#and a list of potentially dead people

[blackjackkent]

There are a lot of possible keyholes for Rakha's flophouse key in the dormitory area.

However, the annoying fellow who was badgering her about the Steel Watchers is walking around, so some more exploration is in order before committing to property theft. Specifically, she's interested in the ladder that leads to the upper floor, given the note they found downstairs about it being expanded.

Rakha has had a lot of L's lately, so I'm going to go ahead and give her a W here for once and say that her skill at observation and extrapolation allows her to notice that the obvious available floor space here doesn't match what they saw on the outside. (She actually does have a +d6 to everything rn because of the Moment of Ecstasy back in the Caress.)

And from there she notices that the wardrobe has a very subtle keyhole.

The hidden room smells of blood. Immediately all of Rakha's senses are on alert. She feels herself starting to salivate, her heart rate pulsing faster.

The tables in the room are strewn with papers soaked in red.

Rakha's head aches longingly. Her fingers twitch, unconsciously mimicking the motions of cutting and ripping described in the paper.

The most interesting piece, though, is this:

The names continue, a full page of them. Rakha stares down the list, taking in each name one at a time. Stelmane. Lorgan. Dribbles.

They knew Orin and the Bhaalists were involved with Lorgan and Dribbles' death. But this shows that Stelmane's death is also connected - which makes sense, as it opened the way for Gortash's ascension. And to judge by this paper, there are many others marked for death, and their purpose is not only for the support of the Absolute plot.

The Dread Lord's Tribunal in the Temple of Bhaal.

She realizes abruptly that she is sitting down on the floor, staring at the paper and clutching at the scar on her head.

Wyll crouches next to her. "Do you remember something?" he asks softly.

She shakes her head. "No. But it's... familiar..." She swallows. And it is. Something resonates painfully about those words. The Dread Lord's Tribunal.

The smell of blood is stronger in this corner. She looks down, her eyes involuntarily focusing on the spray of blood there, parsing its meaning.

"Something was dragged," she mutters hoarsely. "Under the bed."

She shifts, running her fingers along the blood trail, following it into the shadows - and closing them around cloth.+

"Another victim?" Rakha asks. Wyll shrugs uncertainly.

The woman has another key on her body.

Rakha squints at it curiously. There were numbers carved on the chests downstairs, the ones next to each of the beds. This person was a tenant here.

-----

Back downstairs, Jaheira talks with the annoying fellow in the dormitory area to keep him distracted while Rakha loots the dead woman's chest.

All that's in it is a diary, barely used.

"Her boy." Rakha tilts her head to the side. "The one who killed her, perhaps? A Bhaalist."

Jaheira, surprisingly, has acquired a strange look on her face that Rakha doesn't know how to parse. "A child she raised, who turned on her nevertheless," she mutters. "A bitter way to die indeed."

[itspileofgoodthings]

tags continued from prev post.

[angstandhappiness]

Interesting

The more I see of these two the more I see how similar they are, like even when they're upset they're still quite similar to each other in some ways

my lifeblood is still parallels between Stolas and Blitz

[moonchild1]

jeon jungkook fic rec list (Ⅺ)

hi everyone i am back and boy has there been some amazing fics posted while i was away it's awaken that spark in me again and this list is honestly packed, i went over like 60 fics for this one and i even added some of my ult. faves. the ones i have to mention again because they are just so amazing, trust me you will be going back for more over and over again too. you might notice some fics from ao3 and wattpad included as well they are hold a special place in my heart, they are masterpieces that need to be shared with you guys so please enjoy this new list and give all the authors mentioned all the love and respect they deserve seriously they work so hard on creating these beautiful fics and they deserve all the attention and gratitude we can offer them so please share your love through a like, comment and reblog them so they can feel the love and more people can find their masterlists and accounts because they have some really good fics there as well.

I just wanna send an honourable mention to every single writer i have added to this list without you i would not have so much happiness when i come on this app and you have filled my heart and countless others with so much joy and happiness we appreciate you more than you will ever know and you make being here 10 times better your stories help us through alot and puts smiles on our faces and we get to spend time with a community of people who love what we love and we get to interact because of your ideas and it creates such an amazing experience so thank you for everything that you do the worlds you create and the ideas you come up and for sharing it all with us i adore you so much and you are just the best so once again thank you for everything and i look forward to what so many of you have planned - kiki ♡

NO MINORS ALLOWED PLEASE DON'T INTERACT!

happy reading everyone i hope you enjoy this extra long list of my faves and please remember to be happy and keep on smiling and interact if you want i love hearing from you guys and if you want you can send me a few of your faves 🥹🖤✨

f - fluff s-smut a - angst

series

yuanfen by @azurefangirl AzureFangirll s a unrequited love slow burn brother's best friend arranged marriage dadjk widower jk (315k) ao3

⋆ Yuanfen (yuánfèn), "fateful coincidence," is a concept in Chinese and Vietnamese societies describing good and bad chances and potential relationships. Koi No Yokan (Japanese): the feeling upon first meeting someone that you will inevitably fall in love with them. You did not know what was stupider, falling head over heels for your older brother's best friend the day you saw him, or agreeing to marry him after his wife died. Either way, you're now stuck with Jungkook whom you've loved since before you hit puberty, who can't stand the sight of you. Will he ever feel the same way, or does he just see you as the replacement mother for his infant?

lines of fate by @kookiestarlight s a exes au zombie apocalypses tattooist jk

⋆ the last thing Jungkook ever imagined was an outbreak that turned the dead into the living. But even more unexpected is seeing you—an ex he’s known nothing about in the past four years—with a small child who bears a striking resemblance to himself. As Jungkook grapples with the shock and the city spirals into chaos, the two of you are thrust back together, forced to confront unresolved feelings, long-buried truths, and the horrors of the deadly virus taking over.

lost stars by @hueseok f a roommates e2l slow burn college au (33.2k)

⋆ the last person you’d expect to be there for you is your roommate, jeongguk, on the night you break up with your cheating boyfriend; because as far as you’re concerned, the both of you aren’t exactly friends, and he definitely shouldn’t be running to get you upon hearing you sob via phone call.so when he does, you begin thinking that maybe you’ve just been hard on him over the years, or perhaps he just liked pretending to be an annoying shit most of the time. either way, it becomes the beginning of an unexpected friendship finally blossoming.

a lovers kiss by @/hueseok f s a fwb i2l college au (55.6k)

⋆ a friends with benefits relationship never ends on a good note. unless, both parties are not dumb fucks who find themselves falling for each other along the way of their agreement, of course. and in yours and jeongguk’s case, you should have known better than to think the two of you would be an exception to the so-called curse of being friends with benefits with someone you already hold dear to you, since not even five months since it was agreed upon—the line between being only friends and being a little like lovers only continue to get hazier and hazier.

hell is empty by @aquagustd f s a ft.kth love triangle dadJK exJK CEO kth (164.4k)

⋆ life has a tendency to throw things your way when you least expect it, when you’re content, and the ominous presence knows exactly how to steer your existence back into the darkness.

to the stars by arckook (ao3) a zombie apocalypse (94.6k)

⋆ It was always you, and Jimin, and your best friend Jihyun. But fate, regardless of whether you believed in it or not, had other plans for you. Jimin told you once, "It's a tough road to the stars." Nowadays it was hard to believe the stars were somewhere you could reach.

moirai by norabean (ao3) f s a soulmates slow burn (95.2k)

⋆ On your 18th birthday a name appears on your wrist. The name of your soulmate. It’s a momentous day that everyone looks forward to, but you’ve always brushed aside; refusing to believe in a fickle mistress called destiny. But what happens when on the morning of your 18th birthday you wake to find the name of your mortal enemy? Jeon Jungkook.

from home by @yuzukult f s a e2l richkid jk fakedating au (89.5k)

⋆ a rich kid who gets cut off from family money meets an average post-grad girl who may be the key to getting him back on his parents’ good side.

and they were roommates by @hoseok666 f s a ft. kth e2l love triangle tsundere jk s2l (103.k+)

⋆ it all started with a rejection from your longtime crush, jeon jungkook. you decided to confess to him on your last day of high school. after a harsh rejection and a rough summer dealing with the heartbreak, you were starting anew once your freshman year of college came. you were going to be sharing an apartment with two other roommates that you don’t even know. what a surprise you’re going to be in for once you find out it’s the one and only: jeon jungkook and kim taehyung.

future hearts by @jungblue f s a ft. pjm punk jikook s2l band au f2l lost love (114.6k)

⋆ It was everything, from his tattoos, to his touches, to the way sweat rolled down his neck as he strummed into his guitar on stage; everything about him completely enthralled you. So why are you now, two and a half years later, on a train to Seoul, telling a complete stranger the recollection of how you became fated to forever have scars on all of your future hearts due to the happiness, but most of all the pain, that came along with falling in love with Jeon Jungkook.

mind games by @yerion f a tsundere jk roommates au (31.8k)

⋆ jungkook drives you to think strict criticism isn’t too bad, purely because you didn’t expect things to turn a bit steamier than intended. as the one and only female esports player, misery was at your fingertip when your skills suddenly deteriorated. however, the stoic leader of your team—jungkook, simply couldn’t sit back. he puts you back on track, yet no one told you sparks would fly; and the crazy fact that it’s inevitable

heartbeat by @xbaepsae s a ft myg unrequited love (24.9k)

⋆ “You fell in love with a boy who was in love with music, and you weren’t sure if he was capable of loving you the same way. This thought should’ve caused you to move away from him; but, if anything, it just drew you closer.“

one year, my love by @hayjeon f s a historical/royal au 100 days my prince kdrama (31k)

⋆ You forge a marriage contract with the strangely speaking man who suddenly stumbled into your town with memory loss, but little do you know that he’s actually the lost Crown Prince, and a lot can happen between a married man and woman in one year. 

the love prognosis by @awrkive f s a medical au roommates f2l (90.7k)

⋆ for as long as you can remember, you've always been a hopeless romantic. the girl who’s always dreamt of cheesy encounters with her soulmate, grand love declarations, and a cute little beach wedding to boot. but reality pretty much slaps you hard right on the face, because love, unfortunately, doesn’t come grand — it’s simple and it’s quiet, but it is quite painful, especially when the love that you’ve been seeking for all your adult life has just been right under your nose all this time.

ever a never after by @yoonia s ft. ksj enchanted au (51.8+k)

⋆ Some say fate can be a cruel thing. Yet you never knew how true it was until fate played a hand in your bad luck. Merely moments before your happily ever after, you are suddenly sent out to a weird place. A different world. You wonder if this is a test from fate to see if you are truly deserving of your happy ending, or if perhaps fate wants to show you something else. Something that fate wishes you to learn before you can finally move on to take the next step towards your happiness.

between takes by @jeonstudios f s a fluffer au porn star au (74.6k)

⋆ as a fluffer for a popular porn star, your focus is to keep him hard and performing on set. turns out he's not the only thing that's hard

Shatter With Me by @colormepurplex2 f s a surrogate au best friends husband (46.4k)

⋆ Your best friend, Jiyoon, and her husband, Jungkook, have faced years of hardship trying to start a family. In a last-ditch effort to have their dream life, they seek solace in surrogacy. Wanting to see your best friend smile, you offer to become the bright beacon at the end of the tunnel, giving them what they have always wanted. But what happens when you begin to shine your light on their darkness? Things aren’t always as they seem—happiness can be a façade, shattering under the lightest pressure.

Chasing Cars by @oddinary4bts f s a college au brother best friend forbidden love (218.5k)

⋆ when your brother goes to study on a semester abroad, your life collides with his best friend Jeon Jungkook, who's coincidentally your roommate. Will you survive the collision, or will you crumble into dust?

hold me close by @ahundredtimesover f s a brother best friend (41.8k)

⋆ When you're asked to look after your parents' house and meet them before they go on vacation, you, Jimin, and Jungkook take the trip to your hometown of Busan and relive memories of your youth. While your new relationship has you feeling like a lovesick teenager with all the affection that Jungkook shows you, you're still you - a professional trying to make it in the corporate world, and an eldest child trying not to disappoint her parents. And that turns out to be your undoing, as a little blunder causes a rift between you and Jungkook, resulting in a trip that you might as well have messed up… Not if your brother can help it, though

sugar high by @yeojaa f a idol au childhood best friends unrequited love (33.3k)

⋆ You thought you’d known real love and maybe you had - it just wasn’t with who you thought.

the law of attraction by @jexnkookie f s a lawyer jk girl of his dreams (26.9k)

⋆ Throughout his life, Jung Kook has only ever loved one girl. Despite her being out of his league and of an elite class that he wasn't born into, he fell hard, keeping his feelings a closely guarded secret. When they parted ways, and Jung Kook pursued his law career, he did so with the intent of moving on. But when she unexpectedly arrives back into his life, Jung Kook finds himself once again face to face with his own insecurities, and the girl of his dreams.

love bug by @here4kpopfics f s a established relationship (30.4k)

⋆ A collection of stories and drabbles with my comfort couple Jungkook and Love Bug as I affectionally call her. They were my first couple to write in over a decade and I hold them very close to my heart.

sh by @wwilloww f s a ot7 f2l (118k)

⋆ Six months of quarantine have kept you apart. Somehow the distance sparks something new in each of you: questions, unfinished conversations, threads once chased now left cold. So when your roommate invites you to come with him to a mysterious house in the mountains with your friends, how could you even think of saying no?

bloodlines entwined by @spideyjimin f s a s2l soulmates werewolf au royalty au (30.8+)

⋆ having a baby alone was supposed to be easy. but an accidental twist of fate pulled you into a hidden world of werewolves, and ancient bloodlines. navigating your already complicated life becomes even harder as you uncover your past; one tied to a legacy you never knew existed. and in the middle of this chaos stands jungkook, the werewolf king… and the father of your child.  

jump then fall (into you) by @writtenwhalien f s a bf2l fake dating (52k)

⋆ bringing Jungkook along as your date to your ex’s lavish cruise wedding seemed like a perfect idea at first — all of your family and close friends together, nothing can go wrong… then Jungkook’s ex shows up and all of a sudden you’re in a years long relationship with him. You don’t mind though, really, how hard can sharing a cabin and pretending to be deeply in love with your best friend really be?

not in that way by @girlygguk f s a ft. myg unrequited love bf2l (30k)

⋆ in which you're hopelessly in love with your best friend, min yoongi. meanwhile, your other best friend, jeon jungkook, is hopelessly in love with you.

live through this by @starshapedkookie f s a band au exes to frenemies to lovers (46.5k)

⋆ A record deal. The one thing Violet needed to become the next big rockstars. As the front-woman to the band, life couldn’t have been any easier for you. That is until a devastating life event changes everything for you, leaving you heartbroken and in a downward spiral you can’t get out of. With your biggest competitor, Whailen 52 on your heels, your bandmates worried about the future, and your ex Jeon Jungkook being your only solace; you weren’t sure if you were going to live through this to see your dreams come to fruition.

a story that we paint by @thedefinitionofbts f a ft.kth college au scifi au (25k)

⋆ in which the lines between virtual and reality are blurred.

crimson park by heartbeatan f s a e2l crime au(159.6k)

angel in the darkness by @icyhobi s a mafia au prostitution au

⋆ after a patient urgently pleads you to go and help a friend of his, you naively agree to it. little did you know, that you would get more than what you agreed to, when he leads you to a brothel, to help a dangerous prostitute named jeon jungkook.

one night stand by @buryhny f s a ceo au e2l (382k)

⋆ as if the unexpected twist of a one-night stand turning out to be your CEO boss wasn't surreal enough, the situation takes a more challenging turn when both of you discover that you're expecting his child.

the alpha omega series by @borathae f s a childhood best friends to enemies to lovers werewolf au (40.8k)

⋆ Jungkook is the son of the pack Alpha and therefore heir of the titel. You are an omega and utterly out of his league. This is the story of how, against all odds, you and he became true mates.

4-7-8 by @jiminrings a marriage au (73k+)

⋆ you’re secure when it comes to loving jungkook, knowing that your husband loves you beyond words. what you aren’t so secure about is his first love — someone who isn’t you. alternatively, jungkook’s married to you, but he still celebrates his anniversary with his ex out of sentimentality.

netflix & chill by @1kook f s blindate collge au (113.7+)

 ⋆ If you planned things right, you could rain down your raging displeasure on Jeon Jungkook right after the meal but before this proposed ‘Netflix and chilling,’ maybe dramatically throw your glass of wine at him, before storming out of his place and reporting him to the authorities (Namjoon) for his douchebag personality.

the bad blind date by ravsisrekt f s a idol au f2l (wattpad)

⋆ Being set up on a date is hard as it is. But being set up on a date where the boy you're with loves your best friend is even harder-and trust me, being bubbly, cute, and incredibly hilarious doesn't work on him either…but on the other members it certainly does.

sns by narcotichobi f s a idol au s2l (wattpad)

⋆ Jae is a twenty-one year old Korean-American university student whose life is just ordinary. Struggling through the confines of cultural differences between her lifestyle and ethnicity, Jae finds herself through social media outlets and the integration of k-pop into her American life. Jungkook is a twenty year old singer, dancer and producer of the Korean-Pop idol group, BTS (방탄소년단). He works over twelve hours a day and has almost every second of his life circulating around social media. Jungkook, with newly found dating privileges, is slow to trust another person with his personal life and thoughts. Follow Jae and Jungkook through a love-story heavily motivated by social media and press

40 weeks by magicalmochii f s a teeange pregnancy f2l (wattpad)

⋆ They didn't want to be virgins when they graduated. Two friends agree to let go of their innocence together, no strings attached. Life had other plans.

unconditionally by magicalmochii f s a parents au (wattpad) sequel to 40 weeks

⋆ They survived high school and overcame the obstacles that tried to break them apart. Together they adapt to college life and work, all while caring for their new baby. Now, two friends turned lovers prepare for their wedding. Life had other plans. The continuation of 40 Weeks. Bring tissues.

blood ink by pocketbangtan f s a gang au tattoo artist jk (wattpad)

⋆ "That's my tattoo, Y/N, on your body. You know exactly what that means."

one shot

wait for your love by @/spideyjimin f s a exes2lovers parents (17.3k)

⋆ sixteen years ago, your life was turned upside down when you surrendered to the temptation — none other than jungkook, the star basketball player on your school’s team. today, after all that time, you reunite under tragic circumstances; a car crash where he saves your life.

Inkling by @gguksgalaxy s a f2l tattoo artist jk (17.7k)

⋆Jungkook is your brother’s boyfriend’s co-worker, they own a tattoo and piercing parlour. In other words, he’s tall, gorgeous, has his passion literally etched into his skin, looks incredibly good in a man-bun, and is semi-unattainable for you. Why? Well…you’re not entirely sure but him ditching right after a very heated make-out session sure isn’t a good sign. His extremely poor mood the next week sure isn’t either, but the only way to fix it is to face the beast head-on. Right?

in this paradise by @ressjeon f s a s2l survivor au (16.3k)

⋆ in an attempt to escape what’s been planned for him, Jungkook hopped on a ship only to face a tragedy that he didn’t expect and then there’s you who somehow couldn’t believe to find company in this isolated land. was this fate or was this just a temporary chance of bliss as a challenge for you both?

sleepover by @personasintro f s best friends brother (10.4k)

⋆ Jungkook is your best friend’s little brother who invites you to have a sleepover at his place. Nothing can happen, right?

bottle up old love by @wintaerbaer f s a exes to lovers (4.6k)

⋆ Jungkook may have broken up with you a year ago, but that's not going to stop him from coming to your rescue when he sees you being cornered by a creep.

the devil’s change up by @/jungblue f s a coach au (41.3k)

⋆ Majoring in athletic training means you have mandatory observation hours to perform with every single sports team at your school throughout the year, and so far it’s been going pretty great. However, when regrets from your past cause your rotation with the baseball team to become a little rocky, there’s one star pitcher who says that he can make it all better. 

entertainer by @taegularities f s a s2l (32.4k)

⋆ Growing singer Jeon Jungkook is as charismatic as he is self-absored – that is, until he meets you. Caught in a web of secrets, he finds a riddle in you he urges to solve; even ready to turn the spotlight towards you until nothing remains… but regret.

habits of a clandestine nature by @alphabetboyluvr s a college au rich jk e2l (16k)

explorer by @/1kook f s alien au s2f2l (17.8k)

⋆ Jungkook does not want to impress the frankly tyrannical ways of his planet on you. He just wants to stay here and keep your couch warm for you, hold your hair back when you wash your face in the morning. 

million dollar darling by @kooktrash f s a e2f2l crazy rixh asians inspired (19.7k)

⋆ jeon jungkook is well aware of how privileged he is to have been born into the life he was given. it was glamorous and influential yet close-knit and suffocating, something he thought he wanted to escape from. a trip back home to the circle of wealth and snottiness for his best friend’s million dollar wedding has reminded him of all the reasons why he wanted to leave in the first place… and all the reasons he should stay — the main one being you, the spoiled rich girl he knew was utterly perfect for him.

little surfer girl by @ppersonna f s a summer love suferjk (9.8k)

⋆ every summer you watched jeon jungkook turn into a perfect, professional surfer. every summer, you wanted him more. this summer, you were determined to make him yours.

the whole of your heart by @lcksndkys f s a husband au band au (8k)

⋆ Save a drum, bang a drummer.

sketch by @moonscriptsx f s soulmate au artist jk (9.6k)

⋆ After sixteen years of dreaming about the same unknown beautiful girl, Jungkook finally gets to put a name to the face — and she's so much more than what he's dreamt of

strings attached (to my heart) by @jungkoode f s spiderkook college au (11.8k)

⋆ You were a journalist at Yonsei University when you started noticing the strange coincidences between your favorite bumbling freshman and Seoul's newest superhero. The way Spider-Man's voice cracks on 'noona' exactly like Jungkook's does. The way they both bring you the same snacks, have the same nervous energy, the same tendency to ramble when flustered. You tell yourself it's just a coincidence, because the alternative means admitting something you're absolutely not ready to deal with.

it was always you by @/hueseok f s a childhood best friends to lovers (13.2k)

⋆ for as long as you remember, you’ve always had the fattest crush on your childhood friend, jeon jungkook. it never blossomed into something more though, because that’s what happens when life naturally takes it course—you grow up, you move on, and you pretend that those feelings never existed in order to maintain the good friendship that remained between the two of you over the years.so when he visits you after work one day, asking you to marry him, you do everything you can to refuse, because the reason he’s asking you isn’t due to the fact that he finally realized that he loved you after all this time, but because he thinks he’s doing you a big favor.or at least, that’s what you think.

mio angelo by @/hueseok f s a mafia au established relationship (33.3k)

⋆ it’s no secret to the whole nation how powerful the jeon family was. the efforts of the highly respected don jungsoo was the reason why the name of their clan continues to be a name that people thought greatly of and sometimes even feared. despite your father working alongside with the don, you never truly understood what the family possessed to earn them such acclaim; that is until you got closer to one of his grandsons, jeon jeongguk, that you caught a glimpse of how much power they truly seized as you see it first hand and become a part of it yourself. inspired by the godfather and vincenzo

ultimatum by @parkmuse f s spiderkook (10.3k)

⋆ Your pervy, idiotic boyfriend just so happens to also be your friendly neighborhood Spider-man (in bed).

melomaniac by @jungkxook f s a band au f2l (13k)

⋆ you’re wholeheartedly, madly in love with jungkook and yet you shouldn’t be because he’s supposed to be your best friend and nothing more. worst part of it all is that you know he’s in love with you too.

