#and they resort to other things because of that…

[leupagus]

Tuesday's House Budget Vote and what you may not have heard about

I'm reposting this from a reblog of a really great post about the work that Representatives Mullin and Pettersen did in voting against the GOP budget on February 25th, because I don't want to detract from that message.

Instead, I want to talk about the larger implications of H. Con. Res. 14 itself, and why the Democrats risked so much (in Mullin's and Pettersen's cases, actual harm) in order to show up for this vote.

The vote in question is starting the first of quite a few votes for the upcoming GOP budget; it's not a done deal by any means, this was just the vote to get it started, so to speak. But it was still a very, very, VERY important vote, because not only would failure be catastrophic, but so would a win that just barely squeaked by.

And this one squeaked like a fucking mouse in Murray's Cheese Shop.

Speaker Johnson has been waffling on putting this to a vote because there were several outspoken GOP members who talked a big game about opposing it. Usually this doesn't matter, since most bills get some bipartisanship, but at present the House is in GOP hands with only a three-member margin of error, with two seats vacant (note: those two vacancies are FL 1 and 6, which are holding their special elections on April 1 — lol — and which are EXTREMELY unlikely to flip but hey miracles happen! Donate or phonebank if you'd like!). And Democratic representatives have been voting in a bloc against...well pretty much everything the GOP's been pushing through since Trump took office. Not only that, but this budget is legit unpopular with a number of Republicans, so much so that Johnson pulled the vote at first on Tuesday because he knew it would fail if the GOP members who'd threatened to vote against it actually went through with it. What he needed was to either convince them all to fall in line, or resort to cheating.

So he did both!

He and Trump strongarmed all but one of the GOP holdouts into voting yes (Congressman Massie is in many ways a turd in a toilet, and his reasons for voting no were bad, but he did stick to his guns, I'll give him that). Reports of Trump actually screaming at one of the (female, naturally) GOP holdouts are...well, unsurprising, but that's how panicked they were about getting this bill started. Usually the Whip does this work, but Tom Emmer's been laughably bad at it and so they had to get Trump to actually do some work. Which is itself sort of astonishing. But even then, they weren't sure they could get it done.

Which leads us to part two of Johnson's plan: blatant cheating. During Pelosi's last session as Speaker, she allowed for proxy voting in light of COVID and, you know, the general state of things, but the second the GOP got back the gavel they nixed it right in the bud. This puts the Dems at a disadvantage right now because at least three of them are out for medical reasons — Mullin and Pettersen, as well as Congressman Raúl Grijalva who's fighting cancer at present. (He was the only Democrat who couldn't get to the floor for this vote, fwiw, and anyone who insists he should've can suck my left tit.)

So Johnson adjourned the House for the evening, sending everyone home, but told the GOP members to stay and then tried to rush through the vote before the Dems realized what was happening. His hope was that enough Dems would be caught flat-footed/not see the recall notice/be asleep watching Taskmaster (whoops that was me) by the time they got the message to get back to the floor. That way he could lose the holdouts but still pass the budget onto the next phase.

However! While Nancy Pelosi no longer rules the Democratic caucus with her iron fist and fabulous coats, my man Minority Leader Hakeem Jeffries learned quite a lot from her (and is pretty fucking genius himself). Not only did he and the other House leadership expect this kind of chicanery from Johnson, they had planned on it.

Because here's the thing: Mullin and Pettersen didn't get on a plane at the last minute on Tuesday; they'd gotten to DC on Monday, without telling anyone they were in town. They actually hid from the GOP members all day Tuesday in order to lull Johnson into thinking he had more of a margin than he did; if the GOP holdouts really had voted against the budget, then it would've failed. Which would have been a biiiiiiig problem for Johnson and Trump.

As it is, it's still a biiiiiiig problem for Johnson and Trump, because now they know just how razor-thin their margin is. More importantly, they also now know that the Dems will fuck with them just as much (if not more) as they will fuck with Dems. Congress (and the USA in general) has operated for years on the assumption that Democrats operate in good faith, while taking it for granted that of course the GOP ratfuck as much as humanly possible.

This moment is a chilling one for the GOP; they can't assume anymore that Dems will play fair or fight clean. Which seems like a very small thing in the larger picture right now, I know, and I also know that people would love for their Democratic representatives and senators to be more vocal and angry in public ways. I get that!

But this move on Tuesday night? Is actually going to have far bigger consequences than any meme or viral video or clever soundbite from a politician. Democrats are no longer playing by the rules that the GOP's ignored for years (if not decades); they're playing by the GOP's own rules, and they just might win.

[xsoldier]

As it turns out — if you continually blockade every avenue of reasonable mutual compromise, you only manage to emphasize that cutting off the head of the beast will eventually destroy the threat.

Even a hydra can be felled this way, so long as you take care to ensure that the heads can't regrow from within the beast — and the same is true of any royal monarch, authoritarian dictator, or corporate CEO.

This is why a unified group of organized people are ALWAYS more powerful, because there is no centralization or a core to destroy. They are more easily manipulated by social pressure & behaviour, but you can't stop them outright once they reach a point of revolution.

As soon as the oppressed realize the math that, if they trade one of their lives to end the life of one of those horrible figureheads that 1000 lives are saved by that… it becomes increasingly unethical NOT to resort to violent revolution in the name of true justice & equality.

Do you think people like Musk, Trump, Putin, Xi Jinping, or any other person seeking to constantly expand their personal power is doing that in a way that can protect against their myopic decisions leading to the deaths of thousands? No, they're doing it out of fear, and using tactics ALL designed solely to try and prevent people from effectively acting against them — because societal pressures currently elevate wealth-hoarding to the least moral individuals possible.

It's why the current administration in America is using hack & slash corporate tactics against the government, while actively ignoring the protections that make those things illegal. This is the core of when you have to understand the point of those things as intolerance for a social contract we all mutually abide by that they elevate themselves above.

The Paradox of Tolerance is your metric for seeing when you no longer have the foundation of a mutual social contract of equality as the grounds necessary for peaceful negotiation. It shows you when soft power is an ineffective tool, and hard power is the only rule the authority respects — because they cannot bend it to their will.

Authoritarians & dictators will ignore the law because they believe they exist above it. They can't ignore a bullet no matter how falsely they believe in their own superiority, because it demonstrates that equality still exists whether they like it or not.

They're not gods.

The people have the power to end them, but they'll stack the odds against that as hard & as fast as they can — and we're all seeing this in real-time right now.

This is why ALL elected officials are sworn to act as civil servants, not acting out of self-interest. Conflict of interest is barred. Those constraints don't exist in the corporate world, so it depends on exterior authority to keep it in check from the government, which SHOULD be the democratic will of the people.

That's why these safeguards are currently being dismanted at a breakneck pace, and those forms of corporate exploitation are being forced pushed into the government — which is supposed to be the authority over them.

At a global level, the authoritarian powers in other countries are safer when there isn't a larger SUPERpower capable of holding them accountable through mutual alliance with other nations. Why do you think Russian disinformation over the last decade has Trump & Musk aligning with dictators and boosting more authoritarianism wherever they can?

It's also why the largest moment of clarity & class solidarity came when a CEO got shot & Luigi got accused of the crime, but the public was on his side, because that exploitation leading to inevitable justice through violence was fully understood not for what it was…

…but what it still IS.

— A reminder that the other side's ACTIONS not their words determine when our peaceful words are no longer an option to achieve reform, and violence is necessary to create it.

[hydrachea]

I've been thinking about it for a while, but the Mihoyo games fandoms are... Really less than courteous when it comes to spoilers.

I'm a loyal consumer of leaks myself, but I swear the fandom at large acts like everyone is - and not just is, but apparently should be.

There's been fanart in the HSR fandom regarding a certain character and a certain boss' relationship for weeks when not even the 3.1 main mission has touched upon it - because it comes from leaks regarding the future of the story. With the change in Genshin drip marketing schedule, it's quite literally impossible to find out who the new characters are officially because they're leaked at least a week prior and fanart (of course, untagged) starts flooding social media. There were also edits of the new 5.4 CGs everywhere as soon as the preload hit the servers, spoiling essentially everyone who wanted to wait for the version to, you know, actually be out.

Maybe I'm old-fashioned, but it makes for a very poor fandom experience when everyone acts like you're expected to follow leaks or you're the one responsible for getting things spoiled for you. It costs absolutely nothing to tag your leak-inspired or preload-datamined stuff as spoilers.

[kathaynesart]

LAST TIME ON REPLICA!

While the first UPDATE of the new arc went up just a few weeks ago, we'll now be jumping back into the thick of the main storyline so figured a little refresh was in order! I'll be posting the next update probably tomorrow, so here's a quick rundown on all the important points before we dive right back into it (TW: blood and character death mention):

In the previous arcs we see recordings of Donnie's final hours infiltrating the Technodrome. He is forced to cut off Leo's arm to save him from becoming infested by the Krang (and more importantly to keep the bomb planted in his head from going off, a safeguard so his memories can't be read by the Krang).

While the others escape Donnie stays behind against Leo's orders and manages to plant two pieces of purple-looking krang tech within the Technodrome. One appears to a probe which allow Shelldon to tap into the Krang mainframe and secretly spy on them. The other... we don't know. Captured and confronted by Krang Prime, Donnie choses to trigger the bomb in his own head so that his knowledge cannot be used by the Krang.

Omega decides to reveal what he can to April, explaining that the two pieces are part of a secret plan of Donnie's known as "Project Shield and Spear." Both are pieces of new hybrid krang tech he created using krang matter and Draxum's bioengineering. "Shield" is the probe they all knew about, but what "Spear" does he refuses to say. Whatever it is, he says it will only act as a last resort should the Krang win the war and will guarantee that they never attack another planet... and Omega is the only one who can pull the trigger.

Elsewhere, while Mikey had managed to awaken some of his old power within him, it feels like his Ninpo is not back to normal. He can do things he couldn't do before, like healing magic, but it all makes him very tired. Draxum explains that it's likely because he hasn't completely unlocked his ninpo and is using up his life force instead. Mikey decides to attempt to unlock his ninpo by using the powers he currently has.

He nearly achieves this but comes across another being that also seems to be reaching for the ninpo. Instead he chases after the voices he hears which sounds like Donnie's and is exposed to flashes of the new timeline created in the movie.

Back in the real world, it's not looking good as Mikey suddenly bursts with a rush of intense energy. He loses consciousness but gains a painful new hairdo.

While this is happening, Omega accidentally comes upon the coordinates where it seems Raph's body might have fallen in the Central Park Colony ruins. We end the arc with two familiar looking agents being sent out into the field to find and retrieve him...

And that's it! A lot of other things happened in Arc 4 and 5, but these are the major talking points you'll need to keep in mind! Hope that helps, I should probably have it up by tomorrow!

[melanchoire]

can i request a minji x female reader. Where minji is y/n sugar mommy ?

I KNOW the chanel princess would be a complete sugar mommy because she has this vibe of wanting to spoil a pretty girl and treat her like a baby

the way you met her was casual and nothing planned. you’re a college student with several part-time jobs and you find yourself with a cashier and waitress position in a luxury cafeteria where the rich part or people with good pockets usually go

minji witnesses how one day a demanding customer dares to raise his voice and mistreat you, perhaps you made a mistake with the order or put too much sugar in his black coffee 😞 and on a whim, minji steps in and defends you from the rude customer who was giving you a hard time. also leaves a generous tip that pretty much solves your financial problems of paying rent this month 👀

minji starts frequenting the cafe, always leaving extravagant tips and engaging in brief conversations with you, like asking you questions about the menu options when she always orders the same thing. one day, after you mention a major financial hurdle (tuition, rent), minji jokingly suggests a “mutually beneficial arrangement,” but the suggestive look in her eyes and the smile growing on your face makes you doubt if it’s just a joke or an honest insinuation 🫣

you’re initially hesitant, but you feel more and more tempted by the offer… and that’s how you got here!

minji being the sweetest, most chivalrous woman to you :(

minji spending an exaggerated amount of money on you because she loves the smile that appears on your face when she does small or big actions just for you; book a small venue or rent a piano for a private concert just for you, playing your favourite songs or even writing one specifically. exclusive shopping trips such as shopping trips to designer boutiques or art galleries, with minji encouraging you to “treat” yourself. take a private cooking class together, with lots of funny jokes and lots of fun. late night talks like cozy nights at minji’s apartment, sharing secrets and vulnerabilities while you sip wine or tea. escape the city for a romantic weekend in a secluded cabin or luxury resort.

or attend a charity gala for minji’s work, where you can see her in her element, but you also feel a little out of place and self–conscious because this isn’t your thing :( but minji makes an effort to make you feel comfortable and included, always keeping you close to her by putting a hand on your lower back or a hand on your hip

she doesn't fuck, she makes love genuinely so sweet and so loving in bed 🥺 showering you in kisses, murmuring sweet nothings against your skin, holding your hands and intertwining fingers as she makes you feel good 😵‍💫

OMG AND FUCKING IN HER CAR minji would be taking you for a ride, maybe going to dinner or shopping. she is the type that drives with only one hand on the wheel because the other is placed on your thigh, running up and down your leg and caressing your soft skin with her palm… you would try to ignore the heat between your legs if it weren’t for the fact that she is looking so handsome and casual, a formal jacket or coat or maybe those suits she usually wears for work — but noticing your gaze on her and how you move uncomfortably in the seat, minji has no problem parking the car in a random parking lot, making you climb onto her lap and ride her fingers or maybe even taking you to the backseats if you’re in the mood for more 😉

or there are times when she is in her office at work or when she is in the office she has in her apartment, sitting at her desk doing paperwork while the glare from her computer hits her face and reflects off the lenses of her glasses, not feeling stressed at all because under her desk she has a pretty girl who is in charge of eating her pussy and providing her with relief from work stress <3

[haru-kuneko]

This is why I never post on Facebook; a lot of people there just don't know how to talk things out at all. Politics is a very polarizing subject that requires research, experience and an open mind. I am glad your former teacher was able to handle it well, OP! We need more people like her.

They need to realize that you can be religious and still support some liberal views. Many young people, especially those who are probably still in their teens and early 20's, tend to be cocky as if they know everything. They resort to insults and harbour this "us versus them" mentality. It's embarrassing because I often see posts like "Screw MAGA!" or "If you support X, then we can't be friends!"

