#but it's not working and this is getting really frustrating

[dilfosaur]

well i haven't spilled my guts on tumblr since i was in college but it's the platform that's felt The Most Mine thru the years, so

let's talk!

i've had a huge chip on my shoulder that i wanted off before the year ends. very bad professional experience to follow

so firstly to get ahead of the speculating, i'm not naming names or anything. some of you will puzzle out who i'm talking about, but please don't bother anyone especially not on my behalf. i've worked hard to distance myself from them the past few months. shit happens, especially when you're a dumb bitch (that's me!)

but also this person was someone i considered a close friend and it makes me uneasy to possibly direct backlash at them. "then why post about it" bc i did intermittent work for them for over a year. this is just about that. so hear me out

basically it started off fine. i initially did some commission work for good pay, then was invited to become more involved with their team. unfortunately as i became more involved with their operation it became more disorganized over time. projects started then forgotten, constantly shifting schedules, lapsing communication between roles, confusing financials, and often inconsistent if not late payments. during mid 2023 i was doing colorist work, sometimes on a one day turnaround (all while also preparing drawfee's summer merch launch). the payroll wasn't set up correctly so i wasn't paid for that work for over a year (more on that later), tho to be fair that was largely my own fault at first as i just didnt realize the payments didn't go thru lol

i always consider myself decently capable of separating friendship and coworker-ship; i run a company with 4 wonderful friends, going strong for almost 5 years. that didn't really work out in this case. by early this year our friendship was on the rocks; work issues fed into personal issues and vice versa. so as the rest of this shit plays out, we had just had our first "big fight" which i felt very bad about and added to all the upcoming tension

a huge point of friction was the fact that i really wanted to work with them to make a music video for one of their songs. i've always wanted a chance to make a music video, was confident in a concept i came up with, and even did some concept art for the idea. everyone insisted they loved the concept and that we should do it, but we kept pushing it back for various reasons. it ended up becoming a huge sticking point for my frustrations, which i tried to express productively. TLDR, we eventually got around to discussing it seriously around april.

i planned to ask for $4000 with negotiable add-on for the whole project, which was my Friend Discount price. i was offered a contract for $1000 flat rate, as they insisted that was the only budget they had for it.

don't ask me why i signed it lol. i didn't even counter offer

there was some girlmath to it: i wanted an extra 1k for a student scholarship i provide every spring and well, there it was. but if i had to guess, i saw it as something i just couldn't back down from any more. i caused these folks- my friends- a lot of problems bc i dug my heels in so deep to chase this project, so fuck it we ball

i had about 4 months to solo a 3 minute music video. they wanted it done in august so they could release it before summer ended, bc "it was a summer song". to be fair i was asked if i needed them to pay for anything extra like assistants (which i would have to find and manage) but i was so immediately overwhelmed that i didn't wanna slow down to wait on that process lol. there was very minimal communication other than brief progress check-ins every few weeks. i did everything for that project myself: the original concept, character designs, storyboards, layouts, backgrounds. i even did the editing/compositing for the final cut of the MV. the only favor i did myself was limiting the amount of it that was actually animated to simple loops and motions. hardly my best work but it was work still done

i did it all in between my full time job. i ended up having to take nearly a month away from most of my drawfee duties (with the support of the others) to make the august deadline. i only ever asked for a 3 day extension (notice given about a week in advance, around the same time i was given the final song file lol). i finished the music video at 6am on the final deadline and recorded drawfee the next day on 2 hours of sleep

but it was done, coolies. the team was very happy with the final product. honestly, without getting into it, those were a very emotionally taxing 4 months. on the professional side, i regretted agreeing to the project and especially for the dogshit rate they offered. i felt like a hypocrite- as someone who always wanted to advocate for younger artists demanding their worth in a world that's getting increasingly hostile toward creatives, i failed myself

so when i met with the manager to discuss the release plan, i told them to do whatever worked best for them as i only had one request: i wanted my credit removed from the project

tbh... like... lmao this dramatic bitch right!! but really, i decided that bad practices only breed worse business. friends or not, it was unprofessional of me to accept such a low paying job so i just didn't want my name used in association. everything felt so muddled to me and i was just really tired at this point

the manager was very understanding and then offered that i could be paid more. they said that their team "was surprised" i accepted their low rate and they would be happy to up the amount. this confused me as the initial budget seemed pretty set and at no point between april and august was i offered a better rate. i knew these guys weren't made of money. so, i declined. i didn't want to put anyone out of their means over work that was already done and agreed upon. but more importantly, i was over the whole thing and didn't want to prolong the project with a contract renegotiation. i just insisted my name be removed

they decided to use a pseudonym (which i was fine with) so they could create a story about a character who made the MV (this sounds really convoluted but i don't know how better to put it without getting specific, sorry). that way if people asked about the credit, they could speak comfortably about it without signaling that something went wrong behind the scenes. ok, kind of a silly narrative imo but whatevs. and maybe this is where i finally went truly wrong but. yolo i guess

i gave the name "D. Smithee", D as in dilfosaur and Smithee as in Alan Smithee. look it up for fun film trivia ig! was it passive aggressive of me to reference that in this context? yeah, honestly. but i thought it was kinda funny and really not that deep. if it was a problem, i have other real, non-cheeky pseudonyms i regularly use. the manager accepted it and all i had to do was wait for them to post the video and i could leave the whole experience behind me

a week later i received a message from the manager that my pseudonym had been denied by the rest of the team bc one of them got the reference. fair enough lol. however, they decided that rather than ask for a different name, the were going to make one up for me that they liked and would "fit the [story]", without asking me

and that! is when i finally snapped!

i was so tired of giving them concessions at this point and having a credit made up for me without any input from me felt genuinely violating and unethical. i started to Panic bc of how stressed i was, and asked for my overdue payments (aka the $500 still owed on the MV, and the colorist rate from a year prior that was never paid even tho i reported it in january) to be scheduled ASAP as i was leaving the work discord immediately

i finally told them off for exploiting me throughout the months while i kept trying to just be nice and finish my contact cleanly. in return i was told that it was unfair to say that as i agreed to everything- i accepted their cheap rate and denied further payment so that was all settled, and it was ok to change my credit without my consent bc i "said they could do whatever with the release". i called bullshit, ended the convo as kindly as i could, and cried lol. they agreed to ditch the pseudonym and just give no credit. that night was the last i heard from anyone on that team

and the real kicker?

august came and went. then september, october... and they never released the music video

and i don't know why, because i was never contacted about it. i've been removed from the picture entirely i guess. 4 months and boatloads of stress. just. up in smoke. i don't know what i expected honestly

it's hard to not take everything that happened personally and as done in bad faith. i really do, honestly. i've had plenty of shitty deals in my almost 10 year art career, but it hits different from people you saw as friends. but to the point of "why not keep it private", i have never felt so disrespected as a professional as i did this past year. i can toy with money and credits and other formalities all i want, but my work- my ideas, my labor, my effort- is still so important to me. i felt like the biggest idiot for doing so much work, pouring so much of myself into a piece for someone's use, for what has amounted to nothing

but more importantly i hated myself for undervaluing my work, even if initially i thought this person was a trusted friend. money is not really an issue for me- drawfee is my main job and i am fine and comfortable. it's so important to pay artists appropriately but i often undersell my own work bc i value the collaboration and passion between creatives more than the reward. i think a lot of artists tend to feel the same, and it often makes us easy to take advantage of. it's so difficult to find the balance between passion and making a fair living, and i think there's some shame within ourselves when artists choose to prioritize that passion

i wanted to finally get all this off my chest bc i was ashamed of every choice i made. things like this happen all the time i'm sure and hiding these mistakes only make it easier for it to happen to other people

tldr always value your work and protect your passion from people who just see it as a product. and don't give cheeky pseudonyms i guess lol

(and again pls don't bother anyone involved about this. a lot of chaos has left my life as i moved past all this, and this is me closing a door without opening new ones hopefully lol)

this shit was truly

so ass.

but i'm moving past it now

but on a nicer note. outside of all of this nonsense, i made lots of good memories this year. i'm truly so grateful to the many wonderful people in my life who keep me going even when i fuck up big time!

and thank you to all of you strangers who, despite everything, give me the time of day. especially if you read this whole thing. you're a real one :')

happy new year!

[palmerzy]

spencer reid & cumming in his pants? 🥺

i got you anon ‼️ my faaave concept. he’s just so fuckin adorable isn’t he??

NSFW! - explicit sexual themes. slight mention of perv!spencer.

the first time it happened, you weren’t even together yet, and spencer felt like nothing less than a pervert. he couldn’t help it, though, watching as your plump lips wrapped delicately around the fruit flavoured ice pole, using it to cool yourself down in the blasting heat. jj was telling you the facts of the case, a missing person, a pattern of bodies showing up an exact amount of days after each person went missing, gruesome, gory, and necessary to solve in quick time.

every word being said should have encouraged spencer to get up from his seat, where he once was marking a map with possible hideout locations and actually get on with his work, but by then he was just gawking at you. any blood in his body ran south, straight to his cock, and he could feel it twitch in his trousers when you circled your tongue around the tip of the ice pole, nodding along to jj’s words.

when you separated from jj, unaware of spencer’s watchful gaze as you fully wrapped your lips around the pole, hollowing your cheeks to gather the flavour, he couldn’t keep it in. he’d been hard for at least ten minutes by that point, every jostle of his cock in his boxers driving him closer to the edge. he’d bitten down harshly on his fist, pretending to just be frustrated with the case, yet he knew the reality of it. he knew he’d tainted his boxers with his come, spurting over himself as he watched you, watched your rosy lips pull off of the ice, a string of saliva connecting the two. he knew then that he would come again if he wasn’t careful, and he made haste to excuse himself to the bathroom.

the next time was your first time together, with you on top of him, straddling his thighs on his couch after one too many drinks at the bar. your hips moved too perfectly against his crotch, and he swore he could feel the curves of your slit right against his cock with every movement you made.

he’d tried his damn hardest that day, he really had. he knew he wanted to come inside of you, and he didn’t want to make a fool of himself - but how could he hold back? not when you were on top of him like that, your breathy moans filling the space as your tongue plunged hungrily down his throat. all it took was one perfect swipe of your hips for him to whimper against your mouth, large hands tangling in your hair and gripping at your thigh, stilling you as he came, all to prematurely, and all to obviously.

his pants darkened at the spot immediately, as did your gaze. the knowledge that you’d made poor little spencer reid come in his pants simply spurred you on further; and he’s not sure he’d ever orgasmed as many times as he did that night.

it’s not too regular of an occurrence, his stamina has gotten better since being with you, but sometimes you look just a little too good, and he hasn’t had you in too long. he’ll find himself at his desk, gripping the edge tightly whilst he watches you type away at your computer, your arms pressed against your chest in the way that gives him an overwhelmingly appealing view of your cleavage, and before long he’s running off to the bathroom, desperately telling himself not to come right now.

other times spencer’s all alone at home, you’re busy with friends or family, and all he can do to ease the ache is rut against his pillow, specifically the one you use when you sleep there, his hips twitching as he paints the front of his plaid pyjama bottoms with the remnants of his need for you.

thank you for requesting!

[sammys-stuffs]

This. As someone who "toughs out" GMing regularly the current state of online DND culture has made me consider quitting multiple times. It rewards a lot of problem players and behavior. I'm really patient as a DM and have helped a couple people get into the game for the first time. But there've been multiple times where "but I saw this on [platform], I thought we were meant to be having 'fun' here" getting used to justify some really shitty behavior that's made me just want to pack it in.

At least we seem to have mostly passed by the super sexual (at times super rapey) culture that was in DND memes for a hot minute back then. Seducing the dragon is funny and all but some people took it way too far.

I guess the frustrating part is players turning up wanting to play as a good person but enacting schemes and cons of horrible people and then being shocked at the possibility of in universe consequences.

I love the channel but I think Jocat's a crap guide to DnD GMing video takes a lot of this up and kind of lead to this current state of dnd. It tries to lay out an even handed "middle ground" compromise, but sometimes a compromise like that doesn't work at every table. Sometimes, not taking things seriously just makes you an asshole, full stop.

D&D 5e supposedly has a GM shortage and idk maybe if the player culture of the game didn't treat GMing as a thankless job and the rules of the game as an issue to be fixed by the GM maybe things would be better. Ah well, who knows. Maybe a couple hundred more "we ruined the GM's campaign on purpose" memes will make people enjoy running the game better.

[4milly]

mws - jey uso.

parings: jey uso x black!reader

warnings: smut, cursing, arguing, use of n word, car sex, unprotected sex, my man, my girl, but not my man or my girl trope, praise kink, talking you through it lawd,

the message made you roll your eyes so hard you thought they might've got stuck.

“this man really called me a crybaby,” you muttered under your breath, already feeling your annoyance bubbling up.

from the day he set foot into your life, all he did was keep up with the dramatics. being extra and shit about any ole thing. this time? he was irritated about you still following your ex on instagram. fed up with the conversation, you blocked him. he could send novels to your messages by himself.

mind you, it was jey who decided not to be official yet. he was a busy man, and you respected that. being on the road damn near everyday out the year was taxing; trying to be in a relationship wouldn't work. but he couldn't let go of you.

you sighed so deep you swore your soul left your body for a hot minute. this man really had the audacity to pull up unannounced, acting like you were the problem. you peeped out the window and sure enough, there was his black range rover parked across the street, engine still running.

"lord give me strength," you mumbled, huffing and flopping on the couch. slipping on your hot pink ugg slides and grabbing your keys. just as you were about to close your eyes and pretend you ain't see shit, jey layed on his horn.

you weren't about to let the neighbors get a show, so you stepped outside, locking the door behind you. you knew how exaggerated jey could be; if he didn't get his way, no doubt he'd blow his horn all night to get your attention. and at this time of night? you'd be out by morning.

the passenger seat of jey's car flung open before you could hit the side walk. you quickly got in, slamming the door behind you, "how many times did your mama drop you as a fucking baby? are you crazy? blowing your horn and shit? what if someone called the po—"

"mane, ion give one fuck 'bout that shit. you got me fucked up." he seethed throwing his hands in the air.

you rolled your eyes again, matching his frustration,"I got you fucked up? Nah, you got me fucked up. you really pulled up to my place at 2am over what? some likes?"

jey's grip on the steering wheel tightened, his knuckles turning white, "so you fuckin' him again? thats whatchu' on now, mama? fuck outta here 'bout some likes and shit. how you think i feel? seein' another motherfucka all under yo pictures leaving heart eyes?"

your head snapped backwards in disbelief, "that's rich coming from you! how many bitches under your pictures, jey? where's my phone at? let me go count em'."

"i aint responding back with no fuckin' hearts and shit tho! thats the shit im talkin' bout!"

the tension in the car was thick enough to cut with a knife. jey's eyes were fixed on the road ahead, but you could see the storm brewing behind them. you knew this man well enough to know his blood was boiling.

your jaw dropped, heat rising to your cheeks. "excuse me? y'know what? you wanna talk about crybaby shit? how about you mad as fuck right now going through my page to find something? you're throwing a whole ass tantrum over a follow!"

"and you blocked me right? but, you can't block that motherfucka tho? thats some bullshit and you know it!" jey spat, his jaw clenched. honestly? he didn't even know what he was more mad it. you blocking him, still following your ex, liking each other's post, or you coming out the house in those little ass shorts.

was he terrible for being upset at all 4?

it irked something inside of him. you weren't his girl...yet. but still, it's a respect issue. he knew he was yours, and unless you forgot, you knew you were his. there wasn't room for anybody else no matter what you thought.

"oh, so now you wanna act brand new? like you ain't been doing the same shit?" you snapped, pulling out your phone. "let's see…tiffany, amber, and how many other people—all up in your comments 'lord he could get it.' 'till the room stinks.' 'till the earth-fuckin'-quakes.' but I'm the problem?"

jey snatched the phone from your hand, tossing it in the backseat. "don't flip this stupid shit on me. so thats what this is? yo crybaby ass wanted to get back at me, so you followed his ass again? all up in his business for what? ian texting you back fast enough or sum?"

you were fuming, everything about him grating on your nerves. you were so over it, over him acting like you were the one causing problems when he was just as messy.

part of jey knew he was being petty, but it didn’t stop the heat rising in his veins. he hated seeing you follow your ex, hated the way you acted like he was the only one with a damn problem.

"i ain't competing with nobody, especially not for a man who can't even claim me. you think you deserve me why?"

"you want me to claim you? ight. c'mere." jey growled before crashing his lips into yours.

your protest was muffled against jey's lips as he kissed you fiercely, one hand gripping the back of your neck and the other gripping the front. his tongue demanded entry. the kiss was everything the argument was. rough and fiery.

"get inna back," he growled, breaking the kiss to undo his belt buckle, "you ain't hear me? now."

you hesitated for a moment, torn between desire and indecisiveness. part of you wanted to get out the car and leave him here, but the smoldering look in his eyes made the decision for you. you scrambled over the center console, your shorts riding up as you climbed into the backseat.

jey followed, his muscular frame towering over you. "been turnt wit' my ass all fuckin' morning. yo crybaby ass. you wanted this shit too. and you better take it all, none of that runnin' shit."

his large hands gripped your thighs, spreading them wide. he hooked his fingers into the waistband of your shorts, yanking them down along with your panties in one swift motion.

he tossed your shorts in the front, before shoving your panties into your mouth, "pretty ass. just wanted to get yo pussy ate didn't you, mama."

he slid down your body, kissing his way across your chest to your stomach until he rested between your thighs.

his large hands gripped your plush thighs, pulling you towards his mouth. he instantly sucked your throbbing bud into his mouth. you let out a muffled gasp before arching your back upwards.

