level that doesn’t quite match the short amount of time since you’ve exchanged names. You can’t even correct your actions at this point. Not when he tastes like coconut and you’re slipping farther away from clarity.

Your hands move on instinct, sliding up under his shirt, fingers tangling in the sticky strands at the nape of his neck. “Yoongi…” His name escapes you like a plea, like you’re already wrecked—and maybe you are.

His tongue strokes yours, and it’s incredibly filthy how he’s sucking it into his mouth like he wants to own it. Own you. You moan. Your knees weaken. Your brain empties. The only thing you can feel is him—his mouth, his breath, the growing pressure of his body against yours.

Fingers are slipping under the hem of your shorts, gripping you behind with no hesitation.

“This ass,” he mutters, then smacks, and the sound cracks in the air. Your breath catches, a gasp hitching from your throat as slickness floods your bikini bottoms.

“Shit–somebody might see us,”

“Nah, nobody else is gonna come here,” he pauses, smirks. “Except you, twice. Then, me.”

The confidence. “Oh my God.”

“We ‘bout to break protocol.” He squeezes your ass again, groaning into your neck. “You want this?” he rasps. His lips latch onto your throat, teeth grazing just enough to make you shiver. “Tell me.”

“Fuck, yes,” you breathe. “Come…”

You grab his hand and lead him toward the hatch, pulling it open and motioning for him to climb down. He does without question, dropping to the lower deck with a soft thud.

You grip the ladder, descending slowly, legs already shaky with anticipation. But before you can hit the floor, his hands are on your thick thighs, firm. Squeezes once.

“Stop,” he commands. “Face me.”

Your heart stutters, but you obey, turning to face him as you grip the edge of the floor deck which is now at your eye level.

“What are you—?”

“You keep an eye out,” he says, voice low and dark with intent. “I'm just gonna eat you out real quick.”

Your breath catches—shocked, aroused, completely undone.

He curls his fingers into your waistband, tugging your shorts and bikini bottoms down in one smooth motion. A gust of humid air brushes your exposed skin as your knees nearly give out.

But you don’t get a second to process, because his mouth is already on you, making out with your pussy lips. His tongue licks a long, hot stripe through your folds, and your nearly fucking cum right there.

The metal ladder is cool against your ass as you struggle for balance. Your grip tightens on the deck, knuckles almost white. His hand slides up to part your thighs just a little more, anchoring you open for him. You feel his hot breath, before his tongue dives back in—savoring, circling, sucking.

You panic—just briefly. You spent hours in the ocean. You probably taste like—

“Mmm,” he hums against you, like you’re the best thing he’s ever tasted. His grip on your thigh is a bit harsh as if he could read your mind that you wanted to squirm out of his grasp. 

There is something so incredibly arousing about feeling him, but not seeing him. Hearing him, but not touching him. As if the sensations are heightened. Every feeling more palpable because of sense deprivation.

Next thing you know his fingers are teasing your entrance, collecting the slick from your pussy.

You feel a wet tap against the side of your mouth and words aren't needed as you suck his digits in. You’re drunk of your own taste and heady scent, the feel of his bony knuckles massaging your tongue tipping you closer to the edge.

But then his fingers are gone and you almost want to bite it down but then he slides it into your cunt and Christ alive. 

He is moving in and out of you so shallowly, just knuckle-deep, the pads of his fingers barely scraping your inner walls. You move your arms to grip the ladder behind you, giving you the leverage to rock forward, coaxing it inner, deeper.

Fuck is he laughing right now?!

You halt your movements as you hear a throaty chuckle from underneath you.

“Why’d you stop,” he teases, kissing up the softness on the inside of your thighs.

“Hook your thigh over my shoulder,” he mumbles against your soaked heat, voice low and so filthy it makes your whole body tense.

You do as he says. Your leg lifts shakily, your body is burning with the exertion but his hand is already there, steadying you, guiding you, draping it over the curve of his shoulder like you don’t weigh nothing.

“Good girl,” he murmurs, just before his tongue dives back in.

It’s messier now. His fingers pump deeper, faster, the pace almost punishing as they curl inside you, finding that spongey spot that makes your thighs seize. His tongue flicks over your clit in short, relentless strokes, matching the rhythm of his fingers.

You cry out—loud, desperate, your hand gripping the ladder like it’s the only thing anchoring you to the earth. Your hips jerk, trying to escape, but he growls and tightens his hold, tongue moving even faster.

“Fuck, Yoongi—I’m gonna—”

And then it hits. A blinding, body-shaking orgasm that tears through you so violently your vision goes white. You scream as your legs almost gives out, but his arm braces your hips as you fuckin’ squirt, soaking his chin, his neck, the tops of his shoulders.

He lets out a surprised, delighted laugh, breath hot and sticky as he looks up at you.

“Holy shit,” he breathes, eyes glazed, chin glistening. “You squirted all over me, you dirty girl.”

You whimper, half-mortified, half-high, your body still twitching. “Sorry…” you squeak.

His tongue darts out to taste the corner of his mouth, and he grins—smirks, really. Completely pleased with himself. “Don’t. Sexiest thing I’ve seen in a while.”

You’re trembling so hard you can barely stay upright, your leg slipping from his shoulder. He catches it, presses a final kiss to your inner thigh, then plants your foot down on a step. 

“Come here. Be careful,” he says, voice gentler now. He guides you by the waist, helping you down the last few steps until your feet hit the floor.

Your body collapses into his chest on instinct, and he chuckles again, arms wrapping around your middle.

“You okay?” he asks softly, nose nudging yours.

You nod, breath still catching in your throat. “More than okay.”

He pulls back just enough to flash that lazy grin. “Good. ’Cause I’m not done with you yet.”

He spins you back around, pressing you against the ladder. You gasp as his hand flattens between your shoulder blades, your palms bracing the handles above you as his hips roll into yours from behind—slow and grinding, just to let you feel what he’s working with.

“Still want this?” he asks, voice low, gravel edged with need, his hard cock moulding itself against your plush ass cheeks.

You push your hips back into him. “Yes. God, yes.”

There’s a frantic shuffle of clothes, from his end, his swim trunks dropped and kicked away, and then… He slides in with one rapid thrust, burying himself to the hilt. Your mouth drops open, lungs pierced, your breath knocked right out of you.

“Fuck—shit,” you choke, forehead pressing against your arm.

“F-fuck,” he groans, fingers tightening on your hips. “You’re so fucking tight.”

He starts to move, hips snapping forward sharply. Each thrust drives you against the ladder, the sound of skin on skin echoing in the tiny space, the scent of the ocean mixing with the thick heat of your bodies.

Yoongi rocks against you desperately like he’s been holding back all damn day. Like he’s finally been let off the leash. Mercifully he slows down, but he is pulling you up by your hair so your back is resting against his chest. 

“Yoongi,” you say his name breathlessly, and he releases his ponytail grip as you struggle to stay upright. He licks the skin by your ear, whispering dirty things you’ve never heard of in your entire life, twitches against your walls.

“You like that, huh, you little slut?” 

Fuck. You didn’t expect to like the name so much. An involuntary clench of your pussy and you know he got the idea. It’s not just the name, but it’s the way he is literally manhandling you, fulfilling all your small girl fantasies.

“Mmh.”

“Yeah, you love it.” His fingers find the zipper of your rash guard top sliding it down just enough for his large hands to slip inside and grab a fistful of your breasts.

“Your tits are so soft, shit. Wan’ suck on them so bad.” He growls.

“Want it,” you mewl, pushing your chest forward for him to grasp.

“I bet you do, huh. Maybe later, if you’re a good girl I can suck on these. Make you cum just licking at your nipples—want that?”

“Uh-huh, please,” You sound so whiny, fucking back into him as he fondles and tugs and pulls at your sensitive nubs.

“Spit,” he instructs, his palm out. “Let’s get these nice and slick.”

A wet glob from your mouth lands on his palm and he slaps it against your tits. You whimper at the sting, but it’s quickly relieved by the soft massage against your breasts.

“Feel good?”

“So good. Ah–” your words are cut off as he folds you again to his liking.

Yoongi fucks like he is used to being watched, but right now? There’s no audience. No stage. Just you, bent over, body shuddering with every thrust, moaning like you don’t care who hears it.

Your hands scramble for grip, nails digging into your own skin as his rhythm gets rougher. His fingers trail up your spine, tracing the dip at the small of your back before curling into your hair and yanking just hard enough to make you gasp as he continues to rail you from behind.

“Harder, please, Yoongi…”

“So desperate,” he pants, breathing hot against your neck. “So fucking good like this. You feel—” a groan breaks his sentence, “—so goddamn perfect. A pretty little— cocksleeve just for me.”

You’re trembling now, thighs shaking as pleasure coils low and tight in your belly. You feel everything—his cock, thick, hot, hitting just right with every snap of his hips and your body is unraveling fast.

“Ahhh. Right there, fuckin there. That’s it…” You glance over your shoulder, and fuck he’s so fucking hot and he’s fucking you so good and…

“You gonna come for me again?” he growls, one hand sliding between your thighs. “Shit. Give it to me, you dirty fuckin’ girl.”

You cry out as your orgasm slams into you, body clenching tight around his cock, eyes squeezing shut as white heat galvanizes every nerve. Yoongi curses behind you, hips stuttering once, twice—and then he’s coming too, spilling deep inside you with a growl that sounds more animal than human.

You both stay there, shaking and sticky and utterly breathless. The only sound is the ocean lapping against the hull and your heart pounding in your ears.

Yoongi’s hand doesn’t leave your waist, his fingers sink against your soft skin a bit firmer, though somehow gentler, too. Then, his lips press once, twice, thrice, softly, against your shoulder blades. You don’t understand what’s happening. It feels intimate, too intimate.

“Umm…” 

“Is there a bathroom here?”

“A tiny one, yeah. Over there.”

You wince as he pulls his cock out, walls pulsing once as if you wanna keep him inside you if you can. 

“C’mon,” he taps your ass playfully, lightening up the moment. “Let’s get cleaned up.”

By the time the group is back on the boat, skin sun-warmed and bellies full from lunch, the mood is mellow. No one makes any comment as to why you and Yoongi are already on the boat, or why you both have different tops on. You’re slightly relieved. But it also makes questions swirl in your brain that you don’t really want answers to. You shove it in the recesses of your mind and focus on getting back to work. You’re still on duty after all. 

You check on the other guests, making small talk about the yummy lunch spread. You know they had grilled squid, pad thai, mango sticky rice… like every other group you’ve toured, and it’s always a dopamine rush to see everyone so satisfied.

Someone puts on music through a Bluetooth speaker, the kind of acoustic guitar track that feels like the end of a movie. The boat sways gently as it begins to head back toward the mainland.

You pretend not to notice when Yoongi lingers near the bow, waiting until the others have found their seats before sliding into the open spot beside you.

He doesn’t say anything. Just sits close enough that your arms brush when the boat dips slightly with the tide.

You glance at him once. Twice. On the third time, you catch him already looking at you.

Neither of you smiles. He just reaches for the beer you hand him and takes a long sip, throat bobbing.

The silence between you isn’t uncomfortable. It’s in limbo. Like neither of you wants to name what happened, not while you’re still in it. Still riding the aftershocks of something way too fucking good to put into words.

At one point, he rests his arm along the back of the bench behind you. His fingers graze your shoulder. And you know it’s not by accident.

Your hand brushes his knee when you reach for a stray towel. Not by accident, either.

The sun dips lower as the coastline comes into view, and a knot begins to form in your chest. The same one he must feel, if the way his hand keeps tightening around his bottle is any sign.

Eventually, the boat eases into the dock. The group starts gathering their things—bags, towels, sun hats, laughter loud again as people gear up to head back to city life.

You move to help untie the mooring lines, and when you return to the deck, he’s standing by the edge, a small bag slung over one arm.

The others are already walking off. Bowing to you and thanking you for the tour. He’s the last one to leave just as he was the first to arrive.

“This is where I’m supposed to say thank you for the tour,” he murmurs, eyes still on the sea.

You nod. “This is where I say, come back anytime.”

He turns to you then. And for a second, the tiredness in his eyes softens.

“Will you be here, if I come back?”

You don’t answer right away. Just offer a small smile. “Maybe.”

He nods like that’s fair. Steps forward like he might hug you, or say something more. Maybe he considered it. But instead, he slips past you with a final glance.

The dock creaks under his steps. He doesn’t look back.

You watch him walk away until he disappears into the crowd.

Your chest aches with something unnameable.

You know how this goes. Men like him probably have groupies all the time, in every tour stop. You were Phuket. And that’s fine. It’s fine.

At least, you tell yourself, he was a really good fuck and you finished twice, which is more generous than any other one night stand or quickie you’ve had. A great story to tell your future grandkids that you once fucked a very famous idol. Okay, maybe not your grandkids. Maybe not a story to tell, actually. (You signed an NDA!) But something to shove in your heart, let every ventricle lock it tight there. But the taste of him is still on your lips, and the way your heart stutters in your chest says otherwise, like the memory is already struggling to be freed.

You’ve just stepped out of the shower when the knock comes. You freeze.

It’s late—well past when anyone should be dropping by. You don’t get visitors out here. Not unannounced. Not at this hour. Wrapped in your towel, you tiptoe barefoot to the door, heart thudding.

Another knock. Slower this time. Softer.

You squint through the peephole and nearly forget how to breathe.

It’s him.

Yoongi.

You open the door, towel clutched tight, words lodged in your throat.

It’s really him. Hood pulled low. 

His eyes sweep over your form, too. Wet, barely covered… but he recovers enough to explain what is going on. 

“I know this is crazy,” he says, before you can even speak. “But I had to see you again.”

He stands there, blinking at you under the harsh hallway lighting in your apartment building, like he’s afraid you’ll shut the door in his face.

“How did you even—?”

“I went back to the pier. Found the old guy? Practically begged him. And he gave me your address.” He exhales, shaking his head with a laugh. “I think he only did it because he felt sorry for me.”

You’re still standing there, stunned, the scent of body wash clinging to your skin.

“Can I come in?” he asks, quieter now. Like he’s unsure of the answer. “You’re in your towel.”

You nod, even though you’re still in shock, stepping aside. You adjust the towel on your chest. 

“Make yourself at home. Let me just put clothes on.”

Yoongi slips off his shoes and steps into your little house like he’s done it a hundred times before.

He looks around. It’s nothing special—worn tile floors, mismatched furniture, an abandoned oatmeal bar on the coffee table—but he doesn’t look disappointed. He looks like he’s breathing for the first time all day.

You grab a shirt and sleep shorts, quickly changing in the bedroom. When you return, he’s leaning against your kitchen counter, eyes scanning the fridge magnets, the little details of your life like they mean something.

You glance up at the clock, 8:30 p.m.

“I was gonna eat ramen,” you say, trying to play it cool.

His lips twitch. “You got enough for two?”

You both end up cooking together. He cuts vegetables with a precision that is completely uncalled for for a cheap pack of instant noodles. You make a comment and he huffs his chest with pride, his knife skills now in full show as he chops the onions in record speed. 

You laugh at how he makes a face and complains about being in tears afterwards.

The kitchen fills with steam and the smell of broth. You sit on the counter while it simmers, beers in hand. He stands in front of you, and your legs part instinctively, letting him through. Like he belongs there.