Navigating Tides by @jjungkookislife f s a exes2lovers (18.9k)

⋆ A cruise is the last place you expect to see your ex-boyfriend, Jeon Jungkook. You broke up six months ago, and your best friends Jimin and Yoongi assured you your ex wouldn't even remember this cruise that you booked a year in advance. However, on your first night on board, you discover your ex isn't only on the cruise ship, but there are no rooms available for him to stay in other than yours.

will it fit? by @jeonsweetpea f s idiots2lovers roommate au (6.7K)

⋆ So what if your roommate caught you masturbating? At least he forgot about it the next day. But he can’t exactly forget the big dildo you left in your shared bathroom…

pull me down by @starryeyedkoo f a badboy gang college au (22.9k)

⋆ “Do you regret it?” “What?” “Falling in love with me? It feels like I only weigh you down.” “I’ll let you pull me down to the depths of hell if that’s what it means to love you.”

espresso by @joonberriess f s a boxer jk idol oc (14.6k)

⋆ a rowdy boxer and the pretty it-girl he bagged by being him. jungkook’s doing anything to prove he’s serious, even if it means making a fool outta himself.

changes in between by @/taegularities f s a roommates s2f2l (24.7k)

⋆ Becoming the roommate of Jeon Jungkook is the biggest change you’ve ever gotten thrown into - but little do you know that the addition of another man will bring even further turbulence into your (love) life.

not my fault by @/taegularities f s college au classmates 2 lovers (12.6k)

⋆ After sparking a sinful conversation on a dating app, you vow to yourself that you won’t give in to more the notorious college fuckboy Jeon Jungkook might have to offer. That is, until he rings your doorbell just one night later – and it’s truly not your fault that he’s so damn hard to resist.

the secret beneath our stars by @subvk s a college au f2l (13.1k)

⋆ Falling in love with Jeon Jungkook was everything you’ve ever dreamed of and more, but maybe it was exactly that: a dream so blissful and comforting that it was too good to be true, something that could all disappear when the night changes to day, and your eyes open again. Or, making a marriage pact with your best friend was supposed to instill a sense of hope for you, so why does this hurt you more than it should?

mature by @/jiminrings f a pining f2l (8k)

⋆ alternatively, crushing on jungkook who's in your friend group is, has, and will never be a good idea.

movie goers by @mi55delulu f s a e2f2l (16.4k)

⋆ starting off on the wrong foot with your new neighbor was not on the top of your bucket list, yet you’ve made an enemy of jeon jungkook in less than 24 hours. unlucky for you, he’s not backing down either.

hopless hearts by @cupofteaguk f idol au s2l (17k)

⋆ you never understood the gravity of your position as an intern working Kcon until you fall for one of your favorite idols, Jeon Jungkook—quite literally too.

dissonance by @/yuzukult f s a rockstar jk student oc (19.4k)

⋆ something that first seems out of reach becomes a reality for him. screaming adoring fans, billboards with him and his band plastered on it, and touring across the globe with venues sold out. he has everything… but all he’s missing is you.

this is how we break by @ahundredtimesover f s a exes au (20.6k)

⋆ There are things you prepared for coming back home and that includes seeing your ex-boyfriend, but helping him design his apartment isn’t one of them. From meetings over coffee and lunches with your friends, you both learn more about the time in-between, and what you find out leave you heartbroken, wondering if there’s enough of you left to try to get back what you’d lost.

↬looking for other jjk fics or the other members check out my library

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[100vern]

in the zone | ksy

what do you do when it feels like your entire life is falling apart? you spend the last of your inheritance on a beach house for the summer, of course. sure, the listing was suspiciously cheap, and there’s a massive waterpark right outside the bedroom window, but you just need to get away, so it’ll have to do. besides, it’s not like your entire world can get turned upside down in three months… right?

⟡ pairing: hoshi x f. reader ⟡ genre: strangers to lovers, (accidental) roommates; smut, fluff, lite angst ⟡ rating: explicit. minors do not interact with this or any of my work. ⟡ warnings: bestie minghao. lots of talk about wasted potential, dead-end jobs, fear of change, job-based insecurity, self-doubt (no this is NOT a self-insert why do you ask!!). mentions of grief and mourning a loved one but nothing super heavy. alcohol and weed use. swearing. mentions of food/eating. pet names (baby, pretty girl). two down bad losers who are disgustingly into one another after a concerningly short amount of time, which is the beauty and entire point of fanfiction. please suspend any and all disbelief, thank u! ⟡ smut warnings: kissing. grinding/dry humping. public indecency but not public sex. hair pulling. dirty talk & praise. oral sex (f. receiving, mentions of m. receiving). protected vaginal sex. everyone orgasms. ⟡ wordcount: 20.2k ⟡ credits: bee (@imnotshua) and jess (@starlightkyeom) for reading this over for me, as always. i was in a time crunch and we're under a tornado watch so this is unedited and any mistakes are my own. if there's anything glaring i will fix it at a later date. :') ⟡ written for: the carat bay collab, hosted by @camandemstudios! thank you both for letting me participate. please make sure to check out the rest of the fics! ♡ ⟡ author's note: this is based entirely on the beach town i spent all my summers at as a kid, so there's a lot of nostalgia here. i wasn't sure i was gonna get this done on time, but with the power of god and anime vyvanse on my side, we managed to pull through... even if we had to pivot bc my original plan would've tripled the length. i hope you enjoy it!

Fate is not something you believe in, but if you did, you think it’d feel a lot like this.

“It’s not fate,” Minghao comments unhelpfully from his side of the lunch table, “it’s suspicious. It’s also highly concerning that they look the same to you.”

You frown. Spear a piece of near-wilted spinach on the end of your fork, sending a bead of salad dressing onto your phone that you don’t notice and consequently smear all over your screen when you scroll through the rental listing with your other hand. “Do the horrors ever cease?” Minghao stares blankly at you. You sigh at his lack of humor. “Are you saying you don’t think I should go?”

“No,” he’s quick to say, handing over a napkin. “On the contrary, I think you need to get the fuck out of here. All I’m saying is I think you should go to a place that isn’t such an obvious scam.”

A scoff escapes you as you stare down at the listing again. Super Host Soonyoung stares back at you for the hundredth time today. If it were possible to judge someone’s character from a blurry internet picture the size of an ant, you think he’d seem very kind with his beaming smile and doughy cheeks, not to mention the stylish sunglasses sitting atop his head that seem like they were purchased from an actual store and not a military-grade infomercial.

Besides, he’s opening up his home to strangers. Shitty people don’t do that, do they?

“They do if they’re landlords,” Minghao deadpans.

You concede the point. Not that you’d argue, anyway—renting out your beach house for the entirety of the summer is near-textbook landlording—but the lunch room is starting to fill up, and the last thing you need (or want) is your coworkers asking questions.

Aside from Minghao, these people are not your friends. They’re people you offer that weird closed-mouth smile to when you meet at the coffee machine and awkwardly have to wait your turn, sharing fake laughs when one of you complains that, no matter what option you pick, it always comes out tasting like an ashtray. They’re people you sign birthday cards for and have no idea how old they’re turning. They’re people who tell you all about their families and show you pictures of spouses and kids you swore belonged to someone else.

They’re people whose names you can’t match to faces when you get office-wide emails congratulating them on anniversaries and accomplishments; celebrating retirements; regretfully announcing departures for bigger and better things. They’re people you swear at under your breath for microwaving something foul or not pulling their weight; for wearing too much cologne and kissing ass for promotions that’ll never be theirs.

These people are not your friends, but you’ve been here so long that it feels like they should be.

“I need to decide before everyone else gets the same idea and it gets booked up.” A loud cackle sounds from the table beside you. Deborah, one of the new hires. You’d been expecting a picture of a middle-aged woman when her introductory email had been sent out. Imagine your surprise when a baby-faced new grad was staring back at you. “Wanna get together after work and tell me all the reasons why this is a terrible idea?”

Minghao, the bastard that he is, pretends to check his calendar. “Hmm. Looks like I’m all booked on the ‘dispensing extremely valuable advice no one listens to’ front. I do, however, have an opening tomorrow. Mimosa-drunk at brunch or wine-drunk at a more socially acceptable hour. Your choice.”

A glance at your phone tells you you’ve got five minutes and three-quarters of your salad left before your mandatory unpaid lunch break is over. You stab at the mixed greens again and frown—you left it too long and now everything is all soggy and gross. “First of all, this is the worst salad I’ve made this year. Don’t let me try any more Pinterest recipes. Second of all, you never ask me to hang out on weekends.” You narrow your eyes at him. “What’re you doing tonight? Do you have a date?”

Deborah immediately stops shrieking, attention piqued by her eavesdropping. Of course, she tries to play this off by pretending to check her makeup in her phone camera, except you can see her screen—and that she accidentally opened her credit card app.

So far, she owes $2,927.43 for the month of January.

A bastard but not an idiot, Minghao shakes his head, aware of the eyes on him. “No,” he answers, and his voice is so solid and sure you nearly believe him. “Well, not like that. I’m meeting my parents for dinner.”

God, you can practically see the cartoon hearts floating above Deborah’s head.

“Well, wine-drunk sounds better to me,” you answer, ignoring the fact that Minghao’s parents are in Turks and Caicos this week for their anniversary. Which he told you three days ago. “Orange juice gives me heartburn.”

With a put-upon sign, Minghao stands from the table. Gathers his trash and drapes his cardigan over his shoulders in a way that looks fashionable and cool. “I have got to make plans with people my own age.”

You snort. “Well, you can always ask—“

He cuts you off with a very pointed, “Back to the grind,” even though he says that’s “stuff white people say, along with ‘another day in paradise!’—and if you ever ask a white person how they’re doing and they respond with ‘I’m alive,’ you need to take a half-day.”

Everyone in this place is so fake.

And it isn’t like your day gets any better. An hour before closing time, your manager pops up on the ledge of your cubicle. “Heeey,” she chimes, pretending to wince at what’s about to come out of her mouth next. All things considered, she’s nowhere near the worst person to work for: she’s trustworthy, didn’t hesitate to give you the time off you needed, sends funny memes in the team group chat. So your whole thing with her isn’t her fault, it’s just—she’s years younger than you, so it touches on all those old insecurities. “Glenn needed to take the rest of the day, and in true Glenn fashion he didn’t get those reports done before he left. I hate to ask, but could you maybe, possibly, perhaps stay a little late…?”

In the split-second since she appeared at your desk like a bad omen, you’ve made up your mind: that beach house will be yours for the entire summer, scam or not.

Because you hate Glenn as much as the next guy (which, on your team, is mostly everyone), but you hate this place as an institution even more. What it represents. The insecurities and inadequacies it picks at. How comfortable you’ve grown here and the convenient excuses that comfort provides.

So you agree before you can come to your senses, because saying no will look bad, and the only thing you’ve got going for you and having been here so long with barely anything to show for it is the amount of PTO you’ve racked up, so you can’t and won’t give anyone a reason to refuse your request.

With a few minutes left in the day, everyone starts packing up and discussing weekend plans: sports and TV series they’ll be watching, new coffee shops they’re checking out, hobbies they’ll be catching up on. Before you can up the volume in your headphones, your cubicle mate asks if you’re doing anything fun. “Ah, just trying that new winery tomorrow, I think,” you answer, and you hope she won’t remember this come Monday because you don’t know anything about wine and can’t think of many things worse than discussing it.

Five-thirty hits. Everyone trickles out while you stay seated, glued to your desk and receiving everyone’s sympathetic glances. It takes a half hour just to get into Glenn’s reports because, for reasons unknown to you and your manager, he password-protected them—and once you’re in you see why. Half-baked columns, wrong formulas used even though knowing and understanding Excel was a job requirement, numbers you can’t trace back to any of the provided data. At seven you’re ready to put your head through a concrete wall. By eight you finally hit the halfway mark.

At quarter to ten, you finally send off the reports and sit back in your chair. Sitting in thischair for so long has to be doing irreversible damage, so you make a mental note to schedule a massage for tomorrow afternoon before you meet up with Minghao. With a sigh, you squeeze your eyes shut and try to conjure up some moisture. Nearly five hours after the rest of your coworkers, you pack up your belongings, twisting your body as you stand and trying not to wince as your knees and back make some concerning sounds.

Then, before you shut down your computer and go home to rot in bed until you’re forced to socialize, you put in your PTO request for June 2nd through August 29th.

(It gets approved first thing Monday morning.)

Vacations (In Theory) are very different from Vacations (In Practice).

Here you are on May 30th, mentally preparing for another long night hunched over your desk. Not only do you need to work ahead as much as you can for your nearly three month absence, you also have to include a paper trail to prove you at least tried to problem-solve before dumping it on whoever’s unlucky enough to cover you.

Minghao waits for you. Plops his stuff on your desk, pulls up a chair, and scrolls through social media while you work, making offhand comments every now and then about people you don’t know and all their drama while you try not to comment on how weird it is. In all the years you’ve worked together and have been friends, he’s never stuck around while you worked late, but the excuse had been convenient: I have plans tomorrow and you’re leaving early on Sunday so let’s grab dinner after work was much easier to say than I’m not going to see you for three months so let’s grab dinner because I’ll miss you.

You hadn’t commented on that, either.

Nonetheless, you put your head down and focus. Minghao had made a seven-thirty reservation at a place more upscale than the two of you usually frequent, and you’ll need to hustle if you have any hope of getting out of here within the hour.

Time seems to fly after that. Not only at work, but at dinner, too. Despite your first impression of him (deeply serious with a cutting resting bitch face), you’ve always enjoyed spending time with Minghao. He’s funny, now that you’re acquainted with his sense of humor, and he’s both carefree and solid in ways you could only dream of being. All of his troubles seem to come and go like the tide, never sticking around for too long and overstaying their welcome. The thought of him no longer being there when you return is too much to bear, so you make him promise not to change jobs until you’re back.

He quirks an eyebrow and pulls a face. “First of all, you’re going on vacation, you’re not dying. Second, I’m not promising you that. I apply to twenty jobs a week at minimum. I don’t want to be—” He pauses. Seems to be aware of what was about to come out of his mouth.

I don’t want to be like you, working a dead-end job.

I don’t want to be like you, undervalued by every metric of the word.

I don’t want to be like you, latching onto something no good for me just because it’s comfortable and I’m terrified of change.

I don’t want to be like you.

Minghao flushes. Stumbles over apologies. “No need to apologize,” you assure him, plastering on a smile you know isn’t fooling anyone. Take a sip of your drink to feign normalcy. Take a bite of food that tastes like sawdust. Good thing you were almost done, anyway.

Because Minghao was right, and everyone knows it.

Saying goodbye is awkward at best and painful at worst. Deep down, you know Minghao is just embarrassed—you would be, too, in his shoes—but just like Vacations (In Theory) and Vacations (In Practice), what you logically know to be true is very different from what you internalize. Because it’s not just embarrassment, it’s also the reason you don’t go for team drinks; the reason you don’t have anything personal on your desk. You just don’t see the point in integrating yourself into a place you shouldn’t be to begin with.

But that’s the whole point of this vacation, isn’t it?

Three months without having to think about work. Three months to decompress and pretend you’re going to do all that philosophical shit, like six a.m. trips to the beach to stare at the waves, stick your toes in the sand, and “find yourself.” Whatever that means.

There’s not much to do around the apartment except making sure you eat whatever’s left in the fridge. Coming home to a bunch of rotten food and having to go back to work the next day? Absolutely not. You’d need to bypass your office and go straight to an institution instead. You spend the rest of the day doing laundry and packing. You stand in front of your shelves and deliberate for far too long over which books to bring and then you do the same with your music library as you stare down at an empty playlist.

It’s early when your alarm goes off—barely eight o’clock, the sun already high in the sky as it beams through your curtains, birds chirping. Feels like waking up on a holiday morning or the first day of school: giddy excitement on the surface, nerves simmering just below. Makes it easy to get up and make your bed, to get dressed and put on sunscreen, your sunglasses, when there’s no dread weighing you down. Makes it easy not to mind the hours-long drive. Makes it easy to drive with the windows down, music loud, the wind in your hair.

Makes it easy to feel like you’re driving towards something, rather than away from it.

Halfway there, you stop at a small cafe for lunch, the feeling almost transcendental as you eat outside and let the sun warm your skin. You order an iced coffee to-go and it sweats in the cupholder, nothing but melted ice by the time you pull off the highway and navigate the smaller back roads, some of them covered in sand. You take a deep breath and smile. Everything smells like the sea—salty and slightly sweet, the sulphur of low tide.

The town looks like a postcard.

In your excitement, you’ve looked at a lot of pictures over the last few months, but none of them can compare to reality. Ice cream shops with striped awnings. Sidewalks covered in chalk doodles. More seafood restaurants than you can count. Antique and surf shops. Wooden playgrounds next to fenced-in basketball and tennis courts. Families walking back from the beach, pushing sleeping kids in strollers, lugging chairs and coolers and boogie boards behind them.

That excitement creeps back in the closer you get, and at every red light you look around and marvel at all the houses. How uniform they are. How they’re all elevated with ground-floor garages. The porthole windows and porches wrapped in white railing. Front yards with pinwheels stuck in thin strips of grass. Colorful cruiser bicycles stashed in tiny alleyways behind the houses, some laying on their sides with the wheels still spinning. If you close your eyes you can hear laughter and bells.

You pull into the driveway at ten after three, surprised to find that this house doesn’t look like all the others. Where they had vinyl siding in neutral, inoffensive colors, this one is mint green, bright and vibrant, with white scalloping along the facade. It reminds you of ice cream—the flowers in the wooden boxes beneath the windows look like sprinkles, and with how close you are to the boardwalk, the smell of fried dough hanging in the air, it’s easy to pretend.

Out of the car, an older couple in matching windbreakers waves as they pass you on the sidewalk. Everything sounds so much closer: the waves crashing, delighted shrieks from people on rides, the men combing the beach, trying to sell drinks and popsicles, squawking seagulls in search of someone’s food. You can see the ocean from where you stand, peeking out from beneath the boards. This is exactly what I needed, you think. Feels like your smile is permanent.

Until you try to get into the house.

You’d been given a door code when you confirmed your reservation. It doesn’t work. No matter how many times you try, 0-5-2-5 gets you nothing but a blinking red light and an encroaching panic. Phone already in hand, you send a message to the rental host—Hi! I’m at the house, but the door code doesn’t seem to be working. Is there another one I can try? Thank you!—before sitting on the porch steps to await your fate.

What you expect: a response rife with apologies, both for the mix-up and the inconvenience.

What you get: someone stampeding down the stairs and pulling the door open.

Super Host Soonyoung stands in the doorway wearing a sheepish smile and red-tinged cheeks. Except for the sunglasses, he looks just like his picture (especially the doughy cheeks), so at least you know you’ve got the right place. Still, you ask, “Hi, are you Soonyoung?” just to confirm, and that seems to knock him out of his stupor, offering to grab your bags and give you a tour.

Which seems strange. You don’t really need a tour, do you? Surely you’ll be able to find your way around over the next few months, but Soonyoung is extremely apologetic and seems a little embarrassed so you don’t say anything. You do let him grab your bag, though—mostly because meeting new people is always difficult for you, so letting him take one bag while you take the other gives you something to do with your hands. Gives you something to comment on and laugh about when he pretends to strain taking it out of the trunk.

When you get inside, Soonyoung gives you the choice of three bedrooms. Two are upstairs. Of those, one has two large windows facing the street, rewarding you with a view of the boardwalk and the ocean, while the other also has beach views that are semi-obstructed by the waterpark. The third and final bedroom is downstairs, just off the kitchen. Soonyoung offers this one and says it might be “less awkward,” which also strikes you as strange, considering—

Wait.

“Bathroom-wise, it doesn’t really matter what one you pick. There are full bathrooms on both levels—”

Reality hits you like a truck, head-on and all at once. Maybe it’s less reality and more the obvious, because listening to Soonyoung explain where the bathrooms are and giving you a tour and being here in general puts a lot of things into perspective very quickly.

“I think I fucked up,” are the only words you’re able to muster. Soonyoung’s mouth snaps closed. “Or you did. Either way, one of us really, really fucked up.” Soonyoung pauses. Tilts his head to the side like a puppy, the confusion obvious, and you think he’s about to ask what you mean so you beat him to it. “The listing was for the entire house.”

That does it.

“I—what? Are you sure?”

The second question is rhetorical. You know it, Soonyoung knows it, everyone knows it, so you don’t answer, just nod and offer a sympathetic, closed-lipped smile and hope the ground will split apart and swallow you.

Horrifyingly, all you can think at this moment is that Minghao was right about this being a scam. You’ll have to tuck your tail between your legs and tell him, because you can’t stay here. Sharing a space—not only is it foreign to you, you’re not sure you even can. There’s an art to being a good roommate, and after living alone both during college and all your years as an adult, it’s not a skill you have.

And it takes a while, longer than you expected, for the disappointment to hit. For all that excitement and all the plans you had—sticking your toes in the cold, early morning sand; sunset walks up and down the boardwalk; eating so much fried food you’re sick of it within a week; waking up to the sound of waves crashing—to come crashing down around you. This was supposed to be a reset. A reward for dragging yourself this far and surviving. A balm for all the regrets you have about your life and a compass to find a new direction.

All of it—gone.

The tears are just as embarrassing as you thought they’d be.

To his credit, Soonyoung doesn’t panic. He doesn’t seem to flinch at all, which surprises you; he gently grabs your arm and helps you to the small table in the kitchen. Pulls out a chair and gestures for you to sit, and when you do and he can be sure you aren’t going to bolt straight out the door, he pours you a glass of water, sits across from you, and calmly says, “We can figure this out.”

Any other time you’d probably scoff and say something that belied just how hopeless you found this entire situation, but now, after experiencing a concerning number of mental breaks in a very short amount of time, you’re happy to let someone else take the reins and do the heavy lifting. Of course, you don’t know what that looks like in this case. Do you ask for a refund and try to find a hotel? Surely not: any reputable hotel would cost ten times what you spent on this place, not to mention they’ve probably been booked solid since last year. Do you ask for a refund, find a hotel, book as long of a stay as you can, and spend the rest of your summer having a staycation at home? That sounds miserable.

There are probably thousands of podcasts talking about what a horrible idea it’d be to live with a strange man for three months, and it’s your fault for idealizing this entire trip so much to begin with that makes any alternative seem like a fate worse than death, but you can’t stay… right? Even if it somehow wasn’t the stupidest idea of all time, that doesn’t even touch on the fact that it’s Soonyoung’s house, and who's to say he even wants you here, anyway?

“Since this was my second embarrassing fuck up of the day, I’ll just… go somewhere else while you’re here, and you can have the house to yourself.”

You blink. “For three months?”

His eyes widen for a brief second. You’re starting to think he wasn’t prepared for any scenario, let alone this one. “I—yeah, yeah, of course. Three months! Psh, that’s nothing, you know? Barely any time at all.”

“I mean, it’s a quarter of a year. That doesn’t seem insignificant.”

Those same wide eyes have begun twitching. “Riiight.” He follows this with a very long sip of water. “It’s really no trouble, though. I can sleep at the studio. There’s a couch and a bathroom there and everything.”

It definitely doesn’t seem like it’s no trouble. Soonyoung looks like he’d rather remove all of his teeth with very dull tools, and even if this was his (admittedly catastrophic) error, it doesn���t feel right putting him out of his own home—especially to a place where having a couch and a bathroom are considered an upside. Does the bathroom even have a shower? How would he cook? Is any of his stuff there? God, you can’t do that to someone.

So it’s with a little caution, a lot of stupidity, and an ill-advised desire to be more spontaneous and free-spirited as if you’re a character in an Elizabeth Gilbert novel that you ask, “Is it weird for you if you just… stay?”

For all of Soonyoung’s mismanagement, it’s clear he doesn’t want to inconvenience you further or make you uncomfortable. He’s insistent that he’ll leave, insistent that it really is no trouble and it’s the least he can do for fucking up the listing, and insistent that if you just give him some time to pack some clothes, he’ll be out of your hair in no more than thirty minutes. With a sigh, you go through your questions again.

Does the bathroom have a shower? No, but—

How would you cook? Maybe I could come over once a week to meal prep, if you wouldn’t mind? There’s a microwave, at least.

Is any of your stuff there? Like, an old pair of sneakers. And maybe a musty sweatshirt.

By the time you ask your follow-up questions, both of you know he isn’t going anywhere, and perhaps if he’d confirmed that you’re one-hundred-percent okay with this nineteen times instead of twenty you wouldn’t have gone for it, but he does so you do.

“I really don’t have to—” You wave him off. Ask him if there are any house rules he’d like you to abide by aside from the obvious. When he sends you a questioning look, you admit you’ve never been anyone’s roommate before. “Oh,” he responds. Takes a second to think. “I don’t think so? Sometimes I keep weird hours. Like, I have my regular jobs, but sometimes I’ll go to the studio if I’m restless or want to work on something, so I guess me going in and out in the middle of the night is something to be aware of. I’ll make sure to be quiet, though.”

“Is it like a regular nine-to-five? I don’t want to disturb you, either.”

Soonyoung screws up his face. “God, no. I—wow, I just realized you have no idea what I’m talking about. I run a dance studio for the local kids. Most of them take summers off to go on vacations or whatever, so once school’s out we only open two or three days a week, depending on how many of them sign up. This year there weren't many, so we decided on Tuesdays and Thursdays.”

“And your other job?”

He scratches at the back of his neck. “Ah, that one’s kind of embarrassing? I… work at the waterpark next door. Carat Bay.”

“Oh, that doesn’t seem so bad.”

He sighs. Runs his thumb vertically along the length of his glass and collects the condensation. “When I first opened the studio, I didn’t realize it wouldn’t be busy all the time, you know? I spent my summers here, so I figured everyone else did, too, and I needed to pick up a second job to cover the studio rent on top of a million bills for both here and there.”