"you taste so fuckin' good, mama. love tastin' her ass. wish you stop talkin' so damn much," he groaned out into the air.

his tongue worked magic, flicking and swirling around your most sensitive spots. you squirmed against the leather seats, muffled moans escaping around the fabric in your mouth.

the noises you made as his tongue swirled your swollen clit, locking your fingers into his thick hair, wanting to grind against his hot tongue but he was a step ahead—pinning you down with his arms.

jey alternated between long, slow licks and quick flicks of his tongue, building you higher and higher. just when you thought you couldn't take anymore, he slid two thick fingers inside you, curling them to hit that spongy spot inside of you.

he doubled his efforts, sucking hard on your clit as his fingers pumped relentlessly. the dual sensation was overwhelming, and within moments you were trembling on the edge of release.

his wet muscle sliding into your awaiting hole, fucking you with it was enough to send you over. you came with a muffled scream, your body shaking as waves of ecstasy crashed over you.

your body thrashed around the seats to escape from his mouth, "let me goooo," you let out a muffle whine, barely even comprehensive.

you pushed at his arms around your waist. jey had an end goal; he wasn't going to let you leave that damn car till his point was proven. you were his.

his girl.

that instagram following shit? it was over tonight. and he was gonna make the clear anyway he could...or had to.

he licked your pussy clean as more juices erupted from your pussy, giving him something to drink on. you were going crazy. you couldn't thrashing away from him, unable to remain still as pleasure hit your body in waves. your lower half worked against the strokes of his fingers; riding them into oblivion. your juices continuously flowing down into his mouth like a waterfall.

but with his dick getting hard? watching you attempt to push him away with tears in your eyes? no-one was leaving this car anytime soon.

you came with a muffled scream, your body shaking as waves of ecstasy crashed over you, "lil’ angry ass...get it all out, baby," he pressed his tongue flat against your pussy causing your body to shutter and gush into his mouth.

"c'mere. crybaby ass just needed some dick, so move it. lemme see how much you want it," he laid against the seat, pulling your arms to move you on-top of him.

his strong hands gripped your hips, positioning you over his thick length. you could feel the heat radiating off him, his dick twitching against your inner thigh. jey's eyes locked with yours, intense and hungry, "take whatchu' need from me, baby."

you reached between you, taking his girth into your small hand. you positioned him at your entrance and slowly eased down onto him. a small whimper left your throat as he pushed his dick into your warm heat in a swift movement.

"ride me, mama. show me how much you want this dick," he encouraged before locking his arms around your waist. the burn of his dick stretching your walls long gone by now.

no-one was stupid. had any of your neighbors looked out the window, they knew exactly what was going on. the car rocking up and down, from him slamming your hips onto him, and the fog clouding the windows. you could draw your name on it.

"faster, baby." he demanded, bucking his hips up to meet yours. tears pooled at your eyes even though you obliged, picking up the pace. the car filled with the sounds of your moans and the slap of skin on skin. jey's hands slid down to grip your ass, helping you bounce on him.

your thighs burned as you rode him harder, desperate for release. jey's fingers dug into the soft flesh of your ass, guiding your movements. the car rocked with each thrust, the windows completely fogged over now. his dick kissing your cervix with each thrust. your wetness drenched his dick, making him slide in and out so easy.

your pussy started to twitch, as his dick massaged your walls, continuously bouncing in his lap, making his dick kiss your cervix, and making note to squeeze when you reached his tip.

suddenly, he wrapped his arms around your waist, locking you in place. "my turn," he growled before locking his arms around your lower back stilling your movements.

tears began to stain your cheeks from the overwhelming pleasure. with your bodies pressed together, jey began to ride you from the bottom. your eyes rolled into the back of your head as your pussy fluttered around him. a smirk plastered across his face, he felt your pussy clenching around him. he knew he had you right where he wanted you.

"so damn pretty on top of me. you mines, right?," he cooed, his hips never stopping their relentless pace. he reached up to pull your panties from your mouth. you through your head back, letting out a loud cry to the roof of the car, "you mines, ain't you? say it."

you could barely form words, lost in the sensation of him riding you from the bottom. "i-i'm yours," you managed to gasp out between thrusts.

the sight of jey's dick coated in a white sheer layer made his head spin, "say that shit louder, baby. let everyone know who fuckin' you right now."

"i'm yours!" you moaned out. a smirk plastered over his face before pulling you to him by the back of your neck into a searing kiss, "i'm yours, too."

he was losing himself under you, his strokes were becoming erratic. the sensation sending the coil in your belly overboard. you creamed all over his thickness, clamping down on him. the move triggering his own release.

he gripped your ass, his hips bucking upwards, emptying ropes and ropes of his cum deep inside of you—filling you to the brim with his seed. you both swallowed each other's moans. the moment was...new. you had an unanswered question in the air.

but either way? you both knew you only had eachother.

ᰔ:

@caramelcleopatraa @harmshake @msbigredmachine @luvrsluxe @uceyliyahh @angiedawn02 @amandairene88 @cyberdejos2 @queeny23 @empressdede @trentybenty @heauxvibez @whatdoeseverybodywant @shes2real @romansthrone @acknowledge-reigns @southerngirl41 @prettyfilmz @jaza23

don’t forget to like and reblog! leave me a comment also. i love reading those. xoxo, cleo🩷.

[ktownshizzle]

A Christmas Encore | Part 1 of 2

✎ ˎˊ˗ Pairing: Min Yoongi x female reader

✎ ˎˊ˗ Summary: You never thought you’d see Min Yoongi again, not in this lifetime, not in this place. He left years ago with big dreams and bigger talent, trading snow-covered Seollim Hollow for the city lights of Seoul. But now, with the cultural center—the heart of your hometown—on the verge of being sold to a soulless corporation, you’ll do anything to save it.

When Yoongi appears on your doorstep, it feels like a miracle wrapped in regret. But as the two of you work together to save the center, old promises resurface, along with feelings you thought you’d left behind. Can you trust someone who was never meant to stay? Or will you just get hurt again?

✎ ˎˊ˗ Genre: Childhood Friends to Kinda Lovers to Kinda Strangers to Friends to Lovers (WHAT?! Yeah I got dizzy too) Second chances basically, Fluff, Smut, Mild Angst, Very Hallmark

✎ ˎˊ˗ Warnings: MINORS DNI 18+ only. Cheesy sometimes theatrical dialogue (just roll with it please), christmas cliches, virgin and vanilla sex (written in flashback scene), penetrative sex (wrap it before you tap it), reader is in an FWB arrangement with a different male character, a couple of cute kisses, yoongi’s a little messy (thinks you have a boyfriend, but flirts with you anyways), lots of pining and yearning but MC is still a baddie who is fighting capitalism, Maknae line are here

✎ ˎˊ˗ Word count: 11k (i knowww. 😬 That's why i’ve broken it in 2 parts)

✎ ˎˊ˗ Posting Date: December 28, 2024

✎ ˎˊ˗ Notes: Hello ho ho. We are back with another Ginger Yoongi fic, because I lub him 🧡 If you’ve read the teaser, I added one significant line here which I placed in boldface. Flashbacks are in italics. Hope you are enjoying your holidays! :)

Part One | Part Two | Masterlist

Part of A Holly, Jolly Holiday with Min Yun-Kay collab with @yooglefics

The air in Seollim Hollow’s town hall is colder than the streets outside, though snow has been falling all day. You stand stiffly in front of Mr. Choi’s desk, your arms crossed tightly over your chest as you try to keep the trembling in your hands at bay. Mr. Choi, the man who holds the fate of the cultural center in his grasp, leans back in his chair, his gaze apologetic but firm.

“I didn’t want it to come to this,” he says, his tone measured, almost regretful. “You have to understand, the town needs this money. We’ve been running on fumes for years, and this offer… it’s more than we could have ever hoped for.”

“Fuck money!” You slam your hand on his desk, voice thick with frustration. “You know what that center means to this town. It’s not just a building—it’s where the kids go after school, where the seniors quilt their memories together, where people connect in ways they can’t anywhere else. Without it, Seollim Hollow loses a part of itself.”

Mr. Choi’s expression softens for a moment. “I know,” he says quietly, leaning forward now, his elbows resting on the desk. “I really do. That’s why this decision wasn’t easy. But this isn’t just about sentimentality. The town’s been struggling, and we can’t keep running on good intentions alone. The offer they’ve made—it’s more money than we’ve seen in years. It’s enough to keep us afloat.”

“By selling our soul to a corporation,” you counter bitterly, your grip tightening on the edge of his desk. “By tearing apart the heart of this town.”

“It’s not personal,” he replies softly, though his tone carries the weight of his own conflict. “It’s not easy, either. I’m just trying to do what’s best for the town.”

“What if…” you blurt out, the words tumbling out before you’ve even thought them through. “What if I can find the money to match their offer? Would you give me the chance to save it?”

“Do you know how much they’re offering?”

“Tell me.”

He rattles off a number, and–shit–your heart sinks. It’s worse than you imagined, the kind of figure that feels impossible. 

Mr. Choi’s voice softens. “It’s a lot, I know. And honestly, I don’t think it’s fair to put this on you. But if you’re serious, and you think you can do it… I’ll give you two months. Two months to pull it together. If you can match the offer, I’ll bring it to the council.”

His gaze is steady, earnest. You can tell he doesn’t believe you’ll succeed, but there’s a quiet sincerity in his voice, like he wants to give you the chance, even if it’s a long shot.

You nod, jaw tight, and push away from his desk. “I’ll do it,” you say firmly, even as your stomach churns.

“The buyer’s representative will be in town soon to finalize details,” Mr. Choi says, shuffling papers. “They’ve been… persistent.” He hesitates before looking at you with a grimace. “I just hope they’re as reasonable as they seem.”

As you turn to leave, his voice stops you. “For what it’s worth,” he says softly, “I hope you succeed.”

The cultural center feels like a refuge as you step inside, shaking snow from your boots. You let out a breath you didn’t realize you were holding and make your way to the meeting room where the rest of the team is waiting.

Everyone is already bundled up in their winter layers, scarves and hats still clinging to stray flakes of snow. They sit around the table, faces ranging from cautious to hopeful. These people are the lifeblood of this place—they’ve poured countless hours into keeping the cultural center alive and making the people feel the same way through music, sports, and art.

There’s Jungkook, a pitch-perfect singer whose natural talent and boundless energy makes every day a little brighter, his enthusiasm infectious even on the hardest days.

There’s Jimin, a former ballerina whose grace and dedication to dance and sports inspire everyone to push a little harder, his charm and easy warmth a constant source of comfort.

And there’s Taehyung, an artist with a quiet yet magnetic presence, his creative soul always dreaming up murals, community projects, and ways to make the town a little more beautiful.

Oh, and between the three of them, their face card never declines. 

With their immense talent, killer looks, and hearts of gold, you couldn’t ask for a better group of soldiers to see you through this ordeal.

You take a deep breath and face them. “Alright,” you say, and your voice is steady this time. “We’ve got two months to save this place. That’s it. We need to raise enough money to match the offer from the corporation, or it’s gone. We can do this, but it’s going to take everything we’ve got.”

“How much is the offer?” Taehyung asks hesitantly.

You tell them, and a ripple of gasps moves through the room. It’s a huge number. Maybe impossible. But it’s not completely out of reach.

“We’re going to hold a benefit concert,” you say. “A big one. Something that’ll get the entire town involved. We’ll sell tickets, get sponsors, take donations—whatever it takes. This can work. It has to work.”

Ideas fly around the room. Jungkook says the children’s choir he conducts can perform. Taehyung lists a couple of local baker-artisans that can organize a bake sale, and he volunteers to start a website so they can accept online orders. There’s a spark of energy in the air, cautious but real, and it makes you feel like maybe, just maybe, this isn’t impossible.

“Do you think this will be enough?” Jimin asks as he surmises all the ideas he’s scribbled on the whiteboard.

Silence falls over the group. They’re looking at you, waiting for a solution you don’t have yet. You force a smile and say, “Don’t worry. I’ll figure it out.”

The meeting wraps up, and the others file out, leaving you alone in your office.

You stay through the night thinking of ways to make this work. You sit at your desk, scribbling a to-do list, chewing on the end of your pen. Next, you’re drawing up budgets, listing contacts. God this is a fuckin’ mess. You’ve made a promise to your team, but the cracks in it are already starting to show.

Then, you hear a shuffle of footsteps outside your office and freeze. It’s late. Too late for anyone to still be here. Shit.

You should’ve locked up when the boys left earlier. Too late now.

Your pulse kicks up as you glance at the coat rack in the corner, grabbing the old baseball bat you keep propped against it. You stand, holding the bat tightly in both hands as you approach the door.

“Hello?” you call out, trying to sound calm but firm.

The figure standing in the doorway doesn’t move. They’re tall, dressed in a black coat, with a ball cap pulled low over their face. Your heart races. An intruder? Someone sent by the corporation to intimidate you?

“Don’t fuckin’ try anything,” you say sharply, raising the bat a little higher. “My… my boyfriend’s a cop.”

The figure finally shifts, lifting their hands slightly in surrender. “Relax,” they say, their voice low and familiar. Too familiar.

You freeze. That voice is impossible to mistake.

The man reaches up and tips his cap back, revealing a face that stops you in your tracks. Min Yoongi.

Your mind scrambles to catch up. It’s him. But not exactly how you remember. His eyes are even sharper, his jawline more defined. Tufts of bright hair peaks from his cap. He’s wrapped in a black coat that fits him perfectly, the snow-dusted collar somehow making him look like he’s stepped out of a k-drama.

“What…” Your grip loosens on the bat, and it clatters to the floor. “What are you doing here?”

Yoongi’s mouth quirks into the faintest smile, the same one you’ve seen in every polaroid and Christmas card he’s sent over the years. “Hi,” he says simply, as if he hasn’t just materialized in your life after years of absence.

You stare at him, your thoughts a snowstorm. He looks good—too fuckin’ good, if you’re being honest. But he doesn’t belong here, standing in the doorway of your tiny office like he’s just another guy in town.

And yet, here he is.

(Flashback)

You’ve always known Min Yoongi. At least, that’s how it feels. He’s been part of your life for so long that imagining a version of it without him is impossible. 

Your parents had been neighbors, then friends, and you’d grown up sharing porches and bike rides and bowls of tteokguk on New Year’s morning. When you were younger, you’d bicker like siblings, but by the time you hit your teens, something had shifted—an unspoken understanding between you, like you’d been playing different roles all along and had finally settled into the right ones.

You’d always thought of Yoongi as yours, in some indefinable way. Not like a boyfriend, not like family, but something in between. 

It’s late one night when the bond between you is cemented forever.

You’re sixteen and walking home from a talent show at the community center. Snow falls in lazy flurries, clinging to your scarf and catching in Yoongi’s coat. The air smells crisp and clean, and the night feels like something out of a dream.

Yoongi’s carrying his guitar slung over his shoulder, his hands shoved deep into his coat pockets. He’s quiet, still riding the high of his first-ever performance. You’d clapped so hard your palms were stinging by the end, and the memory makes you smile.

“You were good,” you tell him. “Not just ‘good for your first time,’ but, like… really good.”

He shrugs, but the tips of his nose turn red. “Yeah, okay,” he mutters, pulling his beanie lower to hide his eyes. “Thanks.”

You laugh, a puff of white in the cold air. “I am truly honored to know such the nation’s next musical superstar.”

“Alright, alright,” he says, but the corner of his mouth quirks up. You know Yoongi well enough to recognize it for what it is—real pride, buried under layers of modesty.

“You should keep doing this. You’re going to be great at it.”

Yoongi stops, turning to look at you. His expression is unreadable, but his eyes are soft. “You really think that?”

“Of course,” you say without hesitation. “Why wouldn’t I?”

He glances down at the snow for a moment, his breath fogging the air. Then, quietly, he says, “If I’m serious about this, I’ll have to leave. I can’t do it here.”

The words settle heavily between you, and for a moment, you can’t find anything to say. You knew Yoongi wanted more, wanted a life bigger than Seollim Hollow could give him. But hearing him say it out loud feels different. More real. You swallow a lump in your throat.

“Not now,” he adds quickly, almost like he’s trying to reassure you. “Not yet. But someday.”

Your chest tightens, but you force a smile. “Well, when you’re famous, you better not forget me. I’ll show up in Seoul and embarrass you in front of all your fancy friends.”

That makes him laugh–his soundless shoulder chuckle you always love seeing. “Forget you? Nah, you’re too weird...”

“Promise me, then,” you say, holding out your pinky. “You’ll never forget the weird girl.”

He looks at your hand for a moment, then hooks his pinky around yours. His fingers are warm against the cold night. “Fine,” he says. “But only if you promise the same.”

“Deal.”

You’re about to let go, thinking that’s the end of it, when Yoongi glances up at the streetlamp above you. Hanging there, half-hidden by the snow, is a sprig of mistletoe.

He hesitates, his hand still holding yours, and looks at you with an unspoken question in his eyes.

Your pulse skips. For a moment, the rest of the world seems to fall away. Just you and him, standing under the mistletoe.

You nod, giving him your answer without a word.

He leans in slowly, his breath warm against your cold cheeks. His lips brush yours, soft and careful, and the moment is an ice sculpture, so fragile you’re afraid to move, afraid it might shatter.

When he pulls back, you’re both quiet, the snow falling around you like a curtain closing on a scene. Yoongi’s cheeks are pink, looking away but his lips hold the faintest of smiles.

He walks forward, glances back though he’s not quite meeting your eyes when he says, “You won’t forget that, will you?”

“Not a chance,” you say, biting your lip as you surge forward, bumping him as you walk ahead with a happiness you couldn’t quite contain.

And in that moment, you believe it. You believe you’ll carry that moment with you forever.

(End of Flashback)

Adulthood changes everything.

Yoongi leaves a few years after that night. Three to be exact. He tells you quietly one day, sitting cross-legged on the floor of the cultural center’s music room, that he’s moving to Seoul to chase his dream to be a serious musician. You wish you could say you’re surprised, but you’re not. You knew he’d leave eventually. You’d prepared yourself for it.

Or at least you thought you had.

At first, you keep in touch. There are phone calls, texts, even a few visits during holidays. But slowly, inevitably, the gaps between those moments grow wider. Yoongi gets busier, and you try not to hold it against him. You hear whispers from mutual friends about how well he’s doing, about the producers and idols he’s working with. You’re proud of him. You always knew he’d be brilliant.

But sometimes, late at night, you feel the ache of his absence. You miss him. You miss the way he used to make you laugh when you were having a bad day, the way he’d quietly push his half-eaten snacks in your direction because he knew you’d forget to eat when you were stressed.

You tell yourself it’s for the best. You’ve learned that love—real love—isn’t just about wanting someone. It’s about being able to keep them. And Yoongi was never yours to keep.

Even as your lives drift apart, there’s one thing Yoongi never forgets. Every year, without fail, a postcard arrives in your mailbox a few days before Christmas.

