#these ones might be the last ones for a bit

[chongoblog]

So I did a little bit of number crunching and apparently if you’ve been sleeping for 4 hours a night every night for the last few months, one night of good sleep isn’t going to be enough to fix all that, which I think is bullshit. Might run the numbers again

[bucketbueckers]

HIIIII SEXY

if ur taking requests can i request smth angsty for paige ? i was thinking maybe if you could do something based on ilyis by gracie abrams where reader is in love w paige but doesnt think paige will ever like her back cause paige is always flirting w azzi and then paige comes over and acts all flirty with reader and reader blows up at her and is storms out and paige forces her to admit her feelings cause all along paige liked her but she didn’t know if reader liked gworls 🙏🏻🙏🏻🙏🏻

and it ends happily PLEASEEEE I BEG

I LOVE YOU, I’M SORRY

pairing: paige bueckers x fem!reader

content: language, teensy bit of angst, girls who hate communicating, reader might be a lil mean but we ball

wc: 2.4k

synopsis: You’ve been in love with Paige Bueckers for years, just another one of the countless moths drawn to her flame. You’d made your peace with only being her friend long ago, but it’s not until a well-timed blow up at Ted’s makes you realize it was mutual all along.

notes: as requested and in honor of finishing my last fuck ass exam 🫶 thank you sm for the request and im hoping i did this justice for you anon!! im sorry its a lil short 😓 but as always i hope y'all enjoy 🫶

Ted’s was supposed to be a welcome distraction to cap off a hectic week. Between two back-to-back away games, constant traveling, terrible naps on bumpy bus rides home, and homework that just seemed to keep piling up, you were ready to unwind and tackle the next week with a clearer mind. However, you couldn’t seem to relax, and the jealousy blooming in your chest like hemlock as you stared at Paige and Azzi whispering to each other wasn’t doing you any favors, either.

The team had invited you out with them, intent on celebrating another regular season conference win. You’re one of their graduate assistants, having served as the team manager for a few years before the position opened up, although you’d built incredible friendships with the girls over the years. Well – most of them, seeing as your brain and your heart couldn’t quite agree on how you felt for Paige. Her freshman year was your first year as team manager and she went out of her way to make you feel welcomed, greeting you every day at practice and inviting you out to team get-togethers.

At first, you’d kept it together. You were strictly friends, not even considering anything else. By Paige’s sophomore year – your junior year – you’d realized that she was beautiful. Like, a dangerous beautiful where you’d find yourself staring at her, even when she wasn’t doing anything more than watching film on her iPad. During her junior year, you were finally able to put a name to your confusing feelings and discovered that you were falling for her – hard – somewhere in between ACL recovery and her corny jokes. You realized it was love at the end of her junior year when you told her that Coach agreed to bring you on as a graduate assistant and she almost broke your spine hugging you. Now, nearly a year and a half into your Master’s program, you’re still hopelessly in love with Paige Bueckers and dreading the day the NCAA tournament begins – because the end of the season means the end of you and her. Because she’ll be on the first plane to Dallas and you wouldn’t have gotten the chance to find your courage and confess to her.

Ted’s was supposed to be a distraction. But it’s not, because the drink you’re sipping on makes your throat burn every time you swallow, and all you can think about is how you and Paige are a ticking time bomb that’s set to explode in April, and all you see is Paige looking at another girl that’s not you, and all you feel is the sickening mix of jealousy and shame that courses through your veins – jealous because all you want is Paige; shame because she’s your friend and you hate the way she makes you feel. You hate that your love makes you a little insecure and you hate that it feels like she’s choosing someone else over you.

Jana, who’s sitting next to you, throws an almost absentminded arm over your shoulder, pulling you out of your thoughts and back into whatever conversation they’re having at the table. KK is yapping and you barely catch the gist of it – something about Coach making them run suicides and how the new protein powder she’s trying gave her a tummy ache, but the heat of Paige’s gaze on you makes you glance over at her. Her brows are furrowed, eyes hardened as she stares at Jana’s arm around your shoulders like it’s personally offended her.

What confuses you even more is how Azzi notices. She sighs, an exasperated sort of noise, and stands – not without flicking Paige harshly on her forehead and muttering something about “Talk to her” as she slides her way out of the booth and towards the bathroom. Paige’s cheeks are a little red as she rubs her head forlornly. You’d probably laugh if you weren’t feeling so green.

You go to take another sip of your drink, needing to occupy your hands and your mouth if you wanted to appear somewhat put together tonight, but you frown when you realize you’re empty. Catching Jana’s attention, you motion to your cup and she nods, removing her arm and allowing you to make your way to the bar.