You want to tell him you understand. Want to tell him it isn’t embarrassing to do what you have to do to make ends meet; that, if anything, it’s brave. That you’ve been there (and still are). That you’re a little embarrassed by your job, too. But then he continues. “It probably isn’t embarrassing for the high school and college kids, but I’m almost twenty-nine and I’m operating the splash zone. It definitely feels embarrassing.”

You hum. Look around Soonyoung’s kitchen. From the listing photos, you knew it didn’t look like every other rental beach house, with all the ocean motifs and white wicker furniture and seashells nailed to the wall. It’s not sparkling marble and stainless steel, either, but it’s nicer than your outdated kitchen. “You seem to be doing okay, though. I mean—you’ve got this nice house and a dance studio. That seems pretty good for someone our age.”

Soonyoung laughs, a little shy and self-conscious. “I inherited the house from my grandma. I could never afford anything like this.”

“Mm, no offense, but I put that together pretty much immediately.”

When Soonyoung laughs this time, it’s bright and open, reaches his eyes and brings his entire being to life. The two of you make small talk for a few more minutes until you’re unable to stifle a yawn, and then Soonyoung is up and heading for a cabinet drawer immediately, pulling out a stack of takeout menus and saying to take your pick, dinner’s on him tonight. After you try (and fail) to protest, you ask him what’s good and accept his answer of a taco spot not far, and he puts through the order. Asks if you’ve decided on a bedroom so he can carry your bags, so you choose the streetside one upstairs with the view of the water, and while he’s gone to pick up food, you take a quick shower and unpack.

Minghao [6:22pm]: everything ok? how’s the house? You [6:49pm]: It’s a long story I’m too exhausted to type out rn You [6:49pm]: But I think this is gonna be really good for me 🤞

When you wake up the next morning, you expect it to have followed a night of fitful sleep.

Being in a stranger’s house. Said stranger sleeping only a few feet away, door cracked, his soft snores drifting down the hall. An unfamiliar place. A beach town that, while picturesque and dreamy, seems to also be nocturnal. Once most of the town turned off their lights and locked their doors for the night, it’d taken on a second life—groups of friends walking to and from the bars and clubs, shrieks of laughter and heated arguments, the to-be-expected disregard of the time and basic decency that comes with being immature and on a group trip in your early twenties.

You’re surprised, then, that you feel refreshed when you wake up. That the last thing you remember is your head hitting the pillow. It’s the most restful sleep you’ve had in months, and you roll over to check the time feeling ready to take on the world.

8:37am

Spoiled for and overwhelmed by choice, you take your time getting out of bed and going about your routine. When you slip out of your room to brush your teeth, you notice Soonyoung’s bedroom door is wide open. Even though you’re curious, you don’t (and wouldn’t) peek—instead, you’re distracted by the aroma of freshly-brewed coffee wafting upstairs.

“Good morning,” Soonyoung greets you. He’s sitting on the couch, one leg crossed and tucked beneath him. “I made coffee if you want some. I also left out the bread. If you wanna let me know what you like, I can go grocery shopping later—”

You smile. “Sure, thanks.” Wander into the kitchen. Fill a mug with coffee, cream, a little sugar. Pop two slices of bread into the toaster and, once they pop back out, spread on a thin layer of butter.

And then you hesitate. Should you eat here? Would it be weird to join Soonyoung in the living room? Would it be rude if you didn’t? With a sigh, you compromise and meet in the middle. Place your plate on the newel cap of the staircase and wrap both hands around the mug, soaking in the warmth. Soonyoung has the television on. You don’t recognize what’s playing, but it seems to be a mid-season rerun of some sitcom—background noise, mostly, which is exactly what it seems to be now.

Neither of you are watching. Soonyoung’s scrolling through his phone and you’re content to stare out the bay window facing the street, watching people pass by on their way to the beach. Large straw hats, colorful umbrellas, excited toddlers waiting for an opening to dart away. The waves still crash. The seagulls still screech. “Do you have to work today?” you ask Soonyoung because you feel like you should make conversation.

“Not today, thankfully,” he answers. He sets his phone down and twists his body so he’s facing you. “Back to the studio tomorrow, and I’m scheduled for the waterpark Friday through Sunday.”

You nod. You’re tempted to ask if he wants to do something together and decide against it, not wanting him to feel obligated. If you’re being honest, you’re not entirely sure you want to hang out, still wrapping your head around the fact that the vacation you spent months idealizing will not come to fruition. Not fully. But there’s nothing stopping you from grabbing a book and sitting on the beach for a few hours.

Long enough to decompress—or start to.

“I’ll probably head to the beach.”

“Cool. Let me give you a beach tag.” What he hands over reminds you of an oversized bread clip: octagonal and neon red, 2025 SEASON printed in the center. You have never seen one of these in your life. “Are these not a thing where you’re from?”

“You have to pay to go on the beach?”

Soonyoung’s nose twitches as he bites back a laugh and nods. Explains that the money’s used to maintain the beach and the restrooms and pay the lifeguards and a whole bunch of other things. “Supposedly,” he tacks on conspiratorially.

“Did the mayor get a brand new Porsche?”

“I don’t even know who the mayor is.”

An hour later, after you changed and decided on a book, and Soonyoung not only gave you a beach pass but also his favorite chair (one of the nice ones that recline and have a drink holder) and his phone number (under the guise of you sending him your grocery list, to which you inexplicably offered to just go with him instead), you have to admit the beaches are impeccably maintained.

Touché, beach pass.

With your toes dug into the warm sand, you get through half of your book. Spend the rest of the time dozing off in Soonyoung’s chair, lulled into a half-sleep by the rhythm of the waves crashing and retreating, the conversations of the people around you that becomes a singular thrum, the shrill sound of the lifeguard’s whistle that jolts you awake every time someone goes out too far.

Soonyoung texts you around three, asking if you still want to go to the store with him. No worries if not, he tacks on, you can just send me your list. So you start packing up what little you brought, thankful your walk back to the house is short. You’re drowsy from the sun, warmed through to your bones, still in awed disbelief that this is what the entirety of your summer is going to consist of. That you won’t have to suffer like the poor kid running the mini golf course, nearly dead from either boredom or a hangover behind the ticket window. That your whims will be able to come and go like the tide.

You rinse the sand from your feet at the spigot in the backyard. Return Soonyoung’s chair to where he’d grabbed it from. Leave your sandals by the back door and do a final shake of your bag to get rid of anything that might track into the house. Now that you have the right code (0-5-2-6; Soonyoung had mistyped it in his original message), you let yourself in, surprised to find him bent over the kitchen table with an extremely long grocery list in front of him.

“Lucy, I’m home,” you joke.

He looks up at you with a lopsided smile. “How was the beach?” he asks, eyes returning to his list.

“Beach-y keen.”

There’s a beat of silence—one that’s long enough to have your cheeks warming from embarrassment over a very bad dad joke—before Soonyoung lets out a snort of laughter. “Terrible.”

“Definitely not my best,” you concede, mirroring his smile. Even though he can’t see it, you nod at the list. “What are you up to?”

“Grocery list.” He holds it up, unfurling it like a scroll. “Do you think this is enough?”

You move closer, eyes scanning over what he’s written down. Four different types of burgers and soft drinks. Regular and gluten-free bread; milk and non-dairy alternatives. Brown, white, cage-free, organic eggs. Enough snacks to fuel a youth athletic team for at least a month. Pasta, lunch meat with ???? written next to it, cereal, rice. “Are you planning on buying out the store?”

“I—no, I just didn’t know what you like.”

“May I?” you ask, gesturing for him to hand you the list. When he does, you flip it over and create separate sections: one for each meal, one for pantry items (staples and snacks), and one for drinks. “Do you usually meal plan?”

Soonyoung’s stare is blank. “No. I just go to the store and buy things I like and try to eat it all before it goes bad.” Thankfully, you’re able to keep your horror to yourself. “You do? You’re that organized?”

“I wouldn’t say organized.” You flip the list back over and put checkmarks next to the things you like. “Do the same thing, and then we can come up with some ideas so we aren’t going rogue and overspending.”

After a lot of back and forth, a little friendly ribbing—“Do you really need four boxes of fruit snacks?” you tease Soonyoung, to which he replies, “Sorry, grandma. Add another box of Fig Newtons to the list instead,” which causes you to promptly cross them off—and even more organization and assigning of duties, the two of you emerge triumphant over the shopping list. If your calculations are correct (which they should be, considering how long you’ve lived alone and have done this exact thing every week), this shop should last roughly two weeks. You also give yourselves two days a week to either order takeout or go to a restaurant, considering Soonyoung’s sporadic work schedule.

As you pile into your car, Soonyoung slides into the passenger seat. Covers his eyes with a pair of sunglasses and rolls the window down. Leans his head back against the seat and sighs, appearing to be the epitome of contentment and inner peace. “Thank god it was you I fucked up the listing for.” He says this like it’s nothing. As if it’s a completely normal thing to say and it doesn’t have you nearly swerving into a telephone pole, stunned by the sincerity in his voice. “Can you imagine if it was someone as bad as me?”

It’s his words, and not the hours you spent in the sun, that keep you warm through the chilly grocery store aisles.

The first two weeks of your vacation feel well-earned and restorative, with a slight sunburn.

After that, however, everything starts to feel… different. Like you’re living someone else’s life. An alternate reality where you wake up whenever you want to, stroll casually up and down the boardwalk with an iced coffee and no destination in mind; where all those things you’d stressed over months ago are nowhere to be found, dragged out to sea by the current.

It’s a slow, gradual process. A little awkward and jilted at first as you both grow used to one another and figure out what and where the boundaries are. As you’re both determined not to make it weird or overstep.

Nonetheless, the two of you fall into an easy routine. Most of your afternoons are spent at the beach or around town, and on the two days a week Soonyoung is at the dance studio, he always texts you right before his last class to check in about dinner: if you want him to cook, if you want to cook, if you want to go out or order something for delivery. Meals are now eaten on the couch so the two of you can commentate whatever’s on the television.

(Fridays are your favorite. Soonyoung stops at the liquor store on his way home from the waterpark and the two of you get drunk on beer and soju and watch wrestling. You share two styrofoam takeout containers of tacos, and the drunker Soonyoung gets, the more ridiculous his commentary becomes. By the time the six-pack is gone, he’s sideways on the couch, his head nearly in your lap, bowled over from the weight of his laughter.)

A two-week trial period is usually far too short for you to make friends—hell, you didn’t even talk to Minghao until you’d run into him at the coffee machine every morning for three straight months—but Soonyoung is easy to get along with. To livewith. He’s easy to like. So you’re not shocked when you reach the three-week mark and all those inhibitions seem to disappear. When he appears in the doorway of your bedroom and asks if you wanna swing by the waterpark later that afternoon and keep him company.

“It’s so boring,” he whines. “I just sit there and make sure people don’t pee or drown, which is nearly impossible, anyway. It’s a giant bucket that dumps water on you—how could someone drown.”

You laugh to yourself, thankful your back is turned to him. You’ve been trying to decide between the neon green bikini and the one-piece with the cut-out just below your chest for a good fifteen minutes and aren’t any closer to a decision. “An adult human can drown in as little as two inches of water, you know.”

“Yeah, if they’re an idiot, maybe,” Soonyoung fires back. “Wear the green one. That color will look really good on you. And then come to the waterpark. I’ll give you a free pass.”

When you turn to face him, he quickly pulls out all the stops: truly pathetic puppy dog eyes, plush bottom lip pushed out, hands clasped together like he’s about to start begging. Before this exact moment, you would’ve said your resolve was made of steel, that you were not a person susceptible to a grown man’s pouting, but you cave in a concerningly short amount of time. Huff, try to act like you’re very displeased by this turn of events, and say, “Fine, but this is a family establishment so I’m wearing the one-piece. You only said the bikini because you’re a pervert.”

He’s torn between defending himself and letting out a triumphant hurrah before settling on both. “Hey, I’m not denying it,” he says casually. “You’ll really come, though?”

You shrug. “Sure, so long as you leave me alone sometimes so I can read my book.”

Cue the triumphant hurrah. “Yes! Okay, I can do that. I’ll see if there are any cabanas open and reserve one for you.”

“Wow, I even get my own cabana boy?”

Soonyoung rolls his eyes and starts down the hallway to his room. “And you called me a pervert,” he calls over his shoulder.

Well, if he didn’t bother denying it, you aren’t going to, either.

—

Not only is the heat relentless, the noise does not stop.

Luckily the first issue is largely solved by the cabana Soonyoung was able to nab you. It isn’t all that large, only enough space for two lounge chairs, and to your dismay there are no men in tiny swimsuits holding trays of colorful drinks with little umbrellas waiting for you to beckon them over, but at least it blocks out the sun. Shields you from the worst of it. There’s less to be done about the heat, but once the humidity becomes too stifling you wander over to Soonyoung—easily identifiable in his garish yellow shorts and matching visor—and wait for him to blow his whistle, alerting everyone to the giant bucket of water about to be dumped on them.

“Nice legs,” you tease, wolf-whistling as you approach.

Soonyoung pretends to be scandalized. Gasps. Twists sideways as if he’s trying to hide his skin from your lustful gaze. “In front of the children?” he accuses.

No kids are paying attention to your conversation when they’re about to get drenched, but you play along anyway, sliding your sunglasses down your nose. “Can’t help it. Those tiny little shorts and your pale thighs really get me going.” He scowls, pulling said shorts further down said thighs to hide the discrepancy in skin tone. “God, it’s loud here,” you change the subject, taking pity on him. “This is what you put up with the entire summer?”

“Just wait—it’ll get worse in a second.”

He’s right, unfortunately. From the second the bucket begins to tip and for at least three full minutes after it unleashes its gallons of water, all you hear is screaming. High-pitched, manic screaming loud enough to make your ears bleed, but the water is cold and you’re thankful for the reprieve from the heat, even if it doesn't last long before it evaporates.

“Ah, gotta love it,” he deadpans. “Only twenty-six minutes and fourteen seconds until the next one.”

You snort. Ask him if he wants anything from the snack bar because you need a drink—a very cold, very refreshing drink. All he requests is a bottle of water. Not a bad idea, considering you’re probably dangerously dehydrated from how much you’ve sweat, but you change your mind as soon as you reach the counter. You hear a chorus of angels. It feels like the light of divinity itself shines a spotlight on the part of the menu advertising non-alcoholic piña colada slushies.

You promptly order two—and a water.

When the kid behind the counter hands over your order, you can’t help the beaming smile that forms on your face, but it’s short-lived. Yes, your drinks come with colorful umbrellas and are topped with cherries, and Soonyoung’s water comes straight from a cooler, dripping ice-cold condensation all over your hand and the warped wood top of the counter, but it’s hard to feel victorious when the kid who hands them to you looks like he’s going to keel over and die from heat stroke.

“I—thanks,” you mutter, taking in his flushed cheeks and the hair adhered to his forehead with sweat. You stuff a few bills in the tip jar. “Sorry you have to work here.”

You’re surprised to find Soonyoung in one of your cabana chairs when you return. His visor is pulled over his eyes, his energy completely boneless, and if you weren’t in this weird limbo of maybe-friends you’d probably tease him a little. Call him Sleeping Beauty or flick some of the cold water on your hands at him.

Instead, you place all three drinks on the small, rickety table in between the chairs. “Special delivery.”

Soonyoung lifts his visor. Laughs softly when he sees what you’ve ordered. Asks, “Is one of those for me?” and reaches for one regardless of what your answer is.

“It”—you begin to answer, watching as he dangles a cherry by the stem—“wasn’t,” you finish after he pops it into his mouth.

“But I’m on break.” He pouts. “And it’s so hot outside and this drink is so cold.” He sticks the straw in his mouth and has to speak around it. “And if Chan’s running the snack bar today I bet he put alcohol in this.” He takes a sip. “No booze. Coward.”

“Do you often drink on company time? Also, that kid at the snack bar looked about ten minutes from death. Someone should probably check on him.”

Soonyoung waves you away. “I’ll do it after I clock back in.”

“When is that? Rigor mortis might set in by then.”

“An hour. Rigor mortis is when they go all stiff, right?” You hum in agreement. “Easier to move, then.” He sucks down the rest of the slushie, finishing with a loud slurp that draws some attention your way, finishing with an exaggerated ahh. “Wow, that was really good. Can you wake me up in forty-five minutes?”

You scoff. Tuck your legs beneath you and reach for your book. “Don’t you have your phone? Set an alarm.”

“Mm, don’t want to. What are you reading?”

You tell him the title. Explain that you’d picked it up for cheap in a secondhand shop in town while you were wandering around one afternoon just because you’d liked the cover. “It’s okay,” you say. “It’s not really grabbing me, but it’s well-written and not very long so it could be worse.”

“Do you read a lot?”

“Try to.” Realizing this is not a very satisfactory response, you add, “I’ve tried to read at least three books a month since I graduated college.”

“I’m not good at math, but that seems like a lot of books.”

You laugh. “I don’t always manage it, to be fair. I’m happy with thirty books a year.”

“I haven’t read one book a year in maybe… ever. Do you have a book job?”

The question is asked around a yawn, words and inflection steeped in exhaustion, which is just fine by you. Because it’s easier to glance over at him—arms crossed over his chest, rising and falling rhythmically, and towel covering his face to further block the sun—and say, “Okay, old man, nap time for you,” and laugh at his responding middle finger than it is to exhume all that ancient history. Easier than adopting that indifferent affect as you say, “No, no book job, just a desk in an office,” and wondering if your discontent is made of tissue paper. If it’s palpable.

If it is, Soonyoung doesn’t say anything.

So you don’t, either. You stay mum about the lifelong absence of a dream. How there were things you liked but nothing you could envision doing forever. How it made you aimless, drawn to whatever felt easy at the time, content to let the wind pick you up and take you wherever it wanted. How you had to swallow down that small bite of embarrassment every time someone asks what you do for a living or how much you make. That lethal combination of hopelessness, bitterness, and jealousy you feel when it seems like all of your friends, classmates, and old coworkers are lapping you.

Those things don’t matter here, you remind yourself. You focus your attention back on your book and set an alarm so you can wake up Soonyoung.

Minghao wants to visit you.

This, of course, poses a problem. While you’d alluded to it on your first day here, you and Minghao haven’t talked much beyond a few texts every few days, so you never got around to telling him the full story. That the man you thought you were renting an entire house from is still occupying it. That he sleeps a few feet down the hall and cooks meals alongside you. That, even when he’s at work or both of you retire for the night, your phone will light up with messages or DMs from him as he sends memes or links to places around town he thinks you might like—and that you always hope he’ll ask if you want to go together.

There’s no real reason to deny his request. Much to your dismay, Soonyoung doesn’t mind. Seems to light up at the possibility of meeting one of your friends, someone he only knows about from stories and anecdotes and late-night scrolls through your Instagram feed, where you and Minghao have made it a game to tag one another in the ugliest photos either of you have ever taken. He goes into planning mode almost immediately, and if you were less mature you’d probably pout at the way the “you” in his messages becomes “you and Minghao.”

Inexplicably, you care about disappointing Soonyoung far more than you care about disappointing Minghao, so you tell him to call you once he’s done work so the two of you can come up with a plan.

Your phone rings just after seven, screen lighting up with the only normal photo the two of you have ever taken together. It should bring you comfort, the reminder that this is Minghao and he’s your friend and can even look ugly sometimes when he puts effort into it. But he’s also got the demeanor and general vibe of a parent picking you up from the police station. Something about him just exudes disappointment.

You’ll have it in spades soon.

Minghao spends a few minutes catching you up on things back home, tells you about the goings-on at the office: a new girl in his department he suspects might be a nepotism hire, the creepy IT guy you’ve all complained about for months finally getting fired, a day last week the plumbing broke and everyone got sent home early. “I’m ready for a vacation,” he sighs into the phone.

You grimace, thankful Soonyoung isn’t around to watch this trainwreck occur in real time. It’s another late night for him at the studio as he prepares for the mid-summer recital, still not fully satisfied with the choreography. He’d done the same two days ago and didn’t come home until nearly midnight.

“Hello? Are you there?”

You sigh. Tell yourself it’s better to just rip off the bandage and not prolong it anymore, but you can hear Minghao in your head saying I told you so and it gives you agita. Makes your palms sweaty. You cannot, in good conscience, allow yourself to be patronized by someone younger than you.

“Yeah, so, about that…”

Just as you expected, Minghao is not particularly gentle in his response. “A scam is a scam,” he says. “Do you have any idea how stupid it was to stay there? You don’t know that guy! He could be a serial killer for all you know, or worse—a furry.”

“I’ll be surprised if he’s a furry,” you retort, picking at a bit of pilled fabric on the couch. “But also, it wasn’t entirely a scam, he just messed up the listing. It’s not like I got here and the house didn’t exist and some dude claiming to be a prince was laughing all the way to the bank with my money.”

“You’re hopeless.” You can practically hear the way he’s pinching the bridge of his nose.

“I am not. It’s really nice here, Hao. The town is nice and Soonyoung is nice and he owns a dance studio and works part-time at a waterpark that he gets me into for free sometimes.”

“Is the waterpark nice?”

You hesitate. “I, um—it’s not horrible. Sometimes Chan puts alcohol in the piña colada slushies.”

“That… sounds kind of good, actually. With the little umbrellas?”

“And a cherry,” you confirm.

This, more than anything else, seems to be what seals the decision for him. After confirming for the millionth time that Soonyoung doesn’t mind his company (and that he’s not a serial killer, to which you send him the link to Soonyoung’s Instagram and ask does this look like a serial killer to you? because his most recent post is a photo of him on a giant flamingo floatie in the pool, mouth stained orange from a bag of cheese puffs, to which Minghao reluctantly agrees it does not), he agrees to call out of work and make the drive Friday morning.

Which, of course, is the day the sky decides to crack open.

This is unfortunate for Minghao, who has to make the same hours-long drive you did. This is unfortunate for you, who was looking forward to trying a new brunch cafe on the boardwalk. This is not unfortunate for Soonyoung, who was scheduled from open to close at Carat Bay and now has the day off, which he’s spending preparing for Minghao’s arrival: fridge and pantry restocked, floors vacuumed and mopped, sheets washed and dried, downstairs bathroom stocked with fresh towels. Like the grocery shopping and cooking, you and Soonyoung had worked out a system early on, so on any other day all of this is stuff you’d be helping out with.

Except Xu Minghao must’ve either been a member of a spy network or a teenage girl in a past life.

Normally it’s to your benefit that Minghao can find anything on the internet. Unlike you, he’s not prone to or all that interested in gossip (so he says), but he’s receptive when you assign him a task, and over the time you’ve known each other, the partnership has served you well. Usually it’s just mundane work gossip: who’s sleeping together, who’s on job-hunting sites begging for leads, who got embarrassingly, shit-faced drunk over the weekend and overshared in their Instagram stories. Usually it doesn’t affect you all that much, forgotten soon after in the way mundane work gossip always is.

This time, however.

Although sending him Soonyoung’s Instagram had alleviated his fears that you’re shacking up with a serial killer, it revealed something far worse: you’re shacking up with a Gemini.

Again—not usually a problem, considering astrology isn’t really your thing. You’d be hard-pressed to differentiate a Gemini from a Cancer or whatever else, so when Minghao tells you this it’s met with a hum of acknowledgment and nothing else. It was only once he asked, “Did you guys do anything for his birthday?” that it all started to sink in and panic gripped at you.

Minghao can find anything on the internet because he doesn’t stop at the surface-level stuff. You’d sent him Soonyoung’s Instagram and he didn’t just scroll through the first few posts, he scrolled years back, almost to the beginning, and that’s where he’d found the post: Soonyoung surrounded by friends, their arms slung over his shoulders while he held a cake, two lit number candles perched on top. 25!!!! the caption read.

It was posted on June 15th.

Which was last Sunday. Nearly a week ago. Soonyoung hadn’t said anything, had gone about his day as usual—coffee and a breakfast sandwich eaten at the two-seater table on the front porch before he showered and got ready for work, and even after he got home and the two of you shared a pizza and watched baseball, he never mentioned it.

Hence why you aren’t helping Soonyoung with the cleaning. You’re at the grocery store ordering a birthday cake because if there’s one thing you cannot do it’s bake, even when it’s box mix and prepackaged frosting (and Soonyoung deserves a cake that’s both edible and stays upright). You move to the aisle with the party supplies and curse the lack of options.

A children’s cartoon character or plain red, edges yellowed from age. Tough choice.

You grab a few other things and stand in line to check out, checking your phone religiously. You’d gotten out of the house under the guise of a pilates class you “couldn’t cancel,” so anything longer than an hour will start looking suspicious, but the required 24-hour notice from the bakery had posed a problem. Soonyoung is scheduled at the waterpark tomorrow, and you can’t turn it down because he was kind enough to get you and Minghao another cabana (and Minghao really wants one of those slushies), and then he’s back at the studio on Sunday to put the finishing touches on the recital.