Speaking from experience, this is why they should be taught critical thinking and dialectics in primary school so people know how to deal with differences in a less aggressive way online.

I also prefer to speak my mind online most of the time than in real life because I'd often get victim-blamed in case I get harassed at work or down the streets, tone policed and others try to talk over me.

Imagine telling a kid that it's their fault for upsetting a few Republicans or whowutzit on the Internet and getting bullied over their opinions, then get stupid advice like "Keep it to yourself next time, 'kay?". It's as if we have control over how others react. There is no room to reflect and talk things out. We have to instead walk on eggshells so we don't hurt somebody's fragile ego.

Might I give some advice:

Not everyone has (or needs to have) the energy to thoughtfully respond to republicans on the Internet. You do not have to do that.

But some people do, and can. And I think we gotta let them.

An example:

I have a former teacher, I'll call her Grace, who is an incredibly kind woman in her 70s. Devout catholic, had voted for various parties over the years, but has been pretty strictly democrat over the past 15-20 because that aligns with her values of kindness and service.

She shared a post about the pope's recent letter and expressed that she agreed with his concerns about how trump is treating immigrants. A friend of hers commented a long paragraph basically saying "dear Grace I care for you but I don't understand how you can be a Christian and a democrat. Blah blah abortion blah blah gender blah blah drugs."

Grace replied "I'm very busy right now but I am going to respond to you soon with my thoughts". When she did it was an incredibly generous, rational monologue that connected with this person's humanity, their shared religious values, and made a beautiful case for why she supports who she does. I didn't agree with a good half of what she said as I am not a Christian, but the result was an expression of values that I think put her on the side of justice and compassion.

The person replied and thanked her and said she had a lot to think about. It was probably the best case scenario for a Facebook politics conversation

You know what came very close to ruining it? A bunch of (mostly younger) people piling on with "fuck you you racist maga pos" and "no one has to explain anything to you, go to hell" etc etc. Even after Grace wrote that she intended to reply herself.

I watched this republican respond to all the easy, quick insults by saying "this is why I don't think any democrats can be Christian, this is how you all speak to me." If Grace hadn't put so much work into writing her response in a way that was tailored to fit this person, I would not be surprised if that person left Facebook doubly certain that Christian nationalism is the way to go.

I'm not saying we can't cuss out jackasses. I'm not saying everyone needs to respond to bad faith arguments like Grace did or use their time like she did.

But this was on Grace's Facebook page, and interrupted the work she already volunteered to do. Just so these individuals could feel like they "did something" and got a shot off at an enemy.

I think that's selfish and childish and unproductive. They could have said anything they wanted in their own space, but they made grace's job harder for no fuckin reason. And then "loved" her reply and said "that was beautiful Grace, thank you for sharing your thoughts"

Like... Buddies. Pals. If someone volunteers to scrub the toilet fucking let them.

[jilyandbambi]

Everything about how Coach Ben's Trial plays out just makes me feel so sad and devastated for all of them. I can't even hate them for what they did or are about to do. They're just kids, man.

Shauna is grieving and angry and postpartum and scared, and she's got nowhere to put any of that except onto Ben, the grown up--who didn't burn the cabin down but who did turn away from her when she needed him most. It's a powerful thing when you're that age and angry/sad/frustrated about everything (bc you're a kid) and to have a safe adult to be pissed at: an adult who cares but isn't perfect (no one is, and you're a kid so you're still learning to accept this), who let you down right at the exact moment you needed them to be the Grown Up with all the answers, and maybe their fuck up was only one of 254884113 things going wrong in your life at that point but you're 17--old enough to know that adults don't have all the answers and young enough that it still feels like they should, and when they don't, that's their fault too.

It's irrational, immature, and dangerous (Thy name is Shauna Shipman), which is what kids are, and what each of these kids are, to varying degrees; and why Shauna gets her way in the end.

It isn't their coach's fault that their plane crashed, that they starved for months, that they resorted to eating their team captain, that they let Javi drown so they could gut him and eat him, that Shauna's baby was stillborn, or that their cabin burned down. But they're kids and everything is awful and in between all the awful the adult in the room dropped the ball when they needed him, and now the trauma, and guilt, and shame, and pain, and rage has to go somewhere, and Coach Ben is a more tangible target than an invisible wilderness god. It doesn't matter that he clearly didn't set the fire and doesn't wish them any harm, the lie is too convenient.

If Coach Ben set the cabin on fire, Mari doesn't have to own up to the fact that she didn't tell the truth when she got back to camp, that she let the others continue thinking their coach was out there still hunting them.

If Coach Ben set the cabin on fire, there's no need for Travis to rock the boat and stand up for the only other person besides himself to be as disgusted and horrified at what the others did to his little brother.

If Coach Ben set the cabin on fire, Van (the only other person besides Shauna and Melissa to vote Guilty every time) doesn't have to worry about the others taking a second look at what her sleepwalking girlfriend could have been doing the night of.

If Coach Ben didn't set the cabin on fire, Tai might have to poke deeper at Van's insistence on his guilt despite all evidence to the contrary, and she might not like the answer. Add to that, if Coach Ben is innocent, then Nat was right to keep what she knew from the rest of them and Tai was wrong to collude with Shauna to her call her out in front of everyone, and maybe that makes Nat a better choice of leader than Tai would've been after all.

If the wilderness says Coach Ben set the cabin on fire, then maybe it's finally starting to speak to Lottie again, maybe she hasn't completely lost her connection to it after all.

And it's so, so fucked up because beneath all of them rallying behind this cruel, vengeful, childish decision to blame Coach Ben anyway is an understandable desire to have a say in all the uncertainty and turmoil that's taken over their lives by this point. That adolescent need for control--not just over your environment but your emotions, especially the negative ones--can make kids living in the best circumstances lash out. Here, with everything the Yellowjackets have been through and have already done, it was always going to have the worst possible outcome. And watching it all play out as an adult is just--ughhhhh. Heartbreaking.

Because that adolescent turmoil that makes you an angry freakshow who lashes out at the right people at the wrong times, or (more often than not) the wrong people at the wrong times--sometimes knowingly? That's normal. This is the time to be that way. You're supposed to have the space to get it all out and grow past it.

But the Yellowjackets don't and won't, and it'll ruin them, especially the ones that make it out alive.

Yeah, Shauna, taking your rage and grief out on Coach Ben feels good to you now; taking any action, even if it's clearly the wrong one, feels powerful and right in the moment, but it won't last. The rest of you lemmings letting her have her way for your own reasons feel justified for now, but that won't last either. By the time the full weight of what you've done hits you, it'll be too late. When the regret comes you won't know how to face it and you never will, and so you'll be stuck. You'll be 17 and haunted at 20 and 30 and 45, still getting in your own way and not realizing it until it's too late. You'll get older but you'll never grow up, and you'll never understand why.

[bunny-jpeg]

domino dancing - kimi r. it was meant to be fun. he was retired now, he could afford to spend a little more time with you. after all, you had been an obedient little pet for him. the forty-two year old only recently made enough time in his schedule for a little play thing. something to warm the iceman. and while you were a good deal younger, he didn't mind. he could easily keep up with someone your age. you hissed through your teeth as his hand brushed your upper thigh. this was supposed to be fun.

"kimi."

"shh, you don't want them to stare do you?"

you didn't call him daddy, while his title had the word in it. he preferred if you were to give him the illusion of an equal partnership. you let him finish inside of you and you get drunk as hell on his boat while you wear the expensive items he gave you. it was simple, not need to call of daddy. you screaming his name when he made you cum was more than enough for him. what was supposed to be a week away in the islands, but kimi couldn't handle a minute without his hand on your body. your skin warmed and tinted from the bright sunshine. it didn't help that the place had an unlimited drink bar, so the two of you had been happily indulging in sun, liquor and sex. the issue was that, when kimi had a few too many sweet drinks in his system, he wanted to feel what he owned.- it didn't help that you liked when he spoke that way about you.

he did really own you in a way. the gold bracelets around your wrists, the diamonds in your ears, the tight white bikini you wore, all were purchased with kimi's well loved credit card. so as he placed you against his chest on the lounging beach chair, his hands got bold.

you kissed him on the lips and you held his jaw. you moaned a little bit and he made a small "tsk" noise. when he broke the kiss and looked down at you, his fingers skated across your inner thigh. his gaze was piercing. it made something flutter in your core. you looked at him, and waited for his next move. he kissed your jaw and said lowly, "be a good girl, and put that towel over us. i don't want them to see what belongings to me. they might get the wrong idea, because you're not a whore, right? you're my good girl?" and you nodded in response, of course you'd listen to kimi. you pulled the towel over the both of you and laid your head on his chest once more.

he said lowly to you, "close your eyes." he pulled his book up from the table and looked towards it, facing away from you as his other hand traveled further down your legs. skillful with his fingers like he was on the track. he looked inconspicuous as he pretended to read while his fingers got past your bikini bottoms. he stroked your pussy, the short hairs under his fingers before he shifted a little further to insert his fingers into you. you tensed up and reached for his wrist. he shushed you, "no, no, angel. you don't want an audience tonight. you told me the other night about anxiety you have when giving a presentation. i bet you don't want people to watch me finger-fuck you." his words made you shudder as he started to pleasure you. your toes curled under the towel as he pumped his fingers into you.

you rested against his chest and felt the pleasure begin to work through your body. this felt scandalous, your older lover's fingers moved in and out of your achy slit. as if he hadn't been working your sex since you arrived at the resort. you tensed up a little bit and splayed a hand out on his strong chest. this was his idea of fun. finger fucking you while other patrons of the beach enjoyed their day out in the sun. it was rather arousing, it made you excited all over. the hard part was staying quiet against him. not to draw attention to yourself. your stomach flipped and the warmth of pleasure coursed through you. you whimpered and kimi tilted his head away from his book to kiss you on the top of the head. he whispered, "behave." his tone made your shiver, your hard nipples poked at the fabric of your bikini. you swallowed back any loud noises and said, "kimi, please." and his pace only quickened.

that was the thing about kimi. he loved to put you to work.

his fingers felt quite well in your cunt as he tried to make sure that you didn't draw too much attention to yourself. he was aroused by the feeling of your slick cunt taking his fingers so well. you were soft to his touch. he could fondly remember this morning before breakfast when you could barely get out of the hotel room before kimi had him pressed up against the front door to fuck you in your sundress. he said to you as he pushed your panties down like a hungry dog, "own this dress, own these panties, own this pussy." and you weren't going to complain. not when he made you cum before you had your morning coffee.

now on the beach chair, his hand on you. he said softly, "need that hand back soon, need to turn the page. i'd rather not the pages soaked." his words were so casual, as if he wasn't painfully erect in his swim trunks. you exhaled deeply against his chest and felt the continued pleasure through your body. it was an immaculate feeling. you couldn't put it into words. you cursed against him and felt the flutter of want in your body. you loved it. you said softly against his warmed skin, "please, kimi. i'm not going to last longer." your thighs clenched around his hand, it felt good. not even his cock and you were still a near mess. damn him, and damn him for being able to keep his composure while he fingered you on the beach. you wanted a vacation, and he wanted your sweet pussy. he sharply exhaled before he put his book down and turned a little to throw his other arm over you. he kept you in a protective hold as he quickly fingers you. he watched your come apart under his icy gaze. he cursed under his breath as he kept his digits in you while you orgasmed.

he watched how beautifully you came apart. and despite the intense feeling, you managed to keep quiet with your head buried in his chest. he held you tightly and knew that you'd be back in the hotel room soon leaving you a total mess on the bed. as you came down from your sexual high and relaxed against him. he palmed his erection under the towel and said, "see, we can have fun. now why don't we get out of the sun. i don't want you to get sick." his words were tempting like a sugary sweetness. but you knew that the ache in your hips would extend far past the holiday. because you may get out of the sun, but the heat would linger while kimi had your legs over his shoulders. <3

a/n: i thought about kimi too hard... sorry, it'll happen again

[macapunoz]

UNREQUITED CLUB ; choi seungcheol

summary it’s not good to resort to breaking hearts if you’re afraid to admit you’re still in love with someone else.

starring seungcheol x f! reader

genre angst，fluff (i might be lying)，unrequited love，mutual pining at some point (?)，uni au，reader does fashion designing

contains reader is kinda toxic，same thing with coups (they’re just both not good ppl)，breakups and leading ppl on，based on a true story。。。 sorry 97z

word count 6k ( thankyu sophi for proofreading ) | playlist bad religion by frank ocean, japanese denim by daniel caesar, secret door by arctic monkeys, all because i liked a boy by sabrina carpenter, fluorescent adolescent by arctic monkeys, green by 12bh, toxic till the end by rosé, first love by sondia

from rhin，this was originally gonna be a smau oneshot but i need to clear my penalties😭 (only 2k words left🗣️) anyways this fic is dedicated to my friend who doesnt have blr but her bias is scoups and she hates the dude cheol is based on😹😊🫰

You always thought you could do well with love. As a kid, you dreamed of marrying a prince after watching way too many princess movies. As you got older—going into middle school—your standards changed once you discovered a few dramas. A lot of them happened to have male lead CEOs, so you wanted a hot, rich man instead.

Eventually, those fantasies died down once you ended middle school. The boys you’ve encountered made you lower your standards and began to think that all boys were full of shit. But you figured you’d find better when you’re an adult. Sure, you’ve found at least some guys cute, but you knew way too much about them to never find yourself together with them.

It was only then that the first year of high school changed something in you. You knew a few older kids since you were family friends with them, and some of them had friends that would tag along. One of those friends happened to be Seungcheol. He was in tenth grade when you met him—just a year older than you. Always smiling and always said kind words.

From there, you’ve been crushing on him. You always thought he was different from all the other boys you’ve liked before. But you figured it was more of a you problem. You remember how you couldn’t even say a word to any guy you liked back then. However, talking to Seungcheol was a piece of cake. You two were close, and others always told you that they think he makes it obvious he likes you.

Back then, you wouldn’t dare to tell him how you felt. He was way out of your league, and you recall that he mentioned not being interested in dating. Plus, you liked it when you thought of him as a friend more than a crush. But like they say, the more you suppress the feelings, the stronger it gets. 

Your feelings towards him lasted until his final year of high school. He was graduating soon, so you figured it was time to confess to him. You were hoping for a rejection, but he ended up reciprocating the feelings. Or, so you thought. Just a week before his graduation, he admitted to you that when he said he liked you, he meant it as friends.