You don’t think too hard about your drink order as you rifle through your clutch for your card. What you do think hard about is the all too familiar voice saying, “I got you. Can I get another Shirley, please?” as Paige slides her card across the bar, her free hand finding your wrist like it’s the easiest thing in the world.

“Paige,” you deadpan, an amused annoyance lacing your tone. “I can get my own drink.”

She grins ineffably at you, but there’s an uncharacteristic hesitation in her eyes. It’s almost enough to make you forget why you’ve been so off all night. “Doesn’t mean you should,” she retorts.

“Oh?” you ask. “You making decisions for me now?”

Paige shrugs coyly. Her hand trails from your wrist to your waist, tangling in your belt loops – not pushing or pulling. Just holding. The touch makes you freeze. You and Paige had always been close. She was a touchy person, but never in public like this. “Just the important ones,” she murmurs. “So I know you’re taken care of.”

You blink at her, mouth suddenly dry. The sound of glasses scraping against the hardwood counter startles you. Paige thanks the bartender as she retreats, leaving the both of you alone at the edge of the bar, and you reach for your drink to occupy your hands as your mind spins. As unsure as you are about Paige returning your feelings, you’re not dumb. You’ve been flirted with before, been around Paige enough to know what her flirting looks like. The gentle confidence in her voice, the way her eye contact is so intense that strangely, it forces you to focus on her because otherwise, you’re sure that she’d find something she didn’t like if you couldn’t face her. The physical contact and the way she’s leaning into you. She’s flirting with you. Under any other circumstance, you’d probably be jumping for joy, but not now.

From the corner of your eye, you spot Azzi making her way back to the table. You make direct eye contact with her. She glances down, taking in your proximity, and she smiles at you. It sobers you up instantly.

“What the fuck are we doing?” you ask Paige, setting your drink back down on the bar and yanking her hand off of you. She blinks, her jaw falling slightly and confusion twisting her brows. “What are you doing? What, Azzi walks away, so you go and find someone else to keep you entertained? The one person who would run back to you anyway?”

“I – what?” Paige asks, hurt lacing her tone. She reaches out for you again but you take a step back, your thighs hitting the stool behind you. “I don’t understand what you mean. What does Azzi–”

You don’t realize you’re tearing up until you register the burn in your throat and the way your eyes sting. “You flirt with Azzi in front of my face all night. She leaves, and you wanna follow me up here, talking about taking care of me? You wanna touch me and buy my drink, ignore this weird push and pull thing we have, and then walk away like it means nothing to you?”

When she doesn’t say anything, you laugh despite the hurt swelling in your chest. “Sometimes you can be such a dick.” You wipe your eyes, trying not to lose your mind when your thumb comes back smudged with mascara. At the heart of it, sure, you’re sad, but the most pressing emotion is anger. You’d rather not be a choice at all than be a second choice.

The both of you pause, just staring at each other, until guilt and realization blooms simultaneously on Paige’s face. She murmurs your name, her voice cracking a little like what you’ve just said has changed her life, but you don’t let her reach out for you as you turn on your heel and walk out.

You know you can’t leave – Aubrey drove you and you’re not built for walking home at midnight. You lean against the railing, your head in your hands, knowing that Paige will likely be on her way. The two of you weren’t one for arguments. On the rare occasions you got carried away, apologies were swift. Guilt of your own bubbles in your stomach – you blew up for no reason, allowing your emotions to get out of hand. Now, you know that you and Paige will have to have another difficult conversation, and you’re not even sure if she’ll still want to be your friend afterwards. This is something you might not be able to come back from.

You feel her next to you before you see her. She leans against the railing, giving you space, and it’s in this devastating little moment that your anger comes back. It’s muted, not directed at her, but at yourself. You’re angry because as much as you want to be angry with her, you’re not, and all you really want is her. It’s selfish – you’d hurt her feelings in the bar, barely thirty feet away from your friends, but your body doesn’t care about that.

She breaks the silence to ask you, unsurprisingly, “Do you like me?”

There’s a million responses on the tip of your tongue. You consider sarcasm, but you feel as though the weight of this conversation needs something a little more genuine. Maybe genuine communication could have saved the both of you from feeling like this. No more cop outs, is what you tell yourself, so you exhale and admit, “I love you.”

You’re not sure what you’re holding your breath for. Maybe rejection. A small part of you holds out for Paige’s agreement. You’re unprepared for the way her arm wraps around your shoulders, pulling you into her body, and despite the shock, you sink into her anyways, your head falling onto her chest. It feels like acceptance, like forgiveness. “I didn’t know you liked girls,” Paige confesses, sounding a little sheepish.