So, here you are. Arms full of items you can let overheat in the trunk of your car and a receipt for a small marble sheet cake, a request for Happy Birthday, Soonyoung! to be written on top in blue frosting, surrounded by confetti sprinkles.

—

Soonyoung and Minghao get on like a house on fire.

You aren’t surprised by this, considering you don’t think Soonyoung has ever met a stranger. He’s good at it—the small talk, navigating those awkward moments, making people feel comfortable. Minghao has only been in the house twenty minutes before he’s giggling and entirely charmed, made to feel right at home even though he’s dripping rainwater all over the freshly-mopped floors. Seems to forget he was supposed to be angry that the rain had ruined one day of his vacation.

Soonyoung insists on carrying on the Friday tradition of takeout, alcohol, and wrestling, which is not something Minghao would watch without outside influence. But he fits in seamlessly. Falls into step with Soonyoung’s chaos, taking over his ridiculous commentary when Soonyoung’s either too drunk or laughing too hard to finish his sentences. Polishes off two orders of tacos on his own. Assumes bartender duties and mixes your drinks to questionable ratios, but perfection nonetheless.

Not to mention he out-drinks both of you. Soonyoung is worse off, retiring to bed just after eleven, groaning about his head and worrying about how he’s going to get up for work as he ascends the stairs. Minghao laughs, watching him fondly. You get the impression there’s a lot he wants to say—and maybe he would if you weren’t seeing three of him—but as it stands he cleans up the living room and asks if you want a glass of water.

“No, I’m okay,” you answer. “I think.”

Still, you aren’t surprised to find water and painkillers on your nightstand when you wake up. Luckily you don’t need them, spared from the torture of spending hours at a waterpark with shrieking children with a hangover, so you send a double-text to Soonyoung—

You [9:37am]: Are you alive? You [9:37am]: Hao left me some water and painkillers if you need them

—to which he simply replies:

Soonyoung [9:50am]: p lease

With a laugh, you throw the duvet off of your legs and pad down the hall. Knock quietly on Soonyoung’s bedroom door and laugh again at the pitiful come in you receive in response. And he does look pitiful. When you walk in, he pops out from under the covers with dandelion hair, face puffy from the alcohol, cheeks ruddy. What little sleep he got must not have been great—he looks exhausted, so you move Minghao’s gifts to Soonyoung’s nightstand, whisper a little fighting!, and head downstairs to brew a pot of coffee.

Not long after, Soonyoung makes his way downstairs and collapses into one of the kitchen chairs. Face-plants onto the table and groans into the wood. Without a word, you grab the bread from the pantry and pop a few slices into the toaster, sliding them onto a plate and serving them to him plain once they’re done.

“This will help with the nausea. Do you think you can stomach coffee?”

He scoffs. “Sure hope so. What’s the point in living if I can’t?”

Minghao emerges halfway through Soonyoung’s third cup, looking fresh and well-rested in a way only the person who drank the most and isn’t suffering a hangover can do. He greets you and Soonyoung with cheerful good mornings and questions about how you slept and how you’re feeling. “Not as bad as him,” you answer, jerking a thumb in Soonyoung’s direction, who gives you both the finger before returning to his face-first position on the table.

Your friend looks at the plate of crumbs and the mug of coffee. He sends you a look that’s easier not to look at or acknowledge.

—

Somehow, Minghao is able to talk you into sharing a two-person tube and joining him on all of Carat Bay’s waterslides.

This is horrifying for many reasons (the height of the slides, seeing Minghao’s bare feet), but it also proves useful. At the top of the highest slide, just as you fit yourself in the front of the tube and screech when Minghao wiggles his painted toes at you, the worker responsible for pushing you towards your certain death asks, “Oh shit, aren’t you the one staying with Soonyoung?”

“I—yes.” You glance at his nametag. Mingyu, it says, and you think you vaguely recognize him from Soonyoung’s Instagram. Horrifying again, because he’s somehow even more attractive in real life and you’re squished into a two-person innertube with Minghao and his painted toes, but he’s friendly and charming and talks at you like you’re old friends.

“That’s cool,” he says, ignoring the impatient discontent and creative insults from the line of children behind you. “Soonyoung said he had someone staying with him and that you’d been here a few times, but I’m always stuck up here.” A child throws a tiny flip-flop at him. It hits him in the chest and falls to the ground. “Wow,” he deadpans, “lucky me.”

In an attempt to stifle his laughter, Minghao asks what time he gets done, telling him about the belated birthday party the two of you have schemed to surprise him with. Fuck me, you think, watching as Mingyu somehow becomes even more attractive as his eyes light up. Not only is he done two hours before Soonyoung, he’s going to invite more of his friends, too. They’ll pick up more food and more snacks and more alcohol. All you and Minghao have to do is pick up the cake and decorate, which last night’s drinking provides a convenient excuse for.

During Soonyoung’s break—which he once again spends napping on a lounge chair under the cabana—Minghao says the two of you will probably head back to the house soon. “I think the heat’s making her hangover worse,” he says, injecting a convincing amount of sympathy into his tone.

Just as you expected, Soonyoung buys it. Finishes up his break with a groan and says he’ll text you when he’s done to check in about dinner, and then there’s nothing but the thwack-thwack-thwack of his slides as he returns to his post at the splash zone.

Two and a half hours to go.

Minghao stays behind to start on the decorations while you go pick up the cake. It turns out better (and bigger) than you expected, and you thank the bakery profusely as you rush back toward the exit. Back at the house, streamers and balloons line the staircase bannister and hang from the light fixtures; a HAPPY BIRTHDAY! banner stretches across the doorway leading into the kitchen; the plates and napkins are both set out, sharing the same cartoon tiger.

Luckily, it gives you both enough time to shower and look presentable before everyone else arrives.

True to his word, Mingyu knocks on the door with his hands full: a case of beer, a pile of pizza boxes, bags of chips in various flavors. Behind him stands a group of people, only one of whom you recognize. Chan, alcoholic slushie barista extraordinaire, greets you with a wave and a large smile. You are wholly unsurprised to see he brought soju.

The next hour is met with more names and faces than you’ll ever be able to remember. Friends of Soonyoung’s, coworkers from Carat Bay, coworkers from the dance studio—all of them kind, making you and Minghao feel welcome and included. They shout in excitement when Soonyoung texts you saying he’s done work. Compliment your quick thinking when he asks what you and Minghao want to do for dinner and you tell him Minghao insists on cooking, and to just shoot you a text when he’s on his way back so he can put it in the oven. When that text comes through, they all hide in the kitchen out of sight and hold their breath, anticipating and waiting, the occasional giggle sneaking through.

You drape yourself across the couch. Minghao stays in the kitchen and, once you call out that the birthday boy is coming up the drive, pretends to chop vegetables to truly sell it.

And when Soonyoung comes through the door, looking just as exhausted as he had this morning and slightly more sunburnt, you almost feel guilty. Almost think he won’t be in the mood to host. Almost think you’ve made a horrible mistake. He asks, “Do you know what he’s making?” to which you shake your head.

“No idea. He won’t tell me—says it’s a surprise,” you respond, thankful your voice and expression both stay steady and neutral.

Soonyoung drops his bag at the door. “Hm. I’ll see if I can get it out of him,” he says, winking when he catches your eye, like it’s you and him against Minghao; like he’s solving this manufactured mystery for your benefit.

Then he walks into the kitchen.

There’s the expected shouts of SURPRISE!

And then there’s a few seconds of silence.

“What the fuck,” comes Soonyoung’s eventual response. You sidle up alongside him, laughing when he turns to look at you with a stunned expression. “What the fuck?” he repeats, quieter this time, meant only for you.

“Happy birthday.” You reach up to playfully pat his cheek. “Belatedly, anyway. Why didn’t you tell me?”

His cheeks go red. As he opens his mouth to answer, sheepish words biting at the back of his teeth, one of his friends interrupts. Slaps him on the back and puts a drink in his hand. Laughs and gives him shit, asking how he didn’t notice all the decorations.

Soonyoung steals a final glance in your direction as he’s pulled away.

Everyone eats, drinks, and laughs. You cut the cake before Soonyoung’s face can wind up in it, only for someone to grab a slice and smash it in his face anyway. Uproarious laughter follows. Someone snaps a picture: first, a close-up of Soonyoung’s face, covered in cake crumbs and enough frosting to stain his skin; then, a second photo of him washing it off in the sink, entire head stuck under the faucet.

It really shouldn’t strike you someplace deep. The memory should be enough, but you find yourself asking, “Do you guys want me to take a picture of all of you?” so you have something to remember it by, too, even if you’re behind the camera.

Minghao must notice, because he offers to take it instead, taking your phone from you and gesturing for you to join the group. They’ve all got their arms around Soonyoung again but they make room for you. Mingyu, heads taller than everyone, moves from Soonyoung’s right and to the back.

“Are you—is it on a timer?” Minghao shakes his head, clearly confused. “Well, put it on a timer and get over here.”

“Me?”

Soonyoung rolls his eyes. “Who else would I be talking to? Come on, it’s my birthday and you’re my friend, so get in the picture.” He coughs. “Please.”

Minghao laughs, but you can tell from the heat in his cheeks that he’s a little caught off-guard at Soonyoung wanting him in the picture, at declaring him his friend, so he fumbles with your phone. Can’t figure out how to set the timer. No one helps, of course—they give him shit and playfully boo him, flustering him more. Once he does figure it out, he sets the timer to the wrong length so the first few photos are candids, Minghao nothing but a streak across the frame. This earns him another round of boos that render him entirely useless, have him squatting beneath the weight of his laughter, but then he sets it correctly, thirty seconds, and there’s a smile on every single person’s face when you look at it later.

After that, it’s party time—within reason.

Someone connects to the small speaker in the living room and shuffles a playlist, upbeat with a low, thrumming bassline, perfect for a party. Minghao gets roped into a conversation with two people from Soonyoung’s studio, exchanging socials and numbers. Someone has left a pan of weed brownies on top of the stove, though no one takes credit for them.

That’s how Soonyoung approaches you some thirty minutes later, half of a brownie stuck between his teeth and chocolate clinging to the corners of his mouth. “Hellooo,” he greets you, each letter slurring together, eyes bloodshot. “Are you having fun?”

“I am,” you answer. “Are you?”

“Yes. D’you want the other half of this? I don’t think I should eat the whole thing.” Soonyoung offers the brownie to you, bottom lip slightly pouted. “I’m not a lightweight or anything,” he adds, as if it’s of the utmost importance to squash any thought you might’ve had about him being one. “And I didn’t stick the whole thing in my mouth. I broke it in half before I ate it, so there’s no spit on it.”

With a huff of laughter, you take the brownie from him and place it on a plate on the counter behind you. You also grab a napkin, turning to Soonyoung with what you intend to be stern, furrowed brows until he goes a little cross-eyed and it makes you laugh. “Why is your mouth always covered in something?”

You reach for him; he comes willingly and immediately.

“Ooh, are you gonna clean me up?” he quips, trying to wiggle his eyebrows. He winds up just squinting and un-squinting his eyes, heavy-lidded and getting redder by the second.

You ignore his teasing with a roll of your lips. Place your hand on his cheek to steady him, grounded by the warmth and softness of his skin. Soonyoung sucks in a breath when you touch him. Covers your hand with his own. Stares at you so intently you forget why you’re touching him at all, that there’s a party raging around you; forget that you’re surrounded by all of Soonyoung’s friends and their curious glances. You forget what the napkin in your hand is for, uselessly pinched between your fingers.

Everything narrows to the size of a pinhead. Soonyoung is all that exists in this moment, and it’s both exhilarating and terrifying. Until now, you thought the banter had just been banter—innocent and fun but ultimately superficial. Until now, you could brush off his coy remarks and blame it on proximity and Soonyoung’s ability to flirt with a lamppost if he thought it’d flirt back. Until now, you thought the next two and a half months would be easy; that you’d be able to compartmentalize your attraction to him.

Because this isn’t about that.

You’d needed to get away—from your job, your apartment, your life. All of it. Needed a break from the constant what-ifs and self-doubt and the nasty, unrelenting feeling that you aren’t doing enough, aren’t living up to your potential. That what you are doing is walking down a dead-end street and foolishly trying to find an exit point. You needed to try to outrun everything you’ve pushed aside, knowing it’s long overdue for it to catch up.

You don’t want Soonyoung to be one of those things. Don’t want him added to your list of what-ifs, not realizing it’s already too late for that.

So, just for a moment, you let yourself indulge. You press the napkin to the corner of his mouth and wonder how it’d feel if it were your lips instead, how he’d react, what noises he’d make. If he’d gasp in surprise or suck in another breath through his teeth. If he’d push you away or move his hands to your hips to pull you closer. If he’d let you take your time and do what you wanted or if he’d take control. If everyone around you would be surprised or if they’d think oh, of course.

You don’t find out the answer to any of those questions.

Instead, you clean the stubborn chocolate from the corners of his mouth without a word. Your touch is far more tender and delicate than you think this moment calls for, but if Soonyoung agrees he doesn’t mention it. Keeps his gaze locked on you, eyes tracing every movement. His intensity surprises you, having been outshadowed by his larger-than-life personality, the way he makes you laugh without having to try. But the intensity of the moment surprises you, too, how it all feels amplified: how you can hear every hitch of his breath, even over the noise of the party; how you can not only feel the warmth of it on your skin, but also the tension. How it feels like a massive, tangible thing in the center of your chest.

“All done,” you manage to say, coughing to clear your throat, dry from nerves and the rest of the chaos swirling around in your head.

Soonyoung smiles. Sends a wink over his shoulder as he disappears into the crowd, and you feel his absence immediately and immensely.

Minghao calls you over and reintroduces you to the people he’s been talking to. They’re kind and funny and gracious with their time. Junhui tells you all about how he and Soonyoung met, about his time at his studio. Tells you all about the kids they teach and how much they love Soonyoung. All the gifts they make for him and how they watch him dance with wide, starry eyes, trying to replicate everything he does.

Which is exactly what you find yourself trying to do later on.

Soonyoung had found you in a half-hearted conversation with Chan and Mingyu and dragged you to the living room. “Dance with me,” he said, cackling brightly when you looked at him, bewildered, and said you didn’t know how. “I’ll show you. C’mon, it’s easy.”

Dancing with someone who does it for a living is not easy, but Soonyoung is a good teacher, full of praise and laughter and gentle corrections. It’s all in good fun, anyway, and that’s exactly how he makes it feel as he jokingly shakes his ass and twerks on his friends; as the room goes blurry when he takes your hand and twirls you around. And when the song switches to something slower, headier, more sensual, there’s an immediate spike of panic that Soonyoung snuffs out—he puts distance between the two of you but stays in your orbit, hovering, waiting for you to call the shots.

You know he’ll back off if you want him to. You know he’ll take it in stride and not allow things to get awkward. You also know this decision isn’t life or death, that this can just be harmless fun you blame on the alcohol and weed in the light of day when the sheepishness creeps in. And you have to admit that sounds enticing, because the two poles of your body are pulling you in opposite directions, warring with one another. Try as it might, your brain—with all its logic and reminders for you to use some common sense—is no match for the heat simmering beneath your skin.

It’s a split-second decision, you pulling him back in, letting him fit his hands to the curve of your waist, your eyes fluttering shut at the body heat that seeps into your skin. You watch as the corners of Soonyoung’s mouth lift infinitesimally before he straightens them again, like he doesn’t want to look cocky, doesn’t want this to look like a foregone conclusion, but you like it on him. He wears it well, and you’re taken by it in the same way you’d been taken by his intensity.

You know there are eyes on you—his friends’, Minghao’s—but you can’t find it in you to care. Every time Soonyoung touches you, it feels like you’re the only people left on earth, like you’re swimming through molasses, weighed down by the intoxication of it, the yearning, the need for more.

His hands move to your hips, his lips to just beneath your ear. “Is this okay?” he asks, words spoken so quietly against your skin you feel them more than you can hear them.

You nod. Still have no clue what you’re doing, feel awkward and too big in your own body, but you remind yourself it doesn’t matter. That it’s okay to just enjoy the way Soonyoung is touching you. The way he moves his body, perfectly in sync with the beat of the song, purposeful and precise. The proximity to and closeness of another person.

It’s the same later on, long after all of Soonyoung’s friends have left. Only you and Soonyoung are left at the house, your crossfades providing a convenient excuse to stay behind. No one says anything, but you catch the look Minghao sends you on his way out the door, having accepted an invitation from Jun and Mingyu to check out some new club, wanting to make the most of his last full day in town—it’s discreet and sly, but it also says I hope you know what you’re doing, because you’ve been doing it all night.

You don’t.

You know it just as well as Minghao does, so you start cleaning up the kitchen to give yourself something else to focus on. Plates, cups, and napkins in the trash. Leftovers in the fridge or pantry. Icing wiped off the floor and counters. A massive garbage bag tied up and placed next to the back door to take outside. Time alone, room to breathe. Being around Soonyoung is starting to feel like the two magnets of your head and heart are repelling.

“Leave that for tomorrow.”

You wipe the back of your hand across your forehead. “I’m almost done,” you gently argue. “Besides, it is tomorrow. It’s almost two o’clock.”

Soonyoung just laughs, nodding his head in the direction of the door. “Come on.”

“Soonyoung, there’s still food everywhere, you’ll get bugs—”

“Do I have to drag you out there myself?”

He doesn’t, though you don’t think you’d be upset if he did. “Fine. At least take the trash out with you,” you compromise.

You’re not sure what you were expecting, but it certainly isn’t for Soonyoung to lay on his back in the middle of the yard. No blanket, no towel—even if it’s mostly dried out from the previous day’s storm, you’re not exactly chomping at the bit to take the risk, but Soonyoung has no such reservations. He stretches out like he’s making a snow angel before he tucks his hands behind his head and sighs in content, though you’re not sure why. There’s far too much light pollution this close to the boardwalk to see anything in the sky, not to mention the noise.

Still, you either have to join him or stay standing and look like an idiot.

So you sit down beside him, arms stretched out behind you, your knee knocking into Soonyoung’s elbow. He rolls his head to the side and smiles, and you feel it behind your ribcage, sharp and hot like fireworks. “How did you know?” he asks. “About my birthday.”

Any other time you’d crack a joke, say something cheesy like ah, I have my ways, or that you’d paid an Etsy witch to find out, but in the middle of the night, sitting side-by-side in Soonyoung’s small, dewy strip of grass, it doesn’t feel right. Feels like a moment that requires sincerity. “It was Minghao, actually,” you admit. “He was there when I first saw the rental listing and told me it was a scam because of how cheap it was, so ever since then he’d sort of been convinced you were a serial killer or something. I had to come clean about us rooming together when he asked to visit and that only convinced him more.”

Soonyoung groans. “Damn. I wanna laugh but it’s not funny. Is it funny? He still came here after all that?”

“Well, luckily I’d already been to the waterpark with you by then and watched you nearly pass out when that kid fell and scraped her knee, so I knew there was no way you could kill someone—”

“Hey!”

“—and I sent him your Instagram. We both decided that, aside from the can’t handle blood thing, a serial killer probably wouldn’t post a picture of themselves with cheese dust all over their mouth.”

His jaw drops slightly. Looks like he wants to—and thinks he should—be offended before he snaps it shut and thinks it over. “Mm, that’s probably fair.”

“Yeah, so. As one does, he basically stalked your account until he saw one of your birthday posts from years ago and asked if we’d done anything fun for it this year, and I had to say no because someone didn’t tell me.”

Sheepish, Soonyoung apologizes. Says he didn’t have plans anyway and didn’t want you to feel obligated or make things weird. “It’d only been two weeks.” And when you move to protest, he rolls onto his side, head propped up by his elbow, and says, “I know now it was silly, and I’m still a little blown away the two of you threw all of this together. I—it just means a lot, so thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” you reply, voice barely above a whisper. “I hope you and your friends had a good time.”

“I haven’t had a bad one since you got here.” Such a simple statement, but the honesty in his words steals the breath from your lungs. “I’d been having… a bad time. Before you got here. So yeah, it means a lot that you’d go through the trouble.”

It wasn’t any trouble, you want to say. Want to refute the notion that doing something nice, especially for him, was a bother, something only done out of a sense of obligation. Want to tell him you’ve been having a hard time, too, and doing something like this, celebrating someone else, helped ease that perpetual grief even a little bit. That feeling someone’s hands on you in the way his had been—selfish, wanting, longing—was a welcomed change from the hands clutching at your own, rubbing at your back, accompanied by waterlogged, sympathetic words. Apologies that only made you feel worse.

You want to tell him it was nice to be desired instead of pitied.

Instead, you say, “I’ve been having a bit of a hard time, too,” because the rest feels too honest. More words not meant for this moment.

And it seems you chose correctly, because Soonyoung’s brows quirk upwards. “Really?” he asks.

You nod. “I don’t want to dump on you, but my grandmother passed away last year. I used all of my PTO and the last of my inheritance to book the rental. It just sort of… felt like everything was starting to catch up with me, you know? The grief, the insecurities I’m feeling about my job. I needed to get away.”

Soonyoung frowns, and you brace yourself for more of the usual—I’m so sorry for your loss and other such sentiments you wish you could feel thankful for and don’t—but, as usual, he finds a way to surprise you. “Damn,” he mutters, sounding entirely convincing as he whistles, “I feel like I should give you a refund now. I scammed you out of your inheritance.”

A bubble of shocked laughter erupts from you and spreads to Soonyoung. Soon, both of you have dissolved into breathless, belly-aching laughter, trying desperately to shush one another so you don’t disturb the neighbors. And maybe you hadn’t been able to say all those other things, but this you are:

“Don’t you dare. I’d pay it every single time, a million times over.”

July arrives before you know it.

After Soonyoung’s party, things largely go back to normal. Minghao stays in touch, not only with you and Soonyoung, but also Junhui. Like clockwork, he texts you often for “updates.” He’s not interested in what books you’ve read or how many hours of sun you’ve soaked up at the beach. No, all he cares about are any updates in your relationship with Soonyoung—of which there have been none, so these days, understandably, your conversations don’t last all that long.

Additionally, you see Chan and Mingyu more often. Sometimes, when their shifts end at the same time, they swing by the house after work and join you for dinner… and shenanigans. A random Tuesday sees the four of you having a water balloon fight in the backyard. Soonyoung calls dibs on Mingyu, thinking his height will afford them some sort of advantage, but he underestimates Chan’s dodge and weave and that Mingyu’s height is nothing more than a giant target. Another weeknight has all of you nearly coming to blows over a game of poker.

Occasionally, on days they don't work, they join you at the beach. They rope you into boogie boarding and volleyball matches; they nap or mess around in the water while you read. Sometimes Soonyoung will stay behind and pester you with questions: what you’re reading, what it’s about, whether or not you like it, isn’t that similar to that one you read last week, what you think is going to happen.

And then Soonyoung gets a rare weekend off.

Friday, too, which is spent like all the previous ones. Takeout, cheap beer, watching wrestling and adopting silly voices. Even with all the time in the world, it’s not something either of you are willing to give up.

Saturday, though—

Instead of preparing for another hot, sticky afternoon at Carat Bay, Soonyoung appears in the doorway of your bedroom not long after noon. He’s still in his pajamas—nothing but a pair of black briefs you’re sure were created with the sole intent of torturing you—and his hair sticks up at odd angles. But he looks good. Looks like temptation itself with his golden skin, honeyed from the sun; the six pack of abs peeking out from beneath the waistband; his voice, deep and husky from sleep.

“Hey.”

“Hi.” You try to swallow, not at all surprised to find your mouth has gone dry. “Sleep alright?”

Soonyoung hums. Crosses one arm across his body to scratch at his collar bone, which does nothing at all to alleviate your suffering. “You got anything on the agenda for today?” You shake your head, not trusting yourself to speak. “They’re doing fireworks on the beach tonight, if you wanna check it out? We can make a day of it and do the whole boardwalk thing.”

“Oh,” you manage to choke out. “Sure. That sounds fun.”

His responding smile is another arrow to your chest. “Cool. You’re good with rides, right? Or are you gonna puke on me if I drag you on a rollercoaster?”

I might puke on you if you don’t put a shirt on, you think. “No, I’m good,” you confirm instead. Then you actually give yourself a second to think of something that isn’t Soonyoung and his sculpted, insanity-inducing body and follow up with, “Except maybe that spaceship-looking thing that spins around really fast.”

Rookie mistake: you forget to put the teacups on your no-go list.