They’re always simple—no long, heartfelt messages, just a quick note scrawled in his familiar handwriting. “Merry Christmas.” “Hope you’re doing well.” Sometimes, if he’s feeling generous, he’ll add, “I miss home.”

You keep every single one. They’re tucked in a small box under your bed, and every December, you take them out and read through them. It’s a ritual you never admit to anyone. The postcards remind you of a part of him you thought you’d lost, a thread of connection that still holds, no matter how frayed it might feel.

Sometimes you wonder what they mean to him—if he sends them out of obligation, out of nostalgia, or because he misses you in the same way you miss him. But you never ask.

You think of Yoongi as the one who got away. And you’ve made your peace with it. He deserves to chase his dreams, and you deserve a life with someone who won’t leave.

That’s what you tell yourself, anyway.

“Fuck! Don’t stop, don’t stop…”

“I’m not stopping, princess.”

The grip the man has on your waist tightens as he drives his cock to your entrance, fast and deep. The sound of skin slapping on skin fills the quiet of your room, matching the beat of your headboard banging against the wall. The neighbors are gonna hate you.

“C’mon, princess, cum with me” his hand reaches forward, parting your slick folds to rub your swollen clit furiously. Shit—

“I’m almost there…” you pant.

After a particularly hard thrust, you’re moaning, and he’s groaning, and you’re both coming at the same time, bliss washing over your body in waves.

You fall flat against your pillows as he pulls out and you sigh. You really needed that release.

Minutes later, Sgt. Jung Hoseok—Seollim Hollow’s most cheerful cop and your sometimes stress relief—grins at you from the other side of your bed like you’ve just handed him the best news of the year.

“Min Yoongi’s back in town? Wowwww…” he says, dragging the words out as he stretches his arms behind his head. His grin widens when you don’t answer right away. “Is that why you called me tonight? You never initiate. Is this some kind of nervous breakdown booty call?”

You throw a pillow at him, but Hoseok just catches it, laughing so hard his shoulders shake.

“Shut up,” you mutter, but the warmth in your cheeks gives you away.

When you were in your teens, Yoongi and Hoseok were the town’s favorite duo, the cute boys everyone couldn’t help but smile at. Hoseok was the one who dragged Yoongi into b-boying, claiming they’d be unstoppable if they combined Yoongi’s rhythm with his own moves. And even though Yoongi liked to grumble about how much he hated it, he was actually pretty good—not that he’d ever admit it. Still, you knew he was way more into playing instruments than throwing himself into flips and spins.

They were total opposites—Hoseok all sunshine and endless energy, Yoongi the moody, chill counterpart—but somehow, it worked. The town loved seeing them running through the streets, jumping off ledges, or randomly breaking out into a routine just for fun. They were just two boys with way too much chemistry and rhythm to keep to themselves.

But just like you and Yoongi, he and Hoseok also drifted apart when he moved to Seoul. Hoseok took the more practical approach, used the innate energy and strength he has to keep the community safe. He followed in the footsteps of his dad and became one of the neighborhood policemen.

“Your face…” He cackles, sitting up now, bare chest gleaming in the low light of your bedroom. “Did you just realize you’re still hung up on him after all these years?”

“Yah!!!” Your stomach flips, and you hate that he’s got you pegged so easily. You mutter a feeble, “Fuck you.”

“Already did,” he teases and you roll your eyes.

The “friends with benefits” part of your relationship started casually, almost accidentally early this year, and over the past months, it became something routine. A distraction. A comfort. Nothing more, and you both liked it that way.

Except right now, Hoseok looks entirely too smug, like he knows things you haven’t admitted to yourself.

You hesitate, suddenly sheepish, and Hoseok’s sharp eyes catch it instantly. He raises an eyebrow. “What?”

“Well…” You pick at a loose thread on the blanket, avoiding his gaze. “I might have said something… dumb when I saw him.”

“Define dumb.”

Your cheeks burn. “I told him my boyfriend’s a cop.”

Hoseok blinks. Then he bursts out laughing, so loud and sudden it startles you. “Oh my God,” he wheezes, clutching his stomach. “You mean me? You told Yoongi I’m your boyfriend?”

“I didn’t say it was you!” you snap, throwing another pillow at him. “I just panicked, okay? He showed up out of nowhere, and I thought he was gonna murder me!”

“Yah... He’s gonna figure it out, you know. You think he’s stupid?”

You groan, pressing your hands to your face. “I don’t know, Hoseok! I was already having a bad day.”

That shuts him up for a second. Hoseok straightens, his laughter softening into something more thoughtful. He tilts his head, studying you like he’s trying to solve a puzzle. “You’re really messed up over this, huh?”

“No, I’m not—”

“Can’t wait to run into him soon. See how the big-shot producer’s doing,” he says.

You sigh, pulling the blanket tighter around yourself. “I was thinking about asking him to help with the benefit concert, actually.”

Hoseok raises an eyebrow. “So, let me get this straight. You’re going to ask your childhood best friend—who also happens to be the guy you’ve been quietly pining for since forever—to save the town’s cultural center with some grand Christmas concert?” 

“You roll your eyes. “It’s not like that.”

“Sure,” he says, dragging the word out with all the disbelief he can muster. “Honestly, it sounds like the plot of a good story, and I can’t wait to read it.”

“Hoseok,” you warn, but he just chuckles, standing up and grabbing his clothes from the floor.

“Look,” he says, tugging on his jeans, “if you think you want to start something with Yoongi—like, really start something—I’m cool with calling this,” he gestures between the two of you, “off. No hard feelings. I’m not about to stand in the way of a Christmas miracle or whatever.”

You gape at him. “You’re an idiot.”

“I’m serious,” he says, pulling his shirt over his head.

You shake your head, trying to play it off. “I’m not–Yoongi’s just… probably in between things. He’ll be gone again before New Year’s. I’m not counting on anything.”

“You sure about that?”

“A thousand per cent.”

“Alright,” Hoseok shrugs. “Knew you couldn’t last a week without hopping on my dick anyway…”

“Boy! If you don’t–” you throw a pillow at him, hitting him square in the face.

That makes him laugh again, his bright, warm laughter filling the room as he pulls on his jacket. “Aight, I’m just playing,” he says, still chuckling, but his tone is lighter now. “I’m out. But call me if you need me.”

As the door clicks shut behind him, you lean back against your pillows, staring at the ceiling. You know Hoseok means well, but he doesn’t get it. Yoongi was never meant to stay. He made that clear years ago, and you’ve made your peace with it. You’re not about to let yourself hope for anything more. Not this time.

Why couldn’t you just fall in love with someone like Hoseok?

The next time you see Yoongi, he looks like he’s stepped straight out of some idol photofolio.

It’s mid-morning, and you’re walking toward the café on Main Street when you spot him across the square. Shelby, the dog his mom got years ago, is tugging at her leash, bounding through the snow while Yoongi trails behind her, americano in hand. His orange hair glows against the overcast sky, a cobalt jacket pulling his frame together like he’s stepped out of an editorial.

He looks striking. Expensive. Entirely out of place in Seollim Hollow.

You don’t realize your feet are moving until you’re halfway across the street. “Yoongi!”

He looks up, pausing mid-sip of his coffee, and tilts his head slightly when he sees you. Shelby stops sniffing a patch of snow and wags her tail furiously at the attention.

“Hi Shelby!” You say, scratching the back of her ear for a few seconds before turning to the cat-like man who was looking at you amusedly. “How’s it going?”

“Not bad.”

You hum, pouting as you try to string together the words you wanted to say.

His lips form a straight line, the edges of his mouth bracketing his awkward smile.

“I wanted to ask you something,” you say, willing your voice to steady. 

Yoongi’s brow lifts slightly. “What about?”

“You’re a music producer, right?”

He shrugs, “Why? What do you need…”

So you tell him your predicament. How some greedy, low-life motherfuckers want to tear down the cultural center. (His eyebrows shoot straight to his hairline when you say this, but you’re just getting warmed up.)

“Like, who even does that?” you rant. “Only the worst kind of people. The type who steal candy from babies, kick dogs—not you Shelby girl—and probably thinks pizza tastes good with pickles.” You pause, pointing at him for emphasis. “And not in the fun, quirky way either. Like, sociopath level.”

Yoongi blinks at you, clearly trying to process your spiraling rage. “So… you’re upset.”

“Fuck yeah I’m upset!” you snap, gesturing wildly. “They’re trying to destroy something important! For what? To build another strip mall no one’s going to shop at because Amazon exists? It’s evil. Straight-up Squid Games territory.”

“Is that what they’re doing with it?”

“Honestly, I don’t even know. I don’t care. They’re all the same capitalist motherfuckers in my book. But they’re not taking the beating heart of this town. Over my dead body.”

At this, Yoongi just nods slowly, lips twitching like he’s holding back a laugh. “Remind me never to cross you.”

You further explain your ideas to save the town. But where he comes in is the benefit concert. You tell him you need his help in song arrangements, coordinating and coaching the performances, even performing himself, if he’s willing. You’re careful to manage your tone, to make it sound less desperate than it is. He listens, his face unreadable, but he’s probably qualifying if he can actually help you, or maybe if he even wants to.

“All the proceeds are going toward reclaiming the cultural center,” you say firmly. “If we hit our goal, we can match the corporation’s offer and keep it from being sold.”

He doesn’t respond right away. Shelby, apparently bored, starts sniffing his shoes. “I can help,” he says finally.

Your chest loosens with relief. “Seriously?”

He shrugs, lips twitching upward. “Yeah. But you’ll owe me a drink. Or dinner. Something.”

“I can do that.”

His smirk grows faintly. “So… you want me to perform too, or just help with arrangements?”

“You’d perform?”

“Depends.” He tilts his head. “How desperate are you?”

“Enough to go down on my knees.” 

His eyes are like saucers, but he keeps the rest of his face neutral. “Mm. Noted.”

Suddenly you realize what your words could’ve meant and your nervous laughter spills out before you can stop it. “I just meant I’m not too proud to beg.”

“Again, noted.”

“Shut up.”

“Didn’t think you meant anything else,” he tells you, although you can tell he’s lying by the way he’s poking the inside of his cheeks with his tongue.

Just as you’re wrapping up the conversation, Yoongi glances at you, his voice shifting slightly. “Oh, I ran into your boyfriend earlier…”

You tilt your head dumbly.

“Hob-ah.”

Oh shit. Your stomach drops. “Ah, Hoseok. My boyfriend…” you quickly remember the lie, and you recover, kinda. “You did?”

“Yeah,” he says, his tone as casual as ever. “We ran into each other at the bakery. He was picking up red bean buns for his appa.”

You nod, throat dry.

Yoongi hums, sipping his coffee. “Guess nice guys really do get the girl in the end.”

Before you can even process what he just said, you hear the unmistakable voice of his eomma from across the street.

“Well,” he says, adjusting Shelby’s leash. “See ya.”

He lingers for a beat, then gives a small wave before turning to walk away. 

You stand frozen, Yoongi’s words looping through your head. You shake your head, trying to push the thought away. A pang of bitterness settles in your gut. Yoongi’s wrong. The type of guys that get the girl? The ones who stay.

When Yoongi shows up at your office the following Monday, and it takes everything in you not to gape like an idiot.

He’s wearing a black turtleneck that fits him too well, sharp and effortless in a way that makes him look untouchable. He’s leaning against your doorframe like he has nowhere else to be, a small notebook tucked under his arm, which looks just like the notebook he used to scribble lyrics in back when you were teenagers.

“You’re early,” you say, as you settle your bag on your desk.

“Well, you’re the one running the show. Figured I’d want to stay on your good side.”

You roll your eyes, “Sit. I’ll get you up to speed. And Yoongi, you’re working pro bono, you’re already on my good side.”

He grins slightly, scratching his nose as he shakes his head. It’s the same mannerism he’s had when you were young, when he’s just a tad embarrassed. You try not to be too endeared even though it’s virtually impossible.

You walk him through your plans for the benefit concert, pointing out the lineup you’ve pulled together so far. Yoongi listens quietly, his fingers drumming lightly against the edge of your desk as you speak.

“You’re really pulling this together,” he observes.

“It’s been a group effort. You should meet the maknaes, they’re the reason everything is moving so swiftly,” you say, brushing it off. “But we’re still short of a showstopper. Someone who’ll get the town buzzing.”

Yoong nods his head. “If you want I can make some phone calls, see who I can rope in from my contacts.”

“You’d do that to save the center?”

“Yeah, I’d do it for you,” he nods. “And the town.”

Your cheeks warm at his words. “Thank you. I owe you.”

He exhales softly and leans back in his chair. “I already told you, just buy me dinner once and we’ll call it even.”

You let the silence fester for a bit, but curiosity got the best of you.

“Why are you here anyway?” you ask, the words tumbling out before you can second-guess them. “Not that I don’t appreciate the help, but you kind of appeared like some apparition all of a sudden.”

Yoongi looks at you for a beat too long, like he’s debating whether to tell you the truth. Then he shrugs, eyes dropping to his notebook. “I guess I was just missing home. And eomma’s been on my case about coming back for the holidays this year, so…”

You don’t understand why he looks sus. His answer is casual, but unconvincing. You still don’t know if you’re buying it.

“Okay,” you say, because pressing him won’t get you anywhere. But as you move on to the next topic, you can’t shake the feeling that there’s more he’s not telling you.

“It’s funny,” he says casually, looking around the cultural center. “I didn’t think this place would look as well as it does.”

You give him a funny look. “What do you mean?”

“I just thought it’d be more… decrepit? It’s been here since we were young.”

“You’d be surprised what this town can do when it comes together. The Kim’s donated paint one year, even did all the labor. We did a fundraiser to get new musical equipment. The maknaes did all the regrouting and retiling in the bathrooms and the pantry.”

“You’re amazing.”

“It’s all them,” you say, kicking your shoe lightly on the carpeted floor.

Yoongi smirks, “you don’t know the effect you have on people, Y/N.”

Your cheeks flush.

“They may have done the brunt work, but you’re the leader that inspired them to do it,” he says, with the confidence of someone who’s known you all his life. Even if he did disappear for years. “It’s not easy keeping things alive.”

Your heart stops for a second at his words. You know he’s just talking about the center. He’s not talking about anything else. Certainly not his unspoken feelings towards you that were obviously left in the past. So you manage a curt, “Thanks, Yoongi.”

When he comes over the next day, he’s all business. He steps into your office with his notebook and a couple of sheets of paper, saying he has ideas for the lineup.

You’re expecting something good, but what he shows you takes your breath away.

“These arrangements are perfect,” you say, flipping through the pages he’s handed you. It’s been years since you’ve seen his work up close, but the brilliance of it still stuns you. “You’re still… incredible at this, Yoongi.”

“Thanks,” he murmurs, rubbing the back of his neck. His ears are faintly pink, and the sight tugs at something deep in your chest.

“And this…” You pause at the last page. “What’s this song?”

Yoongi doesn’t answer right away. Instead, he nods toward the piano in the corner of the room. “C’mere. I’ll show you.”

You hesitate, your heart already pounding, but you follow him. He sits down on the bench, and without a word, he gestures for you to sit next to him. The space is too small. Your shoulder brushes his, and you suddenly feel nineteen again. The last time you sat beside each other in this very bench, in this very room, is still ingrained in your memory. You wonder if he even remembers.

Yoongi’s fingers press against the keys, and the first notes ring out softly, reverently. The melody is mesmerizing, weaving through the room like smoke curling through the air. You watch his hands—elegant and sure and effortless. 

And somewhere between the rise and fall of the music, you can’t stop yourself from still wondering: Why did he leave? Why did he let so much time pass without a word? And why, now that he’s back, does it feel like you can’t breathe when he’s near?

The song ends too soon, the last note lingering in the air as Yoongi turns to you. He catches you staring, and for a long moment, neither of you says anything.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” he asks quietly.

You swallow hard, unable to look away. “I– I don’t know.”

His gaze drops to your lips, staying there for just a moment too long. And, wait–is he leaning just a little closer?

You think he’s going to kiss you. You want him to kiss you.

But then Yoongi pulls back slightly, his expression shifting. “Hoseok’s probably waiting for you at home.”

The words douse the warmth in you like a bucket of ice cold water.

Your stomach drops, and you can’t stop the truth from falling between your lips, “No, he’s not.”

Yoongi nods once, his face unreadable again as he stands. “Still, I should go.”

You don’t stop him. You can’t. Because you have to remind yourself, he’s not here for you. You don’t even know if he wants to stay or if you could ever ask him that. If your past is an indication, Yoongi was never yours to keep and you were never enough to make him stay.

When the door closes behind him, you’re left sitting at the piano bench alone, your heart still racing and your thoughts an absolute mess.

(Flashback)

It had been a quiet winter evening, the kind of cold that numbed your cheeks and made your breath fog up in front of you. The cultural center was nearly empty, save for you and Yoongi, tucked away in the rec room where he was hunched over an old piano. The air smelled faintly of dust and wood polish, the dim lights casting long shadows across the room.

Yoongi’s fingers moved over the keys with absent precision, but the music wasn’t soft tonight. There was tension in the notes—sharp and uneven, like his thoughts were spilling out of him one chord at a time. You watched from the doorway, arms crossed, the anger in your chest building until it felt like you might burst.

“So that’s it?” you blurted out suddenly, your voice loud in the silence. “You’re just leaving?”

Yoongi’s hands stilled immediately, the final note ringing harsh and hollow before fading out. He looked up, frowning. “You knew I was leaving.”

“You didn’t say it was this soon.”

He sighed, turning back to the keys, playing a few softer notes now—like he was trying to calm both the piano and himself. “You make it sound like I’m never coming back.”

“Are you?” You stepped into the room, the accusation sharp in your tone. “Because it sure feels like you’re running, Yoongi. From this place. From… everything.”

He turned to face you fully then, his brows drawn together. “I’m not running.”

“Yes, you are!” The words came out louder than you’d intended, and Yoongi blinked, surprised at your volume. But you didn’t stop. “You’re leaving your mom, leaving me—all so you can go chase some stupid dream in the city.”

Yoongi flinched at that, his expression darkening. “It’s not stupid.”

“It feels stupid,” you shot back, your voice trembling now. “What’s wrong with staying here? With making a life here? ”

Yoongi’s jaw tightened, his eyes flashing with something you couldn’t quite read. “For you, maybe. But not for me.”