It’s oddly domestic. Ridiculously comfortable. Why? You still don’t get it.

You’re talking about nothing—favorite childhood snacks, weird airport food, your least favorite sea creatures—when the silence slips in between you.

He’s watching you now, the way you laugh, the way you push your hair behind your ear. His beer forgotten on the table.

You meet his gaze. His eyes are dark, but unlike in the boat, they’re not unreadable. In fact, they’re very much readable and you don’t hesitate to call him out for it. 

“You’re gonna kiss me again, aren’t you?” you raise a brow.

“Been thinking about it since you opened the door in that towel.”

So he does. 

He kisses you slower this time. More careful. Not rushed, not frantic like it was in the boat. He cradles the back of your neck, the other slides beneath your shirt to rest against your waist.

You’re kissing each other like you’re trying to remember. Like you’re trying to make it last. His mouth moves with so much purpose, almost like he’s writing over the hurried, hungry moment from before and replacing it with this—reverence, sureness, clarity.

When he pulls away to breathe, you whisper, “This is crazy.”

He nods. “I know…”

At least you can agree on that.

Later, he’s between your thighs on the couch, and this time, he doesn’t tear at your shorts like he’s chasing a high. This time, he touches you with all the time in the world, so you feel it all. When he slides your shorts down, he pauses, eyes locked on your center, pupils blown.

“I wanted this before,” he murmurs, kissing your inner thigh. “But I didn’t take my time. I didn’t show you.”

“Show me what?” you ask, breathless.

He presses another kiss to your other thigh, then another, closer and closer to your mound. 

“That you deserve to be worshipped,” he says. He drags his tongue along your puffy folds, slow and tender. You arch into his mouth with a gasp, already so close just from kissing in the kitchen. But maybe it’s also the rasp of his voice, and the refreshing honesty, the way he seems to be convinced that you were special.

So this isn’t like the boat. You, suspended against the ladder. It’s not messy or wild. It’s not just lust, or tension exploding in secret.

This is something else. You, suspended in a different reality. Yoongi, telling a different story with his mouth.

He eats you out with care, overwriting that animalistic fuck at sea. His hands cradle your supple thighs as he buries his face deeper. His tongue works in slow, deliberate circles, building towards your peak. 

“Watch…” he murmurs, just loud enough for you to hear between breaths. He puts his index and middle fingers in his mouth, dragging it across his sinful tongue. Teases it against your hole before pushing it in agonizingly slow, relishing the way your body is writhing in pleasure.

When he pushes the length all the way in, you fist the cushions. “Yoongi—oh god—”

His mouth envelops your clit in a gentle suction as his fingers go in and out of you. 

“Ahh, so close…”

He doesn’t stop. Not until you’re shaking again, voice breaking on his name, thighs trembling on either side of his face.

He stays between them even after. Kissing. Calming. Worshiping.

You’re still breathless when he pulls back, lips slick, hair mussed, cheeks flushed with heat and pride. He looks up at you like he’s just done something holy—and maybe he has.

You’re still dazed by the time he pulls back, lips glossy, hair wild from all your pulling but his eyes, soft, focused completely on you. He rises slowly, kissing your stomach, bunching up the fabric as he goes, and you can’t even bring yourself to feel a little embarrassed like you sometimes do, with every cover that’s shed, every piece of you revealed, because he is treating you with the kind of reverence you’ve never felt before. Blind to the flaws, he’s not about to leave any part of you untouched by the pink petals of his lips, helping you out of your cotton tee.

When his face meets yours again, you’re already reaching for him, pulling him close, needing his mouth, his breath, the low rasp of his voice in your ear. You’re so high on this feeling. Of being wanted–no–worshipped, for who you are. He kisses you like a man obsessed, hands sliding under your thighs as he coaxes you onto him, settling you over the hardness pressed tight beneath his sweats.

You’re straddling him now, knees sinking into the couch cushions on either side, your body still trembling from the orgasm he pulled out of you. And then—you pause.

You hesitate. Just for a second.

The reality of it creeps in and your saboteur whispers the insecurities you’ve worked so hard to hide. You’re heavier than him. Curvier, fuller. And even though he just made you fall apart on his tongue, there’s a flicker of doubt when you feel your weight settle onto him.

He notices instantly.

“Hey,” he murmurs like he knows, threading his fingers on your hair to pull you towards him, lips brushing the corner of your mouth. His other hand grip your hips, sliding back to your ass where he gives it a soft squeeze. “Don’t do that.”

“I just…” you look away, voice small. “You sure you’re comfortable?”

He lets out the softest fucking laugh, breath hot against your throat. “Baby, sit on me.”

His grip tightens, pulling your hips flush against him. You feel all of him—thick and very solid right against your slit and you can’t help the moan that escapes you, mixing with his own with the slightest friction.

You whine when he thrusts up just once, just enough to make your clit drag against the bulge in his boxers.

“Shit. You’re so sexy…” he breathes, hands sliding from your hips to your thighs, then your asscheeks, cupping them with both palms. “You feel what you’re doing to me right now?”

You nod, dazed, as you roll your hips, slow and testing. He groans like it’s killing him—in the best way.

“Wanna see you ride me… wanna feel you come on my cock. You think you can take it?”

“Shit, yeah…” You respond with a shameless grind. 

“I think I’m addicted to you,” he smiles, ogling your tits, the way they jiggle for him.

“Yeah?”

He licks his bottom lip, nodding.

“Off,” you gesture to his clothes, his tee tossed haphazardly on the floor. You lift your hips slightly to give him room to shimmy his bottoms down. 

His cock flops against his tummy, heavy and reddened. Your mouth wants it too but your hands are already guiding him to your slick entrance on its own accord like it knows better. You finally sink down onto him and his head drops back against the couch, jaw clenched, eyes fluttering shut.

“Fuck. You feel like heaven.”

You gasp, reveling in the fullness of him, the stretch. You ride him slowly at first. Letting him feel all of you. Letting him watch.

And he does. Watches the way your body moves over his, the way your breasts bounce with every roll, the way you take him so deep he can barely speak.

“Look at you,” he pants, hands moving everywhere—your waist, your ass, your thighs, back to your breasts. 

“Shit…” he pants, eyes moving to where you’re riding him. “You’re so fuckin’ hot… fuckin’ perfect.”

He palms your breasts, groaning low in his throat. “Can’t get enough of these.”

He leans forward, licking the valley of your chest before closing his mouth around your nipple, sucking hard enough to make you cry out. Your walls flutter around him in response, and he lets out a low, wrecked groan, before smacking your ass.

“Fuck!”

“Bounce for me, baby,” he gruffs hungrily against your skin, and he delivers another spank. “Come on…”

You do—riding him harder, feeling him twitch inside you. His mouth stays latched, teeth grazing sensitive skin. He’s relentless, filthy, utterly focused on unraveling you. 

When he finally pulls back, he finds your mouth again, devouring your moans between kisses as you both hurtle toward the edge.

“Gonna cum, Yoongi—” you gasp.

“With me, baby,” he pants. “Fuckin’ cum with me.”

He bucks into you harder, faster, harsher and finally you cum together—this time with his name sobbed into his neck—he holds you there, pulsing inside you as he paints your walls white, whispering things he probably shouldn’t say, things you ache to hear.

His head is fully tipped back on the couch, breathing heavy, body a little glossy from his sweat and yours. The aftermath clings to your skin, but the fire hasn’t burned out. Not even close. You’re not done.

He worshipped you, called you a goddess. But, aren’t you his dirty girl? His slut? And when he looks like the hottest man alive—

He looks up when you shift beside him, his brows pulling just slightly. “Wait. What’re you—”

You don’t answer. Just move lower, letting your hands glide down his chest. His abs twitch under your palms. 

“I wanna taste you,” you whisper. “Suck you dry….”

He groans—low and hoarse—as you move between his legs, your mouth ghosting over the crease of his thigh. He spreads them automatically, lazy and loose, cock already half-hard and still wet with your juices. A drop of cum beads at the tip, glistening.

“Shit,” he breathes, pushing a hand through his hair. “You’re gonna kill me.”

You hum in amusement, dragging your tongue along the underside of his cock—slow and soft, just enough to make him twitch. Then again. Firmer this time. And when you wrap your lips around the head and suck, you feel the ripple it sends through his entire body.

“Fuck, that’s good,” he hisses. 

You take your time. Lap him up, your cum and his combined.  Lick up the length of him again, then back down to the base, tongue swirling as he expands in your mouth. The weight of him is perfect against your tongue, the way his girth stretches your lips obscene but delicious.

His hand finds the back of your head, not forcing—just resting there. “God, baby… that dirty mouth…”

You bob your head, eyes flicking up to meet his. He looks fucking ruined already, jaw slack, stomach trembling with every flick of your tongue. You clench your throat against his tip and feel him jolt. You love the way his body reacts, the little tremors in his thighs, the tension in his neck.

“Don’t stop,” he pants. “Just like that—fuck, you’re acting like a real slut right now.”

Yes, fuck. You choke involuntarily, swallowing against his tip. He groans, lips lining up into a smirk. You take him deeper, popping him off first to admire your handiwork, cock swollen and red. Let spit drip down your chin. Let your throat work around him as your hand pumps what you can’t take. You can feel him losing it—his moans getting louder, filthier, raspier. He swears under his breath, head thrown back against the pillows.

“Shit, shit—I’m gonna cum,” he warns, eyes fluttering open to find yours again. “Swallow for me, baby. Be my good fuckin—fuuuuck—”

You take him in faster, tongue firmly pressed against that vein as you slide up and down keeping your lips vacuum sealed, and finally—

He comes with a choked-off groan, hips jerking, both hands tangled in your hair now as his cock pulses on your tongue. You take it all. Every filthy, salty, slimy drop. You swallow without breaking eye contact. Brandish your tongue with pride.

He blinks down at you, stars in his eyes as he releases the grip on your scalp to move to your chin. “Shit. You’re unreal.”

You smile. 

You wish this was real.

Somehow he convinces you to move to the bed so he can clean you up. He emerges from your tiny toilet with a warm washcloth, damping it against your leaking cunt.

“C’mere,” he lays on his side, gesturing you to move into him. Alarm bells sound in your head but you can’t bring yourself to stay away when your lips are already towards each other like magnets.

Yoongi’s hand is splayed across your lower back, fingers idly tracing soft, lazy shapes into your skin. His other arm is tucked behind his head, smug and relaxed and still looking thoroughly fucked out.

The night goes on like that. You kiss, cuddle. Talk about small things—more favorites, random things—the suspicious little mole by his arm, scary things—his upcoming military service. And you share with him your own—favorites, why you sleep with an alien plushie, your uncertain future with your job and the economy going to shit.

Hours after, your heart is unrecognizable, suddenly morphing into the shape of someone you just met. It should feel wrong. You’re still not sure why it doesn’t.

“You’ve ruined me for anyone else, I fear,” he says, voice rough, but there’s a smile tugging at his lips.

Go away, butterflies! You snort into his shoulder. “Pshh don’t lie.”

“Why would I do that?”

You lift your head slightly, looking at him. “Okay.”

There’s a beat of silence—comfortable, but loaded. His thumb still circles lazily over your spine.

“You should give me your number.”

You consider him for just a moment. But decide to shake your head. Not because you wanna see him sweat, but because you resolve not to. 

His brow shoots up to his forehead like he didn’t expect that response.

“If you’re still thinking about me after two years…” you say, not quite looking at him, “Then find me. Just like you did today.”

He huffs, repeating his request. “Or you could just give me your number.”

You meet his gaze now, seriousness in your eyes. “I’m not gonna do that.”

“Why? You were hustling me for it in the boat…” he teases with a sly grin.

“Shut up, I just wanted to help you find your fish.”

He pokes his tongue in the inside of his cheek, still waiting on you, deciphering that look.

“Look. I don’t want to wait around for your text or your call. I’m not that girl.”

“Then don’t,” he says simply. “I mean, you won’t have to. I do plan to call. And I’m a pretty good texter, actually.”

You roll your eyes, tracing a slow line over his chest with your fingertip. “Be for real. You look like the type who won’t charge their phone for days.”

He gasps dramatically. “You’re… super wrong. And I have a fucking cool library of cat memes. You’ll be missing out.”

“I think I’ll live.”

“Fine.”

“Fine.”

There’s a moment. He tilts his head toward you, so adorable, so boyfriend, like you’re an old couple bickering about something mundane, like who’s gonna check the front door if it’s locked. Certainly not a conversation that basically dictated if you will ever see each other again. 

Then before you know it, you jut your lip, unable to stop yourself from acting cutely.

“Kiss me?”

He grins, cat-like. “I’ll do you one better. I can also give you tongue.”

You groan. “God, you’re cringe. You sure you have fans?”

“A fucking lot of em.” He hovers above you, his inky bangs tickling your forehead. “Shut up and take it.”

Tongue teasing against the seam of your lips, he kisses you breathless for the hundredth time tonight. His hand slides up to cup the back of your neck as he pulls you closer, deepening it just enough, with a lot of tongue, as promised.

It’s that feeling.

You could stay here forever.

And that’s the problem.

For now, you let it be what it is. Just a moment where your body fits perfectly against his, your laugh harmonizes with his, and it feels like—just maybe—you were really meant to find each other in the middle of the sea.

You’re both hovering by the door, breaking every rule in the one night stand playbook. This wasn’t supposed to feel like this..

But it fucking does.

He’s dressed the same way he came in last night—cap tugged low over damp hair that smells faintly of your shampoo. You’re in your oversized T-shirt and sleep shorts, bare feet brushing the cold floor. It makes the contrast feel starker somehow—him stepping back into the world, you still rooted in this little bubble of what the night became.

“You think we'll see each other again?” he mumbles, leaning his shoulder beside the door. It’s a quiet question, almost tossed out like it’s nothing.

“You’re you,” you say simply. “You have the world in your hands. It really just depends on one thing.”

His brows lift, a flicker of interest breaking through the fatigue in his face. “And what’s that?”

“How bad you want this.”

That makes him pause.

His eyes dip down your body like he can’t help it. Then his teeth sink into his bottom lip. 

“Don’t make this harder,” he huffs.

“I’m not,” you whisper back. “I’m just being honest.”

“I don’t want to leave,” he says, barely audible.

You shrug, trying for casual even though your chest feels like it’s about to collapse. “But you have to.”

And that’s all there is to it.

He turns, opens the door.

But he doesn’t leave. Not immediately. He stands there, hoodie sleeves too long around his hands, looking back at you one last time.

His gaze doesn’t wander. It lands right on your face, and stays.

“Maybe next time,” he says, just like he did in the island.

You nod, barely. “Maybe.” You try a small smile.

He hesitates for a second more. Tries that small smile to mirror your own.

Then he leaves. And this time, it’s goodbye.

The door closes with a soft click, and the room is too quiet all over again, everything intact like he was never even there. Except he left with maybe just a tiny piece of you and replaced it with a bit of sparkle that you don’t notice immediately until you step back in your room.

That morning, you fire off a text to Soomchai asking why he gave a stranger your address and demand he send you a generous portion of his seafood pad thai as a peace offering. He obliges.