After getting your wristbands, it’s the first ride Soonyoung drags you on. “If you’re gonna puke, we might as well get it over with early,” he reasons. You’re too gobsmacked to argue or try to sneak out of line when he isn’t looking, so the next thing you know you’re being ushered into an empty cup by a minimum wage employee entirely indifferent to your plight, all hopes of a last-second escape dashed.

Soonyoung’s sinister grin fills you with dread.

Because you know exactly what he’s going to do.

“Soonyoung, don’t—”

It’s no use. As soon as the ride starts moving, Soonyoung’s grabbing onto the bar in the center and spinning your teacup as fast as he can. Aside from his wild cackles that slip through, you can barely hear anything over the sound of your own screaming, louder than even the small kids being spun around by their parents. All you can do is squeeze your eyes shut and hold onto the safety bar for dear life, filling your thoughts with anything that doesn’t require a barf bag.

(You obviously don’t know in the moment, but later on, Soonyoung digs his phone out of his pocket. Goes into his camera roll and thumbs until he finds what he’s looking for before holding it out to show you. And you’re a little stunned, is the thing, because there you are. Eyes shut, gripping onto the bar just like you remember, but it’s the way you’re smiling that takes you by surprise. You can’t remember the last time you looked so happy. Can’t remember the last time you felt it, either.

“Do you mind if I post it to my story?”

Feels nearly impossible to tear your eyes away from it, but you manage to nod. Say, “Sure, as long as you send it to me first,” and he does.

You [6:28pm]: [Attachment: 1 Image] You [6:28pm]: What do you think this means? Minghao [6:34pm]: that you’re fucked

A fresh wave of nausea hits you, because you don’t need Minghao to tell you that.

You already know.)

Somehow you survive, even though your first steps back on solid ground are a bit shaky. Soonyoung laughs and offers up a half-assed apology you know he doesn’t mean, but he lets you choose the next few rides to make up for it. Chivalrous, sure, but there are so many you don’t know where to begin. Anything upside-down is out of the question for now, given the state of your stomach, so you point at a dilapidated-looking ship and say, “What’s that?” even though it’s self-explanatory.

“Ghost Ship.”

The hesitation in his tone immediately piques your interest. Oh ho ho, you think, smiling to yourself—he should not have spun you dizzy on the teacups. “Oh. Is it scary?”

So subtle you nearly miss it, Soonyoung puffs out his chest and stands up straighter. Stares at the ride as if it offended him personally as he says, “I—no! Not really. No, it’s not.”

“Is it not scary or not really scary?”

“It’s not scary,” he clarifies, lying through his teeth. “Not to me, anyway.”

“Cool, let’s go on it, then.” You start walking towards the ride entrance, pretending not to know he isn’t following. “It’s eight tickets,” you say, keeping up the ruse. Soonyoung still hasn’t followed and your wristbands are loaded with unlimited ride tickets. “Do we have—Soonyoung? What’s wrong?” Checkmate. Soonyoung’s cheeks go pink as he shuffles a few feet closer. “Do you not want to go on it?”

“I do!” he insists. “It’s just—it’s just, uh. Doesn’t that rollercoaster look way more fun? Or… look! The log flume looks fun, too!”

“But then we’ll have to walk around in wet clothes.”

“That’s what the rollercoaster is for.” You stare blankly at him. “You know, for drying. ‘Cause it goes fast.”

“It’s okay if you don’t want to go on that one,” you say, making sure to pout a little. There’s a very visible war waging inside of him. He either looks like a chicken on the ride or he looks like one by refusing to go on it at all. And that’s nothing a bit of bargaining can’t fix, so you say, “If you’re too scared, I can always hold your hand.”

You expect there to be at least a split-second of hesitation, but Soonyoung just says, “Deal!” and reaches for you. Laces your fingers together and doesn’t let go of you the entire time. Not while you wait in line, not while you’re on the ride (where he does scream his head off and grips your hand so tight you’re surprised it doesn’t cut the blood flow), and not after.

Soonyoung holds your hand as the two of you walk up and down the boards. As you duck into souvenir and t-shirt shops with crude sayings. As your stomach starts to rumble and he asks if you’ve ever had a deep-fried cannoli. As he somehow seems shocked when you say no and offers to buy you one, and when you jokingly ask if he’s trying to kill you, he squeezes your hand and says, “Never,” in a voice so soft it nearly makes you cry.

The only time he lets go is to pay for your food. He finds an empty table and sits on the same side as you, bodies pressed so close together your thighs touch. Takes another photo after he convinces you to try the cannoli. It’s far too sweet and far too rich, and you can’t stomach more than a couple bites, but Soonyoung wears a proud, beaming smile the entire time that helps it go down easier. He cleans the powdered sugar from the tip of your nose and, when he’s done, he stares at you so intently you think, this is it, he’s going to kiss me.

But he doesn’t.

Not yet, anyway.

There are things he wants to do first. More rides, more hand-holding, more obscene t-shirts he tries talking you into buying, more strange foods you can only find in a place like this. More people he wants to introduce you to, too, because he seems to know everyone. They all greet him warmly, like their day is better just by running into him, so by extension that warmth is also on offer for you. “Oh, hi! Who’s this?” they all ask, and Soonyoung introduces you by name each time.

He never says, Oh, she’s renting one of my spare rooms for the summer.

He never says, Oh, she’s just a friend.

He never says, Oh, no, it’s nothing serious, because it isn’t anything at all.

Not once does he shy away. Never seems embarrassed to be seen with you. Doesn’t seem fussed by his friends glancing down at your clasped hands and assuming you’re together, or watching the way he throws an arm around your shoulder and pulls you into his side. He doesn’t put a name to whatever is simmering between the two of you, but he doesn’t snuff it out, either.

Soonyoung gives you an answer to a question you haven’t dared to ask: does he feel it, does he want this, too?

A single spark of hope can be a dangerous thing. You know this as well as anyone. But it doesn’t feel so scary when, later on, the two of you see Chan manning one of the game booths, scrolling mindlessly through his phone as a young kid throws darts at a wall of colorful balloons. “Wow, great job,” he deadpans every time one pops, not bothering to check how many were taken out before handing over a giant stuffed animal.

“I’m gonna win you something,” Soonyoung declares. “Which one’s your favorite?”

You hum. Tap your finger against your chin as you pretend to mull it over. “The tiger,” you answer. “The really big one.”

Soonyoung pretends to push up sleeves that don’t exist. “Coming right up.” He approaches Chan. “Hello, sir. I’m here to win the giant tiger for the lovely lady.”

Chan ignores him and holds out his hand for the money. “Pay up, weirdo.”

As they argue, you wander into another souvenir shop. It’s mostly more of the same—tacky figurines of sea life and shot glasses featuring anatomically incorrect genitalia, skimboards and mugs with seashells for handles—but you pause in front of a rack of keychains. You’re not going to find Soonyoung’s name on any of these tiny surfboards. There are others, though: #1 Grandpa, Rock Star, Boy Mom, They Didn’t Have My Name. You laugh at the last one. Almost pick it up for Soonyoung until another one catches your eye.

Best Teacher

When you return to Chan’s game stall, Soonyoung is holding the tiger around the neck, grinning triumphantly as he rocks back on his heels like he hunted it himself.

“Welcome back! As you can see, I fought valiantly to win you your requested prize.”

He returns his arm to your shoulders, pulling you back into his side as he continues walking down the pier. From behind, Chan yells, “No he didn’t! He didn’t win shit, he grabbed it when I wasn’t looking! He’s a fraud!”

Naturally, Soonyoung ignores this. Pretends he doesn’t know Chan at all and asks what you’re going to name your new friend. “Probably nothing, if you keep carrying them like that. I think they’re turning purple. Or blue.”

Soonyoung gasps and adjusts his grip. Carries your new friend around their middle instead of their neck. “Okay, no attempted murder charges for me. One of my friends is on ferris wheel duty tonight—let’s see if he’ll let me use his locker.”

“Trying to get rid of my child already?”

“They’re heavy,” he whines.

You poke his bicep. “Are these just for show, then? God gives His biggest biceps to His most useless soldiers.”

“Did you forget I won this—”

“Stole,” you correct.

Soonyoung rolls his eyes. “Did you forget I won this for you? How can that be useless?”

You’re poised for a response that’s cut off by someone shouting his name. A lanky, kind of tall man is leaning over the wrought-iron railing, waving his arms like one of those blow-up things outside car dealerships. He’s wearing a tie-dyed shirt and his nametag has two names on it. HANSOL is crossed out with VERNONwritten underneath in bigger, bolder letters, prompting you to ask Soonyoung what his name actually is.

“Both,” he answers. Then, to Hansol-Vernon, he asks, “Can I use your locker for this thing?”

“Just leave it here,” Hansol-Vernon says, pointing at the floor of his operating station. He cracks open a can of beer. “Y’all want some? The fireworks are gonna start soon so everyone bounced. No one’s wanted to ride this thing in fuckin’ hours.”

Surely this is in violation of at least fifteen different safety standards. No one else seems to care, though, so you’re not going to be the one to bring it up and be a wet blanket about it. “Sure.” You shrug, accepting two cans when he hands them over.

Soonyoung, on the other hand, seems to have other plans. “Can we watch the fireworks from this thing?”

“Probably. They’re doing them all the way down the beach, so I don’t think they’ll, like, hit you.”

Soonyoung looks at you. Asks a question with his eyes that you answer with a small nod. “Sick. Give us more of those”—he points to Hansol-Vernon’s beer stash—“and don’t bring us back down until I say so.”

“Dude, no. If you’re planning on fucking up there again don’t even—”

You choke on your beer, coughing violently as you try to prevent it from coming out of your nose. Hansol-Vernon slaps you on the back and asks politely if you can get it together because he can’t have a death on his hands, either. “Thanks, Hansol-Vernon,” you say, wheezing a little as you regain your voice.

“It’s just Hansol. Or Vernon.”

That doesn’t clear up much.

Still stuck on three sentences ago, Soonyoung scoffs, indignant, and crosses his arms over his chest. “First of all, that was Mingyu! Don’t blame me for his debauchery! Second of all…” He pauses. “No second of all, actually.” He turns to you. “Do you wanna watch the fireworks from up there? I promise I won’t try to fuck you.”

You choke again.

Regardless, you agree. Vernon (which you’ve settled on calling him due to his shirt, which doesn’t have much of a Hansol vibe) gets you two situated, shouting a very pointed, “Hands where I can see them at all times!” when you reach the top.

And the view is breathtaking.

Nearly the entire town is visible, flat and sprawling as it encroaches on the shoreline to your right and the bay to your left. Lit up bright, welcoming like a beacon, though you’re not sure what it’s luring you into. You watch the waves break against the shore. The ant-sized people moving in herds. All the other rides that are operating and flashing and playing stupid little songs. You watch two seagulls perch on the roof of the ticket booth and fight over a french fry.

Under no circumstances do you look at Soonyoung, even though you know he’s looking at you.

The weight of his gaze is overwhelming. Has fire needling beneath your skin, pricking at your most sensitive spots. Because not only are there implications in it, there are wants. Wants that you know would be mirrored in your own eyes. And that’s… is it smart to start something with a predetermined end date? Soonyoung isn’t an idiot, wouldn’t be going into this with eyes wide shut, but you’re not sure where you stand. If it’s a risk you’re willing to take and a hurt you’re willing to both endure and put someone else through.

Still.

A single spark of hope can be a dangerous thing, and Soonyoung’s looking at you like he wants to engulf you. Like he wants to take every broken part of you and piece them back together with gentle hands. He’s looking at you with no trepidation at all, and it’s no small thing to be looked at like that. Like there’s potential. Like whatever you have to offer is worthwhile.

It should be scary. You should be throwing out emergency flares, begging whoever comes to your rescue to make you think rationally. It’s only been a month. You’re leaving in two. Hours of distance separate the two of you. You barely know him. He barely knows you; might eventually uncover all the things you hate about yourself and find them ugly, too.

It should be scary.

But it’s not.

So here, at the top of a ferris wheel that might as well be the top of the world, is where you finally meet his eye and manage to say, “I want you to kiss me. When the fireworks start, I want you to kiss me.”

Soonyoung smiles so wide his cheeks dimple. Scooches forward to sit on the edge of the bench, so close his knees knock into yours, always touching now that he’s allowed to. So close you can smell the sea salt and the remnants of cologne that stick to his skin. So close you can see yourself reflected in his eyes, surrounded by stars.

“Is there anything else I can do for you?” he asks, voice deep and molten, words nearly spoken into the crook of your neck. You almost have to look away again—almost have to call the whole thing off out of self-preservation—because that intensity is back. Has your breath hitching in your throat, sweat beading along your hairline.

Soonyoung cups your jaw. Runs his thumb over the seam of your lips. If you were any more coherent you’d nip at it with your teeth, soothe the sting with your tongue, show you can give as good as you get. You want Soonyoung just as affected as you, just as wanting. Just as gripped by the anticipation. Just as fucked up over the possibility of it all.

And it seems like he is, because he leans in impossibly closer. Uses his free hand to grip at the meat of your thigh, slide it higher until it’s nearly settling on your waist. He pinches the fabric of your shirt between his fingers like he’s trying to savor it, trying to memorize every detail of this moment. When he speaks this time, you actually do feel it against your skin. Feel the way his lips form around each word. Feel his warm breath every time he exhales. Feel your stomach somersault when he asks, “What if I don’t want to wait for the fireworks?” Feel your core throb when he continues, tone headier than you’ve ever heard it, “What if I just pulled you into my lap and kissed you right now?”

If you were any more coherent you’d tell him to do it. You’d smirk, press your tongue into the fat of your cheek, lean in just as close and watch the goosebumps rise on his arms when you tugged his earlobe between your teeth and said, “Why don’t you find out?” But you’re all out of sorts here on the top of the world, scared you’re going to come plummeting back to reality any second.

Because Soonyoung feels like a dream—not idealized or put on a pedestal, but realistic and attainable. Someone it’s easy to exist alongside of. Someone who shows you off without reservation and swindles his friends out of glorified carnival prizes just because you want one. Someone not afraid of or deterred by the liminal state of your relationship, before things became more solid and defined. Someone who knows when to push and when to be patient. Someone who looks at you and sees a future you could barely imagine—not because you didn’t want it, but because all those assumed barriers.

Grief so overpowering some days you could barely get out of bed. Salary, title, and job prospects not where or what you thought they’d be after graduating nearly a decade ago. Feeling trapped by both of these things. Knowing it’s pointless to tie your self-worth to numbers and degrees and prestige but being unable to help it. Being quietly dissatisfied with a simple, ordinary life.

But while those things are true, they aren’t what defines you.

You haven’t decided this thing with Soonyoung is worth pursuing because of his job—jobs. How much money he does or doesn’t make isn’t what you see when you look at him. What you see is his smile when he walks through the door on Friday evenings. The way his brows pinch and his tongue sticks out just so when he’s cooking dinner for the two of you. The look he wears when he shows up in the doorway of your room, half embarrassment and half mischief as he asks you to help him bleach his hair at some ungodly hour—that he trusts you to help even though you’ve never done it before. You see a man that, for the past month, has welcomed you into his home and his life.

All of those things are what makes it easy to plant your hands in the center of his chest and push him back against the bench. To crawl into his lap just like he’d teased, to nip at his skin just like you’d wanted, and whisper, “Maybe I don’t want to wait, either.”

Fate is not something you believe in, but if you did, you think it’d feel a lot like this: the first firework exploding as soon as Soonyoung grabs you by the back of the neck and draws you in for a searing, bruising kiss. The way he groans into your mouth and moves his hands to your waist, trying to erase space that doesn’t exist. You can tell he’s holding himself back, that he wants to thrust his hips, desperate for friction, but doesn’t want to risk making you uncomfortable, is letting you set the pace.

And the pace you want is just as frenzied.

“Fuck,” Soonyoung swears, hissing as you fully drop your weight onto him. When he tilts his head back, you move your lips to the column of his throat, delighting in the sounds spilling from him, the way he finally dares to roll his hips.

You moan, unable to help the sleazy smile that stretches across your face. “God,” you rasp, matching his thrusts, “you’re so hard.”

Soonyoung scoffs. Makes a sound like the air’s been punched out of him. “Do you know—shit—d’you know how long I’ve wa-wanted to kiss you? And have you seen yourself?”

“I have,” you snark, threading your fingers through his hair. “You could’ve, you know. Would’ve let you.”

“Pull it harder.” You do as you’re told, tightening your grip, staring down at the man beneath you. Lips parted, breathing labored, unsure what to do with his hands. You want to mess him up. Want to bring him close to the edge and make him suffer through having to wait. “Mm yeah, just like that, baby—make it hurt.”

Every word strikes you deep. Has you needy and clenching around nothing, unfazed by the world around you, that you’re in public. Fireworks continue to explode. So will you, soon, if Soonyoung doesn’t—

“Touch me,” you beg, unashamed of the need in your tone. He should hear it. He should know how affected you are by him, what he does to you. What you’ve been trying to ignore for weeks. “Soonyoung, please. Touch me, take me home, I don’t care, just—”

You’d be hard-pressed to say how you got here.

On your back in Soonyoung’s bed, his head between your legs. Panties pulled down only as far as they needed to be for him to get his mouth on you, and god is it good. Soonyoung’s made a trembling, gasping mess of you in record time. Has you clutching at his sheets every time he suctions his lips around your clit; every long, pointed stroke he makes with his tongue. Stars explode behind your eyelids every time he praises you, and you’d wanted him on the edge but you make it there first.

Soonyoung can tell. Sucks two fingers into his mouth and teases your entrance. “You’re gonna come, aren’t you, baby?” You nod, unable to muster actual words. Soonyoung grins, devilish and wicked, and presses his fingers inside. Crooks them immediately against your front wall as he returns his mouth to your cunt, sucking and licking, nipping at your skin.

“Fuck, I’m gonna—”

“Mhmm, let me feel it—that’s it, good girl. Taste so fuckin’ good; you drive me fucking crazy.”

You come with a shout, vision nearly whiting out, your hands back in Soonyoung’s hair to anchor you to this plane of existence. Wave after wave of euphoria hits you, and you almost beg him to keep going, to not go easy on you, make you come again, but you also just want him closer. Want to taste yourself on his lips. Want to hear his fractured intakes of breath as you grip his cock and touch him properly for the first time. Want the two of you to have to sleep in your bed because you make such a mess of his.

All he gives you is a few seconds to catch your breath. You know what you must look like, chest heaving and sweat-slick, and it makes you feel powerful. Sexy. Gives you the confidence to shrug off the last of your inhibitions and say, “C’mere, please,” and kiss the taste of your pussy off his lips, suck it off his tongue.

You skim your hands down his body—the expanse of soft, warm skin, chest to thigh. Grab at him over his briefs, rub your thumb across the wet patch you find there. Soonyoung curses when you suck that same thumb into your mouth and groan at the taste, the musk and hint of salt. One day you’ll return the favor and make him come with your mouth, have his muscles contracting as you swallow him down and let him fuck your throat, but right now you’re too impatient. Need him inside of you too badly.

There’s plenty of time for everything else.

Hand dipping beneath his briefs, you’re finally able to feel the weight of him. His velvety skin. Soonyoung hisses and tugs his bottom lip between his teeth. Watches you like a hawk, predator and prey, and it just spurns you on more. Has you circling and pumping his length, trying to figure out what he likes—which seems to be everything, judging by the way he hides his face in the crook of your neck and whines. “Baby,” he mewls. “God, you’re gonna feel so good around me, so tight and wet. Fuck, I’m never letting you out of this bed.”

“Yeah?” you tease, thumbing at his slit, collecting the pearls of pre-cum. “You wanna keep me forever?”

Another loud moan. “Please don’t say things like that,” he pleads, and you swear your heart stops, that your stomach drops through the mattress and onto the floor, before he follows it up with, “you’ll make me bust in my underwear like a virgin.”

You giggle, because that’s just how it is with Soonyoung: so easy to exist, to let go of your fear; so easy to laugh when everything starts feeling a bit too serious.

Easy to lob a truly terrible joke right back at him. “Come lose it, then.”

He barks a laugh. Leans over to fetch a condom from his nightstand. “Would you, the beautiful, incredible woman who I can’t believe is naked in my bed right now after I scammed her, like to do the honors?”

You would, actually, so you do.

Soonyoung kisses you as he slowly presses inside. As he fucks into you inch by inch. When he bottoms out, he gives you time to adjust; moves his hands to your waist and massages the skin just above your hip bones. “Okay?” he asks, and when you nod, tell him it’s okay to move, he presses another kiss to your forehead. “Good job, pretty girl; took me so well. I knew you’d feel like heaven.”

He fucks you slowly at first, measured and precise. Takes his time rolling his hips as his hands explore anything they can reach, like he can’t bear to not be touching you even though you’re connected in the most raw, sensual way two people can be. He waits he can feel you spasming around him, until your legs are locked behind his back, begging him to fuck you faster, harder, before he obliges. Before he puts all the power in his hips to good use. Before he rolls you onto your stomach and enters you from behind, both of you gasping at how much more intense it feels.

“Close,” you warn him, not at all surprised at how quickly your second release has snuck up on you.

With a final nip to the back of your neck, Soonyoung plants his knees against the mattress and grabs you by the hips, angling your body so he hits deeper, harder; so his balls slap against your clit every time he thrusts into you. You’re mindless with pleasure. Babbling nonsense as you beg him not to stop. Wouldn’t fuckin’ dream of it, he speaks through gritted teeth.

The coil of tension in your gut finally snaps. Again, you come with a shout, entire body pulling taut as Soonyoung continues to fuck you through it, his own undoing not far behind. Only a few more thrusts before he’s draping his body over yours and spilling into the condom, hands immediately reaching for yours to twine your fingers together.

It’s quiet in the immediate aftermath. Soonyoung rolls onto his side and presses his front against your back, arm secured around your middle. Kisses the top of your head and sighs. “I need to clean us up but I don’t think I can move.”

“Hm. At least take off the condom so your dick doesn’t get all pruney.”

Soonyoung startles, bolting upright. “Can that happen?”

“Dunno,” you respond, feeling sleep nipping at your heels, “but I’d rather you didn’t risk finding out. I happen to like your dick very much.”

He laughs. Rolls out of bed and playfully swats at your ass on his way to the bathroom. “Yeah, we’re not leaving this bed for a long time.”

In the morning, you wake up Soonyoung with your mouth and ride him until you’re both dizzy and breathless.

You fetch a book from your room and read while he dozes in and out of consciousness, content to just be next to him. You ignore the slew of texts from Minghao, who had heard from a friend of a friend of a friend that there had been a development in your and Soonyoung’s relationship the night before, but once your phone vibrates for the hundredth time that morning, you figure you might as well get it over with because you know Minghao—know he won’t relent until he gets what he’s looking for.

Minghao [11:03am]: ignore my actually important texts all you want, but at least look at this 🙄

What he’s sent you is a job listing.

You can hardly believe what you’re reading. Not only is it nearly your dream job, but it’s remote and triple your current salary—and, most importantly, you’re qualified.

You [11:12am]: Minghao what is this?? Minghao [11:12am]: a friend is a higher-up there. says we can use him as a reference but if your resume looks good it might as well be a done deal Minghao [11:13am]: i already sent yours to him btw You [11:14am]: Freak. Why do you have a copy of my resume?? Minghao [11:14am]: i don’t. i sent him your linkedin Minghao [11:14am]: your ugly ass headshot must not have scared him off bc he said he’ll be in touch soon

Now you’re breathless for an entirely different reason.

You’ll figure out a way to thank him later, ask if he’s making the switch with you because both of you deserve better. You won’t get your hopes up—not until it’s a done deal, and not until you talk to Soonyoung. Because whatever this is between you is heading down a path you want to follow; want to see through to the end, wherever that may be.

For now, though, you’re happy to exist alongside Soonyoung. Happy to listen to his quiet snores and let him cuddle into your side. Happy to be in this house in this little beach town that has already given you so much.

Perhaps fate is something you believe in, after all.

If you’ve made it this far, thank you so much for reading! Sharing and reblogging my work is the best way to show you enjoyed it, but I also accept any and all feedback and screaming in my inbox. <3

[jennaflare]

So Disco Elysium is the only game you've ever really liked

I get it! It's a phenomenal game with superb art and writing, and its themes are consistent and deeply explored. It sets a high bar for video games. But there are other really, really fantastic games out there. This is a list that is 100% my own taste of things that aren't necessarily similar, other than the fact that they're really fucking good. (A lot of these are on sale for the Steam Summer Sale until July 11 2024!)

In Stars and Time

In Stars and Time is a time loop game where you play as Siffrin, the rogue of a party at the end of their quest to save the day by defeating the King, who is freezing everybody in time! But something is wrong: every time you die, you loop back to the day before you fight the King. You're the only one who remembers the loops, so it's up to you to figure out why it's happening, and how to break out.