He didn’t mean to hurt you, but all you could ever think of was how much he disappointed you. For a few days, you ghosted him, until the day before he graduated, he wanted to talk to you. Although he never liked you in that way, he still liked you as a friend. Neither of you wanted your friendship to be ruined all because of that. 

You ended up attending his graduation, since you thought it would be mean not to show up to a friend’s important day. It was a bit sad though; you realized your final year of high school would feel a little bit empty. But you reassured yourself that you’d use that time to get over him, because he promised you that it’s okay if you still like him since getting over takes time.

So about doing well with love right now, you’re certain you’re ready for it. You hope you’re at least ready for it.

“I gave your number to Mingyu,” your friend brings up. You two were talking about the men in your biochemistry class, saying how they were either too old or too mid. There were only a few guys who weren’t too bad, and your friend gave your number to one of them.

“Mingyu? As in biochem Mingyu?” You quickly got up from lying down on her bed, looking dead into her eyes in case she was joking with you.

“Yes, that Mingyu. He’s been eyeing you for quite some time, so I told him I can get him with you.”

You wish you could tell her you’re not too sure about this. You have some mixed feelings; a part of you says to YOLO it, but another part is hesitating about it, and you’re not sure what is exactly stopping you. Mingyu is a nice guy, very nerdy, and tall. Lots of girls want him, but it turns out he wants you. What’s the worst that can happen?

A notification from an unknown number pops up on your phone. The message was from Mingyu, and he was asking you out to lunch some time. It took you a while to respond since you and your friend were getting giddy over it. But you ended up agreeing to have lunch with him.

The lunch date with him wasn’t too bad. He was super sweet when you two were conversing. He always kept complimenting you, and it made your heart skip a beat. He did it often, and your pounding heart began to feel sort of different. You weren’t feeling quite ecstatic, but you figured you were just nervous.

From there, you’ve gone on several dates with him, and at this point, you’re just waiting for him to ask you to be his girlfriend. There’s no rush; he’s probably not ready, so you might as well wait for him. The more dates you go on with him, the more you’re hoping he doesn’t ask you. But on one date, he ends up asking you to be his girlfriend, and without thinking before speaking, you immediately say yes.

You never told anyone except your friend about the two of you being together, and you never found yourself with him during biochemistry. You weren’t too sure why you did that, but the relationship ended when you told him you couldn’t give him the same amount of love he gave you. That was only because you found yourself staring at Seungcheol for only two seconds. Your relationship with Mingyu lasted for only two months. 

When you told your friend about the breakup, she was surprised that you didn’t cry about it. She kept pestering you to tell her why you broke up with him, only to get a vague response from you that you just felt bad. You weren’t sure if it was the pang of guilt for staring at Seungcheol or the fact that you didn’t actually like Mingyu, but you were sure it had to do something with Seungcheol.

“Hah, Cheol just sent me another stupid brain-rotted reel,” you say out loud to your friend, scrolling through Instagram on your phone while she does the same.

“Seungcheol? I thought you said you guys don’t text anymore." Your friend’s curiosity piqued right when you mentioned that name.

“No, no. We don’t text like that anymore, but we send reels here and there. He probably just does it to annoy me or infiltrate our DMs. The only time he ever texts me is when he’s waiting for me by the studio,” you tell her, not realising she never knew that you always meet up with him at the end of the day.

“He’s the one giving you rides on Tuesdays? I thought that was Mingyu.”

“Nope. Seungcheol takes the same route going to the dorms, so he offered to give me rides once a week.”

“Is that why you broke up with Mingyu?” Your friend’s question makes your eyes go wide. You close your phone and get up from resting on her headboard to look at her properly.

“I–” You don’t want to continue your words; it’s most likely something you wouldn’t want to hear, especially if it’s about Seungcheol. “I’m… starving. Let’s eat first and talk about that later,” you mutter, hoping she forgets about it later on.

You never ended up talking to her about that, and you hope she never brings it up.

Seungcheol places a cup of coffee on the table in front of you. You were resting your head on the table, but immediately lifted up when Seungcheol sat next to you. “You look like you were dying today, so I got you some energy.” You thank him for the drink and start downing it like you were parched for days.

He picks up your notebook and starts analyzing the draft you drew. “What’s this for?” He asks, pointing at the lazy sketch of a jacket.

“It’s for my fashion properties assignment. We have to make an outfit out of fabric given to us. Mine is leather, so I’ve been brainstorming how to make this jacket look cute but comfy. I already drew the skirt for it.”

“I think you can easily come up with something. Your designs are cool and leather looks hard to work with, but you’re always dedicated,” Seungcheol assures you, hoping you don’t crash out in front of him over this.

You scoff. “Hah, what do you know about fashion?” Pointing out his every-day lazy black hoodie and grey sweat pants combination. 

“Okay, not everyone wants to wake up early and choose what to pair their tops with their bottoms! Some just pull out whatever they have,” he rolls his eyes.

“You would not survive fashion school,” you joke, making Seungcheol huff but grin. As much as he can be annoying and get annoyed by you, he’ll never take a joke seriously.

If only he knew how much he makes your day by his annoyance.

Life was calm. You were so close to finishing the leather jacket, only having to attach the pockets, but you decided to take a break and finish it another day. You still had to work on the skirt, but you had plenty of time—grateful that this project is due in six months.

While waiting in the mall for your friends to come back from the washroom, you were sitting down and sketching out a new design in your journal.

You were thinking of making a top for your friend since her birthday was coming up soon. She would definitely like a sweatshirt. Your name gets called out, turning your head in that direction, and you see your friends walk out the washroom.

The three of you walk around, thinking of what stores to check out. Jiwon brings up going to the shoe store nearby, so the two of you follow her. You roam around the store, looking at the different kinds of shoes. Platforms, Mary Janes, sneakers, boots, all kinds that were in your size and style.

“…Yo what the heck? I didn’t know you work here.” You overhear Jiwon. She was talking to one of the workers, most likely a friend of hers. He’s tall and kind of cute. His glasses sit on the top of his head, and you caught him glancing at you while talking to your friend.

You avert your eyes to the black loafers, picking it up as you examine them. Your other friend goes up to you and asks your opinion if she should get brown boots or black boots. After she tried both on, you told her to get the black pair since she already owns a brown one.

As you accompany your friend to the check-out, Jiwon goes up to you and says she needs to go buy some makeup after this. You looked at her friend, who was standing by the counter, catching him staring at you again. He quickly turns his head and walks away.

It only took a week later to meet Jiwon’s friend again at a café. You were sitting alone by the window and still sketching out the top for your friend, so focused that you didn’t notice someone was standing in front of you.

“Can I sit here?” He asks, making you look up. You nod and go back to sticking your head into your journal. He sits in the chair facing and starts a conversation. “You’re one of Jiwon’s friends, right?”

You put your pencil down and look at him. “Yeah, and you are?”

“Dokyeom,” he introduces himself with a smile, sticking his hand out for a handshake.

You shake his hand. “(Name).”

You got to know a lot about him and talked about how the both of you met Jiwon. He was her classmate since high school, and you met her in your fashion design courses. You ended up exchanging numbers, and the moment you left to go back home, you spammed your friend with multiple messages.

As usual, you laid on her bed while you yapped to her about him. It’s always been this way with every guy you both encounter since your high school days. You talked for a while, not even realising it was already midnight—at least it’s a weekend night.

You spoke to Dokyeom very often. Always texting during your lectures and even calling at night. Sometimes you would even call him while you were sewing. There was something familiar about him every time you talked, and it felt nice.

One time you were on call, he asked you about your ideal type. You never really had an ideal type, so you said common traits all your crushes had from the top of your head. “Someone tall, kind, and a cute smile too. I’d want them to be smart and productive as well.”

"So...me basically,” he jokes. You agreed without a thought and that conversation started your relationship with Dokyeom.

You really like him. He was kind and entertaining. He was always fun to your friends and was nice to everyone. He always took you out on dates and took you home. Unlike Mingyu, Dokyeom made sure that the world knew you were his.

He really loved you and wanted to show everyone that he did. And by every one, he meant every one. The news got to Seungcheol one day and it all just stopped. The daily brain-rotted reels he sends you ended up being three times a week. 

He barely got a response from you to the reels, and you only reacted to the messages. He slowed them down and sent them to you once a week. The only time you responded to a reel he sent, he left your message on ‘seen’, and then stopped sending you reels.

It’s not that he hated you or anything. He just knew you had a boyfriend now, so he didn’t want to go against your relationship’s boundaries. He would still pick you up every Tuesday, but the car ride conversations were always about school now or sometimes silent. He never asked about Dokyeom, and you never brought him up.

Being distant with Seungcheol kind of hurt, but you knew you were just getting over him and Dokyeom was there to help you. Or so you thought. Somehow, there would be conversations you have with Dokyeom, and you would absentmindedly bring up Seungcheol.

The first time you did, he asked who he was, and he didn’t sound jealous, just curious. You explained that he was just an old crush from high school and that he was basically a distant friend to you now. 

He got more curious about him so you showed him his profile once. He looked through his account and started saying how you downgraded so much, pointing out Seungcheol’s physique.

You didn’t want Dokyeom to be hurt, so you began assuring him that he was much better than Seungcheol. You admit that Seungcheol played you back in high school and that he’s not even all that. Ever since that, you would bring down Seungcheol.

You were convinced you disliked Seungcheol, but Dokyeom always thought otherwise. Even though you would talk badly about him, your boyfriend still listened to you talk about him.

“I think you still like him,” Dokyeom brings up while you were ranting about what Seungcheol did to you in your junior year of high school. You were taken aback and denied so quickly. “You talk about him more than me,” he mutters. You apologized and assured him that you care about him more than Seungcheol.

“You know it’s okay if you still like him,” he considered. 

“No!” You retorted. “That’s just morally wrong! Why would I like another man while I’m in a relationship?! I don’t like him anymore, and I never will. I have you now, and you already make me happy.”

Dokyeom still wasn’t convinced, but he didn’t want to see you angry again, so he just nodded and patted your head.

Another time you brought up Seungcheol was when Dokyeom asked you who your first love was. When you admitted it was Seungcheol, he already knew since you always talked about him. When you asked him who his first love was, all he did was point at you, and that already made you regret saying your answer.

I never will. You said that in hopes you won’t ruin your relationship because of an old crush. Why do you always find yourself talking about Seungcheol anyway? He did you so wrong, and you’re sure he doesn’t care about you. Why was he even your first love?! 

A week later, you realized you were lying. After you told Seungcheol he doesn’t need to drop you off at your dorm anymore since Dokyeom could take you there, you ended up deleting his contact on your phone and unfollowing his Instagram. But after one car ride with your boyfriend, you thought about Seungcheol and what he really means to you. Dokyeom was right.

You went to Jiwon for advice about it, and she figured he would want you to admit it to him since all he wants is for you to be happy. That night, you confessed to Dokyeom that you still had feelings for Seungcheol, but it was only 1%—since 99% is for your boyfriend.

However, the more you saw Seungcheol, the feelings kept growing more. You never told Dokyeom, but you didn’t want to keep hurting him. On one random Monday afternoon, you met up with him at the same café you first met him and broke up with him on the spot. You never wanted to admit it was about Seungcheol, so all you told him was that you were just the problem in the relationship—which was true.

Your relationship with Dokyeom only lasted for six months, but for some reason, you felt relieved and free. It only took you a few days to realize that Dokyeom reminded you of Seungcheol, and you used him to fill that empty void since senior year. But no matter how loving Dokyeom was to you, you secretly hoped it was Seungcheol instead.

Guilt held onto you and convinced you that you were a bad person at this point. You knew you were going to die alone, but honestly, you’d rather have that than break someone’s heart again. Not only were you single—which you could care less about—you were still distant with Seungcheol. 

You tried not to care, but every time you saw him on campus, it always hurt to think about how distant you two are. It got to a point where you walked past him and neither of you said hi. You figured he hated you until you once had a dream about him when you got a fever.

You were at a party, and all of a sudden Seungcheol’s friends made fun of you. You blamed it on him and left the party. The scene changed, and you were walking with your friend to your next lecture. As you walked down the halls, you noticed your mother’s friend was with someone, so you greeted her, not bothered by the fact that your “aunt” was at your university. That someone she was with ended up being Seungcheol. When he smiled and waved at you, you frowned and ignored him as you walked away. 

You instantly jolted awake, sweating real bad as the headache you had earlier stopped. You looked at the time, 4:27. It’s Tuesday, and around this time, you would wait for Seungcheol to pick you up. You thought a lot about the dream and how you were so mean to him in that dream.

“I don’t want to hate him anymore,” you think to yourself. You open your phone to Instagram, look up his username, and immediately hit follow. Then you go to your contacts and type his number to remake his contact in your phone—still remembering his number and putting it in your phone like the first time you two exchanged numbers. 

Right when he followed you back three minutes later, you sent him a message about how you don’t like the two of you becoming distant and wanting to start over as friends. He agrees, and you ask to see him over lunch.

The next day you met up with him for lunch, and he was still the same annoying Seungcheol: always watching brain-rotted reels while you two talk and always teasing you. It feels nice to have this back, and you’re glad the two of you are not going to be distant anymore. Well, you thought you two were on bad terms, but everyone, including him, never thought that. It should’ve hit you that he could never hate anyone, so what would make him hate you?

After that, you went to the design studio thinking about Seungcheol. You really do like being friends with him, and you’re sure you don’t like him romantically. You soon realized that you didn’t need to bring him down in order to get over him. Today made you realise why he’s your first love. 

You finally finished the leather jacket and the skirt. You never realized how you never got to finish the outfit while you were with Dokyeom, but only being able to finish it when you were alone. The good part of being a single fashion designer is that you have a lot of time for yourself to design anything.

The bad part, though, is that people like you always make apparel for others but yourself. It took you a while to notice that the leather jacket was too oversized for the skirt. It’s a men’s jacket, and the measurements were for Seungcheol.

After handing in your design, you finally took some time to design something for yourself. Maybe some jeans or a cute sweater. Since Valentine's Day was coming up and you and your friends were invited to a party that day, you had an excuse to make a whole outfit for yourself.

You took several days brainstorming and sketching out what to wear, but you finally settled on something simple. Maybe you were too focused on creating your outfit that you didn’t realise Valentine’s Day was about love, and all of sudden all your friends had a date to the party.