🗓️ June 2025 -📍 Phuket, Thailand

Life goes on. You didn’t have much choice in that.

The tours picked up again after the rainy season, but not in the way they used to. Fewer tourists, more locals. The occasional influencer. You learned to smile a little brighter. Talk a little faster.

But when things got tight—and God, they got tight—you picked up a second job teaching English online. What started as survival became something sustainable. Eventually, something yours. Your own business, your own pace, your own students across time zones who asked if Thailand really was that beautiful. You always smiled when they did. You tell them how sugary sweet the watermelons are.

And then there was the bracelet.

The one Yoongi left on the nightstand without a word. Understated but expensive in a way you only noticed when you turned it over in your hand and saw the brand pressed into the clasp. You kept it for months. Until the rent was due and the electricity bill was on its last notice and your fridge was nothing but leftover rice, soy sauce packets, and a bottle of beer.

The pawnshop paid you enough to stay afloat for four months.

And then last week—after months of hard work, after finding your footing again, you walked back into that same pawnshop and bought it back. The bracelet. 

Not that he’d ever come looking for it. But it felt right having it again. Like you were reclaiming something. Maybe not him, but you.

You think of Yoongi sometimes. Not in the hopeful, aching, delulu way you used to.

He’s no longer in headlines. Gone stone cold on socials. Even ARMY wants to do a recon mission to find him. But he’s doing his bid to serve his country so the absence must have been necessary for him. At least you hope so.

You play his music when you’re cooking, or on the rare evenings you chill on your balcony with a cold one and the humid breeze and his husky voice and the sweet piano melody lulls you to sleep.

It wasn’t clear then, but it is now. He simply was a blip on your timeline. An unforgettable 24 hours that changed the pace of your heartbeat. And you don’t hold it against him anymore.

If anything, he reminds you of your favorite line from one of his songs: “Future’s gonna be okay.”

And deep down, you really believe that.

It was one of those nights. Adele was blaring through your bluetooth speaker. And you’re out singing the shit outta her in the kitchen, lyrics be damned, crooning in your frilly little apron with a wooden spatula being used as your mic.

“Never mind I’ll find, someone like youuuuu…

I wish nothing but the best for youuuuuuu toooooo

Bla bla bla I bet I remember what you said

La la la sometimes it lasts in love but sometimes it hurts instead…”

It’s probably the onions but you’re now crying and it feels phenomenal and oddly cathartic.

Your phone chimes with a text.

Soomchai: Hey. Sorry I know it’s late. Stopping by to drop off dessert.

Strange, but okay. Everyone likes a freebie. Especially when it’s sugar.

You’re rinsing dishes when the doorbell comes.

You wipe your hands, heart racing for a reason you can’t name. You open the door.

And he’s there.

Not Soomchai.

Min Yoongi.

Wearing a hoodie just like when you last saw him. His hair is a bit shorter, face slightly more gaunt and just as guarded. There’s a weariness behind his eyes—one you recognize instantly.

He doesn’t smile. Doesn’t step forward.

Says one thing as you struggle to regulate the thumping of your heart.

“Dessert?”

You stand there, barefoot and blinking at him, stunned into silence. You want to ask why now. You want to ask what changed. But instead, you step aside. Quietly. 

He walks in, a plastic bag with dessert in tow. Takes off his shoes. Looks around like the space is familiar and foreign all at once.

And then—

“I tried to forget you,” he says, voice a bit raw. “Turns out I can’t.”

You swallow hard, emotion clawing up your throat.

“Me too,” you say softly, lifting your wrist so he can see the glimmer of his bracelet. You haven't removed it since you got it back.

He nods, walking closer. He hesitates just long enough to make your pulse quicken.

You stare at him, waiting.

“Wanna try this again,” he says. “If you still want to.”

You don’t answer right away. You just step forward and wrap your arms around his waist, burying your face in the warm cotton of his hoodie. He exhales, slow and shaky, like he wasn’t sure you'd say yes. How could you not? He walks in with a pretty face, and even prettier words.

“I missed you,” you whisper.

“I missed you too,” he replies.

And that night, he proves how much.

“Butterflyfish,” you whisper.

“Hm?” His voice is drowsy, the sound vibrating softly against your forehead.

You tilt your head back, just enough to glance up at him—but his eyes are already closed, lids heavy, expression peaceful in that half-dream state right before sleep.

“The fish you were looking for,” you say quietly. “Back then.”

There’s a small pause. A breath. Then a soft, sleepy grunt of remembrance.

“Ah.”

His arms tighten around you, warm and sure, like he’s tethering himself to this moment. To you.

“Thank you,” he murmurs.

You feel it more than hear it—his lips brushing your hair, the words settling between your ribs.

“For helping me find what I was looking for.”

The End :)

A/N: … and now we know deez fish. 🤭

I hope this story was like a brief vacay in the tropics just like in Yoongi’s vlog, and made you feel like you were there in the moment with him. 

Well—tell me what you think! Favorite parts? Please leave me a note and reblog if you enjoyed this story! 🙏🏼😘

Thank you for reading, you lovely, beautiful human. xo

Check out my masterlist if you want more Yoongi.

Permanent Taglist: (the rest to follow in a reblog)

@wonh0oe @woozuzu @glossdebut @kiki-zb @kookiewithluv

@agustblog @maryhopemei @perfectiondazesworld @kimsaerom @kam9404

@00-sleepdontweep-00 @tea4sykes @mggv97 @marnz1990

@whydoeyecare @pastelmin @tarahardcore @minjenna @chimmchimmm

@aaclariww @mar-lo-pap @tinytan-gerine @vesperbells @butterymin

@eve1633455 @baechugff @lilkittenjenjen @wobblewobble822 @coffeedepressionsoup

@futuristicenemychaos @jadestonedaeho7 @granataepfelchen @whoa-jo @annyeongbitch7

@chimmisbae @sexytholland @idkjustlovingbts @kpophosblog @tinyelfperson

@yoongicatagenda @codeinebelle @parapiop7 @diame93 @janeelizabeth1216

@withmuchluv-tannie @abadiimm-

@angellekookie

[l0s3rd0wnt0wn]

How would Bruce be affected after the kidnapped fic ?

So many people liked this fic, I have to do a follow-up post! But here's the post if you all want to see it again. Kidnapped fic

Reader is avoiding the bats at every chance they get. Like, you're not even 6 ft apart; isn't that enough? You need them far away from you. They're the reason you got kidnapped in the first place. You weren't a child of Bruce Wayne; if you weren't associated with him, this could have never happened. Not only that, you start to blame yourself. Like a lot, you think maybe if you were strong like Damian, you could have fought them off. Maybe if you didn't rely on them for almost everything, then you would have been safe. You're spending every waking moment and every hour with your mom. She's holding you tight, saying everything is going to be okay. She sleeps with you in your bedroom and never leaves your side. It's crazy how you feel so much safer with her than you'll ever feel with the bats. But since you're at a distance from them and won't even speak to them, their yandere tendencies are literally skyrocketing. Bruce is using the Batcomputer to find the goons that kidnapped you and ruin their entire lives. Dick is literally outside of your room asking—no, begging—for you to let him in. He leaves little notes at your door, trying his hardest for you to talk to him. At one point, he's going to bust down that door just to try and comfort you. Jason knows what it's like to be abandoned and forgotten. He did call you a spoiled brat, but he never really meant it. He's your big brother. Please let your big brother help you when you need him the most; he can relate to how you're feeling right now. He swears just let him protect you; he wants to be the one to save you, whether you like it or not. Tim is watching your every move. You finally feel confident enough to go out alone by yourself, but he's two steps behind you, staring. He had a nightmare that you were taken away again. He opens your door and watches you sleep for hours, just to make sure that you're still there. Duke is trying to help you gain confidence by going outside and being out at night, but every time he tries to hold your hand or keep you close, you pull away instantly. It breaks his heart to know that he has to keep you at arm's length because that's the only way you guys can connect. But don't worry; he'll be the night light in the city of darkness just for you. You and Damian have a tough relationship; really tough. But he just doesn't find it fair that you're confiding in Alfred or your mother or everybody else except him. When he tries to get close to you, you flinch away. He's not going to hurt you; he swears he's not. He may be the grandson of the demon head, but he's nothing like Ra's, and he's trying to prove that to you and to himself. It doesn't matter; he's chaperoning you no matter where you go, forcing you to hold his hand or stay close. As Robin, it's his job to keep people safe, especially the people he cares about, even if they don't know that he cares about them.

[604to647]

Wrong Number

3.4K / Detective Tim Rockford x fem!reader

Summary: Detective Tim Rockford receives an unexpected text after leaving for work.

Warnings: 18+ Content (MDNI pls). Established relationship, nicknames (Shutterbug, baby, gorgeous), roleplay (sort of), possessive!Tim, bratty!reader (but not really, just loves to prank her man and gets exactly what she wants), PWP, oral (f receiving; Tim eats it from the back), unprotected PiV, spanking (ass and pussy), roughish sex, dirty talk, pussy pronouns.

A/N: Been feeling out of practice with writing smut lately so... I practiced 😂😁😇 As with all instalments of The Rockford Portfolio, can be read standalone, takes place anytime after their relationship has been established. Inspired by this TikTok prank/trend (a reminder that Tim does not have TikTok - as confirmed in Macarons).

Dividers by @saradika-graphics - tysm 🥰 / Series Masterlist

You couldn’t.  It’s too mean.

Biting your lip to stifle your own giggles, you practically skip back to your and Tim’s bedroom - pretty pink sheer nightgown flouncing as you contemplate going through with your prank.

Settling on top of your now cooled sheets, your mind flashes back to scenes from the previous night: Tim’s smoldering gaze washing down your body as he towered over you, playing you like his own personal instrument - three fingers strumming and curling until you sang the demanded melody for which only he had the sheet music.  You came twice before he finally fed you his cock - taking you pressed up against the window overlooking the friendly neighbourhood street in front of your building while growling anything but friendly filth in your ear about how anyone could look up and see how you were born to bounce on his dick.

Then there was this morning: Tim’s head between your legs as your thighs quaked, threatening to close over his ears as he pulled orgasm after orgasm from your cunt with his talented tongue; only letting you repay the favour after you had thoroughly soaked his facial scruff and the front of his sleeping shirt with your nectar.  You can still taste the salt of him on your tongue and feel the rawness in your throat from the scape of Tim’s thick length, now much soothed having been coated with the creamy balm of his cum.

You should be contented, fulfilled - but you’re not; the greedy ache between your legs growing by the second and making its presence known like a horny little devil.

As a matter of personal principal, you never say “I wish you didn’t have to go” or “Please don’t leave” to your detective when duty calls.  Though these thoughts are not unfamiliar to your heart, you have no desire to ever ask your man to choose between you and his work, nor do you think it would sit well with either of you if Tim were to shirk his law enforcement responsibilities at your request.

Instead, you just wrap your arms around Detective Rockford’s thick trunk a little tighter, chase his lips a little bit longer like you did only five minutes ago when he left for the precinct this Saturday morning.  You and Tim recited your usual ritual, simple and familiar words dressing feelings of worry and longing that run deeper than either of you can ever articulate in these moments:

Come back to me safe, Detective Rockford.

Nothing could keep me from you, Shutterbug.

This morning, however, these soft declarations don’t calm your heart or abate your want for your handsome detective as they usually would.  Your little devil clenches on nothing, demanding and egging you on – it’s Saturday and he’s only going in for a few hours of paperwork, what’s the harm in reminding Tim of what he has waiting at home?

The words, copied from a couples prank trending on TikTok, loaded with innuendo and implication is already typed out on your phone; your thumb hovers over the SEND button of the fake “wrong number” text: He just left, you can come over now 💋💋💋

You press SEND and wait - the read receipt indicates it’s seen right away; chewing your bottom lip, you watch as three little dots pop up to show that Tim’s typing a response.  Eagerly, you wait for his text - but it never comes; the dots vanish, reappearing a moment later only to disappear again without any message coming through.

Then you hear it.

A siren. 

At first a faint wail, the sound quickly crescendos to a blaring horn as the source approaches at an impressive speed.  You bound to the window and watch as Tim’s Crown Vic, cherry light flashing on the hood, roars down your street and parallel parks back into the spot he only just vacated with a precision that makes your mouth go dry.  Tim climbs out and slams the driver’s side door closed, long legs already taking him halfway to your building.  He looks pissed.

For a second you panic, he does know it’s a prank, right?  He must – Tim’s a brilliant detective after all; there’s no way he would actually believe the text is real and that you’re cheating on him – just as Tim never gives you any reason to doubt his devotion and fidelity, you’re sure Detective Rockford knows that he’s your one and only.  The message has done its job: Tim’s back and he’s definitely riled up - you race back onto the bed, positively giddy with anticipation of your detective’s return.

Faking interest in your phone, you pretend to be unaware of your front door being flung open, then ceremoniously slammed shut with a forceful bang.  Heavy footsteps echo through the apartment, growing in volume before coming to a stop in your bedroom’s open doorway.

“What have you been doing, Shutterbug?”

You look up, the perfect picture of innocence, as if only just noticing Tim’s return: he’s leaning against the doorframe, one flexed forearm braced above his head – you squeeze your thighs together at the sight.

“Just scrolling through Instagram.  You’re back already, Detective?”

“Got a text I couldn’t ignore,” he stalks towards the bed and holds up his phone, the prank text you just sent displayed on the screen, “what’s this all about, baby?”

“I don’t have the foggiest clue, but you’re the detective, not me,” you goad him, unable to keep your lips from curling into a smirk.

Tim studies the dancing mischief in your big doe eyes – he’s seen through this type of feigned confusion from plenty of perps in the interrogation room, but on you, it’s cute.  He begins to crawl over your body, grinning to himself when your breath hitches at the obsidian of his eyes, “I think you wanted me to see this text, wanted me to go nuts.”

You flutter your eye lashes, “Why would I want that, Detective?”

Tim advances, predatory and dangerous – with nowhere to go, you fall back onto your soft bedding with a sharp exhale, “Maybe my pretty baby needs a reminder on who she belongs to?  Or perhaps, you’re just being a greedy girl?”

Still relishing your role as the bright-eyed innocent, you say nothing – Tim’s hulking frame hovers and you happily breathe in his intoxicating scent, a mixture of his cologne, clean soap, and authority.  He’s so, so close but has yet to touch you since returning; it takes all of your self restraint not to reach up and grab Tim by the leather holster straps bracketing his thick arms and pull him down for a kiss.

“Is my little Shutterbug not satisfied? Didn’t I fill you with enough cum last night? You seemed plenty happy this morning when I was eating your hungry hole like a cream puff.”

Fuck.  Your only answer is a pathetic whine.

“You need more, gorgeous?”

Your vigorous nod is almost comical - Tim chuckles darkly and leans in.  You arch up, eager to meet his lips - but the sweet connection you’ve been craving never comes; Tim is stilled above you, teasing eyes fixed on your growing frustration.

“Maybe I’m not the man for the job since I was the one who left you sooooo needy?”

You could cry, “You are! I want you, Detective!”

Tim pulls his handsome face away, escaping the reach of your clawing hands, “You sure you don’t need someone else, baby?  Maybe the lucky man who was supposed to receive this text?”