In Stars and Time is a heart-wrenching dive into mental health, friendship, and love. It's about feeling alone, and how awful it is when the people who love you don't notice (and how awful it is when they do). It's about falling deeper and deeper into your worst self and your worst tendencies, and how to come back from it.

The creator also did one of my favorite Disco Elysium comics ever, which is only tangentially relevant but worth mentioning.

Roadwarden

In Roadwarden, you play as the titular Roadwarden for an undeveloped and "wild" part of the kingdom. Monsters roam the forests and roads, and it's your job to keep people safe. On paper, anyway. Your real mission is to find out what is of value in the area, and how to take it from its people. How well you perform this task is up to you. It's an oldschool text-based RPG, and I take a lot of notes by hand when I play.

Roadwarden explores exploitation and industrialization by making you look in the face of your potential victims. You can only learn what your bosses want you to report on by getting close to the residents, after all. There are mysteries to be solved, secrets to be gathered, and hearts to win.

The Longing

The Longing is an adventure-idle game where you play as the solitary servant of a sleeping king. Your task is to wait for him, for four hundred days. Time in the game passes in realtime (for the most part). There are caves to explore, books to be read, and drawings to make.

The Longing is about loneliness and depression. It's about whether or not you decide to stay in that hole, and if you do, what you do with yourself while you're there. Maybe you'll wander. Maybe you'll stare at a wall. Maybe you'll just sleep until it's all over.

Papers, Please

Papers, Please casts you as a newly hired customs officer in a country that is rapidly tightening its borders as its fascist government tightens its fist. This game is stressful. Sometimes you intend to help out the revolutionaries when they asked, but then you got so stressed out trying to make your quota so you can feed your family and pay your bills that you didn't notice the name of the person they were hoping to contact while going through their papers. Sometimes someone puts a bomb in front of you and expects you to defuse it. Sometimes someone suggests you steal people's passports so you can get your family out, and with the horror you see daily, the idea tempts you more than you'd like.

Papers, Please is all about hard choices and testing your moral fortitude. Everything you do has consequences. Being a good person in this game is hardly ever rewarded, but not in a way that feels overly cynical. Papers, Please asks you what kind of person you want to be and what you're willing to sacrifice to get there.

The Return of the Obra Dinn

From the creator of Papers, Please, The Return of the Obra Dinn is a game where you play as an insurance investigator for the East India Trading Company. The ship the Obra Dinn has just floated back into port, its entire crew missing or dead. It's your job to figure out what happened aboard the vessel. For insurance reasons.

I don't know how to go into the themes of this too deeply without giving away too much, but the mechanics of the game itself make the game worth playing. You have a magic stopwatch that allows you to go back to the moment of a person's death, allowing you to try and figure out who (or what) killed them, and how. And the soundtrack is extremely good.

Outer Wilds

In Outer Wilds you play as an unnamed alien, and it's your first day going to space! Your planet's space program is pretty new still, so there's still lots to explore and discover on the planets within your system. There are ancient ruins from a mysterious race that once lived in your system, long before your species began to record history. Why were they here? Where did they go? How are they connected to the weird thing that keeps happening to you?

The fun of Outer Wilds is in the discovery and answering your own questions. The game never tells you where to go, and it never outright tells you anything. There are clues scattered through the system, and it's up to you to put them together and figure out your next steps. It's about the way that life always goes on, no matter what, even when it seems like the end of everything, forever. I'd recommend NOT reading anything else about this game. Just go play it. Seriously, the less you know, the more fun this is.

If on a Winter's Night, Four Travelers

In If on a Winter's Night, Four Travelers, you explore the circumstances of the deaths of four individuals.

This is a short one that took me about two and a half hours to play. If for no other reason, play it for the stunning pixel art. The game explores sexism, racism, and homophobia in the Victorian era and leans heavily into horror themes. Best of all: it's completely free!

Pentiment

Pentiment takes you to the 16th century, where you take the role of Andreas Maler, a journeyman artist working on his masterwork in the scriptorium of an abbey. When someone is murdered, Andreas takes responsibility for finding the culprit.

The game is set over 20~ years and you get to watch how Andreas' actions affect the village in various ways (who's alive the next time you come by, have people gotten married and had children...). It's an exploration of how the past affects the future, and what parts of that past we choose to keep or discard. It has beautiful art, and fans of both Disco and Pentiment often compare them.

Other games you might wanna check out

Night in the Woods, Dredge, Oxenfree, A House of Many Doors, Inscryption, Slay the Princess, Citizen Sleeper, Chants of Sennar, Loop Hero, The Cosmic Wheel Sisterhood, The Pale Beyond, Where the Water Tastes Like Wine, Elsinore, Her Story, Before Your Eyes, Pathologic (not delved into above because the venn diagram of Pathologic fans and Disco fans is basically a circle)

[soulprompts]

right place, right time prompts.

so i got watching a ton of new tv shows lately, and it occurred to me that actually i do love it when characters are unexpectedly saved by someone who just happened to be exactly in the right place at precisely the correct moment, yk? and i failed to think of the right name, so the title of this list is entirely thanks to a very dear friend of mine who informed me! so here's a list, i hope you guys love it, DO NOT ADD TO THIS LIST OR EDIT IT!!! i like to edit them over time as new ideas come to me.

[ ALIBI ]: the sender provides a false alibi to protect the receiver from legal issues.

[ HAND ]: the sender suddenly arrives to grab the receiver's hand before they fall to their death

[ CAR ]: the sender arrives on scene as the impromptu getaway driver for the receiver (who hadn't been expecting it).

[ FATAL ]: the sender unwittingly arrives on scene when the receiver is being attacked, and to protect the receiver, they kill the assailant.

[ DISTRACT ]: the sender provides a diversion so the receiver can escape a dangerous situation.

[ OUT COLD ]: the sender knocks out an assailant before they can seriously wound the receiver.

[ DUNNO ]: the sender lies about the location of the receiver in order to protect them from pursuers.

[ FAKE ]: the sender, in a situation where they're forced to kill the receiver, only pretends to kill the receiver and takes their "dead" body away in the car.

[ SACRIFICE]: the sender sacrifices their life to ensure the receiver's survival.

[ BACK-UP ]: the sender arrives just in time to help the receiver in a fight.

[ EXCUSES ]: the sender provides an excuse for the receiver to stay at an event where they shouldn't be.

[ HIDDEN ]: the sender hides the receiver from pursuers.

[ SHELTER ]: the sender finds the unconscious receiver and brings them to a safe place.

[ HERO ]: the sender tackles the receiver out of the way of an attack.

[ RUN! ]: the sender tackles the attacker so the receiver can make a safe get-away.

[ FIGHT ]: the sender fights off the assailants so the receiver can flee to safety.

[ INTERCEPT ]: the sender unexpectedly emerges and stands between the receiver and a threat.

[ MISDIRECTION ]: the sender points a group of pursuers in the opposite direction to buy the receiver some time to hide.

[ SANCTUARY ]: the sender opens the door when the receiver knocks in search of help, and brings them into their home.

[ REPUTATION ]: the sender, being somewhat infamous in the area, arrives when the receiver is being hassled, causing the assailants to flee rather than risk the consequences of crossing them.

[ RECOGNIZE ]: the sender pretends to know the receiver in order to help them avoid unwanted attention.

[ AFAR ]: the sender incapacitates, distracts or kills an assailant from a distance to protect the receiver.

[ FRIENDS ]: the sender, unable to attend directly, sends friends over to protect the receiver when they encounter a threat.

[ NEGOTIATE ]: the sender intervenes in a tense situation and manages to smoothly persuade a potential threat to leave the receiver alone.

[ BRIBE ]: the sender gives a threat a significant amount of money to leave the receiver alone.

[ ANNOUNCE ]: the sender issues a declaration that the receiver is under their protection, assuring all potential attackers that any attempts will result in a brutal retaliation from them.

VERBAL PROMPTS:

" they're with me. "

" i was with them all night. "

" hey! these guys bothering you? "

" i wouldn't do that if i were you. "

" you must've really pissed those guys off, huh? "

" follow my lead... "

" don't worry. you're safe here. i won't let anyone hurt you. "

" you're lucky i found you when i did; those people were right down the street. "

" get in the car! now! "

" i'm gonna buy you as much time as i possibly can. make it count, okay? get out of here. now! "

" you can come out now. they're long gone. "

" nobody's going to hurt you like that again. "

[waterlilyvioletfog]

Rating Scum Villain Characters By How Much I Cheer When I See Them Depicted With Grey Hair

It goes without saying that this list is highly subjective. But it makes me happy! I have not actually seen all these characters with grey hair, i don’t think. Listed ages reflect end of book except where stated otherwise.

Mobei-jun: 2/10. Age: fuck if I know. We’ll say he’s like 39. I understand the whole ice prince aesthetic makes silver/white haired Mobei-jun attractive to some people but I personally think it’s really funny if he just looks absurdly young forever. Assigned youngest child.

Shang Qinghua: 6/10. Age: like 40 or 80 if you count his first life. Shang Qinghua’s perpetual state of total stress is one of his most defining characteristics so grey hair for this character makes sense. Also jives well with his whole sleazy uncle kind of vibe. When paired with above, it can make MBJ look like SQH’s inappropriately younger boyfriend, which is deeply funny to me. Unfortunately, the twinkification of this character in fandom limits my opportunities to experience this kind of joy.

Luo Binghe: 0/10. Age: like 25. It just feels wrong.

Shen Jiu: 8/10. Age: depends, we’ll say 40. If Shen Jiu had grey hair he would dye that shit so fucking fast. Yue Qingyuan would try to re-assure him that oh, shidi, grey hair is nothing to be ashamed about!! And Shen Jiu would be like you stupid fuck it’s clearly caused by my terrible shitty cultivation GET OFF MY FUCKING MOUNTAIN!!!!!!!! But fun fact! It is actually caused by his constant hyper-vigilance, PTSD, and meteoric stress levels. 🙏💚

Ning Yingying: 1/10. Age: also like 25. Gets 1 point for the hilarity of a character named baby ending up prematurely grey.

Ming Fan: 5/10. Age: 27-ish. This kid is so fucking stressed. Obviously this more applies post-jump, not to volume 1!Ming Fan. There is excellent potential here though for every time something happens to Shen Qingqiu, Ming Fan shows up looking greyer and more haggard.

Liu Mingyan: 0/10. Age: like 25. Idk it just doesn’t inspire me.

Sha Hualing: 1/10. Age: also like 25. I was gonna say 0/10 and then i thought about Luo Binghe-wrangling giving her grey hair and her furiously dyeing it black again and I thought it was funny. Sue me.

Gongyi Xiao: 2/10 Age: ??? Dead anyways. See, if the depiction of GYX gives him grey hair, that means he lived long enough to have grey hair 🥺

Yang Yixuan: -10/10 Age: Baby. Reason: Baby.

Tianlang-jun: 10/10. Age: I don’t fucking know, man. Lots of great reasons to give TLJ some greys. # 1, it helps distinguish him visually from Binghe. # 2, appropriate since he is an evil DILF. # 3: my guy got crushed under a mountain for like twenty years I think that entitles him to some grey hair. # 4: I think he’d be completely ridiculous about it. I am imagining him frantically denying he looks his age and demanding Zhuzhi-lang tell him he still looks pretty.

Zhuzhi-lang: 3/10. Age: ?????? On the one hand, ZZL is probably old enough and stressed enough to have grey hair. On the other other hand, his hair is typically depicted as mostly green, partially snakes, so, like, ymmv.

Su Xiyan: 6/10. Age: dead, would probably be in her 40s/50s if she were alive. Look, I cannot deny the appeal of giving some grey hair to the dead dilf mother of all time. Tianlang-jun would also, unfortunately, be staggeringly horny about it.

Mu Qingfang: 7/10. Age: 40s-ish. *Nods approvingly*

Liu Qingge: 4/10. Age: 30-45. Liu Qingge is the assigned baby of the peak lords, so giving him grey hair always feels weird to me. He would look pretty with like a cool silver streak tho. I do also see some appeal to him acquiring grey hair during the five year time skip due to the *hand waves*.

Qi Qingqi: 7/10. Age: 40s-ish. MILF.

Yue Qingyuan: 16/10. Age: 40s-ish. Makes absolutely perfect sense. This is one of the most stressed men alive. He’s very literally the assigned da-ge by the narrative. His cultivation is a total mess because of Xuan Su! Frankly, I’m surprised his hair isn’t totally white by the end of this book! because it would make sense!! within its literary and cultural context from what I know!! Also, it would work with his wardrobe.

Shen Qingqiu: 10/10. Age: 27-ish, technically, except also in his 40s, except also immortal so who really knows. Similar to YQY and TLJ, this makes sense. Shen Qingqiu’s abysmal physical health and terrible mental health are persistent throughout the text, and things like Without A Cure and the widow arc are perfect excuses for SQQ to have grey hair. It makes him look older, which is fun in SQQ’s context for a variety of reasons, including the fact that LBH would find it hot. Elegant, Beautiful, Graceful, Scholarly Qing Jing Peak Lord Shen having grey hair is a beautiful thing indeed 💚

[saywhat-politics]

The recent attacks have occurred in a national environment that has become awfully permissive of Christian extremist violence.

June 25, 2025, 12:44 PM MST

By Ja'han Jones

Last year, a former counterterrorism official who served in the Department of Homeland Security during Donald Trump’s first term published a book sounding the alarm on violent Christian extremism.

Elizabeth Neumann wrote “Kingdom of Rage: The Rise of Christian Extremism and the Path Back to Peace” as a warning about a metastasizing strain of Christian-led violence against people who don’t accept their worldview — a crisis she'd been sounding the alarm about for years. And recent news reports seem to illustrate how right she was.

In Arizona, a man accused of killing a local pastor in April reportedly confessed during a news interview in which he said he was carrying out God’s will and planned to target church leaders in other parts of the country in some sort of crusade.

This, of course, follows the recent arrest of Vincent Boelter, who authorities say targeted Democratic Minnesota lawmakers in shootings that left two dead and two injured. Multiple news outlets have reported on Boelter’s alleged Christian nationalist ties and his promotion of violent, Christian extremist rhetoric, including in sermons posted online. Authorities said his list of potential targets included other politicians, abortion-rights advocates and Planned Parenthood facilities. (Boelter has not entered a plea.)

And these killings have occurred in an environment that is awfully permissive of Christian nationalist violence. A 2022 report from the advocacy group Christians Against Christian Nationalism showed how Christian nationalist rhetoric fueled the deadly Jan. 6 insurrection. And the blanket clemency afforded to these insurrectionists this year by Trump — someone who has used messianic rhetoric to portray himself as anointed by God — could embolden other violent Christian extremists going forward.

[musette22]

Speaking of a “dead” fandom. Do you have a list of Stucky blogs to follow? I need to follow more and go through my followers list for fandoms I’m not in anymore but… also maybe that would help some people who are new to the fandom as well? 🎉

Mandy, my love! Great idea, thanks for asking! ❤️ It's been a really long time since I did a blog rec list, because I am genuinely terrified of missing anyone out and potentially making someone feel bad 🙈 That would never be my intention, obviously!

But I swear, from the bottom of my heart: if you're not on this list and you feel like you should have been, it was most likely just one of those brain = sieve things and nothing personal at ALL. Which is also why I want to wholeheartedly encourage anyone who also considers themselves a Stucky-centric blog and would like to be added to this list to let me know/drop a comment in the notes/reblog with a note etc. etc. The more of us the merrier!!

Also, if you're included in this list but you would rather not be, for whatever reason, let me know and I'll remove you! No hard feelings. I also think there are a couple of blogs that are no longer super active / mainly Stucky blogs, but I did check that they all posted at least in the last couple of weeks, so most of them should still be active!

The Tumblr tag limit per post is sadly 50, so not all @'s on the list will be clickable and not everyone will get a notification of this, so I'm going to try to tag the blogs that aren't tagged under the cut in the notes instead, in order to notify them (so those added there by me are the same ones as on the list below)

Stucky blog recs under the cut, in no particular order!

@fandomfluffandfuck

@rillils

@buckvrogers

@sparkagrace

@voylitscope

@gloromeien

@metalbvcky

@dharmasharks

@leihaddock

@amarriageoftrueminds

@lavenderbuckyy

@steviesmarigold

@randomfandompenguin

@writeyourdarlings

@scriggle-scraggle

@wewringmagicfromtheordinary

@beardoesdoodles

@stuckydrewx

@yourbuckies

@smerfols

@incorrectstevebucky

@steveandbvcky

@riricitaa

@bluesimplicity

@dreadlockholiday

@stuckytogether

@hereforhappystucky

@stevebuckythyla

@luna-rainbow

@caps-boo-bear

@howdoyousleep3

@estelior

@stoveandhisbucket

@im-just-a-random-fandom-girl

@godmerlin

@capibuck

@fenrir-flamekeeper

@bucky-boychik-barnes

@ace-bucket

@shkretart

@smlmsworld

@hipsterdiva

@mentalmeles

@airybmore

@stevefightmerogerss

@guiltypleasureisfun

@twomisplacedsouls

@zenaidamacrouras1

@ace-in-reserve

@msilverstar

@gfawkesphoenixchokingonashes

@thevampireazula

@booksandabeer

@xoxobuckybarnes

@bromcommie

@burberrycanary

@partofthefandom

@fsbc-librarian

@fsbc-stucky-library

@cinnamoncascadian

@wintershield-always

@evenwhenihadnothingihad-stucky

@aimmyarrowshigh

@dienaziscum

@lilyinthesnow

@thestuckynation

@kaiya3333

@son-justdont

@stuckytoyoulikeglue

@norelationtoatticus

@transstuckywriter

@steverogersnotebook

@onecontinuoussigh

@fizz-pop-thwip

@whiteglovemanor

@arctic-turtle-cassiopeia

@artwinx

@behindthesehazeleyes27

@haz-n-boo-world

@steebling

@montyc

@forwritingwork

@steevbuckk

@its-tortle

@raven-writes-fanfic

@sarahowritesostucky

@burnin-brighter

@stevebvck

@geekinthefuschiahair

@innerslumber

@postmodernmulticoloredcloak

@sebastian-lips

@not-withoutyou

@circaclementine

@vincentvanh03

@bisxualbucky

@thesocietyporg

@aciremii

@ywecanthavenicethingsanymore

@turtle-steverogers

@steviesunrises

@somanywords

@karrieharrie

@between-a-ship-and-a-hard-place

@supersoldiercore

@livingoutload

@winterbaebucky

@reducedemtasketch

@preyasi

@bittersweet-in-boston

@stucky-just-stucky

@rachelica9

@kiu-k

@stucky-in-love-with-you

@fishyandclintbarton

@hey-rissyroo

@possibleplatypus

@ariane-giudice

@backonefish

@martelldoran

@schoolyardtobattlefield

@kalee60

@chubbiedumpling

@cat-ws

@greyhoundsgirl

@winterofthedarkestlight

@deadto27

@petite-madame

@kijrbds

@deusv-ult

@weeklybuckydoodles

@stjohn27

@glittery-koi

@buckysbud

@hettolandija

@lucidasidera

@barnestags

@waverleyrogers

@whoastitchywoman

@duckinatruck

@murkycrush

@thewintersoldier3

@whendidyou-leaveheaven

@faeriecap

@captain-dorito-is-a-snack

@princeofbadassery

@timetopanic34

@16woodsequ

[rolanpilled]

Facts about Rolan you might have missed, while you were busy saving the world

Spoilers for Baldur’s Gate 3 below!

Here’s a collection of some Rolan facts you may have missed during your playthrough. (These are all from memory, so I will edit this later with sources and exact quotes.)

He is not related by blood to Cal and Lia - You can find this information by speaking with his corpse. All three of them consider each other family, but Rolan seems to hold some insecurities about his position with his siblings. In the same conversation, he mentions having “no one” when asked if he has family and that he identifies as “Rolan, just Rolan” - potentially implying that he’s been abandoned or rejected by his blood family, if they’re alive.

Cal considers Rolan an older brother - If Rolan dies during his rescue attempt in Act 2, Cal confesses that Rolan is his “older brother” and “the person he looks up to the most”.

Rolan loves organizing things - He has overhead dialogue with his siblings where he jokes about wanting an organized, color-coded sock drawer.

You can try to convince Rolan to leave his siblings behind at the grove - Try to convince him to leave Lia behind, and he will admit she’s a pain sometimes, but he could never leave her, not even for his prestigious apprenticeship.

Rolan’s diary changes depending on if his siblings live or die - Self-explanatory. He obviously becomes much more depressed and angry if you fail to save his siblings.

Rolan and his siblings have known each other since Cal was at least eight - They have overhead dialogue where Cal mentions that, when he was eight, Rolan once conjured a cat for him, only for him to find out it was made of fire.

It’s implied that Rolan, Cal, and Lia share a mother figure - If Lia dies, Cal has dialogue with Rolan about throwing a party in memorial for her, “like [they] did for mum”.

Rolan, Cal, and Lia have unique dialogue depending on which of them die - This is self-explanatory, but you can see most of the scenes here. He also appears to have unique dialogue coded in act 3 depending on if he’s angry with you or not (if you disrespected Cal and Lia’s memories by calling them Carl and Liam), but I haven’t been able to trigger it yet.

https://twitter.com/gimblebock/status/1705080072489574619?s=46&t=ZnMav_9KejiNOZkZPad0Mg

Lorroakan hates to admit it, but Rolan is more powerful than him - Speak with Lorroakan’s corpse after killing him and having Rolan side with you. He will begrudgingly admit that his apprentice is more powerful than him. Side note, it can be implied that Lorroakan never calls Rolan by his name, as he defaults to “tiefling” or “boy” in their few interactions.

If Rolan has a high enough initiative in the Lorroakan fight, he will use Thunderwave to shove Lorroakan off the tower. Peak revenge.

Some of Rolan’s spells have his name in front of them (Rolan’s Thunderwave, Rolan’s Mage Armor) - Some people have headcannoned this as meaning he had to learn magic by himself, therefore being a Sorcerer. Considering his clothes are a unique color combination for the Sorcerer robes, it raises more than a few questions

Rolan always carries Lorroakan’s letter on him - This one always makes me so sad, pointed out by @sadwizardlover. Throughout the game, the one thing Rolan always carries on his person is the written response from Lorroakan to his letter, posted below.

Lorroakan also beats Rolan up😭 He'll only admit this if Lorroakan's dead though

That’s all! If anyone has any more to add to this list, shoot me an ask✨💞

[motorsportbarbie13]

The Yapping Hour Is Upon Us - The Royal Wedding

In which you and Max tie the knot.

Warnings: just fluff. a bit of anxiety talk but nothing Max can't fix. Pairing: Max Verstappen x Podcaster!Reader Word Count: 5k

- The Yapping Hour is Upon Us - The Yapping Hour is Upon Us - Part 2 - The Yapping Hour is Upon Us - Part 3 - The Yapping Hour is Upon Us - Part 4 - The Yapping Hour is Upon Us - Bonus Sessions - Master List

After getting engaged, there were two things that you and Max almost immediately agreed upon: first, because so much of both of your lives were already available for public consumption, you wanted to protect the peace and privacy of your wedding as much as possible. And second, you didn’t want to wait until the next summer break to get married. 

Growing up, it was a cliche fact but a fact all the same, that you often thought of what you wanted your wedding to be like. You were even very much guilty of having secret wedding Pinterest boards set up all through high school and college. But the moment the even presented itself in real life, you suddenly felt choked by the weight of what a big wedding could entail. 

It had been Max that had suggested the solution in the end, his idea passed by you casually one night as you walked hand in hand back to your hotel after dinner before the race in Italy. He had sensed your hesitation around hosting such a big, over the top wedding that everyone seemed to assume you wanted. The spark in your eye faded just a bit when Alex and Carmen had started talking about wedding venues and guest lists and he hadn’t missed the way your shoulders hitched up a bit more towards your ears as you listened to your friends ramble. 

“What if we just eloped?” He works to keep his tone causal, not wanting to give away how appealing that idea sounds to him. He wants you to choose the kind and scale of wedding you want all on your own because he knows you’d do anything for him, right down to agreeing to plan a wedding that doesn’t suit you at all. 

You stop dead in your tracks, Birkin bag swinging wildly at your elbow from the sudden halt. “What?” 

Max sticks his hands deep in the pockets of his khakis, giving you a knowing smile. “You heard me. What if we just said ‘fuck this’ and ran off to the beach and got married by some old fishing captain. Captains can legally marry people, right? That’s a thing?” 

Not for the first time in your relationship, you’re stunned into silence at something your soon-to-be husband says. For a moment all you can do is blink at him, trying to figure out if he’s fucking with you or not. “You’d…you’d want that?” 