The words hit like a slap. You opened your mouth to say something—anything—but Yoongi wasn’t done.

“You don’t get it,” he said, his voice lower now, quieter but just as cutting. “You’ve never wanted to leave this place. You don’t need to look elsewhere to give your family a chance at a better life. You’re happy here, stuck in this tiny town where nothing ever changes. But that’s not me. I can’t stay.”

“Why not?” you asked, the question breaking out of you like a plea.

Yoongi ran a hand through his hair, exhaling harshly. “Because I want more, okay? I want… I don’t know. I wanna be rich, I wanna be me, I wanna be something.”

“And what am I?” you whispered, the words barely audible. “Am I nothing?”

Yoongi froze, his expression faltering for the first time. “I didn’t mean it like that.”

“But that’s what it feels like,” you said, your voice breaking as you turned away from him. “You make it sound like staying here means I’m such a loser. Like I’m not enough.”

“That’s not—”

“No.” You spun back to face him, tears pricking at your eyes. “Just go, Yoongi. Go to Seoul. Go be something, like you keep saying. I hope it’s worth it.”

The silence that followed was deafening. You waited for him to say something—anything—that might fix the jagged edges of the fight, but he didn’t. He just stood there, his face unreadable, his hands hanging loosely at his sides.

That night, you toss and turn in your sheets, the ache in your chest refusing to let you sleep. The silence of the room feels heavy, the kind that makes every sound louder—the creak of the floor, the rustle of your blanket.

Then there’s a knock. A soft, deliberate rap on your window.

You sit up, heart already pounding, and there he is. His silhouette is familiar in a way that makes your throat tighten, hunching over the windowsill before he lands on your carpet with a dull thud.

“What are you doing here?” you ask, rolling on your bed to face away from him, hoping the distance might make it easier to breathe.

“I can’t go like this,” he says.

“It’s fine,” you reply quickly, your voice quieter than you meant.

“The hell it is.”

You hear the shuffle of fabric as something—probably his coat—falls to the floor. And then the mattress dips under his weight, and before you can steel yourself, warmth blooms behind you. His arms slide around you, pulling you against him with a kind of confidence that feels too natural for something you’ve never done before.

“What are you doing, Yoongi?” Your voice shakes, and you hate how it betrays you, how it cracks under the weight of the tears threatening to spill.

“Shh…” he murmurs, tucking you closer to him, his forehead pressing against the back of your head. “Don’t cry.”

Your breath hitches, and you choke out, “I hate you.” It’s a lie, of course, but your heart pounds against your chest, calling you out for it anyway.

Yoongi hums, his breath warm against your neck, and the sound is a smirk made audible. “No, you don’t.”

You roll over to face him, your vision blurry now. His face is close, closer than it’s been in years, and the glassiness of his eyes mirrors your own. There’s a sadness there, deep and heavy, that he doesn’t say out loud but you can feel pressing against you like a second heartbeat.

“It’d be a hell of a lot easier if I did,” you whisper, a tear slipping down your cheek.

Before you can process what’s happening, Yoongi leans forward and kisses it away, his lips brushing your skin so softly it makes you shiver. He pulls back, searching your face.

“Is it okay if I…” He trails off, the question hanging in the air.

You know the question. You answer without words, leaning in and closing the gap between you. Your lips slot against his, and it’s slow at first but it deepens quickly, your fingers tangling in his hair, his hands pulling you closer like you’re the one who’s skipping town.

When he finally pulls back, his forehead rests against yours, his breathing uneven. But he doesn’t stay still for long—his hands find your waist, sliding up beneath your shirt until they rest just beneath your ribs. His touch is warm, and your breath stutters in response.

“I want you,” you say softly, your voice barely audible.

He nods, his voice rough when he says, “Me too, baby. I want you so bad.”

The shirt is gone before you know it, leaving you exposed to the cool air, but the warmth of Yoongi’s touch quickly erases the chill. “You’re so beautiful,” he murmurs, his lips finding yours again he cups the underside of your breast and smooths a calloused thumb over a nipple. “Fuck, you’re perfect.”

“Off,” you mumble against his mouth, tugging at his sweater. He obliges, pulling it over his head in one smooth motion, and it’s the first time you’ve seen him like this—bare, unguarded.

“Are you sure about this?”

“Yes,” you whisper.

When he sinks into you that night, it feels like your world is spinning off its axis. The fullness, the warmth, the way his body feels against yours—it’s overwhelming in a way that makes you feel complete. His taste, his softness, his scent, you’re drowning in everything Yoongi and you’re not sure you want to resurface.

“Yoongi,” you breathe out, air sucked out of your lungs as he bottoms out.

“Shit,” he grunts, voice raw as he stares at the area where your bodies have connected. “You feel so good.”

��Baby…” you test the name on your lips, wishing this wasn’t the first, and likely last. You plant your hands on his shoulders. “Go slow.”

“Okay,” he murmurs, and he does—slow and deliberate, like he’s trying to memorize every moment, every sound, every gasp, every single feeling.

It’s a little painful at first, the stretch of his cock against your walls pulls a soft whimper from your lips. Yoongi notices immediately—of course he does. His fingers slide gently along your jaw, tilting your face toward him as his mouth finds yours. He kisses you slowly, tongue sweeping against yours in a way that steals your focus, drowning out every inconsequential ache.

Soon, there is nothing else but bliss. Pleasure has bloomed full force as he fucks into you.

His mouth moves to your neck, teeth sharp as he clamps down your soft skin, no doubt wanting to leave his mark. It’s a little cruel, you would think days after when a Yoongi-shaped hole suddenly forms in your heart, but tonight, you revel in the fact that he wants to claim you as his.

“Baby,” you plead. God, why do you sound so desperate?

Something builds and builds inside you, threatening to explode and you’re afraid, so fucking terrified that you won’t find every single piece of yourself when you shatter.

“Yoongi…” you call his name again, the storm in you gaining strength, even though the pace of his thrusts are unchanged.

“Yeah, baby?” he asks you half-heartedly, busy pushing your tits upward to capture a nipple in his mouth and sucking gently.

“Ahh, shit.” That’s nice. You love it but you need more. “Can you go faster?”

“Okay, yeah,” he adjusts his stance, slipping out of you momentarily, and you feel your juices seeping out of your cunt and onto your sheets. “Can you maybe raise your leg higher?”

You do so, holding the back of your knees, opening up to him wide and wanton, shame out the door and into the flurry of snow outside.

He lines himself up on your slick entrance, this time slipping straight inside without much resistance. He thrusts again, hitting you deeper and better at this angle.

Your eyes meet as he bucks his hips into you over and over. Your eyelids grow heavier with every passing second, but you fight to keep them open, desperate to hold onto this moment. You want to memorize him—every detail, every fleeting movement. The way his hair falls, framing those sharp, feline eyes that hold something soft beneath their intensity. The way his pink, pillowy lips part slightly, his sinful tongue skimming the corner of his mouth. He looks tender yet determined, his focus unwavering as he works to make this good for you. There’s a gentleness to it, a care that leaves your chest aching even as your body melts under his touch.

His hand makes its way down to where your sweaty bodies are linked, thumb searching your clit against your slippery folds. Has he done this before? Because how can he know that the wiggle of his single digit is enough for you to lose your goddamn mind. You want to scream, at the risk of getting caught by your eomma, but you can’t care about that right now. The pads of his thumb brushes over you, pulling a gasp from your lips as your senses blur, overwhelmed by him—his touch, his heat, the way he seems to know exactly how to unravel you.

“Take it, baby,” he urges, voices as reverent as his every movement.

Soon you’re keening at the pressure on your nub and the friction against your inner walls. Your pleasure crests without warning, body arching towards him as you ride out your orgasm.

“God you’re so tight, shit I’m about to—“

A few sloppy thrusts, a stutter in his breath and a stretched out groan. You close your eyes, every feeling increasing in intensity, and suddenly you’re empty, you hear a grunt, and his warm cum spills on your pussy lips, sliding towards your ass.

It’s messy. He’s sweaty. You’re spent.

The feeling is unfamiliar, the sensations coursing through your body strangely new. Yet, it’s the whirlwind of jumbled thoughts in your mind that unsettles you the most.

Afterward, you lie tangled together, your head resting against his chest. The weight of the moment feels too much, and before you can stop yourself, the words spill out: “I wish I could keep you.”

Yoongi tenses, his hand coming up to rest against your back. “I’m sorry,” he whispers as he presses a kiss against your hair. “I’ll be back, I promise.”

The next morning, you woke to find that Yoongi was gone.

It wasn’t until two days later, when you finally found the courage to sit at the piano in the rec room, that you found the note. It was tucked carefully inside the piano bench, folded neatly and written in Yoongi’s familiar handwriting: Don’t forget.

As if you could. He’s made it impossible not to.

(End of Flashback)

It starts with a phone call from your mom. “Yang-hee invited us over for dinner tonight. Isn’t that nice?”

“Huh?”

“Dinner with Yang-hee and Yoongi,” she says, unbothered by your fake disinterest. “You’re coming too, obviously. It’s been years since we’ve all sat down together, and you know how Yang-hee is. She’s been so excited her son’s back.”

It’s not like you can say no, so you don’t.

Later that evening, you find yourself standing on the porch of the Min’s, a whole casserole of your mom’s homemade japchae in your hands. 

It’s not the same house. It’s still built on the same street, but it’s completely renovated, extended, pimped the hell out. The spoils of Yoongi’s successful career are definitely visible in the way their mansion (I guess you can’t call it a bungalow anymore) stands proud.

Yoongi opens the wide wooden door, dressed in a festive green and red Christmas sweater and white pants. His orange hair is a little messy, and he greets you with that cocky little smirk as if he doesn’t have a goofy Santa Claus headband perched on top of this head.

“Hello, Mrs. Y/L/N.” he turns to your mom, who gives him her sweetest smile. She’s always really loved him.

“How have you been, Yoongi my dear?”

“I’m doing well. You’re looking even younger than when I last saw you.”

He’s so full of shit. But your mom is none the wiser as she breezes past you both with a giggle, already chatting animatedly with Yoongi’s mother, leaving you standing in the doorway with him.

“You came,” he says, finally taking the casserole from you.

“Of course I came,” you shoot back, trying to sound unaffected. “Consider this the dinner I owe you.”

He shakes his head, “Nice try.”

“Nice headband.”

“Hoseok not coming?” he asks a little too casually as he leads you to the kitchen.

“I didn’t know the invitation was extended to him.”

He shrugs. “I don’t think eomma will mind.” Then he pauses, looking at you with something unreadable in his eyes. “I–umm. It’s nice to have you here.”

It’s so simple and yet hits like a punch to the gut. 

Dinner was sublime. The table is covered in a festive red cloth, tiny gold stars scattered across its surface. Platters of food crowd every inch—kimchi stew steaming in a clay pot, neatly sliced rolls of gimbap, and bowls of your eomma’s japchae glistening with sesame oil. A plate of sugar-dusted cookies sits at the center, shaped like Christmas trees and snowflakes. But the best part is that it feels like old times—full of laughter, familiar stories, and his mother fussing over both you and Yoongi. Your mom talks about the concert, and you catch Yoongi listening quietly, a faint smile playing at the edges of his lips. There’s something grounding about being here, the four of you around the table, like no time has passed at all.

After dinner, Yoongi’s mom insists on showing your mom something in the kitchen, leaving you alone with him. 

“You still remember where my room is?” he asks behind his mug of eggnog.

“Please.” You push your chair backwards, standing up. “I practically lived here when we were kids.”

So his old room hasn’t changed much. Despite the makeover from outside, the expansion of the living room and dining areas, you guess Yoongi had asked his eomma to preserve this room like a little time capsule of sorts. The walls are still plastered with faded hip hop posters, plus an SNSD one that made you unreasonably jealous way back when. 

You point to it with a laugh. “What was your favorite line from that song?”

“Listen, boy! My first love story!” he replies without missing a beat and you both erupt into giggles.

Your eyes dart around a bit more, and you find scribbles from years ago. On the far corner, your handwriting is etched faintly into the paint, and you feel a pang of nostalgia. You step closer, brushing your fingertips over your names and the date. It was the night of your first kiss.

Yoongi’s voice comes from behind you, soft and steady. “Vandal.”

“You let me,” you try for casual, though your throat feels oddly tight at the memory. “I didn’t think you’d still have it here.”

He doesn’t answer, and you turn, glancing at the study desk and there’s the old notebook you gave him for his seventeenth birthday. The one you’d filled with doodles and little prompts, telling him to write music “so the world would hear it.”

“You kept this, too?” you ask, your voice quieter now.

Yoongi shrugs like it’s no big deal. “You gave it to me. Why wouldn’t I?”

Something about that makes your chest ache. You shake it off quickly, turning back to him with a small grin.

Later, the two of you end up on the porch, mugs of whisky-spiked eggnog between you, your breath clouding the cold air. You’re both a little tipsy, maybe drunk even, the edges of this nostalgic night already fuzzy around the edges.

You tilt your head toward him. “Yoongi-yah… you got a girlfriend back home?”

Yoongi glances at you, one eyebrow raised. “No.”

You’re surprised by the sharp flicker of relief in your chest. You try to play it off, swirling the cup in your hands. “Oh? Why not?”

His gaze lingers on you for a moment too long, before he finally says, “Because the girl I wanted didn’t wait for me.”

Your breath catches as he looks straight into your soul. You pull your sweater tighter against your frame. “Yoongi. You can’t say shit like that,” you admonish him, but your voice doesn’t sound as strong as you want it to. 

He says nothing, just watches you with that quiet intensity that always intrigued you. Then, slowly, he tips his chin upward.

You follow his gaze, your stomach dropping when you see it: a sprig of mistletoe dangling above you, its leaves swaying gently in the breeze. He knows it’s there—hell, he may have been the one to hang it.

Your heart pounds so loudly you’re sure he can hear it. Why would he even—

Yoongi grins faintly, but he doesn’t move. Doesn’t lean closer, doesn’t close the gap. He just lets the moment hang there, full of unsaid words and unanswered questions.

“What am I going to do with you…” you shake your head, admonishing him again.

“Honestly, anything you want…” He shrugs, his smirk softening into something else. “Goodnight,” he says quietly, standing up and stepping back inside the house, leaving you sitting on the porch with your thoughts spinning and your heart completely out of control.

That night, you lie in bed staring at your phone, your interactions looping in your mind.

You don’t know what you’re doing when you pull up Hoseok’s contact, but the text you send is short and simple:

You: Can we talk?

It doesn’t take long for Hoseok to call back. You swipe to answer it.

“You finally breaking up with me?” he asks with a giggle.

You groan, “Stop.”

“It’s okay, Y/N. It’s been fun.”

“Yeah?”

“Best I’ve ever had.”

“Aw, quit the bullshit.” 

“It’s true!” he claims, laughing slightly. “Tell him if he doesn’t take care of you, I can literally throw his ass in the slammer. Make up some compounded traffic violation or whatever...”

You can’t help but laugh, even as your stomach twists uncomfortably.

“You’re insane,” you tell him, but you know Hoseok’s words will stay with you.

Because now you’re left with no more distractions. No more easy answers. Just the weight of Yoongi’s return and the question you’re not ready to ask yourself: what if this is finally your time?

You don’t see it happen, not all at once.

There’s no single moment where you look at Min Yoongi and realize you’re slipping back into something that feels alarmingly like love—just tiny, inconsequential moments strung together like fairy lights on the cultural center’s drafty ceiling.

Yoongi spending hours at the piano, fingers moving effortlessly over the keys as the children’s choir sings, while you sneak glances at him.

Yoongi, elbow-deep in sheet music, his sleeves pushed up, hair falling into his eyes as he concentrates.

Yoongi joking around with the maknaes like they’ve known each other all their lives.

Yoongi handing you an americano every afternoon like clockwork, his only explanation being, “You’re too grumpy without caffeine.”

It’s nothing, really. Nothing you can’t brush off.

Except when the three stooges notice and start taunting you relentlessly.

“The maknaes won’t stop teasing me,” you tell him one afternoon, watching as he scribbles something onto his notebook. “Jungkook especially.”

Yoongi doesn’t look up. “About what?”

“About you,” you say, huffing dramatically, though your heart thuds a little at admitting it out loud. “They think you—” 

Now Yoongi glances up, dark eyes fixing on you. “I what?”

You wave a hand vaguely. “You look at me.”

Yoongi blinks, clearly holding back a smirk. “I look at you?”

“They make it sound like you’re composing an epic romance ballad in your head every time you glance my way,” you say, curious to see how he’d react.

“Hmm.” Yoongi taps his pen against his notebook. His gaze doesn’t waver. “And what if I am?”

You freeze, caught entirely off guard. “You’re not.”

He shrugs lightly, looking back at his notes. “If you say so.”

And just like that, the conversation ends, but you’re left staring at the back of his head like an idiot.

You’re closing up the center after a particularly grueling rehearsal when you hear a voice in the piano room. It's Yoongi.

You pause just outside the door, catching the tail end of his conversation. His voice is low, clipped. “I already told you—it’s not that simple. Just… hold off until I figure it out, okay?”

There’s a pause, and then he sighs, frustrated. “Yes. I’ll take care of it. Don’t contact them directly.”

Before you can process the tone of his voice, he spots you in the doorway and quickly ends the call, stuffing his phone into his pocket. “Everything okay?” he asks, his expression neutral. But something in his eyes feels off.

“Hey,” you say finally, stepping into the room. “You hungry?” The words are out before you can stop them. 

“A little.”

“I still owe you dinner,” you remind him. “You want to come over?”

For a moment, Yoongi just looks at you, his expression unreadable. Then he nods. “Yeah. Okay.”

At your place, you keep it simple. You’re too tired for anything elaborate, so you throw together a few bowls of rice, leftover stew, wagyu cubes you tossed in a pan, and whatever banchan you can find in your fridge. Yoongi doesn’t seem to mind—he sits at your table with his sleeves rolled up, his beer bottle half-empty, watching you with a faint smile as you fuss over the food, refilling his plate once in a while.

“You don’t have to do all that,” he says. “It’s just me.”

“Don’t get spoiled,” you shoot back, setting a bowl in front of him. “This is a one-time thing.”

“Okay. I’ll take it.”