Fisting his crisp white dress shirt so hard it might rip, you beg, “I’m sure, Tim! You, I only need you!”

No match for Tim’s strength, you watch helplessly as Tim easily breaks free from your grip and moves backwards off the bed, “I don’t know, Shutterbug.  Just a couple minutes ago you were inviting someone over to give you what I couldn’t – you can’t be that sure. Maybe I need to convince you?”

Before you can register what’s happening, Tim grabs you by the ankles and pulls you down the bed towards him, flipping you onto your stomach with a blinding speed that knocks the breath out of your lungs.  His hands travel up your thighs, thick fingers digging into the meat of your hips and yanking up so you’re now on your knees, face still smothered into your bedspread, moaning.

Smack.

You yelp, dizzy from the pleasure of the sting left behind on your ass cheek from Tim’s generous palm.

“Love the way this ass bounces for me.”  Smack, smack. “She dances like this for anyone else?”

Turning your head to press your cheek on the soft covers, you look back to admire the dominating stance Tim takes at the foot of the bed, whimpering, “No, Detective.”

He smiles at you indulgently, but his eyes remain hunter-like; flipping up the thin skirt of your night gown and roughly pulling down your panties before dropping to his knees.

“Hello again, beautiful.” A puff of cool hair hits your glistening pussy and you clench from the syrupy sweetness of Tim’s baritone.

Two thick fingers part your sticky folds and massage your slit, collecting and spreading the slick that continues to drip from you.  You curve the slope of your back further, pressing your chest into the mattress and wiggling your ass for more.  At the two sharp slaps to your pussy, you lurch, moaning heady and unabashed as Tim soothes his reprimand with gentle butterfly kisses all over your cunt.

A smile is pressed to your heat, “Hmmmm, she said she didn’t have anything to do with the text, baby - that it was all you. She’s my good girl.”

“Traitor,” you mutter into the sheets, but beam as Tim nuzzles and strokes his nose over your core, you feel rather than hear his barely audible purring:

Such a good, good girl.  So perfect.  You know who you belong to, don’t you?

“Timmmmmmmm…” you whine, reminding him that you’re the one who needs tending to, you’re the one who called him back.

Tim ignores you and continues to lay soft, sweet kisses to your pussy, singing her praises, “You know you don’t need anyone else - isn’t that right, beautiful?  Doesn’t matter who she texts; no boy is ever going to give it to you like I can.”

A completely irrational, hot surge of jealousy nearly snaps your head around when your body jumps and shudders, words of protest stuck in your throat as Tim dives face first into your blooming cunt and starts to devour you.

There’s no gentleness, no build-up, Detective Rockford simply feasts – guided by hunger, determination, instinct.  Every lick and slurp of Tim’s tongue substantiates the claims of his earlier words, there’s no inch of your pussy that’s safe from the resolve of his mouth.  He power strokes your wet folds and torments your hole with his tongue, his lips, his nose; every switch up, change in direction or pattern is purposeful, meant to disorient you – and it’s working: you think you’re going to lose you goddamn mind.  Arousal flooding down your inner thighs, there’s nowhere for you to find reprieve - Tim’s rough hands grip bruises into your ass cheeks, spreading them wide and keeping you at his mercy.  By now, you’re mewling and clawing at the sheets above your head, the only coherent sound that escapes your drooling mouth is the repetition of your detective’s name.  Tim’s own growls and the wet smacking of his continued raid on your cunt echo off the walls in your other otherwise silent and serene bedroom; impossibly, your detective doubles down with a snarl, sucking and gnawing a practiced path from your clit to your ass and back, over and over and over.  He’s barely breeched your opening and you’re already about to come.

“Fuck, fu- Tim, I’m so close, so close, I’m gon-, gonna… fuck, baby, please!!”

Detective Rockford comes off your cunt with the loudest pop you’ve ever heard, and continues to conspire against you in a playful yet domineering tone, “Should we let her come, beautiful?  Let her be a good girl, too?”

Throwing your head back in a howl, you tighten, empty and desperate – this answer apparently placating Tim enough for him dive back in, he latches directly onto your pulsing clit and starts sucking.

Your orgasm slams into you like a freight train and you scream and pound your fists into the mattress.  Tim’s soothing palm rubbing your ass as you ride out the aftershocks of one of the most explosive highs you’ve ever experienced distracts you enough that you don’t hear the clinking of his belt buckle and the undoing of his work trousers.

Jaw slack and eyes still partially unfocused, you remain faced down and ass up, unmoving, when out of the corner of your eye, you see Tim lift and press one of his knees on the bed for leverage.  He wicks his swollen head through the honey of your release and you shiver in anticipation; later, you would look back on the last thing you hear before Tim pushes in as a clear warning:

“I’m not going to make the same mistake of leaving you needy again, Shutterbug.”

He pounds into you.

Every one of Tim’s thrusts is unrelenting on your sopping hole; she does her best to hug and console his cock with her warm embrace, but Tim’s drive is unforgiving – this is about proving a point.  Panting and grunting with the intensity of his exertion, Detective Rockford ruts into you animalistic, feral and with his vice grip on your waist, he bounces you to meet each punishing jab.  Bottoming out every push, Tim’s balls slap against your clit like the crop against a racehorse’s hind and you neigh and whinny in response - high and wild, trying to run.  He grabs your wrists and pins them behind your back, then lifts his knee to place his foot down in its place; with you pinned to the bed and trapped, the steepness of this new angle is delicious.

Tim repeatedly sheaths himself into your warmth, withdrawing wholly and waiting to witness the cry of your gushing cunt before slamming himself back in again.  You whine and plead, for what you don’t even know – the pleasure that Tim’s giving you is so intense, so merciless, you’re feeling like you might actually float away when your man’s dirty mouth brings you crashing back to Earth.

“Your pussy looks so good like this, Shutterbug – stretched wide and taking dick.”

“Knew exactly what you were doing sending me that text, didn’t you?  Knew even the idea of another man touching you would send me racing home…”

You think you might pass out.

“… to give you this cock.”

“This what you wanted, baby?”

You mumble something incoherently into the pool of drool that’s collecting on the bedspread.

“Yeah?  You wanted to be fucked hard and dumb?”

“Just a little plaything for me to tear apart and put back wet and bare before leaving for work?”

“Omigod, Tim!!  Yes, yes!”  Lightheaded and unable to take a full breath with the way your chest is being driven into the mattress, your pussy throbs - pleasure blossoming from Tim’s possessive and dominant tone.

“Could the little boy toy you text make you feel this way?”

You shake your head into the wet sheets, the welcomed hurt from your arms being pulled back only amplifying just how good Tim is making the rest of your body feel.

“Who is it you need, Shutterbug?”

You want to reply that it’s him, only ever him, but your eyes are too busy rolling to the back of your head and your body is being jolted too violently by the force of Tim’s thrusts for you to collect your thoughts, nevermind form words.

Known for doggedly getting to the truth of any matter, Detective Rockford pulls you up and holds you flush against his chest, strong forearm banding below your tits while his other hand comes to a rest at the base of your neck.  You loll your head back against Tim’s shoulder, sighing at the coolness of his holster leather against the heat of your skin.  Tim fucks up into you from below and you both gasp from the electric shock of this new position, “Fuck, you’re so deep, Detective.”

Your detective bounces you on his cock and with every punch, reaching those part of you that only he’s ever explored and marked.  An alarmingly low growl ghosts the shell of your ear, “I asked, who is it you need, baby?”

 “You, oh god, only you, Tim!!”

“And who do you belong to?”

“You!”

“That’s right.  You’re mine, gorgeous.”

“Gonna make you come so hard, your pretty head will never forget.”

“That you belong to me.”

“This pussy belongs to me.”

“The way it comes belongs to me.”

“You ONLY come for me.”

He’s ramming into you so hard, you can only attempt a pathetic nod against his shoulder, whispering against Tim’s lips, “Yours.”

“Fuck.”

Tim’s lips crash against yours in the first kiss you’ve shared since he left this morning; you both moan loudly at the much-missed contact, mouths unable to conceal the affection and love you hold for one another despite the way Tim continues to destroy your needy cunt.

He tastes of you and when your tang transfers from his tongue to yours, you shudder and clamp down on his cock; sinfully, you lick behind Tim’s teeth and suck on his lips, returning your essence back to its rightful owner - See?  Yours, all of me is yours. 

Grabbing fists full of your tits, Tim squeezes the soft flesh and pulls on your aching peaks, causing you to cry out and break the kiss; he gives it to you so rough and punishing everywhere, pushing you closer and closer to the edge.  The stranglehold of your pussy is sucking him so tight and deep, Tim knows he won’t last much longer, he continues to twist and roll your diamond hard nipples while snipping at your earlobes, “I’m close, baby.  Give me one more and I’ll stuff my pretty cocksleeve to the brim with cum.”

It's the dirtiest, filthiest, hottest thing Tim has ever called you, and wailing something catastrophic, you come instantly at his words.  Tim follows soon after, painting your velvet walls with ropes of white as promised.

While you wait for your heartbeat to return to normal, Tim holds you tender and protective, fluttering sweet kisses all over your face, across your neck, along your shoulders - murmuring with genuine concern, “You okay, Shutterbug?  Was that okay?”

You nod, spent and pliant, “It was perfect, Detective.  Better than anything I could have imagined.”

He lays you down gently and you melt into the bed as Tim goes to fetch a cloth for cleanup.  As he gently wipes the mess that’s begun trickling out of your sore and satiated cunt, you think you hear him whisper to himself, amused, “Stuffed to the brim”.  Sitting next to you on the bed, Tim brushes the hair out of your face and rubs your limp body with his now gentle hands until he’s comfortable with the condition he’s leaving you in.

Grabbing a blanket, he presses soft kisses down your exposed back and at your quiet exhale of contentment, smiles before covering you with the cozy fabric.  He sneaks one last loving kiss to your hair and stands, admiring the angelic serenity that’s taken over your dozing face.

“Tim?” you murmur into your pillow, barely audible.

“Shutterbug?”

“You know that text wasn’t real, right?  There isn’t anyone but you,” somewhere halfway between consciousness and dreamland, you crack open your sleepy eyes, voice vulnerable and small.

Tim kneels next to the bed so you can see the affection in his eyes, “I know, baby.  Just as there isn’t anyone but you for me.”  Lightly stroking your pretty face with the back of two of his thick fingers, Detective Rockford continues, good humour on display, “Besides, what kind of detective would I be if I believed that text at face value when I already have all the evidence in the world that the woman I love is beyond loyal and trustworthy?  She’s perfect and true.”

You give his fingers a sweet peck, too exhausted at the moment to express the depth of your gratitude for Tim’s faith in your love - you’ll have to show him later.  “Ok, good.  Just making sure,” your eyes close again, smile dopey, “come back to me safe, Detective Rockford.”

“Nothing could keep me from you, Shutterbug.  I love you.”

“Love you,” you coo, already drifting off into a deep slumber.

Leaving you to your rest, Detective Rockford departs with a silent promise that he’ll return home as soon as he can - walking to his car for the second time this morning with a little extra spring in his step.

[fuctacles]

Small World

1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5

@genderthings Stobin at Work: custodians T | 771 | Hellcheer, Stobin, one-sided Steddie and Buckingham | Hellcheer's POV, pining, Stobin sharing a braincell, Humor, Everybody Lives AU, banter

Life is good. Everyone is alive and well, escaping Vecna with only minor injuries. And now Eddie and his best friend Chrissy, safe and sound, can focus on the mundane things in life once again. Like evading their gay crushes as they try to figure out their sexualities and not make a complete stuttering idiots out of themselves. 

It seems simple, at first--ask the boys of Corroded Coffin to rent movies for them so they can avoid Family Video, or just keep up to date with what's currently showing. 

It's at one of the latter instances when they first learn how difficult it could be to actually avoid them. 

They're at the late night screening of some hyped up thriller. On a weekday, there were barely any people at the cinema, and Eddie was taking advantage of it by having his legs thrown over the backrest in front of him. The lights are already back on and Chrissy is ready to leave, but she settles in to wait him out--he's a firm believer of having his money's worth and he's paid for the whole movie, end credits included. 

The employees usually hate him for it, but worst case scenario they'll start cleaning everywhere around and get to his seat last. But it's not like they come in vacuums blasting as soon as the lights are on. 

Well, unless it's a weekday and there are literally just two assholes between them and going home. 

"Hey man, could you put your feet down?"

Eddie almost falls on his ass in his haste to fix his position. Because he knows that voice. 

He cranes his neck to see down the row of seats, where an unimpressed figure stands with a broom in one hand, the other one resting on his hip. 

"Steve?" he asks, unwilling to believe his eyes. 

"Yeah, don't get so excited." Steve rolls his eyes in that bitchy ways of his. And then he's walking down the aisle towards them, so Eddie straightens himself up. Chrissy throws him a judgmental look, but is otherwise occupied looking for her own kryptonite, undoubtedly hiding nearby. 

Now that he can see him better, he can tell Steve is wearing a shirt in cinema's signature colors, thrown haphazardly over his civilian clothes. 

"Don't you work at Family Video?" he blurts out.

Steve shrugs, stopping next to them and leaning against one of the seats. He finally seems to spot Chrissy, giving her a small finger wave. 

"Hi, Chris. Robin is right behind, had an accident with a butter nozzle," he tells her, because her looking was not subtle in the slightest. Then he turns back to Eddie. "Well, they've cut our hours so we're looking for extra gigs."

Before Eddie can ask any extra questions, there's a clatter at the entrance, followed by a sound of distress. 

"Steve! Everything is buttery!" 

Steve sighs, turning around. 

"I told you to use the paper towels. And the dish soap. You said you had this!" 

"Well, I don't!" Robin pointedly waves her hands around, shiny with, presumably, butter residue. "I had to touch the doorknobs and the sink and the soap bottle and now everything--! Oh, hi, Chrissy!"

Chrissy waves at her, stunned.

"Well, sorry to interrupt your chit-chat but I really need Steve to be doing his job right now."

"I am!" he pointedly waves his broom around. "And what are you doing? Adding more job to our job!" 

"It was not my intention! Now come help me, it's an all hands on deck situation!" 

"It will be an all hands situation when we clean yours from grease!" He sighs, leaning the broom against the wall. "Sorry guys, we'll talk some other time." He smiles apologetically to their friends while trying to dodge the hands trying to oil up his face and hair. "You okay to see yourself out?"

That's a weird question. Eddie has been to the movies enough times to know his way around, and the doors stay open until the last screening is over. 

The credits are still rolling, but he nods his head. 

"Sure, don't worry about us Steve-o." Eddie hastily stands up, pulling Chrissy along. "We'll get out of your hair."

"Bye Chrissy, bye Eddie!" Robin yells as she's pulled into the dark depths of cinema corridors by her wrists. 

"Bye guys!"

"Bye Buckley!"

"Good luck with the butter!"

Once safely outside, they scream into the dark night sky. 

"Nowhere is safe," Eddie sighs, looking at the joke of a universe spreading above him.

"Not anymore," Chrissy sighs along.

"Let's just grab a TV guide on the way back."