“I can’t believe we’re the only ones without a date!” Your friend complains. “Even Jiwon is going with that red head guy!”

“Hey, we have each other. You should wear that top I made for you for your birthday.”

“I definitely will.”

The both of you lie down on her bed, except this time you’re not talking about guys. It’s not bad to not have a date, but you’ll be disgusted if you see your friends all over their dates.

“Hey, it’s kind of ironic how all our friends’ dates are all friends too. And they have three guys who still don’t have a date.”

“Yeah, no. Saerom tried setting me up with Junhui because she thought we’d be perfect for each other, but he keeps sending me cat photos. And didn’t he like everyone?”

“Yikes. I forgot his friend group is odd.” Right when you brought that up, you get a text from Minghao, Jun’s cousin. He asks you if you already have a date to the party, and you reply with a no. The only person from that friend group you can tolerate is Minghao. He’s pretty much normal, but he’s just a friend.

Minghao then asks you if you want to go with him to the party. “Oh, wow, Minghao is asking me out,” you say to your friend. “What should I say?”

“Yes! Are you crazy (Name)?”

“What about you, though?”

“I’ll be fine. I have Hayoung since she doesn’t want to go with anyone.”

“I’m pretty sure she’s not going to show up.”

“Still. Just go with him!”

You sigh and send him a thumbs up. A part of you only wants to do this for the fun of it, but another part of you doesn’t want to since you like being alone.

The day of the party rolls by, and you just finished up the dress you were making for it. All your friends agreed you were all going there together. You quickly made a few adjustments to your dress in the car, putting the pack of pins in your handbag. If there’s one thing you can’t go out in public without, it’s a sewing kit.

You arrive at the house where it was being held, and you see several people entering. When you all entered the house, your friends easily found their dates and you met up with Minghao.

You honestly just wanted to stay with your friend, so you stuck with her as Minghao followed behind with his friend. No matter how many times you wanted to be with your friend, your other friends and his friends always pushed you into Minghao’s arms and took pictures.

You felt that same pang of guilt when you were with Mingyu and Dokyeom. You know that feeling a bit too well, and all you want to do is leave the party with your friend. You eventually gave up and just stuck with Minghao for a while.

As you left him to go get a drink, you bumped into Seungcheol, who you thought doesn’t go to parties like these. "Hey, I thought your mom banned you from going to parties." He mentioned as you two walked to the kitchen.

“I thought you don’t go to parties? And my mom doesn't care anymore.”

“My friends convinced me to go here.” He picks up his phone, and his screen reveals ‘Mingyu’ as the person calling him, making your heart drop. He answers the call, hanging up seconds later. “Which, speaking of, are looking for me. I’ll see you around (Name)!” He walks the other way, and you leave the kitchen without a drink in your hand, only leaving with a pounding heart. 

You went back to Minghao and told him you were going to go home with your friend, and you left him without giving him a chance to say goodbye. Honestly, you hope Seungcheol didn’t see you with him and hope that none of your friends upload those photos. 

You looked for your friend and left the house together. Instead of going back to the dorms, you two just walked to the nearest convenience store to just hang out and calm down.

“So you don’t like Minghao?” Your friend asks as you look through the candies in the candy aisle of the store.

“I like him as a friend, just not in that way.” You confirmed, picking up a pack of gummy bears and following your friend to the drink aisle.

“I heard Saerom’s man was the one encouraging Minghao to ask you,” she points out.

“Junhui got pissed at me because I took his last person he was going to be with, like I kept telling him he can have his cousin!”

“What made you want to leave, by the way?”

You stayed silent as you watched her think of what beverage to buy. She looks back, waiting for an answer. “I think it’s because of me.”

She picks out an orange soda, and you two make your way to the cashier. “What do you mean?” She asks, in the middle of paying.

“I think I just like being single.” You two leave the store and sit down at a table right outside, placing your stuff on the table.

“And that’s okay. It’s not bad being single,” she assures, putting down the drink and holding your hand with one hand.

“I know it’s not. I just don’t do well with love; I keep hurting guys.”

“I can tell. I was there when Mingyu asked for your number, when Dokyeom said he was your ideal type, and when Minghao asked you out.”

You sigh and chuckle after. “Wow. I can’t believe I’m such a manipulator. I just led on three guys.”

“(Name) as much as I love you, that’s not something to be proud of.” You nod in response, repeatedly muttering a bunch of ‘I know’ to her. “You always keep saying it’s about you and your emotions. But have you ever considered it’s about Seungcheol?”

This is what your friend has wanted to discuss since your days with Mingyu. You knew your breakups were because of Seungcheol, but you never realized it wasn’t him, it was about him. That feeling in your heart you had earlier when you saw your ex’s name on his phone brings you back to freshman year.

You like Seungcheol.

“I think I still like Seungcheol,” you admit to your friend.

“All because you saw him earlier? Cause I saw you two talking in the kitchen,” she brings up about that little interaction that made you aware of your feelings.

“No. I think I always liked him, but I was in denial about it. Just think about it. I caught myself staring at Seungcheol while I was with Mingyu. Dokyeom told me I talk about him a lot. And well, Minghao never reminded me of him.”

“I figured. Whenever I asked you if you were going to be with your man, you were a bit soulless. No offence, but you were never excited when you talked about them. Now that I think about you, when you were with them, you never talked about them at all to us.”

You lowered your head, mentally slapping yourself for doing that. “It was so different from Seungcheol though. Every time you looked at Seungcheol and talked to him, it wasn’t the same with the others. I saw stars in your eyes. You didn’t like him; you were in love with him.”

Your friend is still holding onto your hand, ignoring the fact that you’re in the middle of having a heart to heart in front of a convenience store. 

“(Name), I think all you needed was to be honest with yourself. It’s okay to love Seungcheol. No matter how many hearts you break, you’re not a bad person. It just shows how caring you are. You can still be friends with him even if all our friends hate him. Even though I think what he did to you back in junior year was so messed up, you were so strong to go through that heartbreak. You are amazing and loving, and I want you to tell that to yourself every day.”

With your free hand, you cover your eyes with it. Your friend gave you tissue paper from her bag, as she was quick to notice that you were tearing up. She moves herself closer and brings you into her arms.

“Choi Seungcheol is one lucky man to have you love him.”

You got your leather jacket and skirt back, getting a 98% on it. As long as you got over the nineties for it, you’re happy. You only lost a few points for making it a men’s jacket instead of a women’s jacket. 

Since you got the jacket back, it would make sense to give it to Seungcheol since it’s clearly his size only. Your friendship with Seungcheol has been calm ever since that heart-to-heart with your friend. He still picks you up from the studio, but instead of taking you to your dorms, you two go on little side quests for fun. 

The weather has been getting warmer, so you two would go wherever to hang around outside. He picked up a hobby of taking photos due to a friend of his gifting him a camera. So every time he would drop you off at the dormitory, he would take a picture of you in front of the building.

“Open your sweater so you can show off the new shirt you made,” he requests, looking at you through the lens as he watches you zip down your sweater. You made an unserious shirt, printing a picture of a sock monkey on it. 

After hearing camera clicks, he puts the camera down. “Cute outfit,” he points out.

“And we need to work on your closet!” You tease.

He rolls his eyes and tells you good night, driving off when you tell him to rest well tonight. Right when you turn around, you face Jeonghan, who happens to be one of Seungcheol’s friends and lives on the floor above you.

“Wow, and Jisun said there was going on between you two,” he remarks. If there was anyone nosy about you two, it would be Jeonghan. According to Jisun, several guys—including Jeonghan—would ask about you and Seungcheol, some of whom she didn’t even know by name. 

"Yeah, cause we’re friends,” you confirm, heading to the elevator as Jeonghan follows you in.

“I asked Seungcheol if he still likes you, and he said he likes you as a friend only.”

Even though you’re quite annoyed by him, you still manage to respond to that. “Well, he never had feelings for me, so he’s valid for that. Plus, I like it that way.”

“So you can’t be delusional anymore,” he jeers as the elevator comes to a stop on your floor. You step out of the elevator, hoping Jeonghan just minds his own business and stays in there.

“I like being his friend anyway, Yoon Jeonghan,” you mimic his tone as you watch the doors close in front of him.

You’re not wrong with your words, though. You love being friends with Seungcheol.

Seungcheol and you are on your usual side quests after he picks you up from the studio. This time there were bands performing at a nearby park, so you went there to chill. You brought the jacket, but held onto it considering he’s going to assume it’s yours.

As you picked a spot to sit down, there was already music and the sky was getting dark soon—before that, you two went to feast yourselves with cheap ramen and an unhealthy amount of soda. 

You hand him the jacket without saying anything; he takes it with a puzzled expression displayed. “It’s the leather jacket I was designing a few months ago. I accidentally made it your size,” you speak up, smiling as you watch his perplexed expression turn into an ecstatic smile.

“Accidentally? Or did you intentionally make it for me?” He jokes as he puts it on, making you push his shoulder.

“This is going to be the last time I’ll ever make you something.” You snootily look away. He laughs and apologizes—always apologizing after he makes fun of you.

You two stayed silent as you swayed to the music. It’s calm and sweet. You could stay in this moment forever, nothing and no one to bother you. Right now could be a good time for Seungcheol to make another stupid joke, but he seems to be enjoying the music too.

This is what you need. Nothing romantic with him, but close to him. The sky was dark, and you pointed out the fairy lights hanging around the trees. Seungcheol lies down his head on the grass, now staring at the sky, as you follow along.

“Sky is too cloudy to see stars,” he mentions. You avert your eyes from the sky to him, turning your head to comfortably gaze at him. He was still looking up. You don’t expect him to look back; he never does. But you enjoy this, just intaking his unforgettable face.

“Thank you, (Name),” he mutters, “for coming here with me.”

You don’t respond right away, still listening to the music. “Of course, but I’m sorry,” you let out, now turning your head to gaze up at the sky again.

“Sorry for what?” He asks, your no-context apology makes him look at you now, watching you stare at the non-existing stars—just like his love for you.

“Still being in love with you.”

svt masterlist .ᐟ

[thebibliosphere]

That’s interesting because when I go to my local ER, painkillers are the last resort before trying other things like a dose of IV Benadryl, compazine and usually an oral steroid to prevent rebound.

They don’t administer painkillers because of the risk of rebound unless everything else fails and usually then they’ll send me home with a tapered dose of steroids to try and prevent it.

I really wish migraine protocols were more standardized. But considering neurologists can’t seem to agree on these things I doubt ERs ever will.

It should be illegal for relief to give you a headache.

[angelltheninth]

Uhm.. can we get more abkut virgin mark.. breaking his uh, toys

Of course you can get more Mark!

Pairing: Mark Grayson x Fem!Reader

Tags: nsfw, smut, masturbation, sex toy use, morning wood, awkward boners, superpowers, pillow humping

Ko-Fi | Rules | Fandoms and Characters | Commissions

A/N: The latest season is making me so stressed. Can it slow down for like, a minute? That's all I'm asking.

Morning wood is a pain for him to deal with since you began dating

He wants to take care of it fast but on the other hand he wants to enjoy the fantasies of having sex with you

Buys sex toys to make things faster and more enjoyable

Failed to take his powers into account and as soon as he thrusts into the toy it breaks around his cock

He was embaressed about it of course but if anything it will be a good way for him to learn self-control

Same goes for condoms, he can't use them because he breaks them

It would be bad if he hurt you or got you pregnant by accident

Practice will do him a lot of good, if only he could figure out how not to break the toy he fucks all the time

Going back to the sex shop is embarrassing at this point

Resorts to humping his pillow when he's in a real hurry

Always covers his boners around you, he doesn't want you to feel like you owe him anything just because his body is reacting to how attractive and sexy you are

Cold showers are a daily occurrence for him

What he can practice though is eating your pussy, but he imagines that hearing you moan as he does so will be a lot more enjoyable

Times his thrusts and keeps his cock tightly wrapped in the pulsing toy until it milks him dry

Moans your name a lot and when he feels like he's getting too loud he bites into his pillow

Which he also tears in the process

[stuckonmark]

accidents. mark lee

19. road trip fun

you had no clue what you were in for. a random ski trip didn’t sound too bad, but of course mark being there changed things. while you were packing, winter was yapping about how excited she was. winter and haechan had planned the trip together, so they had a lot of bonding activites for everyone.

everyone had slowly started making their way to your dorm. the boys helped put everyone’s luggage into the trunk. seeing mark definitely made you uncomfortable. you couldn’t explain the feeling, but you just wanted to be chill and didn’t want to ruin the vibe for everyone.

“alright everyone! let’s hop in the car and get this trip started!” haechan was holding onto his stuffed animal, as he screamed in excitement.

“wait what’s the seating arrangement?” jaemin asked, as everyone gathered towards the car. “well i decided that jeno drives because he’s good at it and jaemin will be his right hand man for directions. it makes sense for the girls to sit in the middle because y’know, they’re the tiniest, which leaves me and mark in the back.” everyone agreed and were about to get in before haechan stopped everyone. “but unfortunately, i do get motion sickness, so yn, would you be a dear and sit in the back with mark.”

haechan was batting his eyelashes at you, while everyone had awkwardly looked back at you, obviously knowing some odd tension was going on between you and mark. “uh yeah, it’s fine.” as much as you didn’t want to sit with mark, you just wanted everyone to have fun. it’s not like you and mark would have to talk the whole ride. it shouldn’t be a big deal.

you and mark climbed into the back seat and placed your things by your feet. everyone followed suit and then y’all were on the road. the car ride started off with singing sessions and laughter, but that was not enough to keep y’all energized for a three hour car ride. eventually, everyone began to doze off, jaemin having small talk with jeno up front to keep him awake, haechan snoring on winter’s shoulder, and karina watching a kdrama with her noise cancelling headphones.

you were too busy texting eric to see what mark was doing. you and eric had been texting for a few days and getting to know each other. you were starting to grow a liking for eric. he was sweet and fun to talk to. you hadn’t noticed, but mark was taking a glance at your phone to see what was making you smile from ear to ear.

“who are you texting?” mark asked, nudging your shoulder.

you scooted away from him and glared at him. “nobody.” you turned your body away from him, so that your back was facing him. you didn’t know it, but mark was feeling an odd feeling that he’d never felt before. he wanted to know what was so special about this eric guy.

you had finally reached your destination after three hours. although everyone had been half asleep in the car, everyone was filled with excitement and awe when they saw the ski resort. “damn, haechan. your dad is loaded.” everyone quickly grabbed their things and headed inside. there were three rooms inside: jeno and jaemin shared a room with two twin beds, mark and haechan got the room with the queen sized bed, and you, winter, and karina got the master bedroom with the king sized bed.