Dinner feels like something you’ve once yearned for especially during the first few years after he left. You talk about little things—how rehearsals are going, Shelby’s stubborn refusal to follow him anywhere, the little quirks of your team. Yoongi listens more than he talks, but when he speaks, it’s thoughtful, like he’s been holding the words in until they’re worth saying.

At some point, you find yourself finally telling him about the lie you blurted out the day he showed up.

“So you remember when I told you my boyfriend was a cop?” you say, poking at your rice with your chopsticks.

Yoongi’s lips twitch. “Yeah.”

“Well…” You hesitate. “This is so embarrassing.”

“Why? Didn’t realize you were dating Hoseok.”

“I’m not!” you say quickly. “I mean… Hoseok and I are… friends. But he’s not my boyfriend.”

“What’s with the pause?”

Your cheeks are on fire. You should have just kept it smooth, but your poker face is crap.

“Oooh Hoseok-ie, huh?” Yoongi’s expression is full of mischief, with a playful tone as he teases you. 

You groan, covering your face. “We just, like to keep each other company, sometimes. But not anymore. It’s over. So over.”

His eyes narrow on you, a smirk on his lips. “Okay.” He says.

You glance up, flustered. “Okay?”

To your surprise, he doesn’t push further. Instead, he studies you for a long moment, his smile softening. “I’m glad you’re not with Hoseok,” he says simply.

The words hit harder than they should. You look down at your bowl, trying to ignore the flutter in your chest.

The night you hit your first funding goal feels electric. Outside, the snow falls softly, blanketing the world in white, while the glow of Christmas lights spills through the frosted windows of the cultural center. Inside, the air hums with celebration, the kind of unrestrained joy that feels almost too big for the room.

The office is a whirlwind of holiday chaos. Jimin’s sporting a Santa hat, twirling like a figure skater in the middle of the room. Taehyung is wrapped in tinsel like a human Christmas tree, tossing candy canes to whoever will catch them. “All I Want for Christmas Is You” blares from the speakers, almost drowned out by the sound of laughter echoing through the halls. The air smells faintly of peppermint, hot chocolate, and the faint spice of cinnamon—Taehyung’s candy stash has clearly been raided, by Jungkook.

You check your laptop one last time, and there it is: the donation total, glaring on the screen like a miracle. The sight makes your stomach flip in disbelief and relief.

“Do you know what this means?” you yell, spinning in circles as Jimin grabs your hand and cheers beside you. “We might actually do this. We might actually save the center!”

“FUCK CAPITALISM!” Taehyung hollers from the corner, pumping his fist in the air, and you can’t help but laugh.

“We’re halfway there!” you add breathlessly, grinning so hard your cheeks hurt. “This is insane.”

Jungkook whoops in victory, charging across the room and tackling you and Jimin into a clumsy, giggling group hug.

Amidst the chaos, your gaze drifts toward the far end of the room. Yoongi stands by the piano, arms crossed as he leans against it, a quiet smile tugging at his lips. He doesn’t say a word, but the way his eyes meet yours sends warmth spreading through your chest, as if he’s silently celebrating right along with you.

“Be right back,” you say, slipping away from the others before you can think better of it.

Yoongi doesn’t move as you approach, but his smile lingers. “You’re happy.”

“Of course I’m happy,” you say, unable to keep the grin off your face. “We might actually do this, Yoongi.”

“I always believed in you,” he replies softly.

Before you know what you’re doing, you close the gap between you and throw your arms around him. “This is amazing!”

Yoongi lets out a startled huff of air as you collide into him, his hands instinctively finding your waist to steady you. “Careful,” he says.

Except, suddenly, you’re both off balance, and the next thing you know, you’re falling—collapsing together in an awkward heap on the office floor.

“Oh my God,” you groan, sprawled half on top of him. “Are you okay?”

Yoongi blinks up at you, his expression caught somewhere between amused and exasperated. “Fuuuuuck. My back.”

“I’m sorry–shit!” You scramble to sit up, but his hands tighten gently at your waist, holding you in place.

“Don’t move,” he says softly, eyes just opening from a grimace.

Your breath catches. The laughter dies in your throat as you realize how close you are—close enough to see the faint flush at the tips of his ears, the way his dark feline eyes are fixed on you like you’re the only thing in the world that matters.

“Yoongi…”

You don’t know what you’re going to say, but you don’t get the chance to figure it out. Because suddenly, he leans up, closing the distance, and kisses you.

It’s a simple peck at first—chaste, like he’s testing if you’d retreat. But you don’t.

He catches the pout on your lips and smirks. This time, he fixes his grip on your waist, rolls you onto your back, positioning himself above you.

Before you can react, his lips are on yours again, slotting against your plush seamlessly like it belongs there. You kiss him back, of course you do, your fingers curling into the fabric of his sweater as the world narrows to just this—him and you.

You don’t exactly remember the feeling when you kissed for the first time in the snow-covered streets or the second in your childhood bedroom, but this third time...

It’s a feeling you don’t want to end—

But, out of nowhere, you hear unmistakable sounds of whoops and hollers and when you peel your eyes open, confetti rains down on both of you.

“What the—” you gasp, jerking back as colored paper sticks to your hair and shoulders.

Above you, the maknaes are causing a ruckus, Jungkook clutching an actual pail (like where did that even come from?), while Jimin looks dramatically at the two of you on the floor, wiping pretend tears.

Suddenly, piano music is added to the mix as Taehyung plays some Christmassy tune you can’t remember the title of because there’s just so much shit happening all at once.

You glare at them. “Yah! Get out of here! You’re ruining the moment!”

But they’re not listening, clearly high off the adrenaline from the funding milestone, but also might just be high in general, because they’re already breaking into exaggerated oohs and ahhs, chanting, “Hyung and noona sitting in a tree—”

Yoongi, to his credit, hasn’t moved. He’s still on the floor, his face redder than the poinsettias decorating the cultural center, but his eyes are locked on you. He’s embarrassed—mortified, even—but there’s a quiet determination in the way he looks at you, like nothing could shake him now.

“Jungkook-ah, Jimin-ah, Taehyung-ah,” Yoongi roll calls, his voice low but firm.

The maknaes pause, mid-tease, blinking at him.

“Leave.”

Jimin smirks, nudging Jungkook. “Should we?”

Jungkook shrugs dramatically. “I mean, they’re not even getting up…”

Taehyung’s head appears between the two, his arms resting on each of their shoulders. “I think–”

You point toward the door, scowling. “GO.”

With one last round of laughter, they finally fuck off.

The silence settles quickly after they’re gone, and for a moment, all you can hear is the sound of your own breathing. You glance back at Yoongi, honestly not knowing what to expect.

He’s gnawing at his lip. You reach up and touch your finger on his mouth, shaking your head so he releases his plush that’s gone red from his teeth pulling on the skin.

Finally, he speaks: “Go out with me.”

Your heart stutters, the words catching you off guard. “What?”

“You heard me,” he tilts his head. “Say yes.”

You stare at him, your pulse thrumming wildly, and there’s only one correct answer to give.

“Yes,” you whisper, your lips curving into a shy smile. “Okay.”

Yoongi exhales, his shoulders relaxing slightly, and you can’t help but notice the faint hint of a smile tugging at the corners of his lips.

“Well,” you say, brushing confetti off his sweater, “The maknaes were right after all.”

“Don’t even give those fuckers any credit right now.” He chuckles softly, his hand slipping into yours. “They’re lucky I didn’t throw that pail at them.”

For a moment, the two of you just sit there on the confetti-strewn floor, your hands intertwined, and it feels like this is your second chance to get it right after everything that fell apart before.

Your Christmas encore.

:)

A/N: Happy holidays, Yoongi's ho ho hos! How did we like this first part???

Coming in Part 2: - Why did Yoongi really come back to town? - Is Hoseok as nonchalant about calling off the arrangement as he seems?

We’ll find out soon!!! See you in the comments.

As always, thank you for reading this, you lovely, beautiful human xo Comments and Reblogs are always loved and appreciated. 🙂

Permanent Taglist (Part 1):

@wonh0oe @hyukaluve @glossdebut @kiki-zb @kookiewithluv

@agustblog @maryhopemei @perfectiondazesworld @kimsaerom @kam9404

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

@whydoeyecare @pastelmin @tarahardcore @minjenna @chimmchimmm

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

@eve1633455 @baechugff @lilkittenjenjen @wobblewobble822 @coffeedepressionsoup

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

@chimmisbae @sexytholland @idkjustlovingbts @kpophosblog @tinyelfperson

@yoongicatagenda @codeinebelle @parapiop7 @diame93 @janeelizabeth1216

@withmuchluv-tannie @abadiimm @angellekookie

[littlelamy]

heyy! i love your writing! do you think you could do one with reader and drew where they’re getting a bit freaky but reader can’t work out drew’s belt and they have a laugh about it! thank youuu

author's note: i hope you like it! credits to @mochilly for the the divider <3

the room was warm, the soft glow of the lamp casting just enough light to highlight the mischievous smirk on drew’s face. his lips were tracing along your jaw, hands roaming your waist, the tension between you two practically crackling in the air. your fingers slid down his chest, determined to rid him of the pesky belt keeping you from what you really wanted.

“why the fuck won’t this come off?” you muttered under your breath, fumbling with the buckle.

drew pulled back slightly, eyebrows raising as he looked down at you, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “seriously? it’s just a belt, babe. not rocket science.”

you glared up at him, your frustration only growing. “this thing is more secure than a damn safe. what is this, a chastity belt? who even makes shit like this?”

he threw his head back, laughing that deep, contagious laugh that both annoyed and endeared you in the moment. “you’re killing me right now,” he said between chuckles. “do you want me to do it for you?”

“no!” you snapped, though your tone held more frustration than malice. you tugged harder, the stubborn clasp refusing to budge. “i’ve got this.”

drew leaned back on his elbows, clearly enjoying the spectacle. “oh, i’m sure you do,” he teased, his eyes glinting with amusement. “take your time, though. i’m not going anywhere.”

“you’re such an ass,” you shot back, your cheeks heating as you yanked at the belt. “why does this stupid thing hate me?”

“maybe it’s trying to protect me,” he joked, biting his bottom lip as he fought back another laugh.

“protect you?” you scoffed, finally managing to loosen the buckle. “from what? your incredibly horny girlfriend?”

“exactly,” he said with a grin, sitting up as you finally ripped the belt free and tossed it dramatically to the floor.

“there. fuck you, belt,” you muttered triumphantly.

drew’s hands were on your hips in an instant, pulling you onto his lap, his breath warm against your ear. “i don’t think the belt’s the one you’re about to fuck,” he murmured, his voice low and teasing.

you couldn’t help but laugh, swatting at his chest. “you’re insufferable.”

“and yet, you love me,” he shot back, his lips brushing yours before you both gave in to the heat of the moment, laughter dissolving into something much more intoxicating.

taglist: @namelesslosers @maybanksangel l @averyoceanblvd @iknowdatsrightbih @starkeysprincess @anamiad00msday @ivysprophecy @wearemadeofstardust0 @sstargirln @rafedaddy01 @soldesole @bakugouswaif @skywalker0809 @vanessa-rafesgirl @evermorx89 @outerhills @ditzyzombiesblog @slavicangelmuah

[storiesofsvu]

Seventeen

Emily Prentiss x reader Requested Brat!unit chief!Emily, dom!reader. Set in s17, but that doesn't *really* matter lol Warnings: language, minor mentions of s17 canon, smut, dom/sub dynamics, a very brief slap, pussy spanking, minor over stimulation. It got real soft at the end. I dunno what happened. It's been over two months since I've written any fanfic/posted anything. Bare with me if this is terrible. I dunno how i feel about it yet so… yeah LOL. 5.1k

Emily heard a clicking sound against the linoleum all the way from in her cell and it was one that was all too familiar to her, one of a pair of Manolo’s making their way closer and closer to her. Somehow with each step her heart began racing faster than it had over the thought of spending the night in a holding cell. The sound stopped, two stunning royal blue heels swivelling into her gaze and she finally looked up, the exasperated look on her face melting off at the perfectly styled brow you raised in her direction.

“Seriously?”

“I—no, it wasn’t, Brian—”

“Save it!” Your voice was clipped, eyes dark as you shot her a glare before nodding to the guard to let her out, “you’re just lucky I wasn’t already at home.”

Emily nearly scrambled to her feet, fumbling to collect her things as you promptly turned on your heel and began to leave as swiftly as you arrived, the other woman at your heels. She wrapped her red coat tighter around her frame as the door swung open and you both stepped out into the night, a gust of frigid air whirling around both of you. Your hair whipped around your face as you approached the car, picking up the scent of your shampoo and Emily felt her senses alight, almost forgetting where she was as she started to speak.

“Thanks. You can just drop me back at work, I’ve got a change of…” She trailed off as she looked at you over the hood of the car. Your expression had hardened again, lips pursed as you surveyed her.

“You can’t seriously think I’m going to let you run off again. After all of that?” You scoffed, opening your door, “get in the car and shut up.” Your head tilted, your brow cocked in that all too familiar way at the end of your sentence and Emily was finally able to properly read you, while there was a frustration about having to bail her out practically in the middle of the night, there was a charged look behind your eyes that she knew all too well. She wasn’t going to push it, opening the door and dropping into her seat faster than either of you expected. “Good girl.”

Your hand reached over, tightly wrapping around her thigh and squeezing hard enough that she nearly gulped, her body tingling in anticipation as she did her seat belt up. Your hand moved to start the car, a patch of coolness on her thigh that sent shivers throughout her entire body. Her eyes darted over to you, while your jaw was relaxed, your hands were gripping the steering wheel and she certainly knew better than trying to push it by saying anything on the ride home.

Silence took over the car, the wind outside blowing over the windshield the only sound aside from the quiet rumble of the engine as you drove through the streets. Emily could feel her entire body buzzing, her chest nearly vibrating with anxiety as you got closer and closer to home, the prayer that she would get out of this easily one of the only thoughts on her mind. When you pulled into the driveway and didn’t say anything she lingered before undoing her seat belt, wondering if the lecture was going to come before she even made it in the door but your shoulders relaxed as you undid your seat belt and slipped from the car. She let out a breath, picking up her bag and quickly following you inside.

Once the main light was flicked on she kicked off her boots, tossing her coat over the back of the couch and let out a grumble of a sigh, running her hands over her face. She pushed back her hair, part of her wishing she had a hair tie on her to tug it up into a messy bun, instead, shoving it off to the side, picking at the sleeves of her shirt.

“What a fucking day. You would not believe the shit I had to put up with in the office—”

“You know better than that.” Your voice was cold and clipped when you interrupted her, and when she turned back to you she caught that perfectly raised brow again, your arms crossed over your chest and she instantly fell silent. “I’ve already had an incredibly long and tedious day. You’ve gone ahead and made it even longer, so what are you going to do to make it up to me?”

“Sorry.” The remorse in her voice was evident as she stepped back toward you, waiting until you dropped your arms to reach for your hands, “I really didn’t think”—

She was cut off when your hands instantly recoiled from hers, one darting out to wrap around her neck and her breath hitched as you gently shoved her back from you.

“Nice try.” Your finger and thumb squeezed against her soft skin, “but you don’t get to fucking touch me. Go make me a drink.” Your hand pushed her backwards and she let a gulp of air into her lungs, watching you for a moment until your head titled and she was quick to nod, crossing through the space into the kitchen.

Your gaze lingered on her, making sure she was doing what you asked before you let out an airy sigh, slipping out of your coat to hang it in the closet, shedding your blazer to rest it neatly over the back of a chair while you unbuttoned the top few buttons of your blouse. Behind you, you heard the clinking of two ice cubes into a rocks glass, turning just in time to watch Emily pour three fingers of amber liquid on top before sliding it across the island to you.

“Good girl.” When you picked up the glass to take a sip you caught her eyes following it up to your lips. Her tongue darting out to wet her own as they lingered on the plump cherry red wrapping around the rim of the glass.

Your eyes fluttered shut as the liquid sank down your throat, warming you from the inside out, the tension in your shoulders slowly relaxing as the day drifted away. You slipped onto a stool across from Emily, taking another sip before the glass gently returned to the island, your elbow beside it, your chin gently resting on the back of your hand while you surveyed her. Emily knew better than to speak but couldn’t control the way her mouth twitched when she wanted to ask ‘what?’, wondering just what was going on in your brain. The fingers of your other hand began to drum against the counter, manicured nails tapping out a repetitive beat.

“Now…just what are we going to do with you?” You asked, your voice controlled, low in a way that made Emily’s body tingle. “And I’m not just talking about tonight princess. You’ve been acting out for weeks now.”

Her lips parted, ready to explain as her body moved closer to the island, her hands braced on the edge of it. You picked up your glass to give her a moment, as if daring her to say something and her voice caught in her throat, swallowing the words back down as her mouth quickly shut.

“Remember, I’m well aware of just how incredibly stressful your job is, you’re the one out there finding the criminals and I’m the one responsible for prosecuting them. I would say my workday contained more migraines than yours if it wasn’t for your seniority. You knew continuing on as Section Chief would mean extended responsibilities, more duties, much more bureaucracy… which you’ve always hated. You need to learn how to say, ‘yes sir’ and at least pretend to mean it, that mouth of yours continually gets you in trouble, doesn’t it?”

She let out a puff of air, ducking her gaze for a moment, “yes.”

“Yes, what?” You nearly growled, annoyed at how quickly she seemed to need a reminder.

“Yes ma’am.” She repeated, eyes darting back up to yours again.

“That’s better.” Smirking, you took another sip of your drink, before tilting your head to your side, “get over here.”

Emily darted around the island, stopping in front of you as she waited with bated breath for you to swallow the liquor in your mouth. Her eyes flicked to your throat when it bobbed, her gaze dropping lower as if she was watching the trail of liquid move through your body, her eyes lingering on the curve of your chest daring to peak out from under your shirt. You chuckled softly,

“You like what you see?” When she nodded your fingers slowly undid the rest of the buttons, adjusting the fabric until she could see the dark lace of your bra underneath it. At her sides, her fingers twitched and you laughed again, “you think you’re getting rewarded? Fat chance. On your knees.” As she did as she was told, you slipped off the stool, standing high over her, “you’ve been nothing but a fucking brat recently, and you’re going to get what you deserve, you understand me?”

“Yes ma’am.” She nodded meekly.