Max steps forward, earnest look on his handsome face. “Baby,” He murmurs, framing both sides of your face with his strong hands. “Baby, I’d marry you in an alley way in the middle of New York City. I don’t care where or how, all I care about is that we come out at the end of this married and tied together for life. I don’t care about the wedding, I care about the marriage.” 

Max watches as your pupils blow wide, shy smile tugging at your lips. “That might be the most romantic thing you’ve ever said to me.” 

Max’s forehead rests on yours and he lets out a breathy chuckle. “Well, it’s true. I want you to have the wedding of your dreams because I know that will make you happy but other than that, I don’t care.” 

He’d do anything to make sure you were happy, knowing it was just this side of obsessive the way he took you into consideration with every decision he made. Standing opposite of the man who consumed your entire soul, your stomach dipped low, the pleasant swooping sensation something you’ve become accustomed to over the last year. “I just feel so overwhelmed. Both of our lives are already so public and under scrutiny. I want this to be something that we can cherish without any of the potential tarnish of what it means to be so public.” 

You shake your head, feeling a little silly and what you’re feeling. “I love our lives and know we’re privileged to live like this but sometimes I just want to have something that’s just ours. I want to share our love and relationship with everyone but maybe we could just shield some of it from the world?” 

An idea forms in Max’s head then. “What if we eloped somewhere just the two of us and then have a party to celebrate with everyone after?” 

You nod, “Have is quietly ours for a while before sharing the news with everyone?” 

Max reaches for you, enjoying the way you press against him with ease. It’s a warm Italian summer night, the scent of perfumed flowers and left over sunshine hung heavy in the air and you wanted to snap this moment into something that stayed with you forever. Max’s hands heavy on your hips, digging into the flesh there as if he can’t get enough of you despite not leaving your side for the last 24 hours. 

Ever since getting engaged, you’d hated spending any length of time away from Max, almost like your soul had already started to twin itself to him. It made leaving difficult but returning was always so sweet. You had this weekend in Italy before you had to leave on another trip but you’d been considering ramping down your travel over the next few months. But, that was another conversation for another day. 

“Where would we go? And when?” The more you thought bout it, the more the thought of what Max was suggesting appealed to you. 

Max releases you before taking your hand as you two start back towards your hotel, feeling a bit lighter at seemingly solving the problem that had been weighing on you for a few days. 

“We could do it this winter? There’s always a total shut down of everything that week between Christmas and New Years. We’d see our families for Christmas and escape saying we were just taking a trip the two of us.” 

You grin up at him, liking where he was going with this. 

yourpersonalinsta posted

129,938 likes liked by yourdad, assistantshannon, maxverstappen1, and others yourpersonalisnta sun, sand, and a very cute finace kikagomes is this that place in Mexico you were talking about?! It looks so pretty! >>>yourpersonalinsta yes!!! it is gorgeous. you and P need to come here some day. alexandrasaintmleux gorgeous gorgeous girl >>>yourpersonalinsta love you bby user029 dream life fr user0092 looks like paradise! tell max congrats on his 5th title for us!!

December, 2025 

The warm ocean breeze fluttered through the wide open doors of the villa behind you as the bright December sun heated your skin where you laid on a lounge chair. Next to you, Max was sprawled out on on the chair next to you, snoring softly as he took what you thought might just be his third nap of the day. 

Ever since the pair of you had arrived in Mexico a few days ago, you hand’t done much beyond sleep, eat, and fuck. The 2025 season had been the most stressful, chaotic, out of control season Max had ever had and while he had managed to clinch the championship on in Abu Dhabi from Lando, but it had been a difficult ride to get there. So when Christmas had been celebrated and you had jumped on the jet to fly from Monaco over to Mexico, you couldn’t help but continually breathe a sigh of relief. 

The fight had truly weighed on Max, the hollows underneath his eyes growing more and more prominent as the race weeks ticked by. The only relief he had gotten had been your midseason trip to Thailand when he had proposed. When Jensen had asked him what had gotten him through the difficult second half of the season during an interview after he won the championship, his immediate answer had simply been you. 

Much to the disappointment of your fans, you had decided to really ramp down the amount of travel and work you had done following the summer break. Max had been resident at first, not even wanting to entertain he conversation at first when you had brought it up shortly after it had been decided you were going to elope. He didn’t want to even think of you putting your career on hold for him, to take care of him, to follow him. Not because he didn’t want you around. It was the exact opposite. Just the thought of you spending more time traveling with him instead of the insane schedule you’d been keeping over the last year had relief flooding through him. While he was tired from his schedule and the pressure of winning a 5th consecutive world title, he knew you were tired too. There were many times you both went weeks without setting foot in your shared apartment and sometimes you’d go weeks between seeing each other too. 

No, it wasn’t because he didn’t want you around. It was because he didn’t want you to resent him one day down the line that you had given up your career for him. He couldn’t bare the thought of being the cause of any resentment or heartache for you and despite how much he wanted you by his side every possible moment. 

In the end, reason had won out as you had explained that you weren’t taking a break because of him. He was certainly part of it, but like him, you were exhausted. You reminded Max of Brazil last year, how you had slept for so long the day after the race there that Max had postponed your flights home for another week he was so worried about you getting sick. 

You had done a few interviews since the engagement, mostly with people in the motorsport world: Susie and Toto Wolff, Natalie Pinkham, and of course Lewis being your biggest interviews. In addition, you had done some post race interviews and coverage for F1TV, which allowed you to have even more of a reason to be in the paddock week in and week out. You weren’t sure where your podcast was going in the future, but for now, you were content with the schedule and where you were professionally, despite what some of your critics might be whispering. 

All of this works through your mind as Max begins to stir beside you. His eyes blink open eventually and when they do, they immediately find you. “Hi baby.” He whispers, voice rough with sleep. 

“Good morning, sleepy head.” You grin, setting your book down beside you as Max rolls over onto his side, creating some space for you on the oversized lounge chair, beckoning you to join him. 

As you snuggle deeper into his chest, Max slots his thigh between your legs and slips his top arm over your waist, pulling you closer. “You looked deep in thought. Everything okay?” He murmurs before his lips ghost over your cheek. 

“Hmmm, of course. Just thinking about this year and how good it feels to just breathe.” 

Max could tell when you got in one of your thinking moods just by the way your body language shifted. In those few moments between when he had woken up and you had noticed his eyes open, he had watched you staring out over the villa’s lawn. Your shoulders were relaxed, the usual pinch between your brows completely absent and with legs crossed at your ankles as you read your book, you had looked the picture of relaxed. 

“You still feeling okay about tomorrow?” 

Just the thought of what tomorrow would bring made your heart rate pitch up a bit. The first morning after your arrival, you and Max had gone over to the concierge in the main reception building to tell them of your plans for an elopement. They had, of course, been ecstatic and ready to help you in whatever way you wanted. After a few hours of discussion, you had everything planned and the concierge snapped into action. 

“I am…unless you’re not?” It occurs to you that Max has been awfully quiet this morning, a soft reflective mood taking over his usual energetic attitude and suddenly, anxiety pinches in your chest. You desperately search Max’s face for any sign of hesitation or regret, not knowing what you’d do if he suddenly got cold feet before tomorrow. 

Max shakes his head before pulling you even closer, fingers digging into the bare flesh of your hip, covered only by the little string of your bikini that you’ve been living in since you got here. “Lifeje, stop that. You know I would have married you the moment after I proposed to you months ago.” 

Something settles in you at his words, having just needed that little bit of reassurance from him. As hard as you tired and as much as Max made sure to never leave any doubt in your mind that he was all in with you, you sometimes still found your anxiety getting the best of you. Scenarios about how Max was having second thoughts, how he didn’t really want to marry you, how this was all in your head sometimes ran rampant in your head. You were getting better at controlling them, especially after he had proposed but that was the funny thing about anxiety, you couldn’t always control it. 

“I know.” You whisper, fingers trailing up and down his toned arm that was wrapped around you tightly. 

“Anxiety?” It was almost spooky how well Max could read you from just a shift in your tone of voice. All you could do was nod, suddenly feeling silly. Max rolled his hips into yours, pulling your lower half closer. “Do you feel what you do to me?” He asked, pressing his already half hard cock into your center. “Do you feel what you do to me just laying here? All you have to do is look at me and I’m a goner. There isn’t a single second thought in my mind, love.” 

“I’m sorry I’m hard to love sometimes.” Tears prick at the corner of your eyes as Max lifts your chin so he can have a better look at you. “I’m sorry you have to constantly reassure me despite not giving me any reason to doubt you. I know  it can’t be easy.” 

You had spent most of your adult life being told how difficult you were to love. How hard it was to deal with the constant reassurance you needed when the anxiety crept in, telling you you weren’t good enough. It was unnerving sometimes when Max loved you so easily and effortlessly because how did he find it so easy to do when no one else before him had? 

Max pulls back so he can get a good look in those pretty eyes of yours. It made him rage internally knowing how insecure you were. Not because he faulted you. Oh, absolutely not. He raged at the people that made you feel like you were inferior and hard to love because that was something that he simply didn’t see. Loving you and being with you was the easiest thing he’d ever done in his life. 

“I want you to listen to me, okay?” He waits, brows raised, until you nod. “I will gladly spend the rest of my life telling you how much I worship you whenever and however you need or want me to. When I take those vows tomorrow, I mean it with every bit of my soul, schatje. For worse or better, you’re mine and I’m yours from tomorrow on, okay? You are not hard to love and I am so lucky I get the privilege of telling you every single day how much I love you.” 

Your mind settles a bit at his words as you let the sensation of having Max so close to you wash over your anxious nerves. “How did I get so lucky to have you?” 

“Oh, sweet girl it’s not you that’s lucky.” Max leans in, pressing a kiss to your lips as you sigh into him. “I’m the lucky one that somehow coincided you to love me back.” 

There were only two people in your lives besides you and Max that knew what you two were really doing in Mexico. GP because Max was physically incapable of keeping anything from his race engineer and your assistant Shannon. GP had called Max out on his sudden change in demeanor in Italy after the decision to elope had been made, asking Max what had happened in the previous 12 hours to make him not so grumpy when he showed up to the track that morning. Max being a terrible liar when it came to GP had been unable to think quick enough to come up with an excuse and when he had simply looked at GP with a deer in the headlights look, he had fessed up and spilled the beans. When you had found out that Max had told GP you had sworn the race engineer to total secrecy, telling him you’d cut off a very important body part of his if it got leaked. 

Shannon was the other person that knew and it was only because you had needed help with choosing and figuring out how to sneakily order, tailor, and pack a wedding gown without anyone getting wind of it. You knew if the paparazzi had caught sight of you leaving a bridal boutique with a dress in hand nearly a year before you had told everyone else that you were planning on getting married, people would talk. So, with Max’s approval, you had enlisted the help of your personal assistant who had honestly turned into one of your closest friends over the time that she had worked with you.

 It had been Shannon that helped you choose the dress that you wore the morning you married Max, the white lace clinging to every curve and valley of your body. It was just going to be the two of you, the officiant, and the photographer there and the utter quiet and simplicity of getting ready in complete silence and peace was something you would cherish for the rest of your life. Max had left the villa about an hour ago, telling you he had a few errands to run before the officiant would turn up for the ceremony. What kind of errands could he be doing in the middle of a luxury resort in the middle of the Mexican jungle, you had no idea but you hadn’t asked any questions because you wanted the time alone to get ready. 

You’re just slipping on the second thin strap up over your shoulder when there’s a knock at the villa door moments before it swings open. Max comes bustling in, wearing the khaki pants and white linen shirt you had chosen for the beach nuptials. He’s got a fresh haircut and shaved face, his bright blue eyes looking for you the moment he walks in the door. In his hand dangles a little black bag with silver ties that doesn’t look big enough to hold much more than a small box or two. 

“Lifeje, where are -” Max stops in his tracks when you round the corner out of the bedroom and he sees you for the first time. His hand goes straight to his sternum, rubbing at the place that is suddenly aching at the mere sight of you. He had thought he’d been prepared to see you in your wedding dress but what he saw in front of him made every coherent thought tumble right out of his head. If he had thought you were the prettiest woman he’d ever seen before, seeing you standing there before him in the white lace dress with it’s plunging neckline and fabric clinging to your every curve, just confirmed that he was the luckiest person in the entire world. “Christ.” He whispers, unable to move from the spot he’s rooted to. 

You let out a little uncertain giggle, tucking a piece of hair that you had left out of the sleek low bun you had styled your hair in for the day behind your ear. “Do I look okay?” 

Max finds the ability to move then, crossing the room in just a few strides, suddenly needing nothing more than to touch you. He had to know what that lace felt like under his fingers, had to know if your skin looked as radiant up close as it did when he had first walked into the villa. 

“I am so glad I wrote my vows down because there is no way I’m remembering anything while I look at you.” He croaks, voice becoming totally unreliable with emotion just seeing you dressed like this solely for him brings up. “I’ve never seen anyone more beautiful in my entire life, schatje. ” 

And it was the truth. Max had never seen anyone as gorgeous as you were standing there in that white dress, veil tucked into the top of your bun so it cascaded down over your shoulders. The dress pools at your feet and dips low in the back, showing off the tanned and toned body you work so hard for. At your ears wink the diamonds Max had gotten you for Christmas just a week earlier. A diamond and sapphire necklace set in platinum sits at your throat, also a gift from Max for your one year anniversary earlier in the year. Seeing you wearing the jewels that he’s bought for you does something to Max, a possessive streak proudly zipping through him at the thought of you dripping in expensive baubles that he’s bought you. 

“What’s in the bag?” You ask as Max settles his hands low on your hips, still checking you out with absolutely no shame whatsoever. 

He seems to remember that there’s something else in the room other than you then, holding the bag out to you with a sly grin on his face. “I know we said our wedding bands were going to be our presents to each other but I saw this the other day when we were out shopping in that little jewelry store and had to go back to get it.” 

You raise a brow but know better than to argue about Max spoiling you. It’s a lost cause at this point and you settled for just accepting the pretty things he liked to give you simply because he loved seeing you in them a long time ago. You take the bag from his hands and reaching in, you pull out a long, slender velvet box. 

When you open the box, you barely stifle a gasp at the delicate bracelet sitting on the black satin. It’s the diamond and pearl tennis bracelet set in platinum that you had casually looked at yesterday when you and Max had gone into town to do some shopping and had mentioned in an off handed comment that you had liked how the pearls and diamonds worked so well together, although you had ultimately decided not to get it because of the price tag and the fact that you thought you’d never have anywhere to wear it. 

“Max.” You whisper, gaze darting up from the box to Max’s own eager look. “It’s…it’s so pretty I don’t have the words. You spoil me.” 

“And I’m going to continue to spoil you for the rest of our lives, lifeje. Now, can I put it on you so you can be dripping in diamonds for our wedding day, please?” 

You laugh a little, somehow unsure of how you got this lucky to be here in Mexico marrying the man that literally worships the ground you walk on. 

“Now, I understand that you both have written your vows for each other. Max, would you like to go first?” 

Later that afternoon, the two of you stand barefoot on the beach, a gentle breeze teasing the veil at the back of your head, while the officiant the hotel recommended stands before you. The atmosphere could not be more perfect. The sun hangs low in the sky, sunset just an hour or two away so the golden rays cascade over you and Max. Behind you, the photographer you hired snaps discreetly away. The fact that it’s just the four of you on the beach witnessing this could not have been more perfect. 

Max stands opposite you, large hands swallowing your smaller ones, and takes a deep breath. You can see the emotion playing plainly on his face and know he’s going to have a hard time getting through these words. For the outside world, Max Verstappen is a hardened competitor that takes no shit and will do anything to win. But here? On the beach with just you and 2 others as he professes his love and adoration to you, he’s as soft as kitten and almost more emotional than you are. 

He couldn’t have been happier at his decision to write down the words to his vows because the emotions that swirled in him then, as he stands there looking at you in your wedding dress is so overwhelming he can barely put together a coherent thought. Here he was, the man that has won five world championships and zips around a race track at 200 miles per hour regularly, completely unable to speak he’s so happy. 

The paper is a bit crumpled when he pulls it out of the pocket of his khakis but it’s fine all the same. He clears his throat nervously and then begins. “When Melissa suggested I go on your podcast, she said it would be an amazing PR opportunity for me. I think I told her no five times but on that sixth time, I agreed because GP said he thought I’d like you and then he sent me that interview. And then I walked into that studio on that cold, rainy April and have never thanked GP and Melissa so fast. That first time I saw you, I felt my entire world shift beneath my feet. Having the childhood I did ruined the idea of love for me for most of my life but the moment you waltzed into my life, schatje, I knew that you were going to show me how wrong I’d been. I love you endlessly and will forever be thankful that you’ve shown me what the meaning of real, true, unconditional love is.” Max takes a breath, swiping at an errant tear that falls down his cheek. 

Across from him, you grip at his hands, desperately trying to commit this entire moment to memory. You’re endlessly glad you both had written your vows so you’d be able to look back and remember what was said today on this beach. 

“I promise to love, honor, cherish, and spoil you,” He pauses when you chuckle and roll your eyes, but just squeezes your hand before continuing on. “Whatever you need, you’ll have. Whatever you want, it’s yours. I promise to spend the rest of my life making sure you never want for anything ever again, both material wants but also emotional wants. You are my number one priority from here on out and I vow to never ever stop living up to these promises. I never believed in soulmates until I saw you for the first time and words can’t accurately describe how much I love you. Having the title of your husband is worth a million and one world champion titles and I promise to spend the rest of my days proving that to you.” 

The emotions ripple over you as Max concludes his vows. The officiant turns to you, dipping his head to let you know it’s now your turn. Max squeezes your hands together and you drown in the watercolor blue eyes looking back at you for a moment. 

“I stopped believing in soulmates a long time ago. That is until you walked into that recording studio and looked at me like you’d known me for our entire lives. I tried so hard not to get ahead of myself for so long, but it was that first time you flew me down to Miami two weeks after meeting you that I knew. I knew that you were it for me, that I wanted to spend the rest of my life with you. We’ve been through so much in such a short time and I know there are so many people that are going to think we’re criminally insane for doing this. But it’s nearly impossible to put into words what you’ve done to my soul in such a short time, Max. I know it’s beyond cliche but you’ve altered who I am at my very core. I’ve never been with someone so unwaveringly supportive of everything that I am and everything that I do.” You draw in a shaky breath then, needing a moment before you can make the rest of your words materialize. 

“I promise to love you so unconditionally and strongly for the rest of my life. I promise to be by your side during the highs and lows of your career, on and off the track. The life we live is so fast and so difficult sometimes but just knowing that you’re on the other side of that plane ride, waiting for me to come home to you, makes everything we do worth it. I promise to give you whatever you need no matter how difficult it may be. You are my life now and I will spend the rest of my life showing up for you. Soulmates are real and you’re mine. I’m so thankful that I found you, Max. I love you.” 

A quiet settles between you and Max then, the vows cementing the bond you’ve been building since that first day in the recording studio. The officiant and photographer seem to sense it too, their soft smiles playing on their lips as they give the vows that were just exchanged a chance to sink in for each of you. 

Rings are exchanged and before you’re able to get a handle on things, the officiant declares you and Max husband and wife. The feeling of sheer relief and excitement washes over both you and Max as you’re told to seal the vows with a kiss. And what a kiss it is. Max pours his entire soul into the first kiss he shares with you as your husband. Everything he said in his vows being repeated by the way his lips cover yours, working over your mouth in such a way that has your knees buckling. 

“I love you so much, wife.” Max murmurs against your lips just before breaking the first of many kisses between husband and wife. 

maxverstappen1 posted

1,309,292 likes liked by yourpersonalinsta, redbullracing, assistant shannon, and others maxverstappen1 she's stuck with me forever now danielricciardo EXCUSE ME BUT WHAT THE FUCK user028 did they ELOPE??? Without telling ANYONE??? OH MY GOD??? HELLO??? user448 somehow, this feels very on brand for the both of them >>>user432 i was just thinking the same thing. charlesleclerc I'm sorry, WHAT??? yourpersonalinsta love you, husband >>>user0299 oh my god, i cannot be normal about this landonorris kinda heartbroken I didn't get to be the flower boy, ngl >>>user998 this is such a lando comment oscarpiastri wow! didn't even know you were engaged! congrats. man! >>>user332 why is this the most Oscar Piastri comment I've ever read??? >>>user948 HAHA OSCAR

yourpersonalinsta posted

1,029,398 likes liked by yourdad, maxverstappen1, assistantshannon, and others yourpersonalinsta wife>>>fiance user0298 the HAND PLACEMENT in that last photo. Max, my maaaan. user918 they eloped and didn't tell a single soul. i fucking love this so hard. kikagomes OH. MY. GOD. Congratulations gorgeous girl!!! >>>yourpersonalinsta love you pretty girl! user8892 my man wins his 5th world championship and then gets married in secret, max is winning at life rn assistantshannon so happy for you boss lady. you and max deserve the world. love you!!! >>>yourpersonalinsa so thankful i had your help with this, sweet girl. user827 are we just going to ignore the TATTOO on Max's wrist??? HER??? >>>user0291 oh my god oh my god

tag list: @shelbyteller @formulaal @martygraciesversion381 @longhairkoo @samantha-chicago @dark-night-sky-99 @luckylampzonkland

[thewritetofreespeech]

In the Dark

pairing: Aemond x Targaryen!reader [Rhaenyra & Daemon's daughter]

summary: one night, while coming back from the Street of Silk, Aemond runs into an all too familiar figure in the dark. request from @brideofcthulhu10

tags: married reader, targaryen incest, tw: knives, tw: mentions of potential SA

-------------------------------⚔️--------------------------------

The Street of Silk was never quiet, but they were usually a bit more subdued this time of night. Aemond had planned for it this way.

Leaving the comfort of the palace to find comfort somewhere else, the prince always snuck out under the cover of darkness and returned just the same. No one the wiser. No one able to catch him and mock that he would be out here with whores instead of in bed with his wife. No one able to know what he was really doing here….

The prince adjusted his cloak to pull around him to make his way back to the secret tunnels of the castle. He rounded the corner and paused as he caught a glimpse of another figure in the streets. Not unusual, but not the usual sort either. Aemond’s good eye scanned the potential witness and noticed that their cloak was made of much finer material than any other in Flea Bottom. Too nice for peasants, though it clearly made efforts to seem plain.

Aemond growled through his teeth as he realized who it was. Even with the cloak, those whisps of silver hair that snuck out of the hood are a dead giveaway. Although Aemond had already memorized the gait. “What are you doing out here?” He hissed at his wife as he appeared behind her like a shadow.

You spun around fast. Wide eyed in startled fear, which quickly faded when you realized it was him. An odd feeling for Aemond, as it was usually the other way round when people realized it was him. “Don’t scare me like that!”

“What are you doing out here?” He repeated, still hissing, but more from the whispering now. “What are you doing outside the castle, alone, at night, without an escort?!” His blood boiled with each new remark to his list. Aemond thought his wife clever for a time, but he would have to rethink that in this lunacy.

You glared at him. “I do not need an escort.” You insisted. “And what are you doing out here? Last you told me; you would be with Ser Cristion for the night.”

The apple of his throat bobbed, but Aemond refused to admit he gulped at the accusations of his wife. True, they were both at fault here. Sneaking out unbeknownst to their people and partner. The only difference was that Aemond’s transgression did not come with the inherited danger a young lady, alone, in the middle of the night had. Your life was not your own now, and Aemond was angry that you were being so careless with it.

“That is immaterial. You do need an escort. What if I had been a stranger in the dark?”

“I can handle myself, Aemond.” You continued to insist. Why did the Gods have to give him such an infuriating woman as a wife? “I’m not the soft petal that other women in the palace are. I’m a Targaryen.”

True, you were not as soft as the other ladies. Rhaenyra may bare bastards left & right, and Daemon may be an opportunistic lech, but they had done right by their daughter. Teaching you to not only be an adequate lady of court, but also a skilled rider, both of dragon & horse, and how to defend yourself. Targaryens were never short of enemies. It was best to be prepared. But their Targaryen jewel had not been trained in the same way Aemond had. More how to hold a knife and properly thrust when the moment came, but not actually overcome a group of attackers if swarmed.

“Targaryen’s bleed just as much as anyone, ābrazȳrys.” Aemond told her. Stepping close. You predictably take a step back away from his ire. “We are not immortal like our beasts. What would you have done if I had been another man? Two men? Twenty?���

Your back eventually hit a walk. Locked on with Aemond’s eye as you felt a swell of fear in your belly at his words. “I…I would run away.”