“wouldn’t it make sense that i get the master bedroom since this is MY dad’s ski resort-” winter had smacked haechan’s head before he got to finish his sentence. “oh get over it. it’s better to be a gentlemen.”

the night was filled with so much fun. you guys had started to grill meat and brought out the drinks. sitting on the floor together and eating felt more “homey” to y’all. this trip was starting to feel fun. it got your mind off mark.

“alright, it’s not a party if we’re not playing truth or drink~” haechan was too excited to keep his composure. he was the one starting all of the fun. at this point, everyone was starting to get a little hammered and tipsy. “hmm, jeno what’s your body count?” karina’s question sent ooo’s all around the room. jeno just shook his head and laughed. “or how about this, can you count your body count on both hands.” he took a second to think before he downed a shot, causing everyone to holler. “it’s not that bad..” “THEN WHY DIDN’T YOU SAY IT!”

“okay, okay mark, who’s the last person you hooked up with?” haechan asked, as his face was red from the shots he was taking. it was evident that he was very drunk. the question left an awkward silence in the room and mark sent haechan a death glare, before he downed his drink.

“boo, you loser. everyone knows it was m-” jaemin hit haechan with a pillow, while everyone kind of glanced at you. of course it was embarrassing. everyone knew you and mark had something going on, and it pissed you off that haechan was instigating. you could feel mark looking at you and you were feeling uncomfortable. all you wanted to do was curl up in a ball and die, but you didn’t want to ruin the mood. you decided to just take a shot. “c’mon, why are you guys being so lame?”

the night carried on with lots of karaoke and many drinks. you decided to let it take over you completely, trying to distract yourself from your real feelings about mark. at this point, you had no idea what was going on. all you knew was that someone was taking you into your room.

“ugh, mark. get off of me. i can walk by myself-” mark had caught you before you fell onto the floor. “just let me help you, yn.” he helped you get into bed and sat down next to you. “why are you even here, mark?” you were slurring your words. “why do you always take care of me? why are you so nice to me, but all you do is go around and hook up with people.” mark was left in silence and you scoffed. “you’re so confusing and i can never read you. you’re too busy with other girls anyways.” you looked towards mark, as he was looking right back at you.

“why don’t you like me, mark?” you looked into his eyes and down towards his lips, as you leaned closer to him. mark was completely flustered at the question, but before he could answer, you had fallen back onto the bed, sound asleep and pulling mark down with you.

previous — m.list — next

notes. this chapter was a little inspired by that one scene in x.o kitty 😭 the cringiness in the show makes it so good 💔 also accidents will be wrapping up pretty soon 🥲

taglist. open! @mmjhh1998 @haluenx @urlocalbeaner5 @cloudmrk @dudekiss3r @iluv7tn @jae-n0 @kikookii @remgeolli @lyleo @wumutititititi @kittydollzz @nctdreamchaser @kodasity @sibwol @worldwidecutiemaya @bbykaixx @luvsooby @luvvhaechan @awktwurtle @gomdoleemyson @morkiee @orangenbluetenbaum @fairyoflia @mxnhoeuwu

[moody-alcoholic]

This Is Going To Hurt

Part 3 - Useful Hostage

Summary: Poly141 x reader, established relationship, medic reader, kidnapped reader, mini fic.

CW: Dead dove don’t eat, use of weapons, death, torture, blood, assault.

AN: My birthday is on Wednesday so I'm taking a break from writing to do birthday things.

Masterlist and A03 links coming soon™ Part 1, Part 2

Enjoy <3

You actually get a break from the torture. Which means you get some sleep. Maybe it’s a thank you, but more likely they’re going to let you get your strength back up before it continues. The room you’re being held in is small, there’s only the door, no windows or vents. 

In fact you haven’t seen the sun since you were taken. You have no idea what time of day it is, how long it has been. There’s no point in trying to keep track, they purposely avoid a schedule, come for you at what seems like random times to take you to the bathroom or for more torture. 

You’re woken mid sleep and dragged back into the wetroom. That’s what you’ve started calling it, you always leave the place wet and shivering. It’s getting harder and harder to fight against your instincts and keep quiet, not panic. The safe space in your mind is getting harder and harder to imagine, it’s almost like the mental barriers you try to put up are being pulled down one by one. 

“No one is coming for you.” The stranger says, you turn your head to look at him while you gasp for air.

“You’ll die here. Alone.” You can’t help but scoff. You always knew this would happen, now they’re switching up their tactics. Maybe they’ll try and flip you, try and promise you a new life. It’s not going to work, it will never work. 

He doesn’t try the new tactic for long before switching back to the questioning. At one point you think you pass out because the next thing you know your straps have been undone and you’re rolled on your side heaving onto the floor. 

Angry voices ring in your head before you’re hauled back to your room. Everything hurts, your stomach and your lungs. The wound on your arm- you’re pretty sure is infected at this point. You can barely keep yourself up as you're thrown back into the room and the door is slammed closed. Like you have the energy to do anything right now. You pull yourself up into the corner of the room. 

Laying down just makes your stomach turn. You wish it would end. For the first time you feel your resolve slip. 

He’s right, they’re not coming for you. You’ve always known that, you just didn’t want to admit it, somewhere deep down you hoped they would come for you. You feel tears come even though you’re too exhausted to cry. 

You just hope they’re safe wherever they are.

___

“We’re in.” Soap says in Price’s ear. 

“Keep it tight, we need at least one of them alive.” Price says. This is their only chance to get intel, without having to resort to other methods. Price and Gaz move to the front door of the small house. There’s at least 5 people in here, all hostile.

Price pushes through the door first hearing Gaz following behind him, Ghost and Soap will be making their way around the ground floor so Price makes a b-line for the stairs. He looks around quickly, making sure Gaz is following him as they make it up the steps. 

They take it one room at a time. There are 2 people both sleeping. They take them out silently, hands over their mouths, their throats slit. Price takes the first one, Gaz gets the second one. 

There’s no third floor which means the last 3 are on the ground floor. 

“Ghost, sitrep.” 

“Ground floor’s clear. 2 down, one in custody.” He responds. 

“We’re clear here too.” Price responds and nods at Gaz to make it back down the stairs. When they make it into the living room, Ghost and Soap already have him tied to the chair. 

“He speaks English.” Ghost says his eyes meeting Price. They’ve done a good job, they were quick, they have what they need. 

“Yeah, beggin’ for his life when we got him.” Soap says. Price sighs walking round the chair to stand in front of the man. He shouts something in Arabic. Price’s patience is wearing thin already. He has to keep cool, keep it together. 

It’s like there’s a timer in his head though, ticking down each second, minute, hour. The longer they take, the more chance you’ll be killed. The thought makes his stomach sink, he swallows the lump in his throat and lets the adrenaline calm his mind. 

“You took a hostage. Female, British, medic, we want to know where she is.” Price says. The man's eyes flick to him, there’s blood on his forehead.

“I don’t know anything about a medic.” He says. It’s a lie, Price knows that. He nods at Ghost who throws his fist into the man's face. As Ghost straightens back up, Price watches the man spit blood. 

“The hostage. Where is she?” Price asks. 

“Fucking American pigs!” He snaps spitting at Price’s feet. Price crosses his arms looking over at Ghost, who pulls a knife off his vest. 

“The hostage!” Price snaps. The man just laughs and Price lets out a sigh. Ghost walks over and plunges the knife into his thigh. He screams thrashing against the chair, shouting in Arabic. Price goes over bending down in front of his face. 

“Tell us where she is.” He orders through gritted teeth. 

“I don’t know.” He says between breaths. Price doesn’t believe him, he has to know something. Suddenly there’s a beeping Price shoots up watching as everyone raises their weapons towards the origin of the noise. 

Soap is the closest and he moves over to the table. “It’s a laptop.” He calls lowering his weapon. 

“Bring it over.” Price says and he comes over placing it down on the coffee table. When they open it, it shows a page with a video. In the middle a chair, the backdrop is all al qatala flags, Price sees the red ‘live’ watermark flashing in the corner of the video.

“What the hell?” Gaz asks. Price reaches into his pocket and pulls out his phone. 

This can’t be good. 

__

The door to your cell opens, jolting you from sleep. It’s Sayyid, he has a bottle of water. You don’t even want it. 

“How are you feeling?” He asks putting the bottle down on the floor. You scoff as you move yourself back into the corner. Your body is stiff and sore, you wonder how long you were asleep for. 

“Fuck you. You don’t care.” You say. 

“I came to ask for your help.” He says, you look up at him confused. You can’t believe what you’re hearing. You laugh, maybe you’re dead and this is hell.

“There was a missile strike, injured are being brought here.” Sayyid says. 

“Oh my God you’re not joking.” You say. He looks somber as he shakes his head. You get up to your feet taking a step towards him.

“I’m not helping patch up terrorists.” You say with anger in your voice. How dare he ask you to help the very people keeping you here. 

“Innocent people are hurt too. Civilians with no affiliation. You took an oath when you became a medic. Do no harm.” He says. Fuck him, how dare he throw that in your face. 

“Fuck you!” You spit your fist crashes into his face. “I spent the last few days being tortured and you want to lecture me about not wanting to help terrorists.” 

The door to the room opens, someone steps in but Sayyid shouts at them holding his hand up. You watch as he rubs his cheek. You wish you had the energy to throw a proper punch, you wish you broke his nose. 

“Your allies are the ones firing the bombs at us!” He snaps. You shake your head, you don’t have to help them. No one would blame you. 

You look back up at Sayyid. You would blame yourself though, you will blame yourself. Do no harm, who dares wins, none of it fucking matters at the end of the day. 

You joined to help people, to make a difference. You've treated the enemy before and if you get out here you will again. You won’t treat them, the people holding you here, just the innocent people caught in the crossfire. 

“Why are civs coming here and not going to a hospital?” You ask. He looks up at you sad. “Shit, they hit the hospital.” 

Fucking Americans. Why did they fire on a hospital? Maybe it was a stray? 

“They’re diverting critical cases elsewhere but we have to pick up the rest.” 

“I can’t believe this. I’m your prisoner. Why do you even trust me?” You say throwing your arms up.

“I don’t but what are you going to do? Run? You wouldn’t make it to the door.” He says. “We need- I need help. You might as well be useful.” 

“Okay. I need to see what you’re working with though.” You say crossing your arms. He nods and moves to the side so the man standing behind him can grab you. 

His grip is strong, his fingers digging into your skin as he drags you down corridors and staircases. You catch your first glimpse of the outside world. It’s dark out, you don’t get to look for long before you’re dragged away. You’re moving deeper and deeper into the building and down more stairs. You’re pretty sure you’re on the ground floor, or a basement by now. 

You’re about to go through some double doors that you assume lead deeper into a basement. This place is huge, way bigger than you thought it was. Suddenly there’s an eruption of shouting. You’re stopped and you turn behind you to see 3 men walking towards you. They sound angry, they have weapons in their hands. 

Sayyid walks past you talking to them. He gets shoved out the way and two of them grab you. You resist this time. 

“What the hell!” You snap. You look back at Sayyid who looks confused as you’re dragged back to the stairs.

“What’s going on?” You ask as you’re pulled up them. Something's wrong, somethings changed. They shout at you in Arabic as they continue to drag you down the corridors. You’re bought into a room and it makes your stomach sink. 

There are more terrorists, all holding weapons. One of the walls is covered by al qatala flags, there’s a chair and a camera, lights and a microphone. The whole place looks like a shitty movie studio. You’re dragged over to the chair and they force you down. You have to squint and the lights are bright in your eyes. 

The two men stand directly behind you. One them presses the barrel of his weapon against the base of your skull. You feel sick, your body freezes up. You look over and you can see yourself on a laptop screen, this is live. They’re doing a livestream? Why? 

There’s no way this ends well, you wonder if 141 are watching. You hope not. 

One of the men comes up to you and hands you a piece of paper. You look down at it then back up at him. 

“Read.” He says. You swallow looking back down quickly. 

“I can’t read.” You say. You’re not going to give them what they want that easily. He hits you with the butt off his weapon, it stings forcing your head to the side. His hand then grips round your neck forcing your head up to see him. 

“Read!” He spits before letting your head go. You clear your throat and look back down at the piece of paper in your hands. 

“In response to the recent missile attacks by the Americans on civilian targets including a local hospital.” You pause for a second looking over at the laptop. The barrel of the weapon is pressed harder into your head. 

“We have no other choice but to-” Your eyes snap up at the man standing next to the laptop. This can’t be real, this is not how things work. 

You’re worth something to them, you're a hostage. You look back down at the words on the paper. Apparently not. 

“Execute the hostage.” You finish. This is it, this is how you die. You feel fear rise in you, there’s no way you can get out of this you’re dead anyway. The paper is ripped out of your hands. You look back over at the laptop. Now you really hope they’re not watching. 

The man by the laptop moves to the front of the camera and says something in Arabic. You look down at the floor, you're not sure what you're feeling. Sadness, fear, confusion.

You're about to die.

You won’t cry, you won’t give them the satisfaction. When he’s done talking he comes over and presses a pistol to your temple. 

You look into the camera, you wish you could see them one more time, the people in the room start chanting when they’re done the man moves to stand in front of you. The barrel moving to your forehead. You look at him, right in his eyes. 

See you in hell fucker, you let yourself smile. He doesn’t deserve to break you, even now. You let out a breath and think of them all, John and Simon, Kyle and Johnny. You never stopped loving them. 

There’s a loud bang of a door being thrown open. Someone shouting in arabic. The gun barrel is pulled from your forehead. The man moves and you look over to see Sayyid rush in. There are more angry voices, people shouting. You wish you knew what they were saying. 

The same man turns back around to you, you see confusion in his eyes.

“Is it true, you are part of 141?” Your stomach sinks. How did they know? You didn’t tell them. His fist crashes into your face.

“Answer!” He demands. You’re not going to say anything. He pulls out a knife pressing it up against your throat. 

You swallow and it digs into your skin. “Where are they?” He spits. You keep as still as you can, your heart is pounding in your chest. you hold your breath.