“Good. Because I don’t know why you think you would get away with all of this shit. Backtalking, not playing by the rules, disobeying direct orders from your superiors? You’ve been spiralling completely out of control and it’s about time someone reminds you exactly where your place is. You think I haven’t noticed the way you barely make it home anymore? How half your closet is likely stashed away in your office? And let’s not even get started about the smoking. You said you were done with that.”

“I- “

“No!” Your hand reached out, grasping her jaw, thumb pulling on her bottom lip until her mouth was open, “you think I can’t smell it on you? Can’t taste it on those pretty lips when you kiss me goodnight? That mouth of yours can be used for so many other, better things than something like that.”

Emily’s lips remained parted, head tilted back in wait as you picked up your glass, taking another sip and letting the liquor sit in your mouth for a moment. Your lips parted just enough to let the liquid dribble from your mouth into hers, the back of your hand swatting her chin in a prompt to close her mouth when you were satisfied, swallowing down what was left in your mouth.

“Swallow.” You instructed and she did as asked, “open.” She opened her mouth, her tongue extending past her lips to prove she wasn’t disobeying. “That’s better. Are you done being a brat now?”

“Maybe.” It was out before she even realized it, a fire flashing behind her eyes as her lips dared to betray themselves, the corner twitching up into a grin. She saw the warning glance you gave her, a gasp escaping her lips when your palm met her cheek, a near breathy moan coming from the back of her throat as her shoulders relaxed at the tingle trickling through her from the slap.

“You earned that.” You drained the rest of your drink, “so get to the bedroom. I want you naked and waiting on your knees like a pretty pet, understood?”

Emily fervently nodded, quickly shifting off her knees before hurrying down the hallway. A puff of air escaped your lips as you shook your head, giving her a few moments to situate herself before you slowly made your way toward the bedroom, fingers swiftly undoing the remaining buttons of your blouse as you went. As you rounded the corner into the room you tugged the blouse out of your skirt, a small smile creeping across your lips when your eyes landed on Emily, naked and kneeling at the foot of the bed.

“Looks like someone has finally figured out how to follow the rules.” Your hand reached out, smoothing back a few pieces of her hair, tucking them behind her ear before your fingers trailed down her cheek. “I hope you don’t think that you’re getting rewarded now because of one good deed,” your tapped the tip of her nose before letting your blouse fall down your arms, tossing it in the direction of the hamper.

“No ma’am.” She replied softly, her eyes raking over the newly exposed skin of your body as you unzipped your skirt, pushing it down your legs. Her tongue darted out, wetting her lips at the sight of you clad in only your lingerie.

“It’s a shame. There I was putting this on earlier thinking we could have an entire evening of fun; I know it’s your favourite of mine.”

“I’ll make it up to you.” Her offer came quick, her voice just barely above a whisper as she strained to not reach out and touch you, the urge to bury her face in between your legs getting stronger by the second.

“How so?” You asked, stepping past her to the dresser where you pulled open the toy drawer.

“I’ll stay home all weekend. No work, no phone calls.” Emily glanced over her shoulder and shivered as her hair tickled over her back, “spend the entire time worshipping you, the way I should have been all this time. You deserve it and I’m sorry I was slacking off. It won’t happen again.”

“Good.” You glanced over at her, a warm smile on your lips, “I’m happy to not hear any pathetic excuses coming from that pretty mouth and those better not be empty promises.”

“They aren’t. I swear.” She swallowed when her eyes zeroed in on the items you’d chosen, your hip pushing the drawer shut. “I’m all yours, all weekend.”

“We’ll get to celebrate later, for now… up.” You crooked your fingers and she stood, her breath catching in her throat as you stepped up to her, your free hand cupping her cheek before your lips met hers.

Sparks began tingling through her entire body, her fingertips twitching as your lips moved with grace against hers, your hand sliding into her hair, tangling into the grey locks. She couldn’t help but let out a needy whine when you pulled a fraction of an inch away, your breath hot on her lips as you spoke.

“You’ve begun to be good; you may touch.”

The second it was out of your mouth her hands were on you, tracing patterns across your bare skin, toying with the lace of your lingerie, grasping at you in the desperate way one would after having not touched you in that way in weeks. Your mouth was back on hers, deepening the kiss as your tongue sunk into her mouth, dancing with hers, refusing to leave a single inch unexplored. Emily moaned into the kiss, so distracted by the pleasure shooting through her she didn’t feel your hand leave her head until it was groping at her chest. She expected a pinch, a gasp from her lips breaking the kiss at the sensation of something very cold pinching her nipple instead as you secured the clamp.

“You didn’t really think I was going to play nice, did you?” You chuckled, raising a brow and she shook her head.

“Just surprised, that’s all.” She murmured, a moan coming from the back of her throat as you applied the other clamp.

“That’s my good girl.” You cooed, your fingers trailing down the chain, tugging gently on it and Emily’s head fell back with a groan, “you like that?”

“Mmhmm…”

“Such a glutton for punishment.” Your hand yanked on the chain and Emily gasped, her eyes flying open to find you smirking across at her.

“Fuck…” She muttered, unable to resist rubbing her thighs together as the sparks began to build lower in her body, tingling their way down from her chest to her pussy.

Suddenly, you were back on her, mouth trailing down her neck, teeth scraping against the sensitive skin, one hand tangled in the chain, pulling occasionally while the other explored around her body. You pressed messy kisses to her neck, nipping gently at the same frequency that you pulled on the clamps until your teeth sunk into the crook of her neck and her entire body shuddered.

“Oh god.”

You lips curved up into a grin as your tongue lapped over the spot, soothing the burn before you pressed another kiss to it. Emily’s hands tugged you impossibly close to her, her nose nudging at your cheek, silently begging for another kiss. She wanted your lips on hers again, the all too familiar and comforting feeling, the taste of your scotch against her tongue, she craved the way you tasted, the way your taste drove her wild. The moment your lips were on hers she simply couldn’t get enough, wanting to explore every inch of you with her mouth, never wanting to let go.

She was utterly intoxicated by you, the world melted away the moment you touched her, her brain a fog of pleasure, desire and need as you made her body tingle. She was always surprised by just how quickly you could turn her on, how some days it only took a certain look, a glimmer in your eye as your lips flicked into a smirk and she could feel herself fluttering already. As your hand gently tugged on the clamp chain and the other one sunk down her body she felt like she was high, the pleasure from your touches dancing their way through her body. She felt the tingles as your fingers tickled at the curve of her ass before you squeezed and she moaned into the kiss. The moan intensified, her hands clawing at your skin when your hand sunk between her legs, fingers slowly dragging through her cunt, collecting her wetness before smearing it on her clit when you rubbed it gently.

“Fuck…” She breathed, her breath hitching when you tugged on the clamps again, her words turning into a whine.

“I just knew you’d like this.” You murmured, lips kissing across her jaw, “knew that needy little pussy would be wet at the thought of being punished.” You tugged on the chain in the same moment that your hand swatted at her cunt and she shivered, “get on the bed, lie back.”

Emily barely managed to pull herself away from you, chewing on her lower lip, her eyes still on you as she crawled onto the bed, settling against the pillows. Her hand absentmindedly drifted to the chain, tugging on it gently and her back bowed off the bed as sparks flew down to her pussy.

“Dirty girl.” You scolded, crawling onto the bed with a wicked grin on your lips, “now how about you spread those legs for me?”

Your hands slid up her legs, gripping onto her thighs as you pushed them apart, exposing her in the low light of the bedroom.  She felt the cool leather tracing up her calf before her eyes managed to open to spot the crop in your hand and she let out an involuntary moan, pulling on the chain again and you chuckled.

“Thought you might like this.” You purred, dragging the crop up her thigh, the leather tracing across her lower stomach before moving to her other leg, “and you do deserve to be spanked, don’t you think?”

“Yes ma’am.” She nodded, groaning when your free hand wrapped around hers on the chain, tugging harder, “I’ve been bad.”

“And you’re going to count.”

“Yes.”

“And what happens if you miscount?” You asked, pulling the chain again and her eyes fluttered shut at the lightning shooting through her, she could feel her pussy getting wetter with each second that went by, pulsing around nothing as it begged to be fucked.

“Start over.”

“Good girl.” You praised, the crop gently swatting at her inner thigh. She shifted slightly, attempting to roll onto her side, only stopped by the fact that you were sitting between her legs, hands immediately clamping down onto her thighs, forcing her back to where she’d been before. “Uh-huh.” Shaking your head you tsk’d at her, “naughty girls get their pussies spanked, not their asses.”

“Baby…” she moaned and you chuckled, leaning over her while your hand suddenly cupped her cunt, massaging gently and her entire body shook, jolting off the bed as she swore.

“What?” Your finger tips pressed into her while the heel of your hand pressed against her pulsing clit, “isn’t this what you wanted? Your dripping pussy getting touched? Such a silly pet thinking you’d get fucked tonight. You may have shown a new leaf but you’re still in trouble princess, and bad girls get what’s coming to them.”

“Please!” She begged, her hips rocking up to your touch as her pussy throbbed, juices coating your fingers.

“I take it you’re ready?” You asked, your hand dragging through her cunt once more before you removed it, much to Emily’s displeasure, a whine leaving her lips as she nodded.

“Yes.”

“Good. You know the rules and you know your word.”

“Mmhmm.”

Her fingers gripped into the duvet in an attempt to keep herself under control and grounded, you’d restart if she miscounted, but you’d stop entirely if she even thought about touching you or herself. It had happened before and she wasn’t about to let herself live through that punishment again. A gasp escaped her when the crop came down in its first spank, a softer one to test the waters, make sure she was actually ready for it before you truly let her have it. The crop lingered on her cunt, dipping between her pussy lips as her body trembled, her eyes squeezed shut as she let out a breath,

“One.”

“Good girl.” You cooed and the praise washed over her like a warm breeze, her skin heating up, a tinge of pink creeping into her cheeks. Your hand hitched her thigh up, spreading her legs even further apart before spanking again, this time harder, enough to make her suck in a breath, the muscles of her legs twitching.

“Two…” she groaned, the warmth floating around her body turning up a notch, sparks igniting under her skin as you continued to bring the crop down twice more, this time in such fast succession she barely had time to register “three” before the word “four” was leaving her lips. The crop came down once more, the sting heavier as you kept it against her pussy, pressing into her wetness until the leather was coated in juices, glimmering in the low light. “Five.”

“How many do you think you deserve naughty girl?” You asked, continuing to rub her with the crop as your free hand picked up the chain, tugging on the nipple clamps and she moaned, fire breaking out inside her. “Been so bad for weeks now…ten doesn’t seem like enough.” The next swat came down so quick she hadn’t even realized you’d stopped rubbing her.

“Six!”

“Maybe I should just keep going until I feel like you’ve learnt your lesson.” Spank.

“Seven.” Spank. “Eight. Fuck… baby please…” Spank. “Nine. Don’t stop!”

“Desperate little thing, aren’t you?” You teased, leaning over her your hand pinched at the side of one of the clamps, opening it to relieve her nipple and she let out a moan when you sucked it into your mouth, tongue toying with the nub. A louder groan broke free of her lips when you spanked her again, the crop hitting her clit harder than the last one.

“Shit! Ten.” Emily’s eyes scrunched shut even tighter, her fingers clinging to the duvet like her life depended on it. She could feel her pussy dripping down onto the bed, aching to be filled while her clit absolutely throbbed, it wasn’t going to take much longer before you made her come. “Fuck!”

The cry left her as her eyes flew open when you suddenly applied the clamp again, this time it was wound tighter than before, a stinging sensation starting in her nipple and moved through her entire body that pulled a whimper from her.

“Oh don’t be soft.” You teased, your hand moving to the other side to tighten the second one, pinching it around her nipple with your fingers, “I know you like it.”

“Oh god yes…” She groaned, a shiver moving through her body when you tugged on the chain.

“So pretty all spread out like this for me.” You murmured, eyes raking over her naked body, nipples pink and hard, her chest flushed and slowly heaving as she tried to reign in her pleasure. Between her legs glistened, juices smeared across her thighs, dripping out of her gorgeous cunt and if you hadn’t been so hellbent on punishing her you would have buried your face into it immediately. Instead you brought the crop down onto it, chuckling darkly at the sound of it hitting her wetness.

“Eleven.” She groaned, her body writhing against the bed, heat prickling up under her eyelids as her teeth sunk into her lower lip. “Please!”

“Oh princess. Are you going to come just like this?” Spank.

“Twelve.”

“So desperate and slutty that I don’t even need to touch you.” Spank.

“Thirteen.” Her speech was broken, strangled as her jaw clenched, trying her best to hold on.

“Don’t even want my fingers inside that drenched pussy?” Spank. “Want my mouth wrapped around that throbbing clit?” Spank.

“Fourteen… fif—fifteen.” Her knuckles were starting to turn white, her thighs shaking on either side of your body, juices seeping out of her pussy.

“Maybe I should just leave you hanging…” You chuckled, this spank landing directly on her clit and her body jolted.

“Si-xtee—en.”

“Bring you so close to the ledge you’re nearly teetering over but don’t get to fall…” the crop traced around the outside of her pussy and she let out a whine of desperation, her skin burning up as her body twisted on the bed, “could just sit on your face and get myself off instead. Maybe that would be fair.” Spank.

“Fuck!” Her body convulsed as the pleasure shot through her like a rocket, her entire body on fire while wetness dripped out of her. She bit down on her lip so hard she was sure she would taste blood in a second if she wasn’t suddenly so overcome with the hot flash of pleasure taking over every inch of her body. She could barely feel the clamps on her nipples when you yanked on the chain, her back bowing off the bed, her eyesight went white when it was your hand instead of the crop that spanked her pussy.

“That’s it princess.” You cooed, hand massaging against her before two fingers slipped into her pussy, “but you’re not done yet. You’ve got another one in you; I know you do.”

“Oh god!” She moaned, “please! Please baby!” The tears that had previous pricked in the corners of her eyes were beginning to leak out, trailing over her cheeks as her body shook.

“You know your word.” You taunted, fingers quickly curling inside her pussy, searching out the sensitive spot.

Rather than use her word Emily tried to bite down onto her lip harder, a feeble attempt that only lasted a second before your fingers were brushing against her g-spot and she was crying out again. Her pussy clenched down around you, squeezing your fingers tighter with each thrust of your hand. Her first orgasm was barely finished by the time the second was washing over her, silent moans and screams coming from her lips as her body thrashed, pussy juices dripping down your wrist as she came.

“Fuck!” She shuddered, panting as you finally slipped your fingers out of her, sucking them between your lips to clean them off.

“Mmm. Always so tasty.” You gently tugged on the clamp chain again and she shivered, “are you finished counting?”

“Seventeen.” She breathed out, her eyes fluttering shut as her head sunk into the pillows.

“That’s my good girl.” Tossing the crop to the side you crawled over her, gently removing the nipple clamps, placing soft kisses around the swollen nubs as you did so. Your hands ghosted up her sides, fingertips tracing paths on her heated skin as she managed to catch her breath. She’d finally let go of the bedspread, her hand reaching for you with a soft whine and you chuckled, grabbing her hand to place a kiss in her palm. “Just a second.”

You shifted the blankets around, pulling them up over the two of you as you got settled on the bed, letting Emily instantly curl into you, her head resting on your chest. Her finger tips slowly tickled at your skin, her eyes fluttering between shut and staring off into space, her breathing finally normal again. Your free hand cupped the back of her head as your lips pressed a soft kiss to her temple, your fingers gently scratching her head.

“You alright?”

“Mmhm.” She nodded, lips brushing against your chest.

“And what did you learn?”

“If you fuck around you’re going to find out.”

You laughed, the smile reaching your eyes and Emily felt the warmth blooming in her chest when her eyes cracked open to catch the expression on your face.

“That’s right.” Your fingertip tapped the tip of her nose, “and I am always going to know when you think it’s a good idea to run your mouth at the wrong time. I don’t ever want to see you behind bars again, alright?”

“Agreed.” She nodded the best she could.

“I mean it Emily.” You squeezed her hand, “this time it was a stupid mistake that can be written off. But I know how reckless you can get, how much you can let yourself drown in work and I don’t want to see that happen again, you mean too much to me. I definitely don’t want to see you get hurt or get a call that you’re somewhere worse than a jail cell.”

“I’m sorry.” She murmured, this time looking up at you with true remorse in her eyes, “this case is so much. I got too wrapped up in it and forgot about the rest of my life.” She kissed your collarbone, “you’re right. I need a break and that starts with this weekend.”

“Good.” You kissed the top of her head as she burrowed deeper into your embrace, her breathing already slowing as the exhaustion sank through her body.

“Thank you.”

“For?” You asked as a yawn snuck up on you.

“Reminding me of the important things in life.”

It was barely a whisper, her voice muffled by your body and you squeezed her again, leaving a kiss on her hair in response. It was only a moment later that your fingers gently pushed the hair off her face, tracing down her cheek and you noticed she was already asleep. More than anything, Emily really did need a break and that truly was starting right now.

_____________________

Emily’s taglist is over 50 ppl so if you do not interact you will be removed for someone who will!

________________

@mickey-gomez @momlifebehard @daddy-heather-dunbar @maybe-a-humanbean @rustyzebra @leftoverenvy @kades95 @dextur @supercriminalbean @emilyprentisssluvr @lex13cm @zizzlekwum @emobabeyy @riveramorylunar @scorpsik @onmykneesformarvel @inlovewithemilyprentiss @regalmilfs4me @ara-a-bird @inlovewithmiddleagewomen @kmc1989 @irishavengersassemble @hopedoesntknow @venromanova @waitaminuteashh @noahrex @imlike-so-gaydude @wittygutsy @cx-emerald-cx cx @momily @nilaues @borinxnovak @soverign @v3nusxsky @mccdreamys-writes @l4yne @obsessedwjill @asolitaryrose3 @lisqueen @mrs-prentiss @whitewinewithice @d33pd3sire-blog @daffodil-heart @maximoffcarter @i-lovefandom @chimnlex @moonlightjxuregui @chestnutninny @gamma-rae-bursts @just-moondust @idkifimasub @gaydragonwitch @m1lfsh4ke @idkwhatever580 @ohlookmypeach @hausoffun @suckerforcate @xenafan25 @necronazarick @avoiderofthings @tigerf-cker @sevyscoven

[straightoutthehexcore]

𝙃𝙚𝙭𝙚𝙙 <3

Side note can we talk about how this version of Viktor and hexcore (rainbow) Viktor are the best versions of him? Did bro say Glorious Ovulation because holyyyyyyyyyyyy 0///0

𝘾𝙝𝙖𝙧𝙖𝙘𝙩𝙚𝙧: Viktor my beloved <3

𝙎𝙪𝙢𝙢𝙖𝙧𝙮: Just general romantic/some NSFW headcanons for my favorite boy. You can picture these with whichever Viktor you want (I guess), but I feel S1 Viktor fits best.