At that, you groan, resisting an eye roll. “I literally have a pride flag in my Instagram bio,” you mumble. “You want my coming out in writing too? ‘Dear Paige, I’m gay. I’d apologize but you probably should have known anyway. Love, me.’”

“You’re annoying,” she huffs, but you can hear the amusement in her voice anyway. She tightens her hold on you. “I probably…should have done that a little better. At the bar. Don’t want you thinking it meant nothing to me. It does. And I just–” Paige trails off a little, looking for the right words. “I was really scared. I’ve always been worried about doing too much, scaring you off, and losing you forever. I thought…maybe I could drop hints and let you figure out what you wanted, but I never stopped to think about how that would feel from your end. I’m sorry.”

“I’m sorry, too,” you say. “For calling you a dick and making those accusations. I was scared and I let it consume me.”

You can feel the tentative smile Paige presses to your temple. “Truce?” she asks, and you nod, your fingers tangling in her shirt as you finally let the tension in your body dissolve. “For the record…there’s nothin’ going on with me and Azzi. She’s been telling me to ask you out for years. She was the first person I told when I thought I was in love with you.”

You pull back a little, meeting her eyes. The earnestness and honesty is clear as day, but you refuse to get your hopes up. “You love me?” you ask, not only to clarify, but also because this is something you’ve spent countless hours thinking about, wondering if it was even possible. To have it so close within reach…you need to be sure.

Paige, in typical Paige fashion, smiles crookedly at you and says, “You want that in writing, too?” She clears her throat dramatically. ‘To my favorite grad assistant, I’m in love with you. I’d apologize, but–”

“You are so fucking annoying,” you seethe, but there’s no real malice in your voice, your smile far too wide to be anything but over the moon. You’d thought about this moment a hundred times – how you’d respond to Paige confessing, or even how your own confession would sound. You’d never planned for it to happen this way. Maybe it was something that was supposed to be a spur of the moment thing. Maybe something out of a rom-com involving rain. Never an argument like this. The realization was never something dramatic with some cinematic soundtrack in the background. It was simple, almost like something clicks into place quietly. It’s messy, but it’s yours. And that’s enough for you. “So what happens now?”

Paige hums, leaning against the railing as her thumb brushes against your jaw gently. “Well…you can let me buy you another drink. Maybe split some fries. And, I don’t know if this is something you’d be interested in…but maybe you could be mine, too?”

You raise a brow, resting your hands over her shoulders. “Oh, really? Is that everything you want?”

Paige grins at you, her eyes flicking down momentarily before finding yours again. Her expression softens. “Not everything,” she admits. “But I’m trying to do this right. I wouldn’t want to assume.”

You roll your eyes, not missing the subtle tease in her words. When her hands drop to your waist, finding your belt loops again, you don’t freeze up. If anything, you melt into her. “Whatever you’re thinking…I don’t think it’s that much of an assumption.”

“Yeah?” she echoes. “‘Cause I’m still thinking about the fries.”

Huffing, you cup her cheeks in your hands, her skin warm against your palms, and you stand on the tips of your toes as you lean in to kiss her. She laughs, although she responds with a mix of softness and eagerness that makes you want more. It’s everything you’ve ever wanted and more, but you pace yourselves, taking it slow and sinking into the feeling.

When you part, Paige brushes her lips across your temple, her arms tightening around you like she can’t believe she has you. And, maybe, the truth is you’ve always been a little bit of hers, just like she’s always been a little bit of yours. That is all you could ever need.

[ktownshizzle]

Watermelon & Suga | myg

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

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

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

✎ ˎˊ˗ Word count: 10k!

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

🗓️ June 2023 - 📍Phuket, Thailand

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

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

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

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

So who’s the diva? 

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

“Min Yoongi?” you call tentatively.

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

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

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

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

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

Huh? “I’m not.” You say.

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

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

“One of them, yeah. You know BTS?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“No, unfortunately.”

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

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

“Ah, maybe later.”

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

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

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

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

He smirks, “Looks like it.”

“You always flirt using fruit?”

“You’re the one licking your lips.”

You grin.

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

But this feels different.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Need help?” you ask, stepping closer.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Am I?”

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

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

You couldn’t help the giggle that escapes you. 

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

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

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

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

“What?” you ask, raising an eyebrow.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But then, footsteps.

You glance over your shoulder.