“I don’t know.” You say through gritted teeth. You feel the blade slice into your skin. It makes your eyes water. Sayyid says something again. The knife is dragged away from your neck. Your hand goes up to it and you feel blood pool between your fingers, the wound is not deep, just enough to bleed. 

You look up at Sayyid who smiles at you. What the hell? What the fuck just happened? You watch the livestream get turned off. There’s another shout, another order, the barrel of the weapon is moved off the back of your head. You feel a sharp pain as something hits you over your head and everything goes black. 

__

No one moves. No one says a word. 

Price can feel eyes digging into the back of his head, looking at the same screen they just saw you on. 

“She’ll be dead already.” The terrorist chuckles.

“John?” Price hears Laswells voice in his ear. 

“Send traffic.” He replies, trying his best to keep a level voice. 

“I traced it to a relay but that was as far as I got. Chances are you’ll be able to pick up the signal from there. I’ll send you the details.” She says. Price doesn’t reply, ending the call.

He reaches down, unclipping his pistol. He’s not even thinking as he clicks the safety off and shoots the terrorist in the head. 

“Laswell has a lead. Let's move.” he says putting his weapon back in his holster and walking to the exit.

Now they have even less time.

Banners by plum98

[unpretty]

If we’re still doing kink taxonomy hell, can I throw my hat into the ring?

I’m trying to find a tag for “really into each other that they can’t stop” but that isn’t non-consensual (like sex pollen which skeeves me out).

For example, I found a good one where it’s 2 undercover agents pretending to have sex but being so into each other they got off anyway. And a good deconstruction of the a/b/o trope (because alpha/omega done badly also skeeves me out with consent issues so I tent to avoid it) where the omega’s heats kept coming stronger the longer he was around the alpha.

I’ve resorted to searching for “hiding in cupboard” and even just general cheating (because hiding and furtive and desperate but I’m neutral on the topic of cheating itself in porn) … but uh, any help from you and your followers would be great.

I don’t know, I just think people being really into each other is the sexiest thing there is 😅

it feels like there's gotta be a tag for whatever that is

[cybergracie]

the white lotus ⋆ ˚｡⋆ chapter one

✧ the art of being invisible ✧

wc: 7.5k

pairing: personal assistant!oc x family reunion attendee!hyunjin

synopsis: Gemma Parker has spent years keeping things under control -- her career, her emotions, her impossible boss. But when a work trip takes her to a luxury resort in Italy, she finds herself slipping into a world of salty air, stolen moments, and lingering glances with a boy who sees right through her carefully built walls. Hyunjin is charming, frustrating, and absolutely not a part of her plan -- but as the trip stretches on and their paths keep crossing, Gemma starts to wonder if she's been chasing the wrong dream all along. Because sometimes, the best stories aren't the ones you plan -- they're the ones you never see coming.

masterlist | dividers by @strangergraphics

There are two kinds of writers in the world. 

The ones whose names are printed in bold on the spines of bestsellers, who get flown to Italy for exclusive literary retreats at five-star beach resorts, who sip Aperol Spritzes at golden hour while talking about ‘the craft’ as if they weren’t just regurgitating half-baked ideas in expensive clothing. 

And then there are the ones like me. The ones who pick up the scraps, who scramble for a piece of the pie by making the reservations, by handling the tantrums, by sending polite decline emails with just the right amount of fake regret. The ones who run on caffeine and damage control, who sit in the back of luxury cars, juggling schedules and power dynamics like some kind of uncredited assistant to the universe itself. 

The ones who are invisible. 

It wasn’t supposed to be like this. I was always supposed to be the first kind of writer. The kind people read. The kind whose words mattered.

Instead, I was here. At a flashy beachfront resort in Southern Italy, watching my boss – world-famous novelist and professional narcissist Celeste Laurent – flirt with the valet, even though she had spent the entire flight complaining about how ‘the service industry was dead to her’ after a slight inconvenience involving a missing bottle of imported sparkling water. 

Celeste was the kind of woman who made a scene wherever she went. That was the power of being her. She demanded attention, and even worse, she got it.

I, on the other hand, was twenty-six, exhausted, and still trying to convince myself that working for her was a step toward my dream rather than a slow, calculated erasure of it.

“You should be grateful,” my best friend had told me when I landed this job. “Celeste Laurent is a library legend. Think of the connections! The industry knowledge!”

Yeah. The knowledge that no one takes you seriously when you’re the person fetching dry cleaning and fixing wifi connections.

That’s how I ended up here – at one of the most exclusive resort chains in the world, surrounded by ridiculous wealth, ridiculous egos, and ridiculous men who wore linen suits unironically – with no manuscript, no articles, no actual work of my own to show for the last two years of my life. 

Celeste’s nasally voice snapped me out of my spiraling thoughts. 

“Gemma, stop standing around. We have a suite to get to. And I’m going to need a Negroni before I unpack – why does check-in always take so long? Is it a global conspiracy against successful people?”

I sighed, adjusting the strap of my bag. This was going to be a long trip.

The check-in desk at the Villa Fiorella Resort & Spa was a pristine marble monstrosity, its sleek Italian design almost mocking me for how out of place I felt. The air smelled expensive – some kind of citrus-and-bergamot scent pumped through hidden vents, designed to lull you into thinking life was effortless when, in reality, some underpaid assistant had probably spent three hours this morning ensuring that the ambience of wealth and success remained undisturbed.

“Welcome to Villa Fiorella,” the concierge purred in a silky Italian accent, flashing a smile so polished it belonged in an ad for luxury travel. “Checking in?”

Before I could open my mouth, Celeste swept forward, oversized designer sunglasses still perched on her face despite being indoors. She had perfected the aura of don’t waste my time years ago, and she wielded it now like a weapon. 

“Celeste Laurent. Presidential suite.” She didn’t bother with pleasantries. Celeste didn’t ask for things – she expected them to materialize in front of her.

The concierge’s smile faltered. Here we go…

“Ah, yes, Ms. Laurent. However, there was a slight adjustment to the suite allocation –”

I winced preemptively. 

Celeste’s head tilted slightly, her lips pursing in the way they did when she sensed incompetence. “An adjustment?” she repeated, the temperature in the lobby seeming to drop.

I was already pulling out my phone, opening my email, bracing for impact. 

“There was an unexpected extension of a VIP guest’s stay in the suite you originally booked,” the concierge explained, shifting his weight. “But we have upgraded you to a penthouse villa with a private infinity pool, which I can assure you is –”

“Upgraded?” Celeste scoffed. “I booked the presidential suite six months ago. You expect me to believe it’s no longer available? For who?”

“I’m afraid we can’t disclose –”

“Let me guess. Some man who threw money at you last minute? A footballer? A tech billionaire? Someone who collects yachts instead of books?”

This was Celeste’s favorite game – intellectual elitism mixed with barely disguised disdain for anyone who had more money than her. 

The concierge’s composure wavered. “I can assure you, Ms. Laurent, the penthouse villa is actually more spacious and offers –”

“Gemma.”

Oh no.

“Fix this.”

There it was. My cue.

I swallowed my sigh and stepped forward with my best ‘I apologize for my employer’ smile.

“I do understand the… misunderstanding,” I said smoothly, as if Celeste weren’t radiating do you know who I am energy beside me. “We appreciate your help, and I’m sure we can find a solution that works for everyone.”

The concierge visibly relaxed, as most people did when I stepped in. I was the soft buffer between Celeste’s unfiltered chaos and the real world. The translator for her literary-goddess-turned-tyrant persona. 

“I will personally make sure everything is to her satisfaction,” I added. “And perhaps… some complimentary drinks while we get settled?”

The concierge jumped at the peace offering, glancing between me and Celeste. “Of course, signorina! The bar is at your disposal.”

Celeste sniffed, clearly still irritated, but accepted the free drinks as a temporary truce. 

Crisis averted. For now. 

I took a steadying breath, signaling for the bellhop to grab our luggage. Maybe if I got Celeste drunk enough, she’d forget to make me rewrite and send all her email drafts before dinner. I turned back to the check-in desk – only to catch a dark pair of eyes watching me from across the room. 

A man. No – a boy, no older than me. Tall, lean, with black hair that fell a little too perfectly over his forehead. He was casually elegant, draped in a linen shirt that looked effortlessly wrinkled in a way only rich people could pull off. He was standing beside a group of other guests – family, from the looks of it. They were talking, laughing, radiating the kind of relaxed ease that people like me never had. 

But he wasn’t paying attention to them. He was looking at me.

And I knew this because the moment our eyes met, he smirked. Like he had just witnessed that whole interaction and found it entertaining. 

I felt annoyingly warm. My pulse did a weird thing I refused to acknowledge. I quickly looked away, forcing myself to focus on the check-in process, on getting Celeste upstairs before she started a literary revolution in the lobby. 

But I could still feel his gaze lingering. 

And as I signed off on our room details, I heard his cousin – brother? – loudly say something in broken Italian that I didn’t understand, but I absolutely understood the tone. The universal tone of flirtation. I glanced up, just in time to see the boy roll his eyes before grabbing his leering relative by the collar and physically dragging him away. 

“Apologies for him,” he called over his shoulder, giving me one last look, the ghost of a smile playing on his lips. 

Then he was gone. 

And I absolutely, definitely did not watch him walk away. 

The penthouse villa was obnoxiously extravagant – floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the bluest stretch of ocean I’d ever seen, crisp white linens, marble floors that my salary could never even laugh at, and a private infinity pool shimmering under the late afternoon sun. 

And yet, I knew before even stepping inside that it wouldn’t be good enough for Celeste. 

“Too modern,” she would say. “Too sterile. No character.” As if she weren’t the living embodiment of a New York Times op-ed about modernism’s death.

Still, I did my job. I unpacked her suitcases, lined up her vitamins, laid out her beauty products. I took a lap through the villa, checking every ridiculous detail – pillows fluffed, minibar stocked, god forbid the staff forgot her handwritten welcome note. 

Everything was perfect. Which meant Celeste would find something to complain about within the first five minutes. 

But that was future me’s problem. Present me had one singular goal: station Celeste at the bar and ensure that she was well on her way to being too drunk to micromanage me.

I made my way back to the lobby bar, where Celeste was already holding court on one of the plush velvet stools, sipping a Negroni and pretending to enjoy the company of men who were, I assumed, ‘important’ in some vague publishing-adjacent way.

I sat my bag down and leaned in. “Everything is ready for you in the villa. The staff is on standby for whatever you need.”

Celeste didn’t even glance at me. “Gemma, darling, don’t hover. Have a drink. Relax.”

That was Celeste’s favorite brand of condescension – telling me to relax while making it physically impossible to do so.

“You’re right. You should enjoy yourself. Call me if you need anything,” I replied smoothly, already backing away. The best way to handle Celeste sometimes was to leave her to her own devices. By my estimation, she’d be three drinks deep in twenty minutes, possibly on the verge of drunkenly calling an ex-husband or just fully passing out on her ultra-king size mattress.

Which meant I had exactly one small window of freedom. And I took my chance.

The resort’s outdoor terrace was quiet, the sun dipping lower, casting gold across the rolling waves. I settled into a lounge chair, pulled out my phone, and started going over the itinerary for the next week. Celeste was notoriously unpredictable, but I had planned this trip down to the minute, balancing appearances, workshops, and just enough leisure to keep her from snapping. 

Tomorrow, Celeste would attend the welcome dinner hosted by the resort, a mix of media personalities and publishing execs that she would either love or emotionally eviscerate. That left the majority of the daytime free, which I assumed she would fill with spa treatments or day drinking. Tuesday she would attend a Q&A event at a historic Italian library, Wednesday a boat tour, and Thursday through Sunday would be the literary retreat – the entire reason she was here. An elite event filled with authors, critics, and self-proclaimed visionaries who would spend hours discussing narrative structure while sipping wine that cost more than my rent. 

I scrolled through my notes, mentally adjusting for potential crises, making sure I was ten steps ahead of whatever bullshit Celeste would inevitably throw my way. I had built my entire career around managing chaos. I knew how to stay in control. 

And yet…

Something pulled my focus. Movement just beyond the terrace – a small group of men passing through the courtyard, speaking in low, easy laughter.

And there he was. Linen shirt. Messy dark hair. That same amused, sharp gaze. 

I froze, watching as he strode past with his relatives, all of them radiating the kind of effortless confidence that came with being both rich and stupidly good-looking. 

And he was looking at me, again. He hesitated, just for a second, just long enough for me to notice, like he wanted to stop, like he wanted to say something. But before he could, one of his cousins grabbed his arm, pulling him into the conversation, dragging him forward. He glanced back one last time before disappearing around the corner. 

I felt my lips quirk. It was the smallest reaction – barely there – but undeniable.

A spark. Of what, I wasn’t sure. Excitement? Curiosity? Something else entirely? 

I exhaled, shaking it off, forcing myself back into my itinerary. I had more important things to focus on.

But still… I caught myself tapping my fingers against my phone screen, barely absorbing the words in front of me. Because now, in the back of my mind, there was a boy with dark eyes and a smile that felt like a secret. And I wanted to know what it was. 

By the time I made it back to Celeste’s villa, the sun had fully dipped below the horizon, casting the resort in a hazy glow of dimly lit lanterns and distant laughter. I braced myself before stepping inside, mentally preparing for whatever state she’d be in – throwing a tantrum, complaining about the air conditioning, or, worst-case scenario, bored and looking for someone to torment. 

But when I walked in, I found her in a rare form of calm. She was curled up on the sprawling white sofa, robe loosely tied around her waist, hair piled on top of her head in a messy bun that almost made her look approachable. A half-empty tumbler of something expensive rested on the glass coffee table beside an open leather notebook, where she had been actually writing.

Celeste barely looked up as I walked in, lazily flipping a page. “Oh, there you are. Thought maybe you finally ran away.”

“I wish,” I muttered, setting my bag down. 

She smirked. “If you were going to quit, you would’ve done it ages ago. You love me too much.”

“Love is a strong word.”

“Fine. You tolerate me. But don’t pretend you won’t miss the chaos when you finally leave.”

I scoffed but didn’t argue. Celeste had an annoyingly sharp way of reading people – when she wasn’t busy being insufferable. For a moment, there was just silence. The sounds of the waves outside, the soft flick of a page turning. It was weird. Unsettling, even. Celeste being quiet meant she was either deeply focused or on the brink of passing out.

“You’re actually writing?” I asked, crossing my arms. 

“Obviously,” she drawled, taking another slow sip of her drink. 