Aemond cruelly laughed at your answer. “You would outrun twenty men? You’re fast, byka ābrazȳrys,” he remembers the races they had when they were children, before he sprouted to his current height, “but not fast enough to outrun twenty.” He then used that impressive height of his to quell around you. His arm coming up to place his hand against the wall. Blocking one exit. “What would you do if I had been a stranger in the dark?”

There was a tense moment between you. You felt trapped. You have to force your body to stay still and not tremble. “Stop it Aemond.” You hiss as you try to push him away. He’d made his point. Perhaps this was a bad idea. But you would never admit it.

“Who's Aemond?" Your eyes flickered up to him as Aemond’s voice sounded different. Void of the subtle hints of affection he had for you, and stone cold. A blade was suddenly out from by his pocket and by your throat. “I'm just a faceless, masked man in the dark.”

Your back went straight against the wall as you tried to create as much space as possible between you, Aemond, and the knife. “S-Stop it…”

“Make me.” Was his reply. “You’re a strong, capable Targareyn, aren’t you? Make me stop.”

You realize you can’t. You’re too afraid. This was indeed Aemond, your husband who loved you, but your mind kept thinking on what if this wasn’t Aemond. What if this had been a strange man in the dark? What is this wasn’t a test but truly real? An enemy of your mother? An enemy of Aemond? Or just a man like so many in the city who pulled women into dark alleys and forced them to their needs? What if this had been real?

Aemond saw the fear welling up inside you as tears came to your eyes in panic. He put the knife away and leaned in to give you a kiss. His build softening around you as the point had been made and the ‘game’ was over. You cling to Aemond in relief. Like a life raft out to sea. Overcome with emotions you kiss your husband desperately in a manner unbecoming of commoners in an alley, much less royalty.

Aemond kissed you back with equal fervor. Never missing an opportunity to kiss you. Relief also washed over him as well, thinking on the what-ifs if he had not run into you and another man did. What could have happened to you. The prince growled possessively at the thought and ran his hands over your body to claim it from these imaginary brigands. You moaned against his lips. Breasts heaving as you pant against him while his knee slid up between your legs as he bucked against you. “Let us go home issa jorrāelagon.”

You nodded fervently. You just wanted to go home now. Be with your husband. Be in the palace walls. Be safe.

The prince released you and the two of you walked back through the cobblestone streets for the tunnels. “Why are you out here anyway, issa jorrāelagon?” He realized you had never answered him.

“Father told me once of a spot past the Iron Gate that, if you look out at it at sunrise, you can see Valyria.” Aemond resisted the urge to roll his eye. What a ridiculous story. Valryia was leagues away. He’d barely come close to it on Vhagar; though in truth he would never fly near the place after what happened to Princess Aerea. “I know it’s silly, but I wanted to see it.”

“Why now?” He asked. You had lived in King’s Landing on & off for most of your life. Had you wish to see ‘The Valyrian Sun’ (yes, he knew what she was talking about) you could have done so at any time before. Why now, alone, when such danger was about for them?

“In times of trouble, I look to the Old Gods more, like your mother looks to the Seven.” Daemon’s influence, no doubt. Or perhaps it was just her own. Aemond parroted the phrases and did the prayers when asked by his mother, but he would not truly say he was bound to one set or the other. “I thought it might bring me some clarity on things. Some answers.”

“Answers on what?” You don’t answer, which made Aemond suspicious, but he doesn’t pry further. “Why didn’t you just ask me to come with you?”

“I thought you wouldn’t go if I told you it was something my father taught me.”

He frowned. Did you really think him that petty of the man that he wouldn’t go just because Daemon Targaryen taught of it first. “Come. This way.”

You do not have time to react as Aemond took your hand and pulled you down a different alley. “Where are we going?”

“The proper way.” He told you. “You were headed for the Dragon’s Gate. Yet another reason why you need an escort.” You frown at Aemond’s slight but follow after him.

The two of you meet the ‘Valyrian Sun’ together. There is no cast of Old Valyrian in the sun beams, nor any of the answers you seek. But when you turn to look at Aemond amongst the sunrise, you feel some kind of peace. Some kind of answers. “Let’s go home.”

[smittenmeraki]

I kind of love the idea of Jean offering his last name before him and Jeremy are even together, like havent even had their frist kiss yet. Maybe they take Jab on a walk and someone recognizes him and calls him Knox, which just puts him in his standoffish mood, coming to terms with the fact that he does genuinely want to change it. Jean obviously picks up on the discomfort and asks him about it.

"I don't want to be a Knox anymore. I won't take the Wilshire name, I refuse to, but keeping Knox just isn't good for me anymore. It makes me feel stuck I guess. Maybe I should search a list of baby names. Or do you think its legal to simply not have a last name?" Jeremy teases the idea of being simply 'Jeremy Alan' while Jean ponders, eyes on Jab who is now chewing on a bush. Tapping Jab on the back to distract him from the potentially harmful plant, he states it as a fact "You can use Moreau." Jeremy stops walking, staring dead ahead with a completely blank face.

"What." It comes out on the third try, barely auditable.

"If you wanted, you could be a Moreau." Jean looks at him and Jeremy can feel heat over his entire body.

"I don't think you understand what that might imply to people." Jeremy tries to keep his voice steady, still avoiding Jeans eyes.

"I wouldn't mind." And Jean smiles, a soft genuine smile, to which Jeremy loses every bit of composure he had. Jab circles at Jeremys feet, wanting to keep moving. Jeremy finally brings himself to look at Jean, his knees nearly giving out at the peaceful look of...longing.

"You would actaully want that?" A small spike of panic rises when Jean full body turns to face him.

"Jeremy Moreau." Jean nods, as if agreeing to the way it sounds on his lips. The heavy feeling of butterflies swarming Jeremys stomach has him feeling light headed.

"Yeah." He manages to whisper out. "Jeremy Moreau. I could get used to that." Still frozen in place on the sidewalk, Jean reachs a hand out, brushing against Jeremys as he takes the leash. Jean doesn't say anything else, but calmly gets them moving again. Jeremy lingers slightly behind, his gaze locked on Jean, on the way he so naturally walks with Jab, on how none of this conversation seems to weigh on him. Jeremy has a thought, rushing to catch up. "In what context?" He forces the words out before he can second guess himself. Jean says nothing, turning to him, his eyes flicking to Jeremys lips for a split second, then meeting Jeremys'. Jean shrugs, focusing back on the walk, not directly answering and yet Jeremy feels like his heart is going to give out. Jeremy goes to take the leash back, needing a distraction, but Jean grabs his hand, not letting go as he puts their hands down by their sides. Jeremy stares at the concrete, red faced and breathing uneven as he laces their fingers together. It repeats in his head the whole walk home, Jeremy Moreau, Jeremy Moreau, Jeremy Moreau.

[yanderemystic]

sofia falcone yandere headcanons pretty pls????

— Sofia’s traits: Manipulative, paranoid, possessive.

Sofia has suffered so much. Damaged bits sticking to her skin—biting anyone who deemed too close, except for you. Somehow, you were able to get her collected. Snuck into her heart when she needed someone the most; when trust was given the most, and now she can’t let go of you.

For a potential relationship with her, she uses those around you as a springboard. Everything is terrible all of a sudden; even if everything was great before, you and Sofia became even closer.

Sofia points out every mistreatment. Anything in the past to the current issues. The changes in behavior, canceled dates, and sudden constant avoidance. Sofia reassures you that it isn’t your fault. It’s them. You can’t trust them, at least not anymore. The two of you belong to each other savagely, requiring each other in more ways than them. 

Her favorite thing in the entire world is hearing you talk. Even in a room full of people, she could recognize yours best. When eating out, she hums toward you—acknowledging what you’re saying, but she ends up lost anyway. She enjoys your conversations, even if she isn’t very knowledgeable about the topic. Focusing on how your tongue moves, teeth whistling, and how your voice croons between sentences.

Opening about her past is gut-wrenching—the constant betrayals and the terrifying fear of abandonment scare her. But she works on it for you. Allowing you to visit her therapy sessions, she slowly opens up about her scars and how each one has a thick memory connected to it. Her eyes watch you closely when you touch them, fingers dragging along the rugged edges. She expects pain but gains an addicted love for your soft touch.

She is constantly touching you. Despite her private demeanor, she's very clingy. Constantly having her arm interlocked with yours, keeping you skin-close. Her lips are always chasing yours, droning you in if you are too slow for her liking. Hands interlocked with an iron grasp, and deep hugs that are met with inhaled neck kisses. Her nails endlessly drag against your skin, chuckling when you get goosebumps. 

Loyalty is very important to her. Sofia expects you to keep her updated on your day, change of schedule, or your list of friends. Call her after work and before bed. Tell her all about the dates and what you did during the time she’s gone. If she suspects lies, a sense of breaching trust, she becomes demented.

She hates being violently jealous, but she needs you to realize strangers are parasites. If she senses they are a threat, she acts on it. Despises when people are too close to you, make you smile, or even laugh. The enormity of her possessiveness is dangerous. Sofia will test limits, leaving thick blotches of lipstick to show others, and if that isn’t enough, possibly a dead body will be shown of how crazy she is for you.

But, assuming time will only tell, it’s better to keep her distracted and collected—helping her with the urged warnings. Reassuring her and keeping promises. Nosing the area between your neck and shoulder, relishing your weighted body on top of hers. Your heart is what she craves. The sound of your lub-dub is a lullaby, keeping her very grounded. 

Once embarking as her romantic partner, Sofia will be sleeping with you permanently. Your apartment is now both yours, and sometimes you'll wake up with her beside you; originally going to bed without her. She sticks to your flesh—cold hands interlocking each other around your lower stomach, nails intending your flesh, squeezing when she feels you slightly move. She keeps you in bed with fleeting kisses until you have to absolutely leave.

Sofia adores how you smell. An odd adoration, but she can’t help it. Your smell helps her more than anything. Constantly complimenting you that you smell wonderful, even if you hadn’t showered. She’s not sure why she loves your scent so much, but it’s like an addiction. Your t-shirts, hoodies, even bras are shared—constantly pulling up your shirts, and inhaling. Goosebumps crawling underneath her skin, thrusting her heart faster, and just edging her to near ecstasy. Makes her nerves clench close, and bones go numb. 

So sorry this request came out late, I had some family emergency. Although, I had fun writing this! Requests are still open ♡

[seresinhangmanjake]

Hunter and Him

Remmick x female!reader

Summary: After Annie and Mary trained you to be a vampire hunter, you imagine that the last thing they would have expected was for you to fall in love with one. Every night, you sneak off to be with Remmick, but on a night when Mary and Annie almost catch the two of you together, Remmick asks you to leave with him for good.

Notes/Warnings: Smut, so 18+ please. Remmick is soft boy. That honestly might be it.

I don't support the actions of this character in the movie at all. I just think the guy's hot, alright? I'm sorry. I can't even explain why.

Words: 3200

Sinners Masterlist / Main Masterlist / Tag List

You used to tell yourself you didn’t know what he was when you met him. That when he found his way into one of Clarksdale’s only bars, it wasn’t because he asked the front doorman for permission, it was because he was like any other patron, a regular man who walked right through the door like anyone else, ready for a good time. You told yourself that when he asked you for a dance and you took his hand, his skin wasn’t colder to the touch than it should have been. You let yourself pretend that the low lighting in the bar was not reflecting off of his irises in an unnatural way, and that when he smiled at you, there wasn’t a slight exaggeration to his canines. 

You reassured yourself of these things because you had to. Because you were reckless that night, and recklessness was not in your nature. Because after an hour in his company and too many drinks, you led him around the bar to the back alley where you let him take you against the weathered brick wall, and kiss you, and nick the skin of your neck with his teeth. He licked the trail of blood from your collarbone back up to the little mark he’d made, and you allowed yourself believe that was normal, because if the others found out, not only would they kill him, but they would likely kill you, too.

Mary and Annie had been hunters long before you. When you met, they’d been following a lead which sent them to your house, and it was there they’d found you, huddled into a corner, your sopping face hidden by your bloodied hands as the decapitated bodies of your parents and brother lay around you. They’d comforted you, as women do, and convinced you to join them—they’d lost people too—so you did. Mary had taught you how to fight, Annie how to track. 

You should have ended him the moment the internal alarm in you sensed the potential of what he was. Mary and Annie would have. They would have clocked him immediately and done their job. But not you. 

To be fair, you were the newest hunter. Your guesses and suspicions had been off a time or two, leading you to follow a perfectly innocent man to his home, only to find a loving family there to greet him. You could’ve easily been wrong about Remmick. Ignoring the signs didn’t necessarily have to do with the way he looked at you and how it made the blood in your body rush as if trying to outrun something. 

But a few nights after the bar encounter, you could no longer play that game with yourself. He showed up at your house in the dead of night, knocking and shocking you awake. You hadn’t given him your address, and yet there he stood, unable to step past your threshold even though you held the door open wide enough for his frame to enter. No words were spoken to confirm it. Instead, you told him to come in, and he kissed you and nibbled on you and took you all over again. 

That has been your pattern ever since. You lie to your friends, you invite him in or sneak off somewhere, you fuck a vampire, you part ways before sunrise, you repeat. Six months you’ve been going on. And tonight is no different. 

—

It’s not like it’s easy. You feel guilt every time you do it. Betraying your friends was never something you wanted, it was something the lord forced upon you when he allowed Remmick to enter your life. And now that you’re locked in, you can’t be expected to stop. 

As you escape into the woods that line the back of your house, Annie and Mary lie asleep inside. You know he’s watching you, smirking. He will never not revel in the satisfaction he feels from having you to himself in the most risky of times. And you will never get enough of the feeling of anticipation that fills your gut each time you come to him. 

The density of the forest blocks out the majority of the moonlight, nothing but a few beams streaming through sparse openings in the treetops. As you venture forth, you lift your skirt, carefully stepping over winding roots and around patches of vines, avoiding mud puddles that will surely ruin your slippers and the hem of your silk robe. 

“About time, darlin’,” he says, and you pause, your head on a swivel. 

He reveals himself from the shadow cast by a large tree. There’s a slight curl to his lips as he stands there. A second passes, and you take each other in like it’s the first time you’re seeing one another. His eyes are their natural shade, his fangs nowhere in sight, but, as always, he carries the air of a vampire—confidence, with a touch of arrogance. 

As he walks toward you, an unhurried gait to his steps, the same effects he’s had on you since you met him return: heart pumping, breath catching, blood rushing, face blushing. 

You still can’t quite put your finger on how he does this to you. After all, he’s not the only man who has shown you attention. But where those men produced in you little emotion, if any, Remmick’s presence sinks into you, rapping on the closed door of sensations you’ve never felt before—a deep desire, a thrilling need that is ever more overwhelming with him so close. It’s like there is an invisible aura around him capable of casting a spell over anyone within a certain radius. Or perhaps, it is just you. Maybe you are the only one meant to react this way to him. 

“They’re at my house tonight,” you tell him. “Had to wait until they were good and asleep.”

Remmick hums, unpleased despite your perfectly reasonable excuse. 

“We have to be quick,” you say, and to that, his brows dip in the center and his bottom lip protrudes in a slight pout. 

“Why?”

You roll your eyes. “You know why.”

“We always gotta be quick,” he grumbles, his arms crossing over his chest. “I’m tired of quick.”

Truth be told, you’re tired of quick, too. But it can’t be helped. You both have the lives you have, and both of those lives come with complications—time, undeniably, being one of them, and how limited yours is when you most wish it would cease ticking on. Nothing can stop the world from spinning, however. Nothing can stop the night from ending, the morning from coming, or your friends from waking and questioning your absence. 

“Just take off your clothes,” you tell him. 

He stares at you for a few lengthy seconds, but eventually he sighs and reaches for his shirt. One by one, deft fingers pop open the buttons, exposing inch by inch of his toned chest. Then he pulls the suspenders off his shoulders, lets them fall to his sides, and yanks the rest of his shirt from his trousers to undo the remaining closures. His eyes remain on your face as the cotton slides down his arms onto the ground before he attacks the clasp of his pants. With thumbs tucked into the waistband, he guides the trousers, along with his underwear, over his hips, and lightly kicks them aside so they can join his discarded shirt. 

Every inch of his body is muscled. They’re not the muscles of a man engaging in back-breaking work on the daily, but they’re just the right amount of toned to keep him strong. Enough to lift you and hold you how he pleases. You think you’ll never get over the sight of him. 

Goosebumps skitter down your arms. You somehow manage to keep your voice steady when you say, “Lie down.”

He raises a brow but does as he’s told, dropping to his knees and reclining back onto a patch of grass as you reach for the tie that is keeping your robe wrapped around you. You pull on one of the tails of the bow until the material peels apart. You didn’t bother with undergarments tonight—it’s too hot as it is—and you don’t miss the heavy inhale that Remmick sucks in through his nose as his stare roams from your breasts to your navel to the slit between your legs. 

Stepping out of your slippers, you move toward him. When you’re close, he extends his hand and you let him assist you in settling on top of his thighs. His cock is swollen red, on the verge of a bruised purple, aching, pleading, as if you didn’t just satisfy one another the night before. It twitches when you take it in your hand and pump once, twice. A vein pulses against your palm. Remmick’s breathing fails to remain calm, and then with a squeeze of your fist, his eyelids pinch and the back of his head digs into the dirt. He releases a delicate whimper. That whimper quickly loses out to a gasp, which then turns into a groan when you rise on your knees, guide him to your entrance, and take him inside of you. 

Strong hands fly to your waist, nails elongating into razors and poking into your skin. You watch his adam’s apple bob harshly in his throat. You try to shift your hips, but his grip on you tightens to keep you still. Patiently, you wait, and it’s not until his fingers ease their pressure that you plant your hands on his abdomen and test out another roll of your hips. His grasp tightens again, but this time he eases his hold much sooner.

For his benefit as much as your own, you start slow. Despite the familiarity of him inside of you, your body never seems to get used to the stretch, the fullness. Each time, it takes a toll on you, but thankfully he has yet to decide to rush your pace.

When he opens his eyes, they’re their typical red, glazed over with lust. His teeth are longer and pointed at the ends. His palms slide up your waist, claws running along the curve of your breasts before brushing over hardened buds. Your walls clench around him, and his jaw sharpens from his grinding molars. When his pelvis bucks, the air is punched out of your lungs.

It takes a moment to regain your breath, but once you do, he sits up and his arms cinch around your waist. His face is a mere inch away, your gazes locked, your oxygen shared—it’s close and yet not close enough. He leans in and his lips ghost over yours; a kiss that is as much of a kiss as can be without fully eclipsing your mouth with his own. One of your hands rests on his bicep, the other gripping the back of his neck, and you move again, lifting up and gently sliding back down, and lifting up, and sliding down. A low moan rumbles from his chest as his forehead falls against your collarbone. 

You don’t talk. There’s no need for words. Only touch. Only overwhelming sensations. It’s all groans and moans and whimpers and breathing, and that’s all you want it to be. 

But then you hear your name being called in the distance. 

Remmick squeezes you as if to keep you from fleeing, holding you down until you’re speared to the hilt and unable to move. The tension in his body forces you to shove aside the concern of your friends’ voices. You’re deep enough in the woods; surely they won’t find you any time soon.

Placing your hands on his face, you guide him to look at you. “It’s ok,” you whisper, nodding. “It’s ok.”

He blinks and swallows and frees you enough so you can resume the motion of your hips. Gentle, then harder, then faster until you’re tumbling over the edge.

Remmick’s palm over your mouth muffles your whine as the tight coil in your core releases. When he follows after you, you do the same, pressing your hand to his lips to keep his groan locked in his throat. 

As you come down, your face tucks into the crook where his neck meets his shoulder. The tips of his claws trace along your spine in the moment of silence; the delicate moment of peace that no living soul is permitted to invade.

He breaks that silent peace when he says, “Stay,” the lone word riding on the back of a heavy exhale. 

Immediately, your lungs constrict. Your chest sinks in on itself. You hate this part. 

“They'll find me,” you say. “They'll find you.”

“Then come with me. Right now.”

Your head whips up. A crease forms between your brows. “Remmick.”

“We could go where we want. Wherever you wanna be, I'll take ya there.” He presses a soft kiss to your lips, then says, “Won't be hidin’ no more.” Another kiss. “You love me, don't ya?”

You’ve never said it. Neither has he. But you know. You both know. 

Your name echoes through the trees again, and your heartbeat is no longer fueled by the heat of passion but an anxious chill that makes your skin clammy. Your head twists in the direction of the voices. They’re getting closer. Teeth nip at your neck, but when you pay it no attention, Remmick’s hand cups your cheek and he turns your face back to his. You lock eyes. The red is gone, replaced by the luminescence of the white that reflects the moon’s glow. Fangs are retracted, save for the canines. 

“C'mon, darlin’,” he whispers, his stare piercing into yours. “You got nothin’ keepin’ you here.”

You consider his words. Is that true? You’ve got your house. You’ve got this town, the people in this town. You’ve got your friends. But, at the same time, you’re no fool. To keep all of that means you can’t keep him. Because one day, you’ll slip up, and when you do, Annie and Mary won’t understand. They won’t spare him a stake to the heart just because that heart already belongs to you. They will rip that heart out of your hands and do what must be done to turn the man you love to ash before your very eyes, assuming they don’t make you carry out the act yourself. They will show no remorse because they will have none. Through your tears, their faces will be blurry shapes, and those blurry shapes will tell you to get over it, to get back to your job and do it the way they trained you. 

But you won’t be able to get over it. Neither will you be able to forgive them for the enjoyment they will receive from ending him. 

You’ve staked a handful of vampires, including the one that killed your family, and you know the feeling of ridding the world of one more monster. It’s addicting, as much of a high as falling apart on Remmick’s cock, and that is what Annie and Mary will feel when they take him from you. They love you, you love them, but love will not prevail over injecting that drug into their veins.

Remmick’s thumb lazily swipes over your bottom lip. As if the motion has also wiped your slate of mind clean, you drop your thoughts and focus your attention back on him, his face, the look in his eyes. He’s unsure, you realize, not confident that you will give him what he’s asking for, and it creates a little crack in your heart. But you already have your answer, the only answer you were ever going arrive at. 

You nod a single, firm nod and say, “Okay.”

—

You came back. Just this once. Just to visit. Just to check on them. From a distance, of course. If they caught sight of you, they’d be able to detect what you are in an instant, and you can’t risk that. They’d be ashamed of you, and having once been their friend would not likely stop them from doing what they consider themselves put on this earth to do. So you don’t put them in that position. 

You were declared lost, then missing, then dead. There was a funeral. There’s a tombstone with your name etched into it, standing above an empty coffin in the one graveyard on the edge of town. 

To the world, you are gone. But you think they know. 

Earlier in the night, when you stood outside their window, you caught them talking about you. They started on how much they miss you, but that did not last long before they were prying back into the details your disappearance, how odd it was, how random, how different you’d become in the months prior. Mary said it wasn’t the first time she’d woken in the middle of the night to find you absent, only for you to be tucked back in bed by morning. Annie reminded her of the time they tracked a vampire to the woods behind your house and how tirelessly you worked to convince them it was just a deer. 

It went no further than that, and after recounting their memories, they stared at one another for a beat before shaking their heads and switching the conversation to something a little more logical. You suspect it’s because neither of them wanted to speak it aloud.

It’s for the best. The sooner they let you go, the better. You are not coming back from the dead. It’s amongst the dead where you have chosen to belong. With him. 

From the shadows, you watch your friends step through the door of the bar where you met Remmick. It feels like just yesterday your eyes landed on him for the first time, and yet forever ago. You imagine that is how the rest of your life will feel as well; the effects of eternity.

Arms suddenly wrap around your waist from behind. “Few months we’ll come back if ya want,” Remmick says, planting a kiss on your shoulder. 

Tingles spread down your limbs at the pleasure of his lips on you. One thing he didn’t prepare you for ahead of time: everything is intensified in this new form. Every inch of your skin is more sensitive, every touch is more consuming, every orgasm more shattering. You still haven’t gotten used to it. 

Your hand reaches up, fingers sifting and fisting into his hair. He chuckles, and that kiss turns into a bite that makes the hair on your arms stand on end. 

“Maybe we shouldn’t,” you tell him. “I’m dead here.”

His tongue catches the blood that drains from your puncture wounds and he licks a line up your neck to your ear. “You’re dead everywhere,” he whispers, nipping at your earlobe. “Dead and mine.”

You smile then, and anything that isn’t him and his body against yours melts away. Because he is all that matters. Despite what you had to give up, you made the right choice, and nothing on this earth could convince you otherwise.

Turning in his arms, your link your hands around his neck. The kiss is slow, tender. When it breaks, he rests his forehead against yours. 

Yes. 

Dead and his. 

Forever.

---

A/N: Thank you for reading :) If you liked it, let me know. It always makes my day.

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