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

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

“Hi.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Shit–somebody might see us,”

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

The confidence. “Oh my God.”

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

“Fuck, yes,” you breathe. “Come…”

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

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

“Stop,” he commands. “Face me.”

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

“What are you—?”

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

Your breath catches—shocked, aroused, completely undone.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Fuck is he laughing right now?!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Fuck, Yoongi—I’m gonna—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Mmh.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Feel good?”

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

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

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

“Harder, please, Yoongi…”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Umm…” 

“Is there a bathroom here?”

“A tiny one, yeah. Over there.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Will you be here, if I come back?”

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

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

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

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

Your chest aches with something unnameable.

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

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

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

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

Another knock. Slower this time. Softer.

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

It’s him.

Yoongi.

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

It’s really him. Hood pulled low. 

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

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

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

“How did you even—?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

So he does. 

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

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

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

He nods. “I know…”

At least you can agree on that.

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

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

“Show me what?” you ask, breathless.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Ahh, so close…”

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

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

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

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

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

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

You hesitate. Just for a second.

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

He notices instantly.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yeah?”

He licks his bottom lip, nodding.

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

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

“Fuck. You feel like heaven.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Fuck!”

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

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

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

“Gonna cum, Yoongi—” you gasp.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Fuck, that’s good,” he hisses. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You smile. 

You wish this was real.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Why would I do that?”

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

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

“You should give me your number.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I think I’ll live.”

“Fine.”

“Fine.”

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

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

“Kiss me?”

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

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

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

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

It’s that feeling.

You could stay here forever.

And that’s the problem.

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

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

But it fucking does.

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

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

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

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

“How bad you want this.”

That makes him pause.

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

“Don’t make this harder,” he huffs.

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

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

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

And that’s all there is to it.

He turns, opens the door.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

🗓️ June 2025 -📍 Phuket, Thailand

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

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

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

And then there was the bracelet.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And deep down, you really believe that.

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

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

I wish nothing but the best for youuuuuuu toooooo

Bla bla bla I bet I remember what you said

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

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

Your phone chimes with a text.

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

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

You’re rinsing dishes when the doorbell comes.

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

And he’s there.

Not Soomchai.

Min Yoongi.

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

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

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

“Dessert?”

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

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

And then—

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

You swallow hard, emotion clawing up your throat.

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

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

You stare at him, waiting.

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

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

“I missed you,” you whisper.

“I missed you too,” he replies.

And that night, he proves how much.

“Butterflyfish,” you whisper.

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

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

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

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

“Ah.”

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

“Thank you,” he murmurs.

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

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

The End :)

A/N: … and now we know deez fish. 🤭

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

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

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

Check out my masterlist if you want more Yoongi.

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

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@agustblog @maryhopemei @perfectiondazesworld @kimsaerom @kam9404

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

@whydoeyecare @pastelmin @tarahardcore @minjenna @chimmchimmm

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@withmuchluv-tannie @abadiimm-

@angellekookie

[elysixns]

Chrysos Heirs w/ clumsy reader !

Content: GN!Reader, fluff, mentions of light injuries + sprains, yandere behavior on Anaxa's part (?)

🌹 Note: Shout out to the mfs that get cuts and bruises just by standing still. Me too.

INTRO

The Sky Titan must absolutely despise you for you to trip over air as often as you do.. How you haven't gotten a broken bone is baffling, and yet here you are. For all of your clumsiness, you do manage to get out of almost any situation with only minor scrapes and bruises (most of the time). You're not allowed outside of Okhema for any reason, though, not even to help bring in refugees. The last time you were allowed outside the city, you sprained your ankle so badly that you were bedridden for about a month.. But do not fret!!! There are still plenty of ways to entertain (injure) yourself in the holy city, much to your partner's distress.

– Dear, if you keep falling over your own feet every 20 minutes, she's going to think you like when she catches you in her golden thread

Aglaea

– ^ (You do. She knows you do, so you can't deny it when she teases you for it, yes?)

– If you somehow sprain any of your limbs, she WILL pamper you for the entire time you're injured. This is probably one of the ONLY times she’ll baby you when you're hurt, so try to take advantage of it as much as you can

– One of the few who isn't overly concerned with your penchant for getting injured simply by existing

– Unless you are quite literally impaled by a spear, Aglaea assumes that you can handle yourself and she won't fuss over you too much

– She does get a bit antsy if you end up getting an open wound, though

– You're much too precious to bleed, Dear. What happened? Does she need to kill someone to avenge you?