“Wow. A whole paragraph? That’s impressive.”

“Watch it, Parker.” She arched a brow but didn’t seem annoyed – which was always a good sign.

I sighed, toeing off my shoes as I sat on the opposite end of the couch. “So, you’re in a good mood. Should I be concerned?”

Celeste smirked. “I’m relaxed. This place isn’t so bad. The villa has a certain… minimalist charm.”

I nearly laughed. Minimalist charm. This was the closest she’d ever come to admitting she liked something. “And let me guess,” I teased. “This mood has nothing to do with the alcohol?”

“Oh, darling, it has everything to do with the alcohol.”

This time I laughed. I rolled my eyes, but she wasn’t wrong. Celeste could be an absolute nightmare, but when she was tipsy – just the right level of drunk – she softened. The sharp edges dulled. The version of her that had once been young and idealistic and actually excited about writing peeked through.

“I want to go on the tour tomorrow. The one the resort hosts,” she announced suddenly. “Move anything important to later so I can soak up the history of this place. Oh, and get me another bottle of this before you go.”

I nodded, glad I had reviewed her itinerary to know she didn’t have anything planned until tomorrow evening, which left her day wide open to join whatever tour she was referencing. “Anything else, Your Highness?”

“Maybe a breakfast spread.”

“Of course. Only the best for you.”

She clinked her glass against the air in a mock cheers, already shifting back to her notebook. 

I stood, stretching. “Try not to die in your sleep or anything.”

“Don’t be so dramatic, Parker. Besides, you’d miss me.”

I rolled my eyes but said nothing, heading for the door. It was one of those rare moments where I remembered why I hadn’t quit yet. Because Celeste, for all her flaws, was still one of the most brilliant minds in publishing. She had clawed her way up, built an empire of words, and somehow, someway, I had ended up in her orbit. 

Maybe, if I stuck around long enough, I’d figure out how to do the same. 

By the time I had finished settling everything for Celeste – confirming her addition to the tour hosted by the resort, ensuring her breakfast would be delivered right when she woke up, and bribing the concierge with my most charming smile to keep a running tab on her preferences – I was exhausted. 

I made my way to my own suite, smaller, tucked away, and far less extravagant, but mercifully quiet. It was one of the few perks of my job – Celeste traveled like royalty, and her staff, though severely underpaid, at least got decent accommodations.

I kicked off my shoes, rolled my stiff shoulders, and exhaled slowly. Then, I did something I hadn’t done in a long time. 

I pulled out my laptop, opened a blank document, and stared at it. 

The cursor blinked. I tried to write. But nothing came. 

My fingers hovered over the keyboard, waiting for the words, for something to hit me, for the feeling I used to get – when stories lived in my head, begging to be let out. But all I could think about was itineraries. Reservations. Celeste’s fucking coffee order. 

I had spent so long managing someone else’s life that I had lost my own voice. 

After an hour of getting exactly nowhere, I sighed, slamming the laptop shut. 

I needed air. 

The resort had its fair share of late-night drinkers and wealthy couples meandering about, but the beach itself was nearly deserted. It stretched wide and empty under the glow of the moon, the sand still warm beneath my feet. The waves rolled lazily onto the shore, a soothing hum against the otherwise quiet night. 

I walked, letting the weight of the day slip off my shoulders. Celeste. My job. The gnawing frustration of feeling stuck, uninspired, unseen. How had I gotten here? This wasn’t the dream.

The dream had been bylines, published articles, stories that mattered. The dream had been words flowing freely, not gathering dust at the back of my mind while I booked spa appointments for a woman who could barely even send an email. 

I sighed, running a hand through my hair. Maybe I was the problem. Maybe I had let myself disappear. I sank onto the sand, pulling my knees to my chest, watching the waves as if they might have answers. 

And then – a flicker of red. 

A tiny, moving speck of light in the distance. 

At first, I thought I was imagining it – some reflection of the moon, a trick of my tired mind. But no, it was real. A little red flashlight, weaving slowly along the shoreline. I frowned, watching it drift closer. 

Then, I saw him. The boy from earlier. Linen shirt, knowing smirk, stolen glances. He was alone, moving at a slow, unhurried pace, the red light swaying lazily with each step. And before I could scramble away, he saw me, too. 

I froze as he approached me, watching as he hesitated for a moment. Then, in a voice lower, softer than I expected, he asked, “Would you like some company?”

I sized him up, letting the moment stretch between us. Up close, he was even more unfairly pretty than I had initially realized. The kind of good looks that felt unintentional – sharp jawline softened by the dim glow of the moon, dark hair tousled like he’d been running his fingers through it absentmindedly. His linen shirt was unbuttoned just enough to make me suspect he had absolutely no concept of the word effort, of trying too hard. He didn’t need to.

But what caught me off guard wasn’t any of that. It was the way he looked at me – like he was curious. Like he wasn’t just offering polite conversation to be nice. Like he actually wanted to be here.

I considered saying no. I didn’t do vacation flings. I didn’t do getting to know beautiful strangers on the beach in the middle of the night. 

But then I thought about how exhausted I was with being practical. About how I had spent the last two years watching Celeste live her life while mine shrank into a series of itineraries and coffee runs.

And then I thought – fuck it.

“Sure,” I said, patting the sand beside me. 

His eyes lit up, and I watched as the corner of his mouth quirked, amused, like he knew I had just fought some internal battle before making my decision. Smug. I should’ve been annoyed, but instead, I found myself biting back a smile. 

He lowered himself onto the sand, stretching his legs out in front of him, leaning back onto his palms like he belonged anywhere he sat. “So,” he said, tilting his head toward me. “Do I get a name?”

“That depends,” I said, glancing at him from the corner of my eye. “Do I?”

His grin widened. “Hyunjin.”

Hyunjin. That name suited him. I let it settle in my mind before offering mine. “Gemma.”

“Gemma,” he repeated, slow and thoughtful, as if testing how it felt on his tongue. Something about the way he said it made my stomach do a weird, annoying flip.

I cleared my throat, gesturing to the flashlight in his hand. “And what’s with the red light, exactly? You planning some kind of secret heist?”

Hyunjin chuckled, holding it up between us. “Nothing that exciting. I heard red light is best to use during turtle hatching season. It doesn’t confuse them like regular flashlights.”

I blinked, caught off guard again. “Wait. You’re telling me you’re out here… searching for baby turtles?”

“Obviously,” he said, like it was the most natural thing in the world. 

I studied him for a long moment. The soft glow of the red light cast shadows across his face, highlighting the sharp curve of his cheekbones, the line of his jaw. I could make out a tiny mole right beneath his eye. “Huh,” I murmured. 

“Huh?” he echoed, arching a brow. 

“I just wouldn’t have guessed ‘turtle enthusiast’ when I first saw you.”

He smirked. “And what would you have guessed?”

“I don’t know,” I mused, pretending to think. “Maybe ‘trust fund kid who collects expensive sneakers and doesn’t know how to do laundry.’”

Hyunjin barked out a laugh, throwing his head back. “You wound me, Gemma,” he said dramatically, hand over his chest. 

“I’m just saying, you’ve got a bit of a look.”

“A look?”

“Yeah. This whole ‘I-woke-up-like-this-and-have-never-worked-a-day-in-my-life’ aesthetic.”

Hyunjin snorted. “Maybe I just have good genetics.”

“Right,” I muttered, shaking my head.

He grinned, studying me in return, as if he was also trying to figure me out. “And you?” he asked, his voice softer now. “What’s your ‘look?’”

I shrugged. “‘Overworked personal assistant in a constant state of existential crisis.’”

He chuckled. “Sounds exhausting.”

“You have no idea.”

For a while, we just sat there, the ocean stretching endlessly before us, waves rolling in and out, the space between us shrinking without either of us moving. 

I should’ve been back in my room. I should’ve been asleep, resting up for another day of playing Celeste’s shadow. But instead, I was on a beach with a boy I didn’t know, watching his red flashlight flicker across the sand. He had this way of looking at me – not quite intense, not quite teasing, but something in between. Something that made me feel like he saw more than I wanted him to.

“So,” I said, tilting my head at him, trying to get my bearings. “What’s a turtle enthusiast like yourself doing here in Italy?”

“Family reunion,” he answered easily, dragging his fingers through the sand. “My grandfather’s Italian. My grandmother’s Korean. They met in Milan, moved to Seoul, had my dad, et cetera et cetera, and now here we are – visiting my dad’s roots.” 

I blinked, surprised. “So you’re like, a quarter Italian?”

“That would be the math, yeah.”

“Huh.” I took a good look at him. The sharp cheekbones, the full lips, the dark features – it all made sense now. “That explains a lot.”

He smirked. “Like what?”

“Like why you look like a Renaissance painting but also like you could headline a K-pop group.”

Hyunjin laughed, loud and unrestrained, and I had the distinct, annoying thought that I might get addicted to the sound.

“Well,” he mused, watching me now with interest, “that would be fitting, considering I’m an artist.”

That made me pause. Artist?

“Oh?” I asked, trying to sound casual. “Like… you paint?”

“Sometimes. But mostly dance.”

Of course he dances. Of course he does.

“Seriously?” I tried to picture it, but the image was way too appealing, so I immediately shut it down. “Like, ballet? Ballroom? Hip-hop?”

“A little bit of everything,” he admitted, running his fingers through his hair, making it even messier than before. “I’m still figuring it out.”

I scoffed before I could stop myself. 

“What?” He turned toward me, amused. 

“Nothing,” I said, a little too fast. 

His eyes narrowed slightly, reading me too easily. “No, tell me.”

I exhaled, giving him a pointed look. “It must be nice.”

“What must be nice?”

“Having the luxury of ‘figuring it out.’”

His expression shifted – just a flicker, a small twitch of his lips, before he smirked like he knew exactly where my mind had gone. “Ah,” he said, nodding slowly. “So that’s what this is about.”

I stiffened. “What what is about?”

“You think I’m some cushy rich kid who gets to float through life with no consequences.”

I opened my mouth to deny it, but… well.

I wasn’t not thinking that.

“Am I wrong?” he teased, tilting his head.

“I just…” I exhaled, fighting the irritation creeping up my spine. “It’s hard not to be jealous of someone who gets to pursue their passions without worrying about, you know… survival.”

Hyunjin hummed, considering this. “So, what’s your passion, then?”

“Writing,” I admitted before I could overthink it. “I want to be a journalist.”

“And instead, you work for…?”

“Celeste Laurent.”

His eyebrows lifted. “The Celeste Laurent?”

“The one and only.”

“Damn.” He let out a low whistle. “That’s intense. No wonder you look like you need a vacation.”

I huffed a laugh. “I wish this was a vacation.”

“I take it your boss is a nightmare?”

“On a scale of one to Satan? She’s at least a solid eight and a half.”

Hyunjin chuckled, but there was something thoughtful in his gaze now. 

“And you think if you grind hard enough, you’ll get your shot?” he asked. 

“That’s the plan,” I said, even though it didn’t sound as convincing out loud as it used to in my head. 

There was a beat of silence. His gaze flickered over to my face, lingering a little longer than necessary. “You should let yourself breathe a little, you know.”

“And do what? Walk the beach with a stranger at midnight?”

“Exactly.” His smirk was entirely too self-satisfied, and before I could think better of it, I reached over and snatched the red flashlight out of his hand. 

“Hey!” he protested, laughing. 

“If you’re going to lecture me, the least you can do is let me use the fun toy,” I said, clicking it on and waving the little red beam across the sand. 

“Fun toy?” he repeated, offended. “This is top-tier turtle conservation technology!”

“Oh, of course. My mistake. I’m honored to be in the presence of such an elite environmentalist.”

“Damn right,” he muttered, but he was grinning. 

His gaze softened then, something fonder, heavier behind it. “You know,” he said, voice a little lower now. “You’re kind of cute when you’re not scowling at me.”

I stiffened, pulse skipping for just a second. “I do not scowl,” I shot back, choosing to focus on that instead of the heat creeping up my neck.

“Mmm.” He tipped his head to the side, considering. “I don’t know, Gemma. I’ve seen a lot of scowling.”

“Well, maybe that says more about you than me.”

“Maybe,” he said easily. “Or maybe I just like seeing you try to hide that you’re enjoying this.”

I turned toward him fully, meeting his gaze head-on. Big mistake.

Because up close, with the moonlight in his eyes and the lazy tilt of his smirk, he was unbelievably handsome.

And he knew it. 

I huffed, handing back his flashlight before I did something stupid, like let myself actually flirt back. “Go find your turtles, Romeo,” I muttered, shaking my head. 

He just grinned, clicking the flashlight on and off and waving it over the sand. “If I find one, you’re naming it.”

Hyunjin suddenly stood up, brushing sand off his pants, then turned to me and offered his hand. “Come on,” he said, palm open, fingers waiting. “Walk with me.”

I raised a skeptical brow. “Why?”

“Because,” he smirked, tilting his head toward the shore, “I know where the turtle nests are. If we’re lucky, we might see some hatching.”

I glanced at the flashlight now clutched in his other hand, the red glow softly illuminating the sand. “You’re really committed to this, huh?”

“Someone’s gotta care about the great turtle births of the Italian coast,” he quipped. “Maybe you can write an article about it. ‘An Exclusive Look at Nature’s Most Underrated Spectacle.’”

I rolled my eyes but couldn’t help the way my lips twitched upward. “That’s a terrible headline.”

“You’re right. Should probably workshop it.” His grin widened. “Walk with me anyway.”

I hesitated, looking at his outstretched hand. 

It would be easy for me to say no. To tell him I was tired, that I had to work tomorrow. That I didn’t have time to go gallivanting through the sand at midnight with a boy who smiled like he was used to getting exactly what he wanted. 

But then I thought about the blank page of my laptop, the way my chest had felt too tight all day, how much I needed something – anything – to remind me why I even wanted to write in the first place. 

And maybe – just maybe – this was it. 

I exhaled, placing my hand in his. 

His fingers curled around mine, warm, steady. 

“Fine,” I muttered. “But if I trip in the dark and die, I’m haunting you forever.”

“I’d expect nothing less,” he said, smirking as he pulled me up. 

We strolled along the beach, the quiet hum of waves filling the spaces between us. Hyunjin kept the red flashlight low, sweeping it gently over the sand, scanning for signs of movement. “So,” he said, glancing at me. “Where’s home for you?”