[uarmygguk]

NO ONE, BUT YOU ⋆ 전정국

. . . . KISS ME, dangerous. been so lost without you all around me . . .

pairing, jungkook x model f!reader tags/warnings, little suggestive/allusion to smut, fwb2l, not too plot heavy js vibes lol note, slightly edited version of one of my drafts while i work on other longer wips <3 taglist, @ggukivrse @bangatanily | click here to join taglist! love diaries music rec, "Shirt"— SZA

feedback is appreciated! xx

˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚

"Hold my hand in secret and kiss me when no one's looking."

Eyes skimming around the sky now felt like a burden, you just wanted to give up and collapse, finally, onto the couch or the ground would even do— for how you felt like a human wrapped in a cyclone, world feeling dizzy as fuck.

There behind, as the only source of light apart from the moon ablaze —an otherwise fluttering sight to drink in, if it weren't for the current scenario— lay your phone, chats blowing up like gushing water following a drought.

Him, Jungkook, is your best friend but with benefits. A mutual help was what you agreed upon but eventually it became really hard for your heart to continue to bottle up the feelings growing in, with each touch, each caress and each contact. Skin to skin.

Walking up towards the little table across the balcony, you pick up your phone, scanning the texts you just received from Jungkook. How he portrayed all the words, you couldn't believe he was feeling so. 

Reciprocated. 

Your love was bound back in all means from his fucking heart. Jeon Jungkook's heart. 

Days ago, you were shattered by what he asked for, after you had your timbers shivering and knees clamping in all seriousness of the confession he presented before you.

Everything seemed to wash into your mind all at once, making things twice as hard. Tossing the gadget away, landing safe on the couch, his chat was still open. You took yourself into your well-kept bedroom, for a cup of water so that every piece of information, each adversity and ecstasy would sink in thoroughly.

"Hold my hand in secret and kiss me when no one's looking."

These couple of words echoed to and fro inside your tight heart, remembering when this was part of the "contract" / help you were lending to each other. He needed you, but was scared of society. A shit ton of insecurities ate him up alive each time, when he thought about how he'll be judged to be "using" you, the daughter of a revered model in South Korea. 

But all you know is, you love him for good. You'd never regret being his friend and now, someone he loves. Society has clamped a huge pressuring weight on each one’s shoulder. Sometimes it is the constant nagging to remain perfect. Sometimes it's how you're not perfect / likable. 

You don't give two hoots about the media, your "famous" family and your friends who go blind at shiny things. You'd gave no fucks about big and bold in the community. If you got the chance now, like right now, it'll be you on one knee with an imperfectly perfect paper ring, proposing to someone who already has your heart wrapped around in his strong fists. 

"Oh, Jeon. You make me fucking crazy." You whisper, now, admiring the sky feels less a burden, that heart of yours somehow eased into peace.

She flipped, landed and spun in circles every time he touched you. Everytime his fingers came in contact with the one tiny tattoo resting on top of the skin right next to your sternum. Everytime he kissed you there and traced it with his tongue.

Funny how you address your heart as if it was a person, right? It is. Now, she has safely landed upon something, hilarious much, again how she found peace, her world in the chaos.

"Can I take her for a ride then?" You jumped at the sudden cameo of a familiar raspy voice. Yes. That's it. It's the very voice you longed to hear, even after all the confusion and frustration. 

"Jungkook.." Oh. So you've been thinking out loud. Not embarrassing at all.

"Are you gonna let me in or should I stay hanging on your balcony?" He tightens the grip around the railing, trying to stay intact.

"Shit, sorry." You finally move, grabbing his wrists, surely not helping much as he pulls up and jumps over, hands landing taut around your waist as soon as he's on ground-level.

His eyes roam around yours, spewing a thousand words through its gaze.

And her. Your heart.

She was absolutely down. Damn much.

Toppling over and crash landing in the walls trying to break out and finally run into his heart.

"Calm down you stupid little organ. I'm not affected. No, not one bit." 

You ironically smiled at him, as he raised a brow at you. Amusement written across his annoyingly good looking face.

"Stop."

"You're making me feel, Han." He spat, fierce and quiet.

"Stop this, or I might lose myself. And I'm fucking not taking myself back. Ever."

You exhaled, the anxiety slowly waving goodbye. He's playing.

"Is that so? Then hold my hand and make me yours as the world witnesses us, Jungkook. I know for a fact that nothing can change now. It’s now, or never." Both of you were deprived. It's been days since you saw him after the controversy that arose along with a few pictures of you spending time with him, all around social media.

It immediately sent your mind to overdrive, already seeing an end to the 6 month long arrangement.

But more than that, the years long friendship you shared with this man standing in front of you.

However, his eyes swam over yours, alerting you that he doesn't give a fuck. None about the media, none about your background.

He scoffs, leaning in. "The problem is,," 

He does that, for the first time in ages. He holds your chin to face him, like he used to do, back then. Now there's different emotions mixed in, with all the lust.

Love. 

"If I kissed you, now and here, I'd not be able to stop. Don't fucking expect me to."

And there, his lips fall on yours, like a missing puzzle, skin hot against each other as he eventually picks you up in the process, and puts you down, towering over once again.

The gates of hell opened once more, as he pressed open mouthed kisses next to the v-line of your body-con, on the tattoo.

He wanted your body, pressed up against his heart.  Your hands, spreading his thoughts. Gripping your love, hope and desires, cupping them with nothing but passion. Fire. You felt his soul breathing heavily against your collarbones. You felt him nibble all the un uttered thoughts onto your ears. His hopes, naked on your skin. You needed each other. In a way unexplainable for eternities to come.

[luigisleftshoe]

Frat Boy/College Luigi headcanons

Essentially what it would have been liked if you dated him in college 

I feel like he was a bit of a social chameleon back in the day. Like he can party and be the loud, fun, beer-pong god when he wants to be– but also once the final call of “IF YOUR NOT A BROTHER OR FUCKING A BROTHER” hes in his room grinding leetcode.

I feel like he's lowkey super cocky but in a very lovable way. Like talks big game but is a total sweetie pie when it comes to you. He's always super earnest and tries really hard not to mess it up. 

Is super anal about the rules during beer pong. “YOUR ELBOWS NEED TO BE BACK” ass bitch. He trash talks the entire time too. 

Will absolutely flex during beer pong if you’re watching.Over-the-top dramatic tosses just to make you laugh. Then grinning like a dumbass when you cheer for him.

Gets stupidly cocky when you’re winning. Points at you across the table like "THIS ONE RIGHT HERE. SHE’S A KILLER. SHE’S DANGEROUS." Chest out, grinning like he just invented beer pong himself.

Trash talks to the other team but immediately turns soft to you: Leans down, low voice in your ear: "You look so good when you’re competitive, babe. Kinda wanna take you home right now."

Lowkey he's the unofficial tech support of the frat house. Sets up the Wifi, fixes the smart TV and replaces the sound system. Whenever the brothers break something digital, they come knocking like “Bro you’re in CS fix it please”

Has an absolutely janky gaming setup in his frat house room. Like I feel like we all knew that one guy in college who brought his entire gaming setup with him and that was him. LED lights everywhere, cords tangled like a small jungle, and like monitors on too small of a desk. His room will be pretty spik and span tho. Like he does not give me messy vibes tbh. 

His room is the “safe” room. His personal room is surprisingly clean, smells good, has a half-dead succulent on the window sill, and is always stocked with energy drinks. He will absolutely pull you away from the chaos at a party to “take a break” in his room...and definitely hopes you’ll stay over.

Brings you to tailgates and makes you sit on his lap the whole time.(You’re wearing his oversized frat hoodie because you “forgot your jacket” — he 100% orchestrated this.)

You’re trying to study seriously. He’s trying to code. Every 15 minutes he gets bored and pokes you like "Babe... pay attention to me... look I made a stupid script that says I love you over and over." If you actually get mad because you’re stressed, he gets quiet for a minute...then gets up and brings you a Red Bull and kisses the top of your head like "Sorry. You're gonna crush it. I'll shut up now."

Every time you wear his hoodie to class, he texts you dumb, filthy things like "wearing my hoodie just reminds you who you belong to, huh babe?" followed immediately by "sorry that was horny, good luck on your midterm tho."

Pulls you into the coat closet at a party just to make out, then yells, "OCCUPIED!" if anyone tries to open the door. 

Takes advantage of "one bed" situations on frat formals like "well babe guess we have to share... what a tragedy... crazy how that happens."

Tries to act chill, but you catch him coding in the dark at 3AM, hoodie up, headphones in, completely tense. You have to climb onto his lap, steal his laptop away, and force him to take breaks because he literally won’t unless you make him. Once he realizes you’re taking care of him he melts, leans back into you, buries his face in your neck, mumbling "You're too good for me. I’m gonna marry you."

The “Designated Social Chair” (But Pretends He’s Not) He's not officially in charge of parties... but somehow he's planning 90% of them. Knows the bouncer, the bartender, and the delivery guy by first name. Will drunk-plan an entire formal event around "what theme would my girl look hottest in." (Fully votes for Casino Night just because he thinks you in a cocktail dress will ruin him.)

Sober Monitoring but Bad at It. Takes a turn being the "sober monitor" at a party. Takes his job way too seriously for about 30 minutes. By midnight he’s tipsy and yelling at a freshman about how to properly do keg stands, dragging you into it like "babe show him how it’s done."

Wear your hair tie around his wrist like it’s a friendship bracelet.

Tell the bartender you’re celebrating your anniversary even when you’re not just to get you free shots.

Will not let you walk home alone. Ever. Even if he’s blackout, even if you live two feet away — he's walking you.

Pulls you onto his lap at a party and lowkey grips your hips harder than necessary when you start to get up —growls in your ear like "Where you think you're going, baby?" (completely ignores the 30 people in the room.)

You dare him to go a whole party without touching you —he lasts maybe 20 minutes before hauling you into a dark hallway, caging you against the wall, and whispering,"You win. Happy? Now shut up and let me kiss you."

Makes out with you sloppily against the fridge at a party because he’s drunk and needy and has no shame.

At parties, he’s grinning and teasing and being everyone's favorite, but his hand is always somewhere low on your waist, thumb slipping under your shirt — just enough to keep you feeling it without anyone noticing. 

If someone flirts with you? He doesn't start drama. He just pulls you back against his chest, leans down all slow, and murmurs in your ear: "Think you're funny teasing me like that? Wait till we get home." (All while smiling like an angel.)

A very clingy drunk. Half-whining, half-muttering shit like: "You have no idea what you do to me, babe.", "I can't even think straight when you wear my clothes.", "Swear to god I’d skip rush week just to stay home and fuck you all night."

Sends you stupid texts like "wya" -> "i miss ur face" -> "also ur ass" -> "mostly ur face but also ass"  in rapid succession.

Oh but if your the one to flirt with him and make moves at the party man is a blushing mess. He doesn't know what to do. You flirt aggressively at a party? He blushes like a virgin and immediately forgets how to form sentences. Stammers something dumb like "babe don't play with me like that" while internally combusting.

Gets into “philosophy debates” drunk. Will randomly drunkenly corner you at 2AM like: "Babe... babe listen... what if life is just one big recursion function we’re stuck in."Has absolutely argued for 30 minutes that “love is just the optimal solution for biological survival” and then kissed you like his life depended on it.

[gds-daisy]

dream girl

pairing: choi seunghyun x fem!reader

warning(s): body image issues, fluff, praise, pet names (sweetheart, darling, etc), make out session

based off this song!

Seunghyun didn’t know what was going on with his girlfriend and it was starting to worry him profusely. They had been dating for 6 months now and they shared everything together. Both of them had seen the other at their lowest, comforted each other, and most importantly; loved each other. That’s why he was concerned about her wellbeing.

It started off with the littlest things, just enough for him to notice. At times, she insisted on changing in the bathroom after finishing her shower. It made sense to him because it was an occurrence in the beginning of their relationship and he thought that maybe she wasn’t ready to change in front of him, which he totally understood.

However, even six months in, she still had this habit and he noticed she had picked up several more. If her shirt rode up just the tiniest bit, she would immediately pull it down and pray that he wouldn’t notice. Or the times when he placed his hands on her hips, her face was in a panicked sort of state and told him she wasn’t comfortable with it. It wasn’t a total lie, but just not for the reasons Seunghyun was expecting. They never even had sex because every time he lovingly slipped his hands beneath her shirt, she would always grab it and pull it away from her flesh, which he also understood. She hated keeping this a secret from the love of her life because she knew he would never keep a secret from her.

It’s not like she enjoyed constantly lying to him and his pretty face. She wanted to tell him what was bothering her more than anything, but she was ashamed of letting the words slip out, but she was mostly afraid of what he would think of her if she told him the truth. But right now, she was sitting on his bed with him watching a cheesy drama. She loved being in his room because it made her feel safe and protected.

While the flick was playing, Seunghyun placed his head on her shoulder and wrapped his right arm around her waist. Suddenly, her breath became hitched and her diaphragm tightened because of the contact. He noticed the signs all too well and he had to say something. Anything. Anything to help her. He paused the film and finally decided to speak.

“Baby what’s wrong?” he asks sounding concerned.

“It’s nothing,” she responded skeptically, but inside she was terrified. Terrified of the thought that he may have finally caught on.

“I know you too well to know that something’s up. You know you can tell me anything, right jagi?” he says with a look of concern in his eyes. It killed you to see him worried about you. It was enough to make tears fall from your eyes.

“Please don’t cry sweetheart. Tell me what’s bothering you. I won’t judge you,” he says softly as he runs his fingers through her hair.

“You’re going to think it’s stupid…that I’m stupid.” she sputtered.

“Nonsense. I would never think that about you,” he assures her. And he meant every word he said.

“I wanna help you baby. I really do,” Seunghyun said to his girlfriend.

The room suddenly became quiet yet the silence was so loud to the point where one of you want to break the silence, but didn’t know how to.

She let out a rather shallow breath, which he noticed. It was time to tell him everything. To tell him what was making her so self conscious all the time. Maybe it would set her free.

“Alright, but promise me you won’t think of me differently when I tell you,”

“I promise baby,” he said in the most soothing voice in order to calm her down.

“The reason why I’m distant sometimes has nothing to do with you. it has something to do with one of my biggest insecurities,“ she said. She could already feel her voice start to croak. Maybe she couldn’t go through with telling him this. It was too much for her alone, so how could she be sure Seunghyun would be fine with finding this out? She already began talking about it, so there was no going back now.

“I’m insecure about my body…specifically my stomach. My ex wasn’t there for me when I was going through the worst stages of my body dysmorphia. He never reassured me towards the end,” you confess. “It’s so disgusting and it makes me feel disgusting,” she sobs.

He wrapped his arms around her in an attempt to comfort her, but she continues to cry into his shoulder. He didn’t know her body was the root of all of her self-esteem issues, but it hurt him to see her so hurt over this.

“It’s ok aein. I’ve got you.”

“That’s why I never let you see what I look like underneath all of my clothes. Because I’m afraid you won’t love me anymore,” she rambled in a shaky voice. He had never seen her like this and he never wanted to.

“I would never stop loving you, especially over your looks” Seunghyun reassured.

“That’s because you haven’t seen my entire body yet.”

“I don’t need to. I won’t make you show me anything you don’t want to because it’s your body, not mine.