– ^ She says she's only joking if you get worried/upset. (She is not joking)

– Aglaea may tease you often about your clumsiness, but that's only because she thinks it's endearing

Phainon

– “Who did this? Are you okay? What happened? Who do I need to fight?–”

– He'd try to fight the air if you asked him to. Phai will do anything to defend your honor!! Anything.

– He worries about how often you fall over and drop things– Anytime you're carrying a heavy object, he about has a heart attack before quickly taking it away from you

– “Your hero’s got it covered. Just tell me where I need to put this!”

– Whenever you get a sprain, he'll insist on carrying you everywhere that you want to go for as long as you're healing up

– Doesn't matter if you're bigger than him or not. Phai can lift you with ease and is eager to show off how dependable he can be!!!

– He genuinely spoils you so much when you're hurt. It is as sweet as it is silly

– Please remind him that it's just a sprain or else he'll keep treating you like you're dying 😭

– After you're healed up, he usually spends at least the next few days kissing any and all scars/bruises left behind from your injuries

– It's almost like he's apologizing for not being there to prevent them in the first place 🩵

– ^ (In a way, he is. Even if he has nothing to apologize for, Phai will always feel guilty for not protecting you from yourself)

Castorice

– Ohh you cause her so much stress, she thinks she might have a heart attack one of these days

– Cas genuinely doesn't know what to do!!! She can't just tell you to sit still and do nothing, she's tried that!

– ^ (Somehow, you ended up falling off of your chaise lounge and spraining your elbow..)

– Her only other solution is to spend as much time with you as possible, making sure you don't fall down a flight of stairs or get stomped on by a Dromas D:

– You've got an overprotective angel of death hovering around you nearly 24/7.. It's almost comical, but also a bit unsettling!

– If there's one thing she hates the most, though, it's that she can't patch you up on her own

– Seeing you injured tugs at her heartstrings so much, but all she can do is put a first aid kit in front of you or go find someone else to help you

– You also hate not being able to touch her, but you always reassure Cas that her just being beside you is more than enough

– It may take her a while until she's able to believe you (if ever she does), but she likes hearing it nonetheless because she knows you're being sincere when you say it <3

Mydeimos

– (Affectionately) calls you an idiot whenever you fall or drop things in front of him

– He doesn't usually help you when you stumble because he knows you'll be fine on your own, and he doesn't want to treat you like a child

– That being said… If you've fallen one too many times that day, Mydei will simply pick you up bridal style (all the while grumbling complaints) so that he can carry you around wherever you need/want to go

– He says it's because you're slowing him down, but in reality, it's because he caught a glimpse of the scars and bruises on your legs from previous accidents

– Mydei will never admit this to anyone, especially not to you, but seeing bruises on your skin hurts him more than any physical blow ever could

– He is once again reminded of how fragile the average person is. he is reminded of how fragile you are in particular

– ^ (Just another reason to break this damned curse. What's the point of being indestructible if you're not allowed to share in this “blessing” with him?)

– Mydei can't keep you safe from everything, least of all from your own gracelessness, but he can be there to patch you up and (reluctantly) wait on you hand and foot until you feel better

Anaxagoras

– Oh, you must be studied; he just can't believe you're naturally this clumsy. Are you sure you haven't been cursed?

– Anaxa finds your inelegance as adorable as he does irritating; it's quite a confusing mix of emotions for him

– You are very precious, truly! But if you fall on the way down the steps of your own home one more time, Anaxa will have to resort to drastic measures to keep you from harm

– ^ (“Drastic measures” being forbidding you from using any stairs by yourself, and keeping you by his side for the rest of your life)

– Overkill? Not at all. Maybe. But he loves you, so he'll never admit that he's being overprotective

– You trust him, don't you? So you'll let him do what's best for you without any complaints, right?

– You're simply too much of an airhead to keep yourself safe and uninjured… Those bruises and scars on your legs are proof of that, wouldn't you agree?

– Anaxa knows what's best, of course he does. If you can't trust in yourself, then just trust in him

– He won't outright force you to go along with what he wants, but he will try to “subtly” encourage you to stay indoors. Or even better, move in with him!! Just so that he can take care of you more efficiently, of course :)

Cipher

– You are very cute. Extremely cute, really.. But if she keeps having to run to your rescue (for free!), she will get a perpetual migraine

– It also ruins her image of being independent and selfish when she’s clearly always close enough to hear you stumble or drop something

– Cipher can not be tied down! She is untamed!!! She waits for NO ONE! … Unless it's you, and you're injured. Then she’ll wait for a minute or two

– She does steal things from you as well, but she always says she's only taking them away because they pose a danger to you

– “Oh? Your brush? The handle was real high-quality wood, uh-huh… It was way too heavy for the likes of you, though, so I decided to take it off your hands and sell it! Ah, but don't worry; I'll find an even better one for you, okay?”