𝘾𝙤𝙣𝙩𝙚𝙣𝙩 𝙒𝙖𝙧𝙣𝙞𝙣𝙜: NSFW themes (edging, eating out, praise kink on both sides if you squint, public sex fantasies), AFAB reader (mostly intended to be fem! reader but I'll be extra careful for my nonbinary/ftm friends)

𝙍𝙤𝙢𝙖𝙣𝙩𝙞𝙘 𝙃𝙚𝙖𝙙𝙘𝙖𝙣𝙤𝙣𝙨

First off, I wholeheartedly believe in asexual/gay Viktor, and I am 100% a JayVik shipper, but a girl can also dream that he's bisexual with a male preference. It's a stretch, I know.

That's what we get for liking our men fruity.

Absolutely adores acts of service (his favorite), but physical touch (like the forehead touch that zaunites do, and other subtle movements) and verbal reassurance are things that make him feel appreciated.

Not huge on displaying his affections anywhere but in private. Nobody would even know that you guys are together and he likes it that way. He already has enough eyes on him, though they're mainly on Jayce.

Not big on names either, and idk if Czech exists in the LoL universe (as saddening as it is). He sticks with mentioning you as his "partner," though a "love" will sometime slip out when the two of you are alone.

"Can you please pass me those notes, my love?" "Do you need any help, love? You look... frustrated." "My cane is all the way across the room, can you please bring it to me, my love?"

You have to try your damnedest to either get into his lab to see him or to get him to turn in for the night. He reasons that this research is vital to his well-being, but so is rest. It usually doesn't work, so you at least bring him something to eat/drink.

I look at that man and think "pathetic twink," but with his attitude/personality, I can actually see him as more of a dominant figure in a romantic relationship. He is very sassy, he is assertive, and he is blunt. He doesn't look like he'd be like that, so it's a welcome surprise.

Generally a patient partner and is perfectly fine with slow-moving relationships. Actually, he prefers them. Not only does he enjoy the feeling of quiet, calm yearning, but he sees no reason for turbulence if one is trying to create a lifelong connection (which is what he generally looks for).

Viktor is generally really thoughtful, and even when you don't think he's listening, he'll remember the events of your day with perfect accuracy and even the food you mentioned eating this morning. Even the way you phrase things, he has sharp memory and is very considerate and attentive.

𝙉𝙎𝙁𝙒 𝙃𝙚𝙖𝙙𝙘𝙖𝙣𝙤𝙣𝙨

I headcanon that he is 100% a virgin

Switch, but top leaning. Let me explain.

Just as I said he was more dominant in romantic relationships, once he is comfortable with a partner, he also becomes more sexually dominant as well. This might take him a while but I SWEAR it's worth it.

Limited mobility hinders a lot of things he wishes he could do (he'd be more experimental if not for it). He gets really insecure about his body, so he needs lots and lots of reassurance. He sometimes psychs himself out and gets a little worried that he's leaving you unsatisfied.

More of a giver than a receiver, he takes more pleasure in feeling your fingers in his hair while he overstimulates you with his tongue. Very skilled for someone who has NEVER done that stuff.

He is such a sweet dom, mostly ever lets out whimpers and small moans, as well as pure, sweet compliments, or the very rare tease. However, if you ever hear him curse under his breath, you know it's good.

Prettiest fucked-out expression EVER, eyes rolled back, head thrown back, back arching, the whole shabang.

Mainly has you riding him, his face, etc. One time he told you that you didn't need to hover and it was okay for a LITTLE but then he found it difficult. He still loves to have you fully seated while he works his magic.

Into edging and is really cheeky about it. He'll make the most smug expressions while eating you out or... rather, stopping before you finish. Part of him likes seeing you struggle, it's funny to him.

Absolutely communication driven, but gets a bit more confident as the relationship progresses. He doesn't want to overstep, and wants to know what you want/don't want, but will make use of that knowledge later.

Cannot be coerced out of work with sex. Thanks for trying. Maybe when he gets home, but he's usually either sleeps at the lab or is too sleepy at home. It is an unwelcome distraction and it genuinely frustrates him.

Speaking of the lab, he does feel really flustered and ashamed to admit that he has fantasies about you sitting on the desk and him going at it-- tongue, dick, all of it. It isn't a huge thing for him, but it pops into his head every once in a while.

11/10 aftercare, though you wish your already debilitated partner wouldn't try to rush around after he exerted himself so much. He rushes around to get you cleaned up, make you tea, all of it. He insists on doing things for you first.

I hope I fed the Viktor enjoyers, I love you guys and hope you're doing well after the events of S2. Stay strong Viktor nation, and as for Jayce...?

Jaybe.

This is my first Arcane headcanon post and definitely not my last. :D

Thanks for reading! Rosey <3

[0omillo0]

Hi, I love your content. I was wondering if you could write something like a failed date with bangchan. Like he takes you out to dinner they are about to be late because chan had overslept in the studio and so t/n rushes chan which makes him park in a place where he shouldn't and well a tow truck takes the car and they have to walk to where the car is and your heel breaks and well you resist a little but finally he carries you on his back and you both end up reconciling.

(Sientete libre de ignorarlo sino te gusta la idea 💗)

“Failed” Date

Bangchan x Reader — 방찬

It was supposed to be the perfect night. Bang Chan had promised you a proper date after weeks of hectic schedules and late-night studio sessions. You’d spent the day excited, picking out the perfect outfit and imagining how nice it would be to just have some time with him, away from the chaos of his work.

But, of course, things couldn’t go as planned.

“Chan?” you called, tapping your phone nervously as you stood by the door. The reservation was for 8:00 PM, and it was already 7:45. He still wasn’t out of the studio. You sighed, pacing slightly before deciding to check on him.

You found him slumped in his chair, headphones still around his neck, head resting against the desk as soft music played in the background. His face looked peaceful, though a little tired, and for a moment, you hesitated to wake him up. But then you checked your phone again. 7:50.

“Chan!” you said, a little louder this time, shaking his shoulder gently. He stirred, his eyes fluttering open groggily as he blinked up at you in confusion.

“What…?” He sat up quickly, realizing the time. “Oh no. I fell asleep. I’m so sorry, Y/N.”

“It’s okay,” you said, though your voice was tinged with urgency. “But we’re really late. We need to go now.”

The rush to leave was a blur. Chan threw on the first jacket he could find and grabbed his keys. You slid into the passenger seat as he fumbled with the GPS, muttering apologies under his breath.

“Chan, we’re already late,” you said, trying not to sound frustrated. “We don’t have time to find perfect parking.”

“I know, I know,” he replied, clearly flustered. He spotted an open space just a block away from the restaurant and, without thinking, pulled in.

“Uh… Chan,” you said, eyeing the bright yellow “No Parking” sign.

“It’s fine,” he said quickly, shutting the car off. “We’ll only be here for a couple of hours. What’s the worst that could happen?”

You gave him a skeptical look but decided not to argue.

Dinner was nice… until it wasn’t.

The restaurant was cozy, and for a while, it felt like things were going to turn around. Chan apologized for being late, his hand holding yours across the table as he promised to make the night perfect. You’d started to relax, letting yourself enjoy the warmth of his presence.

But when you left the restaurant, your stomach dropped.

“Where’s the car?” you asked, your eyes scanning the now-empty parking space.

Chan froze, his mouth opening and closing as he tried to process what was happening.

“No…” he groaned, running a hand through his hair. “No, no, no. It got towed.”

You sighed, pinching the bridge of your nose. “I told you that spot wasn’t okay.”

“I know,” he said quickly, guilt evident in his tone. “I’ll fix it. I promise. Let’s just… let’s go to the lot and get it back.”

The two of you started walking, the cold night air nipping at your skin. Chan kept glancing at you, his guilt clear in the way his shoulders were hunched.

“Are you mad?” he asked hesitantly.

“I’m not mad,” you replied, though your voice was tight. “It’s just… this isn’t exactly how I imagined tonight going.”

“I know,” he said softly. “I really wanted this to be special for you.”

You didn’t respond, partly because you didn’t want to say something you’d regret, and partly because your heel chose that moment to snap.

“Are you kidding me?” you groaned, stumbling slightly as you tried to balance.

Chan was by your side in an instant, his hands steadying you. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” you said, though your frustration was starting to bubble over. You tried to take another step, but the broken heel made it nearly impossible.

Chan frowned, glancing down at your shoes before making a decision. Without warning, he crouched in front of you.

“What are you doing?” you asked, startled.

“Get on,” he said firmly.

“What? No, I’m not—”

“Y/N,” he interrupted, looking over his shoulder at you. His voice softened. “Please. Let me do this. I need to do something right tonight.”

You hesitated for a moment before sighing and climbing onto his back. He adjusted you easily, his arms strong and steady as he started walking again.

The silence was different this time—less tense, more comforting.

“I’m sorry,” Chan said after a while, his voice quiet but earnest. “For everything. For oversleeping, for parking in a stupid spot, for not making this night what you deserve. You do so much for me, Y/N, and I just… I keep screwing up.”

You rested your chin on his shoulder, your anger melting away as you listened to him. “Chan, you don’t have to be perfect. I just want to spend time with you. That’s what tonight was supposed to be about.”

“I know,” he said softly. “And I promise I’ll do better. I’ll plan another date, and this time, I’ll get it right. No studio naps, no towed cars, no broken heels.”

You couldn’t help but laugh, the sound lightening the mood. “You’re doing okay so far,” you teased.

He smiled, glancing back at you. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” you said, tightening your arms around his shoulders. “This isn’t so bad.”

By the time you reached the impound lot, you were both laughing, the tension of the night completely gone.

As Chan set you down, he turned to you, his hands resting on your waist. “Thank you for being patient with me,” he said sincerely.

You smiled, leaning up to kiss his cheek. “Thank you for carrying me.”

His eyes softened, a small smile tugging at his lips. “Always.”

And somehow, despite everything that had gone wrong, the night felt perfect after all.

@intartaruginha @hannamoon143 @omgsecretsecret @inlovewithstraykids @whoa-jo @madirye062 @vixensss @sseawavee @emilyywhyy @halfwinterhalfuniverse @velvetmoonlght @flourishmoon

[dreadheadmadi]

Please do NOT feel bad! My post was made out of frustration so it comes off as super aggressive, but for your case specifically there isn’t a huge big deal. I haven’t read your work (maybe I should 👀), but based on your repost it sounds like you’ve put a generalized description of a black female reader which isn’t bad as it seems.

A majority of black women match those descriptions, so I don’t think my post is 100% geared towards you.

My post was towards those who claim they don’t write for a specific audience, and yet put specific descriptions in their work.

You however DO write for a specific audience, and so therefore you WILL have specific descriptions (like for instance not everyone has brown eyes and black hair but a large majority of black people DO, so it doesn’t cause an issue overall).

Yes, you’re right that not every black female is curvy, wears braids, and so forth. So if you think you might need to switch it up, then go for it! But I say to ask your audience first, there’s no need in fixing something if it doesn’t need fixing.

If you do end up wanting to switch things up, just add common descriptors amongst black people and avoid really specific terms.

Use the term “Black” as a race or to describe a color of something aside from skin tone, same with “brown”. If you wanna describe the skin, use terms like “melanated” to get your point across. These are just examples of what I’ve seen other writers do, but just listen to your heart.

Ofc, you can always just say “Curvy! Reader” or actually put the description IN the title!

“Reader has black hair and blue eyes-“

THEN ITS NOT AN X READER!!???

[amirasainz]

Hear me out. What about Charles x singer reader. She wants to write a new song and Charlss is helping her with playing the piano. Like, lots of couple goals.

Enjoy reading and send some requests!!!

-xoxo babygirl ♥️

Composing Love

Yn sat in the sunlit corner of their apartment, her fingers lightly pressing the piano keys. A pencil rested between her teeth as she hummed a few bars of a melody. Sheets of paper were scattered on the floor around her, littered with scribbles, crossed-out lines, and hastily drawn musical notes. Despite the cozy setting and the warm golden light pouring through the window, frustration tugged at her features.

“Ugh,” she groaned, flopping back against the bench. “This isn’t working. It sounds... boring. Like elevator music.”

From the kitchen, Charles glanced up from where he was cutting strawberries. He didn’t say anything at first, just watched her with a soft smile. Yn was beautiful when she was lost in thought, her lips moving silently as she tried out lyrics, her hair falling into her face. But when she sighed for the third time, he placed the knife down and walked over.

“What’s wrong, ma belle?” he asked, sitting beside her on the bench. “You’ve been at this for hours.”

Yn looked at him, her eyes filled with a mix of determination and exhaustion. “I can’t get the balance right. I can hear the song in my head, but when I try to play and sing and write, it’s like my brain gets tangled. It’s... it’s stupid.”

Charles chuckled softly and reached out to tuck a stray strand of hair behind her ear. “It’s not stupid. It’s hard to do all of that at once. Why don’t you let me help?”

She raised an eyebrow. “Help how? Last time I asked, you said the only thing you could play was the F1 steering wheel.”

“Touché.” He grinned, but then he nudged her gently. “I’ve been practicing since then, remember? You taught me the basics, and I’ve been working on it. Let me play the piano for you. You focus on singing.”

Yn blinked, surprised. “You’ve been practicing... for me?”

“Of course,” Charles said, as though it were the most obvious thing in the world. “Anything to make my girl happy.”

Her heart swelled as he slid onto the piano bench, cracking his knuckles dramatically. “Okay, maestro,” she teased. “Show me what you’ve got.”

He gave her a mock-serious nod before positioning his fingers on the keys. As he began to play, a tentative but sweet melody filled the room. Yn’s eyebrows shot up in pleasant surprise—he wasn’t perfect, but he was good. Really good.

Charles looked up at her, his green eyes shining. “Is this close to what you had in mind?”

“It’s perfect,” she whispered, her voice catching slightly. She picked up the pencil and tapped it against her lips, focusing on the lyrics she’d been working on. “Okay, let’s try this.”

She began to sing, her voice soft and rich, floating above the melody Charles played. Every now and then, he glanced at her, his expression a mixture of awe and adoration. Yn caught his eye once and faltered, laughing nervously.

“Stop looking at me like that,” she said, her cheeks pink.

“Like what?” Charles asked innocently, though the mischievous grin tugging at his lips gave him away.

“Like I’m a goddess or something,” she muttered, burying her face in her hands.

“You are,” he said simply, reaching over to gently pull her hands away. “Now sing. I want to hear my goddess’s voice.”

Her blush deepened, but she obeyed, picking up where she’d left off. This time, she let herself get lost in the music. Charles adjusted his playing to match her energy, his fingers moving with more confidence as the song grew in intensity. When she hit the final note, the room seemed to hum with the lingering magic of their collaboration.

Charles stopped playing and turned to her, his expression soft. “Yn... that was incredible.”

“Really?” she asked, biting her lip.

“Really,” he said firmly. Then, without hesitation, he stood, cupped her face in his hands, and kissed her. It was a slow, tender kiss, full of the love and admiration he couldn’t always put into words.

When he pulled back, he rested his forehead against hers. “I’m so proud of you,” he whispered. “You’re amazing, you know that? Every day, I’m grateful I get to love you.”

Yn’s eyes filled with tears, but she laughed, brushing them away. “You’re making me all emotional. I’m supposed to be working.”

“You’ve worked hard enough for now,” Charles said, sitting down and pulling her onto his lap. “Let’s take a break. You can tell me about the song—what inspired it?”

Yn leaned her head against his chest, tracing patterns on his shirt. “It’s about you, actually.”

Charles’s breath hitched. “Me?”

She nodded, her voice shy but steady. “It’s about how you make me feel... safe, loved, like I can do anything. I wanted the melody to capture that warmth, that... magic.”

He kissed the top of her head, his arms tightening around her. “I don’t deserve you.”

“Yes, you do,” she said fiercely, sitting up to look him in the eye. “You’re the most wonderful man I’ve ever met, Charles. You inspire me every day.”

They stayed like that for a while, wrapped up in each other and the music they’d created together. Eventually, Yn slid off his lap, stretching her arms.

“Okay,” she said with a determined smile. “Let’s try it again. This time, I think I know how to fix the second verse.”

Charles returned to the piano without hesitation, his fingers finding the keys with ease. “Anything for you, my love.”

As they worked together, laughter and music filled the room, blending into a melody that was uniquely theirs—a song of love, teamwork, and the magic of two souls perfectly in tune.

[seat-safety-switch]

In diagnostics, there's no tool more powerful than that of positive thinking. Even though your public school teachers, parents, and assorted hippies have sold you a lie about the strength of not complaining too much, keeping motivated when repairing any complex system actually works. It can be easy to get frustrated and give up on your sixteenth straight hour of making zero progress, but remember: you're smarter than the dumb asshole who made this fucking thing, and you're gonna show them who's boss.

Now, psychologists are going to say that this is not actually positive thinking. This here is what they call an "extrinsic reward," or to put a finer point on it, spite. I don't care what they call it, and you shouldn't either: the chances of being able to walk your ass right into 1970s Plymouth HQ and telling the guy who fucked up the design of the torsion bar mounts are extremely low. Especially if you don't have a time machine.

Probably he is already dead, and Hell is regretting taking him. You won't get any satisfaction out of a confrontation at his gravesite, but you will have a working front suspension in your Volare and a couple good tips about rust removal. Also, much less hair and probably a drinking problem, but it's very difficult to pinpoint that to any particular cause. Could be the brake cleaner.

You get my point, though. Get good and mad at the dumbasses who didn't build it right in the first place, and then convert that anger into motivation. If you're really lucky, the folks who fucked it up will still be alive, and you can send them an email about how much they suck. That'll get them really good and pissed off to build something better next time, just to show you who's boss. It's called a virtuous cycle, and it ends in me being able to synthesize corn dogs out of thin air in my kitchen by 2026. I'll need to be able to, because I have a lot of spite projects I'm working on, which take up a lot of the time I'd otherwise be spending at the grocery store.