“Are you mad at me?” she asks him, more tears pricking at her corneas.

“Of course not, jagiya. I completely understand where you’re coming from. I’m still insecure about my body at times, but you made me realize that I don’t have to be all the time,” he admits.

“I’m sorry for all this,” she says apologetically, sniffling with a look of embarrassment on her face.

“You are the prettiest girl I’ve ever seen sweetheart." he says before kissing her multiple times on the lips. “I don’t have to see your body to know that because you have the most beautiful soul and that’s what I fell in love with,” he says with adoration and understanding.

“You really mean it Hyun?” she asked.

“Do you even have to ask? Look at yourself, sweetheart,” he says out of genuine love. She knew he wasn’t trying to just make her feel better but how did she? His eyes. His eyes were filled with the utmost love and adoration. For her. “You’re the prettiest girl I’ve ever seen and nothing will ever change that,”

“I love you,” she lets out.

“I love you too, sweetheart,” he says before kissing her on the cheek. “Come here,” he says, motioning his hands in an attempt to get her to come closer.

She happily obliges and scoots closer to him on the bed. Seunghyun wraps his arm around her and rubs her back with his calloused fingers as she rests her head on his shoulder. It felt like the world had stopped and it was only the two of them together, side by side.

[sergeantbarnessdoll]

Hii can I please request Steve rogers x fem!innocent!reader where she was a civilian in NY during Loki’s attack, and she was hit by a blast directly from Loki’s scepter, and the way it hit her one, knocked her out, but also gave her powers. “SHEILD” finds her during the cleanup of NY (they at first thought she was dead), the “SHIELD” agents who found her are unfortunately the ones who are the infiltrated Hydra agents who definitely saw this as an opportunity. Maybe her powers are similar to Wanda’s mind manipulation ones, which Hydra would definitely benefit from. This is angsty but they use Bucky (The Winter Soldier) to keep her in line, both from threats and just being rough with her. She’s absolutely terrified of The Winter Soldier as a result. Pierce has Rumlow keep Y/n near him when the agents are at the hospital trying to find Steve after he had that elevator fight with them and escaped “SHIELD”. So she’s at the hospital when Steve (in his hat trying to hide his face) goes back to find the drive Fury gave him (you know when he confronts Natasha privately, you know, when he pushed her into the room). Y/n sees Steve push Nat into that room (the Hydra agents do not) and she somehow sneaks away from them in their panicked search for Steve and she goes into the room Steve and Nat are talking, and she says she needs to talk to them. They’d both be on edge, and Steve would probably push her against the wall demanding to know who she is and if she’s with Hydra, and the poor woman breaks down crying and begs him to help her because Hydra has had her captive ever since the attack on NY (so 2 years) after they found her after she was blasted with Loki’s scepter and gained powers (that Hydra has forced her to use for their gain). After verifying her story, Steve promises to protect her from Hydra and the Winter Soldier, and he has her stay in Sam’s apartment while Sam, Steve, and Nat stop Pierce, the Helicarriers, and Steve’s fight with Bucky. Flash forward when Steve has Y/n move into the Avengers Compound, she’s still very jumpy and scared, but Steve is her safe place and over the year they fall in love. When Steve finds Bucky and he joins the Avengers and moved into the compound, as soon as Steve walks in with Bucky, Y/n starts shaking and trying because she’s completely terrified of him and she begs Steve not to let him (Bucky) hurt her and ever time she sees Bucky around the compound, she cowers away. Steve helps her try to trust Bucky 🥺 Mayba Hydra comes back for Y/n when Steve is on a mission, and Bucky saves her life and protects her. Steve holds her close when he gets back and is so thankful for bucky saving the love of his life 🥺

Safety and Trust » Steve Rogers/Captain America

Pairings: Steve Rogers x Enhanced!Female Reader with the Avengers, and Bucky Barnes/Winter Soldier

Summary: Steve makes you feel safe and you learning how to trust Bucky after HYDRA.

Warnings: Angst (not you and Steve), Fluff, language, HYDRA, crying, boyfriend!Steve/girlfriend!reader, kissing, trust issues, attempted kidnapping, pet names

A/N: Thank you for the lovely request @kpopgirlbtssvt 🩵

Written on my phone. My apologies for any mistakes.

Header made by @buck-star

GIF IS NOT MINE! Gif credit goes to the creator.

Chaos was unfolding all around you. Everyone was running around to get somewhere safe. Loki’s reign of terror on Manhattan, New York was not something you were expecting when you woke up today. No one expected this today. As you were running to get somewhere safe, you were blasted by Loki’s scepter, which sent you against a brick wall of a building. Everything went dark for you after that.

Many hours later after Loki’s attack, during the clean up, a couple of SHIELD -HYDRA- agents found you on the ground along a building. They flipped you over onto your back and checked for your pulse. You had one. They exchanged looks before picking you up and taking you to the HYDRA base.

A couple more hours go by when you finally woke up. Your head was pounding and your body was sore from being thrown into a wall from Loki’s blast. You had no idea where the hell you are. You went to stand up, only to find out that your arms and legs were strapped down to a chair.

“What the hell?” You mumbled, tugging at the restrains.

The sound of the door opening echoed throughout the room. You looked up to see a man dressed in a suit and a man dressed in all black tactical gear.

“Good. You’re awake.” Pierce says.

You just stared at the two men. You didn’t dare to say a word.

“I’m Alexander Pierce.” He introduces himself. “We took the liberty of running tests on you while you were passed out. The tests showed us that you have powers that we can use to our advantage.” He explains.

Powers? You were beyond confused and scared at this point.

“Rumlow.” He says.

Brock nodded. He undid the restrains. You tried to take that opportunity to run away from them. Brock grabbed your arm with a bruising grip before you got to the door.

“Nice try.” Brock says.

Brock practically dragged you down the hall. He threw you in a cell and closed the door and locked it. You got up from the ground and ran out to the door, pounding your fists on it. That’s when all the pain and trauma began…

———

HYDRA meant what they said when they said they were going to use your powers to their advantage. You don’t like it when they make you do things you don’t want to do, but you don’t have any other option. When you don’t do as they say, you basically get forced to doing things by the Winter Soldier.

As of right now, you’re getting trained to use your powers so you’ll be good when you get sent on missions. HYDRA trains you to use your powers by moving things. Like right now, they’re trying to get you to move a knife off the table, but you haven’t been able to achieve it yet.

“Do it again.” Brock says.

“I don’t want to.” You mumbled.

“What?” He asks.

“I don’t want to.” You repeated.

Brock looked at the Winter Soldier, giving him a nod. You know what that means. You’re about to get forced to do something you don’t want to do. You walked backwards as he walked towards you. Your back hit the wall. The Winter Soldier was staring down at you as you looked up at him.

“Listen.” The Winter Soldier says.

“N-No.” You stuttered.

You should’ve known better than to say no to the Winter Soldier. You know the consequences of it all too well. It happens often, especially when you’re not listening. His right hand grabbed your arm with a bruising grip, making you whimper in pain. He shoved you forward, making you stumble, but you didn’t fall. You stood where you originally were a moment ago.

“Do it again.” Brock says.

You didn’t want to do it again, but you wanted to avoid the consequences of the Winter Soldier. You sighed before trying again. You focused on the knife and tried to get it to move, your eyes glowing green as you did so. It began to move a bit. Then the next thing you know, it came flying towards you. You shrieked and ducked to the floor to avoid getting stabbed. The Winter Soldier grabbed it. You looked up at the same time he was flipping the knife in his right hand. Your eyes were wide, surprised that you were able to do that.

———

You don’t know why you got dragged to a hospital with a bunch of HYDRA agents who are posing as SHIELD agents at the moment. You didn’t dare say a word the whole time you were there. Any time you moved, even if it was just shifting your foot placement on the floor, Brock would take that as a sign of you trying to escape so he would grab your arm and yank you towards him.

You saw Captain America, in disguise, looking in the vending machine that’s down the hall from where you’re standing. At first you thought he was getting a snack, but he’s not. You seen a red haired woman approach him from behind. You watched as he pushed her into a supply closet and closed the door behind him.

That gave you an idea. If you’re somehow able to get away from HYDRA, you can ask Captain America for help. You looked around you. Brock wasn’t near you and the other HYDRA agents weren’t paying you any attention. You sneakily walked away from them, keeping your head down. You began to panic as you were looking for the room Captain America is in. You opened a random door and hoped it was the right one, in which it was. You quickly stepped inside the room and closed the door behind you. Steve and Natasha averted their attention to you.

“I need your help.” You say in a shaky voice.

Steve and Natasha stared at you for a second before Steve grabbed you and pushed you against the wall.

“Who are you?” Steve asks.

“My name is Y/N.” You tell him.

“Are you with HYDRA?” He asks.

“No.” You answered. “HYDRA found me a couple years ago. They told me that they wanted to use my powers to their advantage. When I didn’t do what I was told, the Winter Soldier would get rough with me.” You explained, your eyes tearing up.

Steve stared in your eyes to see if you’re lying or not before letting go of you.

“What kind of powers do you have?” Natasha asks.

“Mind manipulation.” You tell her. “From what I remember, I got blasted by something a couple of years ago.” You explained.

That was enough to tell Steve and Natasha that you got your powers from Loki’s scepter.

“Please don’t make me go back to them.” You begged, your eyes tearing up.

“We’re not. We’re going to help you.” Steve says softly.

“Really?” You asked.

“Yes.” He almost whispers.

To disguise you, Natasha took her jacket off and put it on you so no one, especially HYDRA, suspects a thing. Steve poked his head out of the room to make sure the coast is clear. When it was, you walked in between Steve and Natasha, keeping your head down.

Steve made a call to Sam, asking him for his help, which he happily agreed to do. Steve and Natasha took you to Sam’s apartment to keep you safe.

“Make yourself at home.” Sam says to you.

You gave him a soft smile as you looked around his apartment. You took a seat on the couch to help yourself relax. Meanwhile, Steve, Sam, and Natasha were coming up with a plan to take down Pierce. You could hear them talking and you were curious to know what they’re talking about so you went to the dining room.

“What are you guys talking about?” You asked.

“We’re coming up with a plan to take down Pierce.” Steve tells you.

“Do you guys need my help?” You asked.

“Thanks for offering, but you’ll be safer here.” He says.

“Oh ok.” You say softly.

Steve stood up from the table and hugged you.

“You’re safe now. I’ll protect you from them.” Steve almost whispers.

———

Shortly after Steve took down Alexander Pierce, you and Steve started dating. You also moved into the Avengers compound. Steve was able to track down Bucky too, but you didn’t know that. Bucky moved into the compound and became an Avenger. You didn’t know that either. Steve was giving Bucky a tour of the compound while you were in the lounge room watching TV.

“You have to meet my girlfriend.” Steve says.

“You have a girlfriend? That’s great, man!” Bucky smiles, patting Steve’s shoulder.

Steve walked in the lounge room with Bucky following next to him.

“Sweetheart, I want you to meet someone.” Steve says.

You looked up at your boyfriend with a smile. Your smile faded away when you seen Bucky. Your breathing became uneven and you started to shake.

“N-No…” You say shaky voice.

Steve sat down next to you on the couch and wrapped his arms around you.

“What’s wrong, honey?” He asks.

“Keep- Keep him away from me!” You say, pointing at Bucky.

Bucky shifted his stance. He felt guilty for what he did to you.

“If I may-” Bucky begins softly, but you shook your head at him.

Tears began to stream down your face, making Bucky feel even more guilty than he already is.

“He’s not going to hurt you, sweetheart. He doesn’t do that anymore.” Steve says softly.

“You- You don’t know that!” You cried.

“He’s right.” Bucky chimes in. “If you let me, I’d like to make amends with you for what I did.” He says softly.

You shook your head no frantically.

“Maybe later.” Steve says.

Bucky nods softly and left the room, not wanting to upset you even more than you already are.

“Sweetheart, it’s ok.” Steve whispers.

“He hurt me.” You mumbled.

“I know, but he doesn’t do that anymore.” He says softly.

You know what Steve is saying is true, but the memories of Bucky as the Winter Soldier hurting you are still there.

“You have to remember that he was under HYDRA’s control when he did those things to you. You know he’d never intentionally do anything to hurt you or anyone else.” He says.

“I’m not ready to trust him.” You say quietly.

“That’s ok. Just give it time.” He says softly.

———

Now, anytime you see Bucky around the compound, you coward away and try to avoid him. It’s makes Bucky feel even more guilty about what he did to you. He wants to make amends with you and be your friend, but he doesn’t want to overwhelm you.

Like right now, you’re walking to the kitchen at the same time as Bucky. Your eyes go wide and you stop in your tracks, freezing when you see him. Bucky watches with sadness in his eyes as you slowly walked past him to get to the kitchen.

“Is it ok if I apologize?” Bucky asks softly as he walks in the kitchen, keeping his distance. “You don’t have to talk. I’ll do the talking.” Bucky says.

Maybe hearing his apology will make you want to trust him. You nodded.

“I never meant to hurt you. I would never intentionally hurt you. HYDRA had me under their control. I just wish that I could’ve broken through their control on me to help you. I mean it from the bottom of my heart when I say I’m sorry. If it means you don’t want to trust me yet, I’ll respect that. If it also means that you don’t want to be my friend, I’ll respect that too.” He explains sincerely.

You could hear the sincerity in voice. You almost want to walk over to him and hug him. Keyword- almost.

“You hurt me.” You say.

“I know. If I could go back in time and change things, I would.” He says.

“I-I need time to think about your apology.” You say.

“That’s ok. I understand. Take all the time you need.” He says.

———

Later that same week, Steve went on a mission with the Avengers. Steve told Bucky to stay at the compound to keep an eye on you without overwhelming you.

You still distanced yourself from Bucky, which he understands. You’re not ready to trust him yet, which he also understands. You’re ready when you’re ready.

Bucky was walking past the monitors that’s hooked up to the security cameras when something caught his eye. He walked in the room and looked at the cameras. He got a closer look at the camera that’s at the back entrance. He saw you getting shoved in a vehicle and it drove away.

“No.” Bucky says to himself.

He quickly suited up and got his gun and knife. He got on his motorcycle and followed the vehicle you were in, which wasn’t too far away. Bucky sped up, getting as close as he could before shooting one of the tires on the vehicle. The vehicle lost control and hit a nearby tree. Bucky parked his motorcycle and ran over to the now totaled vehicle. He ripped the door off to see you crying and shaking.

“I got you.” Bucky says softly, holding his hand out for you.

You grabbed his hand and he helped you out of the vehicle. The HYDRA agents got out of the vehicle as well. Bucky gently pushed you behind him, shielding you from them.

“If it isn’t the infamous Winter Soldier.” One agent says.

Bucky cringed when he got called the Winter Soldier. He has been called that in a while.

“You know, you can make this easier for us and help us.” Another agent says.

“I don’t do that anymore.” Bucky says.

“So you think you’re a hero now?” The agent says.

“He is.” You spoke up.

It warmed Bucky’s heart to hear you say that. That means you’re beginning to trust him.

“No one asked you to speak.” The agent says.