– Cipher worries a lot about leaving you alone for too long without supervision (you didn't hear that from me, though)

– You're so unsteady on your feet that she doubts you could survive a day without her

– She may or may not pay Aglaea to check in on you from time to time

– Such a shame you'll never have proof of this :3 can't tease her about it if it's not definitively true!

[willowwindss]

This is all true but I wanted to put some possible solutions down as well:

- Regular doctor check-ups: I know the US isn’t great for visiting doctors in general but it’s still very important to not let unusual things go for too long. And to make sure your doctor always knows everything you’re currently taking. I’ve been lucky with very thorough doctors in the past 7 years or so who have guided me through various mental health hurdles. When I wanted to try antidepressants, my regular doctor suggested trying something another family member had luck with since our similar DNA might mean that type of tablet might work best for us. It did, I had no side effects. She also carries out mental health questionnaires with me every 6 months or so to make sure I’m still feeling okay within myself. A good doctor thinks beyond just “here, take this” so take note of the ones who take their time with you and get to know you a bit.

- Organic or gentle products: There’s some godawful ingredients in mainstream products, in any category. If you can, start switching out household items for simplified or organic alternatives. You never know what might be intoxicating or harming you, or what you could be allergic to. Dishwashing liquid, laundry detergent, perfumes, soaps, skincare. Start thinking about these things. If you can, make the switch. Also don’t heat up and eat food in plastic containers/bowls. Put them in a proper bowl.

- Clean living environment: Dust, dirt, mould, all huge factors into how we feel on a daily basis. Clean your house at least once a month, or more, and DON’T use bleach or dangerous ingredients to do so. Get your house checked for carbon monoxide leaks, get your windows open daily, get the mould out of your shower, stop inhaling dust every time you turn your ceiling fan on. These won’t cause psychosis of course but they won’t help you be any healthier on a daily basis.

- Reduce stress: Stress is a silent killer. You have to figure out a way to ensure stress rarely takes over. No, it doesn’t mean you are hard-working and efficient if you are stressed all the time, if anything it means the opposite. Efficiency would eliminate stress, not create it. You should not be crying after work every day, or feeling sick every Sunday before work. Or passing out from exhaustion. You should know how to unwind, and what things help you feel relaxed. If you don’t know these things, you likely never reach a point of just being, and relaxing. When is the last time you just stopped? Looked around? Took a full deep breath in and out? Had an hour completely to yourself to do anything you want? Does your partner help around the house or do you come home from work to more work? (can’t count the number of permanently stressed women I see living like this…). If you feel like you live underwater, you need to come up for air and tell someone how you feel. Boss, colleague, friend, partner, family member, discord server, your freakin’ dog or cat because they pick up on it too. Tell someone, say something. If you legitimately can’t tell anyone, write it down. Write exactly how you feel, don’t worry about spelling or grammar, then tear the paper up, throw it across the room, whatever you need to do. Your body is a pressure cooker and the more stress you stuff into it, the more it gets ready to explode.

99% of "mysterious disappearances" esp of people in their 20s who start acting weird for 48 hours and then vanish are not mysterious, thats just when a lot of reality-obliterating mental illness tends to kick in and it's pretty easy to get a short circuit in your brain that makes you go family guy death pose in joshua tree national park. it's not any less tragic, it's just a documented phenomenon and not particularly predictable. its a big reason the medical advice is for people with a family history of schizophrenia to completely avoid weed and psychedelics. "people just go crazy sometimes" is a principle of human health that used to be a lot more accepted prior to the american midcentury and to a certain extent thats a healthier way to conceptualize and prepare for the risk, as opposed to the modern assertion that anyone acting weird is dangerous and broken forever.

[classjezter]

I CAN JUST IMAGINE HOW THE BOTS ARE FEELING RN 😭

Not well! they're trying their best though

I wrote a bit for this scene, you can read it down here🔽

It had been a few days since they lost him.

Her room was now a wreck. Jagged holes peppered the walls, one of the chairs had been kicked clear across the room, and a table lay overturned, half-broken. Elita sat hunched over on the edge of her berth, arms resting on her knees, head bowed low. Her frame was tight, tense, like if she moved wrong she might snap in half.

The door swished open.

B-127 hesitated in the doorway, peeking inside with wide optics. He shifted awkwardly, glancing at the battered walls before his gaze landed on Elita. She hadn’t moved. She just sat there, so still it was almost frightening.