I hesitated, tucking my hands into the sleeves of my cardigan. “New York. Born and raised.”

“That tracks.”

“What do you mean?” I asked, side-eyeing him. 

“Just that you’ve got that whole no-nonsense city girl thing going for you.”

“And you’ve got the rich boy on vacation trying to ‘find himself’ thing.”

He let out a sharp laugh, head tipping back. “Okay, fair. But for the record, I didn’t come here to find myself. I came because my family basically forced me.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” He sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. “You know how it is – big family, overbearing relatives, everyone wanting you to be something you’re not.”

I huffed. “Oh, I wouldn’t know anything about that.”

He cast me a knowing look. “Right. Your whole life is obviously completely put together.”

“Exactly,” I deadpanned.

Hyunjin chuckled, then kicked at the sand, thoughtful. “I don’t know,” he admitted. “I guess I always thought being an artist would be enough for me, but my family… they don’t really get it.”

“You mean they don’t think art is a real job?”

“Bingo.”

I frowned. Somehow, I had expected his family to be fully supportive – cushy rich kid, endless opportunities. But now, I wasn’t so sure. “I think that’s a universal experience,” I muttered, watching the waves. “Parents being… disappointed in your career choices.”

“Yeah?” he nudged me lightly. “What did yours want you to be?”

“Something stable.” I shrugged. “Doctor, lawyer, something that actually makes money.”

“But you chose journalism.”

“I chose writing,” I corrected. “I just figured journalism was the most practical way to do it.”

He hummed in response, like he understood exactly what I meant. And somehow, that made me feel lighter.

“So what kind of stuff do you want to write?” he asked.

I hesitated. When was the last time someone had actually asked me that?

“I used to want to do investigative pieces,” I admitted. “The kind that actually matter. Exposing corruption, bringing stories to light, making a difference.”

Hyunjin tilted his head. Something about his gaze made me feel… seen. “And now?” he asked, voice softer.

I sighed. “Now I write very professional emails all day and manage the emotional instability of a literary icon.”

“Well, that sounds thrilling.”

“Oh, it’s a dream come true.”

His grin returned, teasing, but his eyes stayed thoughtful. “You should write something,” he said, flipping a shell in the sand with his foot. “Not for work. Just for you.”

“Easier said than done.”

“Maybe,” he said, glancing at me again, “but you don’t seem like someone who gives up that easily.”

The words hit deeper than I wanted them to. I swallowed. Looked away. “Well,” I said, clearing my throat, deflecting, “if I’m ever desperate, at least I know I can write about turtle conservation.”

He chuckled. “Hey, don’t knock it. These guys deserve their time in the spotlight.”

“Right. What would the world do without ‘the great turtle births of the Italian coast?’”

“That’s what I’m saying!”

I laughed, genuinely, fully, for the first time in what felt like forever. 

“Wait –” Hyunjin froze, grabbing my arm gently, stopping me in my tracks. I stilled, heart skipping, but not because of him this time. Because just ahead of us, in the sand, something small was moving.

He crouched down, flicking the red flashlight toward it, his smile slow and spreading. “Looks like you might actually get to name one.”

The movement stopped for a second, then scuttled forward again – but instead of tiny turtle flippers, a pair of long, spindly legs stretched toward the moonlight. A crab.

Hyunjin let out a dramatic sigh, running a hand through his hair. “False alarm.”

“What, are you disappointed?” I teased, nudging his side lightly. 

“I mean, a baby turtle hatching would’ve been a moment, you know?” he said, folding his arms. “This guy’s just… vibing.”

I ignored him, already crouching down, watching as the tiny crab hustled sideways across the sand with impressive determination. “I like him,” I said, smiling despite myself. “He’s got places to be.”

Hyunjin chuckled. “Should we name him, then?”

I thought for a second. “Hmm… he kinda looks like a Bernard.”

“Bernard?”

“Yeah, like… sophisticated. Business crab. Family man.”

Hyunjin grinned. “So you think he’s got a whole life out there?”

“Absolutely.” I nodded. “Wife, kids, a nine-to-five in the seaweed industry. This guy is booked and busy.”

“Damn.” He let out a low whistle. “Respect to Bernard.”

We watched as Bernard scurried toward the waves, disappearing into the foam like a tiny little soldier returning home.

For some reason, it made something in my chest ache.

I cleared my throat and stood, brushing the sand from my hands. When I turned, Hyunjin was already looking at me. Not just looking – watching. The kind of quiet admiration that made my stomach do something stupid. “What?” I asked, raising a brow.

He shook his head, a lazy smile spreading across his face. “Nothing. Just didn’t take you for a crab enthusiast.”

“I contain multitudes.”

“Clearly.”

We stood there for a beat too long – both of us still, the space between us small enough that I could feel the warmth radiating from his skin. He was close enough that I could see the moonlight reflecting in the slight sheen of humidity on his collarbone, the way the night breeze shifted his hair just slightly. Close enough that my gaze drifted to his lips, unbidden, unintentional.

I wondered – for less than a second – what it might be like to kiss him. If he’d be slow about it, teasing, letting it build just to see if I’d get impatient. If he’d take his time, deliberate and confident, the same way he moved, like he already knew the outcome.

The thought startled me, caught me off guard for the third time that night. 

And yet… I didn’t step back. 

Instead, Hyunjin did something worse – he stepped closer.

Not enough to touch, but enough that the air between us felt heavier, charged with something unspoken. 

“I was gonna ask if you wanted to come back for a drink or something,” he murmured, voice smooth, easy, almost teasing. “But now I’m worried that Bernard set the bar too high.”

I barely had time to smirk before my phone rang. 

Loud. Abrasive. Reality slamming between us like a wall.

I jolted, startled by the sound, by how instantly the moment shattered. 

Hyunjin leaned back just slightly, exhaling through his nose, shaking his head with a half-smile like he should’ve expected it. 

I barely glanced at the screen before muttering, “It’s Celeste. I have to go.”

Hyunjin watched me for a second, something unreadable flickering across his face. Then, with a slow nod, he stepped back. “Duty calls,” he said lightly, but the warmth from before had dimmed just slightly. 

I hesitated, phone still buzzing in my hand. Some part of me wanted to stay. 

But instead, I forced a smile, turned on my heel, and started walking back towards the resort – leaving behind the ocean, the moonlight, and the boy with the red flashlight who had almost convinced me to forget everything else.

I power-walked back to my room, cheeks still burning from Hyunjin and his stupid, stupid smirk. The way he looked at me. The way he stepped closer, like he was about to say something that would’ve unraveled me completely. The way I had actually wondered, even for just a second, what kissing him would be like. 

I exhaled sharply, shoving the thought away as I slipped into my suite, pressing my cool fingers to my too-warm face. “Get it together, Parker,” I muttered under my breath.

I crossed the room in three strides, heading straight for the mini bar. I yanked it open, wincing at the overpriced selection before grabbing the first tiny bottle of vodka I could find. 

One sip. Two. I winced again, swallowing hard. Great. Now my face was burning for an entirely different reason.

I collapsed on the edge of the bed, phone still clutched in my hand. I wasn’t sure why I lied to Hyunjin, why I said Celeste was calling when in fact, it was my mother. The missed call sat on my screen, glaring up at me. 

With a sigh, I redialed. It barely rang once before she picked up. 

“Gemmy!” my mom’s voice greeted me, warm and familiar, like home. “I was just about to light a candle for you!”

I smiled, shaking my head. “Hi, Mom. You don’t have to light a candle every time I go on a trip, you know.”

“Excuse me,” she said, feigning offense. “Cleansing your energy is very important, missy. You’re surrounded by wealthy people and entitled egos – you don’t want that energy leeching onto you.”

“Too late for that,” I muttered, rubbing my temple.

“How’s Italy?” she asked, genuinely excited. “Did you see anything amazing yet? How’s Celeste? Any existential breakdowns yet?”

I huffed a small laugh. “So far, she’s only at one minor tantrum and two unnecessarily dramatic monologues, so we’re pacing ourselves.”

“That’s actually impressive restraint for her.”

“Right? I think the Negronis are helping.”

Mom laughed, and for a moment, I felt the tension in my shoulders ease. 

“Tell me everything,” she said. “What’s the resort like?”

I leaned back against the pillows, closing my eyes. “It’s… surreal. It’s exactly the kind of place people like Celeste thrive in – stupidly luxurious, way too polished, the kind of resort where they manufacture the atmosphere to make you feel like your life is perfect.”

“And is it working?”

I hesitated. Because honestly? I hadn’t let myself enjoy it. Not really.

But then I thought about Hyunjin and the way the moon reflected in his eyes, the sound of his laugh against the ocean, the way he looked at me like he was actually interested in what I had to say. 

And okay, maybe for a second, I had let myself enjoy it.

“It’s… nice,” I admitted, “in a fantasy sort of way.”

“Mmm, I hear something in your voice.” 

Her sing-song tone made me roll my eyes. “Here we go.”

“Gemmy,” Mom said knowingly, “are you getting into trouble?”

“Not yet,” I said, but I didn’t sound convincing.

“You met someone.”

I groaned. “How do you know that?”

“I’m your mother, that’s how. And also, my tarot reading this morning said something about unexpected romantic entanglements, so spill.”

I sighed, knowing she wouldn’t let it go. “It’s not a thing, okay? I met a guy. He’s… interesting.”

“Interesting how?”

“Korean-Italian. Stupidly good-looking. Too charming for his own good.”

“Oooooh, Gemma!”

“Don’t ‘ooooh, Gemma’ me.”

“Sweetheart, I have never heard you call a man ‘stupidly good-looking’ before. This is a milestone.”

“Oh my god.” I pressed a palm to my forehead. “I shouldn’t have said anything.”

“Too late!” She sing-songed again. “So, what’s his deal?”

“Aspiring artist. Dancer. Rich family. They’re here for some big reunion, reconnecting with their Italian roots or whatever.”

“A rich artist? Oh, honey, that’s a dangerous combination.”

“Tell me about it,” I muttered. 

“But?”

I hesitated again. 

Because despite every single reason I should keep my distance, I really liked talking to him. 

More than that – I related to him. Sure, he had the luxury of financial freedom, but he still had pressure. Expectations. The fear of not being good enough. And that wasn’t something I could talk to a lot of people about.

“But…” I exhaled. “I don’t know. It’s nothing. Just a conversation on the beach.”

“Mmm. Still, I wouldn’t ignore it.”

“You think this is fate or something?”

“I think this trip is going to be big for you,” Mom said, suddenly serious. “I feel it.”

“You always say that.”

“And I’m never wrong.”

I sighed, but I couldn’t help but smile. Because as much as my mom drove me crazy sometimes, she was always reliably my mom.

She had been through so much – losing Dad when I was thirteen, struggling through her own mental health crisis after that, working jobs she hated just to make sure I never went without. 

And now, she was stronger, softer in a way she never used to be. She had her spirituality, her tarot cards, her sage-burning rituals, and full-moon intentions. 

And she had me.

“Well,” I said, pulling the blankets up around me, “we’ll see what happens.”

“Just don’t get too distracted,” Mom warned, but not unkindly. “Celeste still needs your attention.”

“Trust me, that’s never in danger.”

“Good. Now get some rest. You have a big week ahead of you.”

I nodded, letting my eyes droop. “Love you, Mom.”

“Love you more, sweet girl.”

I hung up, exhaling slowly, my mind still racing. Maybe Mom was right. Maybe something was coming. 

I just didn’t know if I was ready for it. 

I stared at the ceiling, begging my mind to quiet down. Because no matter how much I tried to push it away, I kept thinking about him. Hyunjin. His smirk, his smile, the way he watched me like I was something worth paying attention to. The way he had stepped closer, the space between us narrowing like something inevitable.

And, of course, his damn red flashlight. 

I sighed, tossing my phone onto the bed, then stood and shuffled toward the bathroom, rubbing my face to cool the warmth still lingering on my cheeks. A quick, half-hearted skincare routine. A long sip of water. Then I brushed my teeth and slipped into the softest, most unremarkable sleep shirt I owned. By the time I climbed into bed, I did what any rational person would do. 

I grabbed my phone and googled: ‘Sea turtles in the Mediterranean.’

Great. Now I was committed to this, too.

I tapped the first article that popped up. Something about nesting habits, hatching seasons, conservation efforts. 

‘Sea turtles have an extraordinary ability to return to the beaches where they were born, guided by the Earth’s magnetic field – a phenomenon known as natal homing.’

I frowned, rereading that line. Returning to where they were born. Following some invisible pull in the sand, like they already knew where they were meant to go. 

Lucky them.

My eyes flicked to the red light of my charging cable, and for some reason, I imagined it flickering across the beach. Imagined Hyunjin, walking alone in the dark, scanning the sand, completely content in his own little world. 

I sighed. Ridiculous.

And yet, as I curled into my pillow, letting the words on my screen blur, I couldn’t shake the feeling that maybe I’d met him for a reason. Maybe Mom was right, maybe something was coming. 

But that was tomorrow’s problem. 

Tonight, I let my phone slip from my fingers, my eyelids heavy, the glow of the screen fading as sleep pulled me under.

[thomasthetankieengine]

"If you REALLY think about it, Trump's plan to turn Gaza into a luxury resort (by almost implicitly ethnically cleansing the Palestinians) is literally EXACTLY just the same thing as Liberal Zionists, which I mean anyone who supports two state solution. I know this is true because of some quotes from David Ben Gurion from 70+ years ago."

It's nice to see, though, that hyperions-fate has yet to explain why he believes David Ben-Gurion's racist nationalism and ordering of ethnic cleansings are somehow wholly different and worse than those of Grigori Zass, Miloš Obrenović, Otto von Bismarck, Enver Pasha, Yusuf Kemal Bey, Faisal I of Iraq, Bakr Sidqi al-Askari, or Mustafa Kemal Atatürk. Or, for that matter, tamamita's dearly beloved Joseph Stalin.

While hyperion loves to babble about how "he must criticize the actions of states supported by the UK first" or some other such bullshit, I suspect the real reason is that he has already made up his mind ahead of time and doesn't want to be confused with facts.

That or he simply does not want to admit that the very idea of nation-state necessitates cultural genocide at minimum.

Finally, cheering on the Bund while also making posts about how cool the Soviet Union is ... definitely a choice, considering that the Bund was forcibly disbanded by the Soviets in 1921 and how many former Bundists fell victim to political purges in the 1930s.