Bucky’s jaw clenched. He didn’t like the way that agent was just talking to you. Bucky pulled out his gun and shot the agent. The rest of the HYDRA agents held their guns at Bucky. You decided to help him by using your powers by blasting them, which knocked them out. Bucky looks at the HYDRA agents on the ground with the look of approval of what you just did.

“Let’s get out of here.” Bucky says.

You two got on his motorcycle and went back to the compound. Bucky called Steve and told him what happened. You two got cleaned up and met up in the lounge room. You two watched movies to take your mind off what just happened to you.

“I’m sorry for not trusting you before.” You apologized.

“You don’t have anything to apologize for. I’m the one who should be apologizing.” Bucky says softly.

Bucky was caught off guard when you hugged him. He felt his heart warm up even more. He smiles and hugs you back.

“I accept your apology and I want you to be my friend.” You say softly.

“I’d like that.” He whispers.

Steve came running in the room when you and Bucky pulled away from the hug. He walked over to you and hugged you tightly.

“Bucky told me what happened. Are you ok, sweetheart?” Steve asks.

“I am now. He saved me.” You say.

Steve walked over to Bucky and hugs him too.

“Thank you for saving the love of my life, Buck.” Steve says.

“Y/N is my friend now. Of course I was going to save her.” Bucky replies.

“You two are friends now?” Steve asks, looking from Bucky to you.

You nodded with a smile on your face.

“I accepted his apology too.” You say.

“That’s great!” Steve smiles, happy that his two favorite people are friends now.

Steve walks back over to you and kisses you passionately. Bucky smiles at the happy moment in front of him.

“You two are so cute together.” Bucky says, making you and Steve smile.

From that day on, you trusted Bucky and he’s also your best friend. You’re also willing to forgive and forget about what Bucky did to you as the Winter Soldier.

💙💙💙💙💙💙💙💙💙💙💙💙💙💙💙💙💙

-Bucky’s Doll

[lixiemissexotic]

𝐆𝐈𝐑𝐋 𝐃𝐀𝐃 𝐄𝐑𝐄𝐍 𝐘𝐄𝐀𝐆𝐄𝐑౨ৎ

girl dad eren yeager who full-on sobbed when you told him you were pregnant, then cried again at the ultrasound when he found out it was a girl. and then again yes, again when he was lying beside you on the hospital bed holding her for the first time. you looked over at him, eyes puffy, nose red, whispering, “she’s not even the biggest baby in this room,” and he just laughed through the tears, excited to finally have his little family.

girl dad! eren yeager who learned to do hair with you as his own real life mannequin while you were pregnant. “she’s gonna be so pretty just like her mommy”.

girl dad! eren yeager who constantly spoke in the third person to his daughter when she was a toddler in hopes that “dada” would be her first words.

girl dad! eren yeager who is no regular girl dad, he’s a dance dad as well. he’s front row at every single recital, he’s never missed a single one. camera in hand, cheering way too loudly. he makes all his friends come as well, ensuring his baby feels more than enough support. he takes his dance dad duties ver seriously and helps her practice moves at home and ends up knowing the whole routine better than the dancers. he jabs you while the dance is happening “i can twirl better than these amateurs”. then screams “that’s our girl !” as soon as your daughter makes her appearance.

girl dad! eren yeager who goes absolutely insane when his daughter is sick, raids the supermarket for vitamins, cough drops, tissues, pain killers, cough syrup everything. luckily for your daughter her grandfather is a world class doctor so trust and believe he’s always in the best hands.

girl dad! eren yeager who spoils his daughter absolutely rotten. he tries to say no at first, but folds the second she pouts. she has him absolutely wrapped around her tiny glittery painted finger and she knows it.

girl dad! eren yeager who’s the kind of guy to make a power point presentation on why she will have to wait till she’s 30 to have her first boyfriend. when he picks her up from school and sees her holding hands with reiner’s son he damn near almost losses it but he’s good at keeping his cool (fakest most evil smile you’ve seen btw).

girl dad! eren yeager who lets his daughter sit on his lap while he’s driving, teaching her how cars work. he loves taking her out for joy rides especially late at night. it’s these special little moments that make him happiest.

girl dad! eren yeager who’s always making sure to treat you like his diamond, always bringing your flowers, taking you on nice vacations and adoring you in gifts and affection not only because he loves you to the moon and back but also to make sure his daughter grows up with a good example of what a man should be like.

girl dad! eren yeager who loves you and his daughter more than anything else and would give up anything to make sure you two were safe and happy.

💐— ily girl dad eren!! likes & reblogs always appreciated. stay safe and hydrated pokies <3

© 2025 𝐀𝐥𝐥 𝐫𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐬 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐯𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝗼 𝐥𝐢𝐱𝐢𝐞𝐢𝐬𝐠𝗼𝐝. 𝐂𝗼𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐬𝐡𝗼𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐧𝗼𝐭 𝐛𝐞 𝐬𝐭𝗼𝐥𝐞𝐧 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐩𝐮𝐭 𝗼𝐧 𝗼𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐟𝗼𝐫𝗺𝐬.

[voiceofthelionhearted]

for relating to her so much, it's kind of a surprise that i've never made a post about the spectre and the lead into tpatd. but i guess today, we're changing that.

the spectre is, in my mind, about giving grace, changing, and empathy. spectre is surprisingly kind, being the one princess you get by immediately killing the previous princess. however, she doesn't let you forget what you've done. she calls you "killer". she also shows that she has an edge -- she can be dangerous to you if she wants to, but you are no longer dangerous to her. she holds all the power, in terms of physical danger. and she is willing to look past your previous murder of her in order to reach a conclusion that she seems to feel is mutually beneficial. in my mind, there is no reason for her to be this reasonable -- unless she thinks that something is up. for instance, there's someone behind the scenes who is telling you to kill her.

which, of course, she learns to be the truth when she possesses you. for how excited cold is at the prospect of her meeting the one who wanted you to kill her so badly, she treats the narrator with the same attitude she treats you, only reacting with frustration or incredulity when he states the obvious about her no longer being in the room with tlq, and offense when he describes her presence with his body as burdensome. she doesn't like him, but she's still willing to be civil and understanding, like when she describes him as a memory and "similar to her".

she is understandably angry when you decide to slay yourself to slay her. it's petty. it's self-destructive. it's terrifying. why would someone go to such lengths to hurt another? but, she did hear how the narrator encouraged you to "fix your mistake" of deciding to let her out, so both iterations of the princess in the following chapter are willing to give you the benefit of the doubt. although, in the harsh princess's case, it's mostly because -- well -- you're stuck together, and neither of you know for how long.

and it's following her possession of you and going into tpatd where you see that she is still willing to be civil -- but that doesn't mean that your actions have no consequences.

if you were cruel to her prior to letting her possess you, she is understandably on edge, because it means that you didn't do any self-reflection and could potentially still be a danger to her. she automatically responds to opportunist's violence with violence, angry at having been hurt again, and responds to you telling her that you're back in your own body with more anger and betrayal. you're begging her to stop hurting you, after all you've done is hurt her without any remorse or second thought. after sharing a body with her, she must have hoped that you can understand her pain and anger, despite how civil she was willing to be with you. she made it abundantly clear to you that, even though she's willing to put everything behind herself, she hasn't forgotten it, and yet, you still think that you're allowed to beg for the pain to stop? after you caused all of her pain in the first place? when you tell her that you deserve to die for all that you've done to her, she considers your words, and then her angry expression melts into something softer. sadder. you finally understand. you're taking responsibility for your actions. regardless of whether or not someone was influencing your decision to hurt her, it was still just that -- your decision. showing remorse in front of her tells her that you've truly learned of her pain, and fully understand it. she may have been harsh, but is it so wrong to be harsh towards someone who has only ever hurt you?

if you were kind to her, she is nicer to you, and a lot more timid in front of your body. she wants to keep you hidden away, a secret to be kept safe, because you reflected on your previous actions and were kind to her. yeah, you stabbed yourself to get to her, and she's confused about why you would do something like that, but perhaps she's willing to give you the benefit of the doubt, because she heard the narrator and how he talked about her. she's hoping that you were only cruel to her because of the narrator, and so maybe you can be kinder. in fact, she knows that you can be kinder -- because she's seen it. so she's kinder to you, hoping that the two of you are building a relationship wherein you won't hurt her anymore. she's less willing to hurt your body, because even though there are voices in there that she doesn't like, that's still your body, and you're still the one in control when you're inside of it. in this one, you betray her by not listening to her request that she cut herself free. she's not angry at you, but you can see sorrow in her face as you cut her free, rather than letting her do so herself. as we know, this results in opportunist finally killing the two of you. you disregard her desires, her autonomy, and both of you suffer the consequences together.

yes, the point of the spectre and tpatd is empathy and understanding, but it's also about forgiveness and what it looks like. forgiveness is not always a soft and sweet thing. it can also be harsh and guarded. it just depends on the subject of forgiveness and how they act. that is the healthiest form of forgiveness -- you forgive, but you do not let the person who hurt you, hurt you again. not without consequences this time.

[princessofghosts-posts]

Another day,another slay occasion to talk about Nico mistreatment. Today we talk about one of my most hated scene in the books.

This is from chapter 17 of BotL: "The Lost God Speaks".

Basically the whole scene where they finally find Pan and he tells each of them something to hold on before dying. Everyone except Nico of course. Pan straight up ignored him even tho he was on the threshold of the cave where he was dying,and was watching what was happening.

Pan doesn't have a connection with all of them,only with Grover since he is a satyr and also the one Pan wanted to be found by,so realistically the speech had an impact only on him. I can see why he spoke to Rachel about it,since her dad is part of the reason he is dying,so she probably felt guilty. But she is a stretch. But Annabeth,Percy and Tyson??? Why them too??? And why ignoring one of them,if you are going to give the group reassuring words????? Rude.

I hate this scene so much for this. Nico did so much for them during BotL,and before this chapter he helped Percy and Rachel escape from Kronos putting himself in danger,and still got excluded the first chance someone got. He can't ever catch a break. I saw someone trying to explain this as a Life/Death parallelism,because Pan is the God of the Wild (so nature=life) while Nico has a aura of death and is Hades's son: they are opposite forces that cannot interact. It was a good take on this scene and a symbolic explanation,but Pan was fading away/dying when they found him. That invisible border between them broke the moment Pan started dying since he himself was crossing it.

And,it's also extremely fitting because before finding Pan,Nico and Percy were having a conversation about Nico and if he wanted to come back to CHB now that he revealed himself to Kronos,since it was the only safe place for them,and Nico shot this idea down because he was going to be shunned away again. And then this shit happens. And Nico was right about it. And that's just....sad–the fact that he knew it was going to happen either way.

This scene will forever be in my hate list, because who the fuck ignore a kid when you are giving encouragement to basically everyone in the room??? Grover is the only one that cared about him and actually has a connection with thim,the rest are kids that don't even know him and didn't cared enough. Tyson,a cyclop that doesn't even know who he is??? Rachel is a whole mortal that just got into this madness?? Percy and Annabeth knew and supported Grover's quest but never tried to help him or anything untill then??? And you are telling me,you are giving them attention,but still want to left one of them out? Because???

Pan included the mortal and the cyclop but not the guy that was literally feeling him dying in that moment,understood it was something that was going to happen either way (since Grover was being delusional over it),and that was really due to some advice because he was fucking lost with himself after his sister's dead. GG bro,you sure know how to make a guy feel welcomed.

And Nico was already accustomed to it,that didn't even comment on it,it was normal for him being treated in that way. And it's just sad watching everyone have their own encouragement while you don't get anything,and are excluded from it even tho the same God acknowledge you are there.

[dolcendior]

meet . . . THORNTON!READER by ©DOLCENDIOR

pairing: rafe cameron x thornton!reader. BROTHER'S BEST FRIEND or BESTFRIEND'S BROTHER cw: 18+ language, mention of sex, slight age gap (reader is 18, rafe is 22)

THORNTON!READER— is the ultimate definition of bombshell. quite literally, if she asked a guy, he would worship the ground she walks on, no hesitation or shame.

THORNTON!READER— who might be the most kookiest, kook bitch in all of the outer banks if not for her best friend sarah cameron. atleast before she turned into a pogue, which gave thornton!reader the official "kook queen" title.

THORNTON!READER— who was once just viewed as "topper's annoying little sister" by rafe cameron maybe about 4 years ago— but oh? since then, his best friend's annoying sibling had suddenly grown up and matured— skimpy clothes, long lashes, insane body, plump lips, huge ass and tits? yeah, rafe cameron was whipped.

THORNTON!READER— whom had the biggest crush on her brother's best friend for the longest time, so when rafe and her finally started something— it was safe to say that she was over the moon.

THORNTON!READER— who half-failed at holding back her giggle when her and rafe had sex for the first time. he was just teasing, asking if it was her first time to which she innocently replied with "no." that pissed him off, and just because of that response— he fucked her, like, in the most brutal way possible where she was unable to get up for the whole 24 hours the next day.

THORNTON!READER— has the word "amore" tattooed in cursive just below her hips from behind, and rafe has an unhealthy obsession with it. he loves making her spin around when wearing lingerie, short skirts, and two pieces so he can see the tattoo (and also just because he wants a glimpse of her ass)

THORNTON!READER— who liked to fuck with rafe before they started dating as payback for basically bullying her as a teenager (sums up of what a bitch she really is). she fucked a bunch of guys before him— specifically pogues as rafe held an ungodly amount of hatred for all of them and that just so gave thornton!reader a better reason to mess with him!

divider by @uzmacchiato

©DOLCENDIOR, ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. please do not steal or copy my work. give credit if you take inspiration.

[tcoaal]

a fundamental key aspect of examining literature is the author's intention, and everything we do with that intent: be it accepting it or rejecting it. it is among the most important tasks of the reader: when you do a critical analysis, especially so.

i am a very, very, very firm believer the "Word of God" is secondary to what is presented in the actual text. it is most important to examine what has been said or done in the text and it's implications directly, that is my personal belief as a reader. however, i believe that the author's intent is not something that should be ignored.

Nemlei is very clear, for example, that the idea of the siblings acting the way they are due to a neurodivergence or mental illness is not the right way to think. this is observable in the text.

Andrew and Ashley didn't become murderous incestious cannibals because they were born the right way or crazy or some stupid shit like that. they are the products of a society and world that has completely and absolutely failed them at every opportunity.

the coffin does not exist because they were naturally destined for it.

i've always thought, from the moment i played it, this is it. this is the moment Ashley Graves became a Tar Soul. i think it was the last chance Renee had to say "Holy shit, I'm a fucking terrible mother." and try to help her. and when Andrew, a child himself, fell asleep (not something he should blamed for) as Ashley tried to share her pain. the moment a Tar Soul hatched.

so that leads into the second half. about accepting or rejecting the author's intent.

the final room in Shots and Such is haunting. there's so much you can easily miss. the bathroom, Ashley's last safe space, being destroyed in a rampage by Andrew. the fucking table. the one time they had sex Andrew in his right mind enjoyed, Ashley only able to enjoy it as she was so drunk she could not be "herself" and breaking down afterwards. even small things like Andrew not taking out the garbage and Ashley preferring to let it affect their living space than help him out. everything in that small apartment from hell: everything must be viewed together as the whole, as the sum of all it's parts.

there is a clear intention of the author in those so easily missable scenes. the mutual love and hatred between them, with hatred greater than love. the dysfunction and normalization of violence into just another day.