"...Hey," he said, voice small in the tense silence.

Elita didn't look up. She just gave a low grunt of acknowledgment, still seething silently. The tension in the room was thick, heavy, he could feel it like a physical weight on him.

Bee hovered awkwardly by the door for a moment before finally walking over and sitting in the berth a little ways from her.

He hated seeing her like this, it was wrong. Elita was supposed to be strong. Unshakable. Seeing her this broken felt worse than anything. This was one of the few times he didn’t know what to say. He didn’t know how to make her feel better.

Finally, her voice broke the silence, rough and low. "I let him down”

Bee blinked. "Elita-“

"I let him down” she said again, louder this time. She finally looked up at him, and the sheer pain in her optics made him flinch. "He trusted me. All of us. And I couldn’t even keep him safe when it mattered”

He thought back to the security footage Prowl had shown them. He thought of a tiny sparkling, awkwardly climbing out of his crib, determined to follow after Elita and B-127 when they’d left to defend their base from the Decepticons. He remembered how nobody had even realized Optimus wasn’t asleep anymore, how they’d been too caught up in all the chaos. Their leader turned-sparkling always did this, wandered off when he shouldn’t, curious and full of energy. They knew he did this, they should have been more careful, they should have-

"I should've been paying attention” Elita muttered, unknowingly voicing B-127 thoughts, her voice low and rough. "I should’ve noticed he was following us... I should’ve noticed something”

B-127’s mouth opened to argue, but the words caught in his throat. How could he tell her it wasn’t her fault when he was carrying that same guilt? When he kept replaying that moment in his processor, running through the halls, hearing the faint sound of Skywarp’s teleporting signature “vop”, and knowing -knowing- he was too late?

He should say something now, he’s being too quiet.

"All I can think about is the last time I saw him. He was trying to follow me. Trying to keep up. And I didn’t even notice. I didn’t even look back” She leaned forward, burying her face in her hands. "Primus... I left him behind” 

B-127 scooted closer to her, they were almost touching now “You didn’t leave him," he said after a moment. "None of us did. He just... he got caught in the crossfire. It- it wasn’t supposed to happen. None of this was…”

Elita laughed bitterly into her hands “‘Supposed to happen’ doesn’t mean anything now”

Bee stared at the floor. "Yeah” another beat of silence.

He couldn’t keep quiet anymore.

He looked away from her, guilt twisting in his spark. "I... I’m sorry”

Elita frowned, confused. "What?"

"I’m sorry!” Bee blurted again, louder this time. Turning to look at her, his words stumbled over each other in a rush. "When we realized he was missing, you trusted me to find him, to get him back and keep him safe. I was supposed to find him. I was supposed to get to him first. But I- I didn’t. I wasn’t fast enough. I tried, I swear I did, but Skywarp- he was faster. And I couldn’t get to him in time!"

He squeezed his optics shut, fists clenching in his lap. "I should’ve been faster. I should’ve protected him. It’s my fault too”

Elita sat in stunned silence for a few moments, processing Bee’s rushed confession, the guilt thick in his voice. She had been so buried in her own anger and grief, she hadn’t even thought about how hard this was for the others, how hard it was for him. But hearing Bee’s voice crack like that, hearing the guilt he carried just as heavy as hers, she felt something break inside her.

Her optics softened, and she shifted, scooting a little closer to where he was sitting stiffly beside her so that their sides were touching.

“B…” she said quietly, almost a whisper. “Why didn’t you say anything?”

B-127 blinked, startled by the rawness in her voice. He rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly, he was never good at hiding things. Never good at keeping quiet long enough to keep a secret. That had always been something about him. If something bothered him, everyone knew within five minutes.

But this? This he found hard to talk about.

He shrugged, staring down at his servos. "I... didn’t wanna make it worse," he mumbled. "Everyone already felt bad. You, Wheeljack, Ratchet, all of 'em. I figured if I started dumping my mess on you too... it’d just- y’know. Hurt more."

Elita’s spark ached. He had been hurting this whole time, trying to carry it by himself so that none of them would hurt more. Trying to protect them from his own guilt, when he was just a kid himself.

Without thinking, she reached out and pulled him into a rough, awkward hug, one arm slinging around his shoulders and dragging him close. He stiffened at first, then sagged against her like a tight cord finally snapping.

Words were never really her thing, that was always Optimus' job. Somehow, he could just... pull the right things out of the air, say them so confidently and perfect it made you believe him. Elita? She was better at actions than words.