[hsnlv]

“all mine.” (altered) | s.jy

pairing: boyfriend!jake x fem!reader

synopsis: a moment of doubt clouds your mind, but jake’s gentle touch and heartfelt words remind you just how loved and perfect you truly are in his eyes.

warnings/others: insecurity, jake is sickeningly sweet in this one :(

wc: 1.04k

a/n: as written, this is actually my old work that i decided to re-write! i hope this will give you comfort like it does to me <3 reblogs and comments are highly appreciated!! happy reading my loves🎀 here’s my masterlist!

🎧now playing!🎧: take you there- h.e.r

“c’mere,” jake pats his lap with that playful grin you can never resist, the one that makes your heart do flips. his voice is soft but teasing, like he’s already expecting you to curl up in his arms. it’s your spot—his lap, his warmth, his everything. it’s where you feel safest, where you always feel loved.

but today, you hesitate. something in you feels… different. heavier. you glance down at your thighs, your stomach, catching a glimpse of yourself in the mirror out of the corner of your eye. it’s silly, really. you know it’s just your mind playing tricks on you, but the thought sneaks in anyway.

“i’m fine,” you mumble, staying rooted in place. your arms fold over your stomach as you avoid his gaze, hoping he won’t push.

but he’s jake.

he notices everything.

his teasing smile fades just a little, replaced with that soft, tender look he gets when he knows you’re feeling off.

“baby,” he says, his voice gentle as he scoots closer. his arms reach for you, wrapping around your waist and pulling you to him like it’s the easiest thing in the world. “what’s wrong?”

you shake your head, trying to brush it off. “nothing. just tired.”

“hmm.” he doesn’t buy it. not for a second. instead, he nuzzles into the crook of your neck, his lips brushing lightly against your skin as he murmurs, “tired of what, hmm? me? ‘cause if that’s the case, you’re breaking my heart here.”

you can’t help the soft laugh that escapes you, though you try to smother it. “jake…”

“there she is,” he teases, pulling back just enough to look at you. his fingers slide under your chin, tilting your face toward his. “there’s my girl. now, are you gonna tell me what’s really going on? or do i have to guess?”

you hesitate again, biting your lip, but the way he’s looking at you… like you’re the only thing in the universe that matters. it’s too much.

“i don’t know,” you finally mumble, your voice barely above a whisper. “i just… i feel… different today.”

his brows knit together, confusion flickering across his face for a moment before realization dawns.

“oh,” he breathes out, his thumb brushing softly against your cheek. “it’s one of those days, huh?”

you nod, feeling a little silly now. “yeah.”

jake sighs, but not in frustration. it’s that soft, loving sigh he does when he’s about to say something that’ll make your heart melt.

“baby,” he starts, pulling you closer until you’re practically sitting in his lap, your legs draped over his. his hands settle on your waist, holding you like you’re something precious. “you know none of that stuff matters to me, right? like… at all. i don’t care if you think you feel different or look different. to me, you’re always gonna be my favorite person.”

you can’t help but roll your eyes, though there’s a smile tugging at the corners of your lips. “you’re just saying that.”

“i’m not!” he insists, looking mock-offended. “do you want me to prove it? i’ll prove it. actually—hold on.”

before you can stop him, he’s reaching for his phone, typing furiously with one hand while the other keeps you firmly in place. a second later, he holds up the screen.

“you’re literally the prettiest person i’ve ever seen and i will fight anyone who says otherwise.”

“there,” he declares proudly. “proof. now you can’t argue with me.”

you snort, burying your face in his shoulder. “you’re ridiculous.”

“and you’re gorgeous,” he counters, his voice dropping to that soft, serious tone that always makes your chest ache in the best way.

his hands trail down to your thighs, squeezing gently. “see these? i love these. and this?” he taps your nose lightly, grinning when you scrunch it up. “adorable. and don’t even get me started on your smile. do you have any idea how hard it is to focus on anything when you’re smiling at me?”

“jake…” you mumble, your face heating up as you try to hide your grin.

“nope. not done,” he says, leaning in to press a kiss to your cheek. “this face? my favorite. this laugh?” he pokes your side, earning a giggle. “even better. and don’t even think about arguing with me, because i’ll just keep going until you agree.”

you laugh again, the sound light and genuine this time, and jake’s smile grows even wider.

“there she is,” he murmurs, his voice warm and full of adoration. “that’s my girl.”

he leans down, guiding you gently onto the bed, his body hovering over yours as he peppers kisses across your face.

“mine,” he whispers, kissing your forehead.

“all mine,” he adds, brushing his lips against your nose.

“the most perfect girl in the whole world,” he finishes, punctuating his words with a kiss to your lips.

you can’t help but giggle. “jake.”

“yeah?” he murmurs, his forehead resting against yours while his face is plastered with that stupidly handsome boyish grin he has always had.

“you make it really hard to stay upset, you know that?”

his lips twitch into a smile. “good. that’s kind of the point.”

“so beautiful,” he murmurs, his eyes scanning your features like he’s trying to memorize every inch of you. “it’s actually unreal.”

“stop,” you mumble, your cheeks heating up again.

“never,” he replies, grinning as he leans down to press kisses all over your face. each kiss sends a flutter through your chest, the warmth of his lips chasing away the lingering insecurities in your mind.

“you’re impossible,” you manage through a laugh, wrapping your arms around his neck and pulling him closer.

“and you’re perfect,” he counters, his voice soft and earnest.

his hand moves to brush a strand of hair from your face, his fingers lingering on your cheek. “you’re the most beautiful person I’ve ever seen, and I’ll spend the rest of my life making sure you know that.”

it’s in the way he says it—like it’s not just a compliment, but a promise. and for the first time all day, you feel the weight of your doubts start to lift.

wrapped in his arms, surrounded by his warmth and love, you think that maybe—just maybe—he’s right.

© all rights reserved | hsnlv 2024

[philosophicalparadox]

Exactly this!

The word sodomy wasn’t originally even about homosexuality— sodomy, by term or law, referred to literally anything that wasn’t procreative intercourse between a husband and wife, and was very much more enforced by particular Protestants than anything.

Homosexuality also wasn’t viewed in the same lens at all; you know that frustrating conservative angle about being gay being a choice? Yeah, that’s got about 800 years of precedent, almost certainly more, but definitive proof be lacking for earlier accounts.

The conflation of this choice with a myriad of other deviances also has about 800 years of precedent, courtesy the term sodomy above being a catch-all term for anything that certain circles didn’t like.

Speaking of which— let’s mention that sin thing, cause in Catholicism, famously, sins are tiered — petty, venial, and mortal. Technically petty sins ARE venial, but they’re generally grouped as a separate category because they are like getting a warning citation instead of a ticket. Venial sins are minor offenses that one can easily repent for and that any priest or pastor can forgive. Mortal sins are not so — you need the forgiveness of a cardinal (hence, cardinal sin) or higher to repent effectively.

That aside, let’s get back to the homosexual thing. For a long long long time, homosexual behavior was a PETTY SIN. It was something you paid a tiny tithe for and said a few words prayer and boom, you were good. But odds were that unless you went sleeping around or made a bad habit of getting caught and/or it interfered with normal duties (including marriage) that nobody would care. Certainly there was a lot more openness about it prior to the Schism. (Pre 1250’s)

And indeed this only changed on a broad scale after the whole Black Death thing, which fundamentally changed the church forever because people collectively had a crisis of faith and the church was losing control. So post 1350’s, they did what all powers who want control do, and targeted minorities and outcasts to try to band people together under their banner. It worked, eventually, which is how we got the nastiness of the renaissance period. But in that narrow space between the 1350’s solid medieval period to the second wave in the 1550’s that really set the motion for the church’s revival, there was a kind of odd quasi-modern greyness about a lot of that.

It’s true that the church did up the ante, and homosexual acts, along with every other kind of sodomy, were pressed up to Mortal Sin status by 1414, but there really wasn’t anyone hunting them down or anything. Yeah you could report them, but the church cared a whole lot more about heretics than homos, so good luck getting your annoying neighbor anything but mildly bothered by the local clergy.

The only place sodomy rules shined was in court, which is perhaps where the notion of its severity comes from. But sodomy as a sentencing was just a kind of Jure-plus thing — something tacked onto an existing sentence to make it weigh more. But mostly no one particularly cared as long as it didn’t get in the way.

But even when it DID get in the way, there were passes for it, if you were rich, or if you had a particularly necessary profession, etc. any reason anyone else would overlook a questionable pastime, essentially.

Ah, but that is the rub —

If you’re going to write actual period accurate homophobia, then worthwhile to include the notion that, simultaneously, 1. Love was not a sin unto itself, not in the catholic tradition, and 2. That in an effort to reconcile this with the notion that homosexual behavior (and other sodomy) was sinful, it was thus heavily implied that love only existed between husband and wife.

Ergo, two men couldn’t be in love — though it also meant that a man couldn’t love his side piece either. Evidence notwithstanding.

That all said, however, attitudes and prejudices depend EXTENSIVELY on the class, culture and location of where the story is set. A peasant is going to generally have far fewer qualms about sin than a noble, especially that sin, because they can afford to be more flexible in their marriage and relationship arrangements in general. A noble house can get away with sin if caught more easily, but there’s far more pressure to marry and have children to secure the line with, so homosexual deviance was more concerning.

Unless they’re French. Then it’s just par for the course. (And no, I don’t mean that racist-ly. The French entertained a lot more Roman customs a lot longer than anyone else and over time those ideas morphed, as they do — but in that, the notion of powerful men bedding other men as a status symbol remained. So not exactly sunshine and rainbows about it, but it wasn’t AS big of a deal, and in some areas and times was actually expected.)

Coining a phrase: Period atypical homophobia.

Definition: When the writer of a piece of historical fiction hasn't really bothered to research how gay people existed in a period of time or what terms would have been used to discuss homosexuality positively or negatively. So instead they put the most modern, likely religious terms into the mouth of a historical character to establish that a character is homophobic.

e.g. Having every Victorian character be a religious homophobe instead of having them talk about "public decency" and "discretion"

[vanillarosekiss]

Honeyed ˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚

Has anyone else been dreaming of what it would be like to have Price as your neighbour (when he's actually at home for once and not on deployment) and how HOT it would be to just end up having spontaneous sex (that isn’t really sex) with him out of the blue. Just me?

Scroll to the end for a little surprise...♡

Warnings: straight up smut guys (literally sounds like it came out of a shitty porno story, but no actual sex happens, you can imagine that!!), language, hints of restraint (no ropes or anything, just John) and edging, you getting absolutely devoured by John because he is a MUNCH... thats all I have to say unapologetically.

The sound of dripping water echoed through through your kitchen, each droplet of water only adding to the mountain of frustration you'd managed to acquire along the way of trying to fix the sink by yourself. You sighed, sitting back, staring at the mess you'd made. Pieces of the sink that you'd removed in order to find the leak were laid all over the floor, and you had no idea where they were meant to go back. You reluctantly picked up your phone and dialled his number, knowing that you wouldn't be able to end your trials and sufferings on your own.

Ten minutes later, John Price was stood in your doorway, toolbox in hand. His eyes flicked to the sink and then back to you, lips curving into a faint smirk as he took in your worn out and annoyed look.

"Trouble in paradise?" he teased, stepping inside and moving past you to get to the kitchen.

"More like trouble in plumbing." you shot back, trying not to focus on the way his t-shirt clung to his broad shoulders. "Think you can fix it, or should I call a professional?"

His laugh was deep and warm like honey, resonating in the small space as he knelt by the sink. "Guessing I'm not professional enough for you then, love?"

You crossed your arms, watching his hands work deftly to tighten a loose pipe. The muscles flexing in his forearm made a fast flushing heat rise to your cheeks as you imagined what his hands would feel like on you.

"Got the bastard," he announced, leaning back slightly to check all was in order. Water had stopped dripping, and he wiped his hands on a rag before standing. "Should be good as new."

"Thanks," you say, hoping your voice sounded steadier than you felt.

But he didn't move to leave, instead leaning against the counter, arms crossed, his gaze steady on you. "Think I've done a good enough job to get paid, lovie."

"Oh... I- Yeah of course. How much did you want?" You stuttered a little, grabbing your purse.

"Put it down." He ordered, voice stoic and steady as ever.

"I thought you said-" You began before he cut you off.

"Come on angel, you're a smart girl. I know you are. You know what I mean. Don't pretend that you don't"

It suddenly struck you, your mind fuzzing a little at how unlikely this event had seemed to you.

Before you knew it, his hands were on your waist and he had lifted you onto the counter behind you with what seemed like no effort at all, a small squeak erupting from you in surprise.

"Tell me to stop." He whispered, lips hovering yours as he stood in between your legs, hands on your thighs.

You didn't.

Five minutes later your legs were resting on his broad shoulders, the ones you'd been ogling from the very start of that interaction, as John devoured you completely. Little lace panties discarded to the side and your hands in his hair as he lapped at your core, sucking on your clit so well that you were making noises you never thought you could.

His tongue worked you up skilfully, holding your release just out of your grasp, wanting to tease you for 'just a bit longer, pretty girl'. His hands, God those hands, that were working on your household issues earlier were now holding your thighs apart for himself as he ate you out. Your hips were convulsing upwards at every stroke of his tongue, searching for the light at the end of the tunnel. He finally entertained you after what felt like hours and helped you orgasm, holding you down as he pushed you further.

Even once you'd cummed, he wouldn't stop, wanting you to become utterly exhausted and spent underneath him. And that's exactly what happened. It's Captain John Price, of course he always gets what he wants.

Contrary belief to what the Rolling Stones may say. Get it? You Can't Always Get What You Want? No? Someone please tell me they get it. I gotta get me a piece of this man.

You actually scrolled? Here's an X p!link for visuals of being eaten by Price just for you!♡

p!link

(lets ignore that this is already on my tf141 p!link post…)

Tag list: @punkkture @soapisgod @slut-lmao @sebastianstans-slut @ilikeoldmen @g1rlfa1lure0 @queenoflaflames @tmartin0918 @kkloubee @goldie-221 @patricksoulmate @writingandsins @mxnee777 @caro-line19  @decaffeinateddelusionbread @poohkie90 @lovidovii @xoxoxoaspen @i-ship-stony-and-superfamily @simonrileysdarling

Please lmk if you’d like to be removed or added to the tag list, I won’t take any offence!

[psychoticfemmm]

over my shoulder

pairing: frat!jj maybank x reader

summary: At a wild frat party, you get frustrated with JJ for ignoring you while he hangs with his frat brothers.

The party was in full swing, music thumping loud enough to rattle the windows, red Solo cups everywhere. You weaved through the throng of people, trying to keep up with JJ as he stopped every five seconds to fist-bump someone, down a beer, or laugh obnoxiously at some inside joke with his frat brothers.

“JJ,” you tugged on his arm, leaning closer so he could hear you. “Can we just hang out for a bit? Alone?”

He grinned at you, but his eyes darted to the pong table across the room. “Just a sec, babe. Gotta crush Pete and Logan real quick. I’ll find you after, okay?”

Before you could respond, he was gone, swept up in the chaos of his fraternity’s party. You exhaled sharply, annoyance bubbling in your chest. Rolling your eyes, you spun around and headed toward your friend, Riley, who was standing near the kitchen.

“JJ ditch you for his bros again?” Riley teased, handing you a fresh drink.

“Shocker, right?” you muttered, taking a sip.

As the two of you talked, a guy wearing a sweatshirt with the logo of JJ’s rival frat strolled up to you, a cocky grin plastered across his face. “Hey, haven’t seen you around here before. You a Chi Alpha girl?”

You raised an eyebrow. “Nope. Just here for the beer pong champion who’s too busy to hang out with me.”

“Ah, classic Delta Nu. They’re always like that,” he said, leaning a little too close. “Maybe you need someone who actually pays attention to you.”

Before you could respond, you heard a familiar voice cut through the music. “Hey, buddy, back off.”

You turned to see JJ storming over, jaw tight and eyes blazing. He shoved the guy back a step, beer sloshing out of the guy’s cup.

“Seriously, JJ?” you snapped, folding your arms.

“He was hitting on you,” JJ said, glaring at the guy.

“Maybe if you weren’t too busy for me, I wouldn’t have to entertain myself!” you shot back.

The guy smirked, clearly enjoying the drama. “Looks like you’ve got some issues to work out, man.”

That was the wrong thing to say. JJ lunged at him, but a few of his brothers grabbed his arms, pulling him back. “Not worth it, bro,” one of them muttered.

JJ huffed, clearly still fuming. He turned back to you, and before you could protest, he grabbed you by the waist and threw you over his shoulder like you weighed nothing.

“JJ! Put me down!” you shouted, pounding your fists on his back.

“Nope. You’re coming with me,” he said, ignoring your protests as he carried you up the stairs to his room.

Once inside, he kicked the door shut and set you down on his bed. “Alright, princess, let’s talk.”

You crossed your arms, still fuming. “Talk? Now you want to talk?”

He stepped closer, his hands on either side of your hips. “I’m sorry, okay? I was being an idiot.”

“Yeah, you were,” you said, turning your head when he leaned in to kiss you.

JJ chuckled, clearly amused by your defiance. “Oh, you’re mad mad, huh?”

“Gee, what gave it away?” you deadpanned.

He cupped your face, forcing you to look at him. “I’m really sorry, babe. Let me make it up to you.”

“How?” you asked skeptically, raising an eyebrow.

His lips crashed into yours before you could say anything else. At first, you resisted, but his hand slid down to your waist, pulling you flush against him as his tongue grazed your bottom lip. You couldn’t help the soft gasp that escaped, and he took full advantage, deepening the kiss until your frustration began to melt.

When he pulled back, his lips brushed against your jaw as he murmured, “I’ve been a shitty boyfriend tonight, but let me show you how much I hate when you’re mad at me.”

You swallowed, your annoyance quickly giving way to something else entirely. “This better be good, JJ.”

He smirked, his voice low as he trailed kisses down your neck. “Oh, babe, you won’t be thinking about anyone else by the time I’m done.”

⋆𐙚₊˚⊹♡⋆𐙚₊˚⊹♡

let me know if I should do more au's like this⋆. 𐙚 ˚