Andrew having raped Ashley and probably not even processing it was rape is just another dime in the dozen incident in that little hellhole. hell, maybe that was the night he knocked up Ashley.

we can interpret this scene in different ways, even though i think the author's intention is pretty clear. Ashley could not consent. she lost all control, they had sex, and Andrew can't piece together what went wrong. the one night they actually "made love" which is clearly an opinion he and only he has.

... and you know, we have to accept author's might not have the same morality as us. the same opinions.

"If two people get super drunk, and have sex, who's at fault?" and some people might not have answers we like. an author might even write an opinion we vehemently disagree with from the bottom of our heart.

and it is our duty as readers to discern and interpret their works. i truly, sincerely believe this. i believe from the bottom of my heart the author's intention has become clear in shots and such.

"No one asks when she kicks you out for the night, or which stairs she fell down this time. It's all business as usual."

the normalization of both abuse and despair.

to the point even this becomes just another tidbit of that hell.

hate the idea that an abuse victim can become an abuser all you want. i think it is clear what it is Nemlei has tried to convey. hate it, reject it, love it, accept it, or ignore it. disagree or agree with me. i personally have read this and have arrived at my conclusion based on the text given to me, and analysis of the dialogue in this scene as well.

Nemlei is not writing for us. she makes that clear.

and it is up to us if we want to accept or reject that.

[curiostars]

can i interest you in mob psycho roleswap au. (close-ups and notes under the cut)

Reigen is not a conman in this au, but a real deal esper. Not that he knew for most of his life. He actually did start Spirits & Such under the impression he'd be running a scam business

A few months into the endeavour, he's visited by Touichirou, who proves to Reigen that a) real psychics exist, and b) Reigen is one. Reigen has actually been subconciously using his own powers without realizing- plain table salt actually can work in an exorcism, if one uses it to channel their own psychic power!

Reigen's abilities speficially have to use objects as a conduit, and while he doesn't have an overly large amount of power to draw from, the way he uses it is extremely energy-efficient. It's how he could use them without even noticing, it took so little effort he couldn't feel that he was doing something

Reigen joined Claw because he saw it as his way to finally become someone, but slowly he realizes that the organization is terrible. He can't see a way out and has nothing left if he leaves, having sold the office and packed up his life to join, so instead he doubles down and tries to convince himself he's okay with it all

Serizawa doesn't have psychic powers, so he also didn't spend most of his life locked in his room. Just a regular, sorta-awkward, very nice guy

He got dragged into the whole fake-psychic bit because he helped his neighbour out with a problem that they thought was a ghost but turned out to just be a minor electrical issue. His neighbour is convinced he exorcised a ghost and doesn't hear out Serizawa trying to explain that it wasn't

That neighbour recommends his help to a friend of theirs who also thinks they have a ghost problem. It's not really a ghost again, but she was so scared of ghosts and so happy to be safe that Serizawa didn't have the heart to tell her that he didn't exorcize any. Just a harmless white lie, right?

This spitballs by word of mouth and becomes a whole side gig for him. He gathers a reputation without even trying to. He is just too damn nice to turn people down when they ask for his help and has given up trying to convince people that he's not psychic, when what they want is help from a psychic

One day he helps someone who happens to be a real estate agent and extremely enthusiastic about helping him make a whole business. He is offered an office at an extremely discounted rental rate in one of the buildings they manage, and encouraged to take his business pro so that people can find him for help easier. It's a great idea! Serizawa doesn't agree so much as fails to refuse. Looks like he has an office now!

The office was formerly Reigen's, not that Serizawa knows it. It still has the sign up for Spirits & Such, so Serizawa keeps that name because he has no idea what he's doing but that sounds professional and legitimate, right?

As a small child, Teru was very difficult, and more importantly he was an esper. His parents mistook him floating objects during tantrums for possession, and brought him to an exorcist recommended by a friend of a friend

Serizawa, who can't exorcise a kid who isn't possessed in the first place (and couldn't anyways, not psychic as he is), ended up striking a deal with Teru to teach him control his powers. To the parents, he fakes dispelling a demon and claims it left Teru with "residual" power that Serizawa can help him learn to manage. Serizawa takes a fake-it-until-you make it appraoch with Teru's "apprenticeship", but it works

Teru, about a year into this arrangement, realizes Serizawa isn't even a little bit psychic. Teru is good and attached to him now anyways, and throws himself into helping Serizawa maintain the charade. Quite often this ends up causing more problems than it solves

Teru has a solid sense of morality thanks to Serizawa's mentorship, but he's extremely stuck up about it. Very holier-than-thou attitude. Would he truly be Teru without that self-centeredness?

Mob is the Shadow Leader of the Salt Middle School delinquents

Without Reigen's guidance (or Ritsu's presence as a role model, see below), he has much less of a moral compass, and is instead motivated by the small circle of friends he does have

He's not any less compassionate than canon, but only to a select circle of individuals. He doesn't care about anyone else, so long as it doesn't affect him and his friends

His characterization is closer to what he's like in Mogamiland, right before he remembers the real world. If the people around him made him who he was, who would he have become without most of those people?

The Telepathy Club are among the delinquents of Salt MS, having failed to keep their club room and turning to more drastic measures to find time to goof off and do what they want, and they're Mob's closest friends, hiding in his social shadow because no one wants to mess with him

If you threaten their freedom? So help you, Mob will not have mercy

Ritsu was kidnapped by Claw at about 8 years old, and forcibly awakened by them. He turned out to be an incredibly strong esper, powerful enough to catch the attention of Touichirou directly

He's scared out of running away by the threat of Claw finding his family, especially he's worried about them realizing Shigeo is also an esper

Like canon Shou, he's plotting to go against Claw, and biding his time for the right moment to start open rebellion

He's not quite Touichirou's son, but he's his "heir" so to speak. The secondmost authority in Claw

Shou didn't awaken any psychic powers as a little kid, and was more or less replaced as soon as Ritsu showed up

He was sent to live with his mother, and grew up more or less normally

Being abandoned by his father, understandably, gave him some harsh self-esteem issues

He's an over-achiever, a straight-A student and the student council vice president. He's compensating for his greatest failure: his lack of psychic power, which he wants more than anything

A part of him still hopes that one day his dad will want him back if he does ever get powers

[love-minor-poltergeist]

A/N: Here to contribute to (what I could already assume is) the massive amount of Eddie Gluskin content in this fanbase. These are mostly just for fun and to flesh out how I would like to portray our lovely Groom! I hope you all enjoy!

C/W: While I don't go into graphic detail, there are brief mentions of Childhood Abuse/CSA. Please proceed with caution!

General Eddie Gluskin Hcs:

╔═══━━━─── • ───━━━═══╗

Touch is a delicate matter with Eddie. If he’s the one initiating he’s absolutely fine; he has no qualms against hurting others, after all. However, he absolutely abhors being on the receiving end of it. Though it’s been long since his father and uncle were incarcerated, their abuse left Eddie adverse to even casual touch. He can still feel the ghosts of their half-assed attempts at “comfort” after they were done with him. No amount of bathing or scrubbing can wash away the damage. 

It’s better to give the man his space. 

If he wasn’t in the vocational block toiling away at the sewing machines, Eddie could be found within the recreation area. He can’t go often thanks to the fact that the security guards have to watch him like a hawk, but he enjoys the fresh air. It also helps that the grounds come with weight-lifting equipment. A man must maintain a peak physical form. And Eddie is a vain main.

Granted, Eddie dislikes going into the courtyard for the same reasons. He’s solitary by nature, and a lot of the patients flock to the place; desperate to have some form of distraction. It’s difficult to maintain his friendly demeanor around so many people for so long. 

However, he does cross paths with Frank Manera from time to time in the recreation block. The scragglier man offered to spot him one day while Eddie was weight-training, and the two of them had gotten along ever since.

Frank, naturally calm and lethargic in his movements, never set him off. Even if the cannibal’s hygiene habits leave much to be desired. However, Eddie is willing to overlook it. Besides, the man is surprisingly opinionated when it comes to stageplay costume design, and it was nice that Eddie can finally share an interest with someone else.

In addition to sewing and tailoring, Eddie naturally has a knack for drawing and pastels. He’d like to have a try at painting one day, but Murkoff is a bit stingy when it comes to art supplies. 

Though, on the other side of the spectrum, the man is hopeless when it comes to digital media. Sure, he could learn if he truly wanted to, but… He truly doesn’t have the patience for it. Yes, sewing isn’t exactly the fastest, either, but it felt way better than just sitting in front of a computer screen trying to figure out how to make a website. He’ll get stir-crazy if he can’t occupy his hands. 

Usually will keep his needles and pins tucked within his teeth while he’s working. Whether or not he’s accidentally swallowed one, Eddie will never share. 

He absolutely has. His poor mother was in hysterics the first time it happened.

While he dreams of a white-picket fence with a wife and kids and a dog— he’s terribly allergic to dogs and cats. A fact he discovered the hard way with a neighbor’s schnauzer. Seven year old Eddie was crushed that day. 

Used to have longer hair when he was a child, but kept it cropped short thanks to his Father not wanting, in his words, “a queer for a son”

Stuck within the limbo of hating his mother and revering her. Mrs. Gluskin was a victim as well, and she did her best to provide her son with comfort; and if she invited him to tag along with her for errands, it meant he was safe for the day.

Yet all Eddie could focus on was how she cowered away and avoid looking into his eyes after his abusers were done with him; how she would turn up the TV when Eddie’s crying and shouts could be heard from the basement; how she refused to talk about what happened after his father and uncle were arrested. The years of resentment only grew worse thanks to Mr. Gluskin passing his misogyny onto Eddie. 

He may go on about how he wants to have a family, but Eddie is a little awkward around kids. He more so tends to treat them like little adults as opposed to children. It didn’t help that he never had many friends during childhood, so he has a tendency to stand there, frozen in place, while he watches a bunch of children run around. 

Doesn’t like having his picture taken. He hates having to force a smile for the camera, only to be met with how empty his eyes look in the end product.  

Do not ever take him clothes shopping unless you want to spend an entire day bickering with him. He’s quite critical over fabric quality and finding the “right” set of clothes that’ll flatter him. He’ll walk into the dressing rooms with a mountain of shirts and pants in one hand and end up leaving with only a single set of pants and a button up shirt. At least he neatly folds everything before placing it back on the return rack..

╚═══━━━─── • ───━━━═══╝

[timkontheunsure]

Conditional Love -

Stolas will try to leave, and Blitz will have to tell him he loves him.

The song Merry Sinsmas lyrics foreshadows it. It's from sung from Blitz's view.

"You pack your bag, you kiss me on the cheek, you tell a lie 'that you will soon return to me'."

Then it back to Blitz saying "I loved you then, I love you still, and now it won't be long until you're here at last. And then I'll ask if you heart still burns for me?"

"I would travel every ring of hell just to see if you'll be mine."

"Merry Sinsmas. Know that you are on my mind! Merry Sinsmas! Truer love is hard to find."

Stolas will leave, and Blitz will have to tell him how he loves him to keep Stolas.

But ok why will Stolas try to leave?

Stolas is just as bad as Blitz with self worth issues. He believes any love and affection he receives is conditional.

He doesn't even think that Blitz would stop being friends with Striker, after trying to kill him.

Any love and care he reserves from Blitz is a tally in his mind. And on the other side is things he thinks he has to do to deserve it.

Same go with Via, so any her being angry isn't just that; it's that she hates him and he's not worthy of love as a father.

(Seriously they're so similar with this).

While Stolas can and does love unconditionally, he believes he's not worth it in return.

If he does enough good things for the people in his life they'll care about him for a little bit. If he doesn't they won't, because he's fundamentally unlovable.

It's the mind set of alot of abuse victims, because it is how abusers work. Their victims are tools, and it's really is a case of 'so what have you done for me lately'.

So what's Stolas thinks on his side of the balance sheet with Blitz? Gratitude, pity and guilt.

Stolas tuck Blitz's place, and tried to give up his life to keep him safe.

And since then Blitz has been showering Stolas with love and care for a month. Showing all affection he normally keeps completely hidden...

Blitz even hired him on.

While we know Blitz has been crazy about Stolas for around a year, (the guy's blushing about them in Harvest Moon Festival).

And Blitz thinks that he's been very clear.

That Stolas already knows how he feels, because he's already begged for him not to go, when he pleaded for Stolas to not die for him.

But Stolas really isn't getting this. Like Blitz didn't get that Stolas really loved and cared about him; all through their stupid tit for tat deal.

Trading affection from Blitz for access to the grimoire. Ooof.

I absolutely love Blitz savings Stolas from the dragon.

And in that moment it makes him so happy. Finally able to responding romantically again to Blitz. Because he gets Blitz loves him here.

But then he gets the stuffings knocked out of him. With Via telling him she was just an obligation, and him thinking she hates him; Stolas thoroughly back into the conditional love mindset all over again.

Because what makes this time difference after all?

In his mind Blitz only saved him as a debt to be repaid, with Blitz even appearing to tell him so... 😬

It's why he starts withdrawing again, cus he's got to remind himself it's fake. And it would be taking advantage to respond to Blitz.

A guy who's Stolas thinks has told him twice, that he'd never really want to date him. That Blitz never like him romantically, but he's willing to fake it. Ooof....

And now Stolas believes they're square, a life saved for a life saved.

Why would he expect Blitz still be lovely and caring of him after all? Stolas tells Blitz there's no need to feel guilty for what it cost Stolas, because it was his choice.

Blitz thinks he's been very clear that he wants Stolas, that they're on the same page, about them being in love with eachother...

But Stolas...He thinks it's all fake. An act Blitz is putting on to be nice to him. That if he went along with it he'd would be taking advantage again.

Same as he thinks he did with the grimoire, cus he still doesn't know Blitz enjoy spending time with him, outside of sex.

Stolas really does thinks he's an unlovable monster, that Blitz was forced to put up with.

And it's very unlikely he's changed that view of himself, now he has even less he can give Blitz.

Honestly he could do with Fizz pointing out no one goes to this much trouble for an easy lay. (If Fizz is to point out Stolas is being an idiot about how obvious Blitz love himI laugh so hard).

It's very likely to come back around this conversation.

It's played out twice so far.

First with Blitz wordlessly telling Stolas leaving to go dance with with BTB.

Second with Stolas leaving the party, Blitz flowing, but this time staying and dancing with Stolas himself.

Rule of three is very common in media. Think this time Stolas will leave, Blitz will follow, they'll dance; and Blitz will use his words to tell Stolas why the wants him to come back.

That he'll have to run over rings to get to Stolas, and tell him Blitz loves him, and for how long he has. And ask if Stolas still loves.

With Blitz bringing Stolas back this time.

It would be lovely if this was a duet between the two of them, because so far there duets have been fully on the same page.

WISH has them singing at cross purposes in two different places.

And Mastermind has them on the same page emotionally for their soliloquy, and in the same space, but they don't actually hear eachother.

The previous two dances have were set to diagetic music, and have it be a full duet that would be a sweet way have them talk. Like with Crooked between Fizzarolli and Asmodeus.

But come on Blitz just ask Stolas out properly.