But Bee needed something right now, and unfortunately, no amount of punching was going to fix this.

"Listen to me Bee, and pay attention because this is important” she paused for a second, waiting for his tiny nod to continue “You aren’t supposed to keep that slag bottled up. You're not a one-bot army” she muttered into his helm. "You don’t have to protect us from that, You don’t have to protect me”

Bee made a small, almost choked noise, but didn’t pull away. His servos clutched at the back of her frame like he was scared to let go.

"You’re not supposed to carry it all by yourself” she said, a little sharper now, voice rough. "You screwed up, fine. So did I. So has every bot in this rusted war. It doesn’t mean you gotta sit there and eat yourself alive over it”

She leaned back a bit and grabbed B-127’s helm so she could look him properly in the optics "You’re not- never were on your own, Bee. You hear me? You’re ours. Mine. And that means you don’t have to shoulder this like it’s your fault, because it isn’t kid”

Bee just blinked up at her, optics huge.

A second passed, and then without warning, B-127 threw himself at her, tackle-hugging her so hard they both nearly toppled sideways where they sat.

"Whoa- hey!" Elita barked, catching him on instinct, arms locking around him tight. Properly hugging him back once the surprise had passed and she could stabilize them.

They stayed like that for a moment, Bee just clinging to her like he did whenever he was feeling too much, like whoever he was hugging would just disappear if he didn’t hold on tight enough. 

"You know," he murmured against her chasis, voice full of mischievous affection, "Optimus is better at speeches”

Elita threw a flat look at the top of his helm. “Yeah, well, Optimus isn’t here right now, so you’re stuck with me, brat” Bee just laughed and leaned more into her.

They sat there holding onto each other for a little while longer, finally getting the comfort they both so desperately needed, the room quiet except for the low hum of the base around them. Elita was about to suggest they finally get up, maybe punch another wall or two just for good measure, when Bee spoke up again, voice softer.

"Hey Elita?" he mumbled into her armor "you're being kinda stupid too”

Elita froze “…Come again?"

Bee pulled back in a panic, just enough to look up at her and wave his arms in denial “No! Not like- I don’t mean you’re stupid! I meant that, well, it’s stupid that you keep blaming yourself. For what happened. For losing Optimus”

Elita opened her mouth, ready to bark something back, but B just kept going.

"It wasn’t just you," he said more firmly, voice now filling with confidence “It was all of us. I didn’t look back and see him follow, I wasn’t fast enough to get him. Ratchet and Wheeljack didn’t notice him wandering off. The others weren’t there to catch him either. We all messed up. You’re not the only one who lost him” 

Elita stiffened, jaw tight, but Bee wasn’t backing down. He even poked her chassis with a finger.

“We all lost him, Elita. If I’m not alone in this, you’re not either. Just because you’re in charge doesn’t mean you gotta carry all the burden by yourself”

He crossed his arms after that, glaring up at her like he dared her to argue.

Elita stared at him, stunned. For a second, she seriously considered shoving him over just to shut him up, but then the weight of what he said really hit her.

Slag. He was right.

She let out a rough sigh and dropped her helm forward, resting it lightly against his. "You're lucky you're right” she muttered, voice low “and cute, you little punk” she added in a more lighthearted tone.

B-127’s smile finally returned, grin wide and bright, the way it was supposed to be. “It’s part of my natural charm”

Elita snorted, grabbed him by the helm, and ruffled it roughly until he yelped and squirmed.  

After a few seconds of torture, he finally got himself free and turned to fully face her "So, what do we do now?" 

Elita leaned back, crossing her arms over her chest. Her gaze was sharp, but there was a kind of calm to it now, a certainty that hadn’t been there earlier.

"Now” she said, voice low but steady, "we get Optimus back”

B-127 looked at her, searching, like he needed to be sure she meant it.

She met his optics without flinching. "We're not leaving him. No matter how long it takes, no matter what we have to do. He's ours”

B let out a shaky little laugh, almost disbelieving. "You really think we can?"

Elita let the smallest, rough-edged smile pull at her mouth. "I don't think, Bee. I know”

She reached out, ruffling his helm with a heavy, affectionate shove. "We’re bringing him home. And if Megatron tries to stand in my way-“ she shrugged, casual, almost lazy in the way she said it, "-I'm putting him six feet under myself”

Bee snorted, the sound small but real, the first genuine one in days. He leaned against her side a little, bumping shoulders.

Elita shifted, reaching out and putting her arm across his shoulders. They didn’t have a plan yet. They didn’t have all the answers. But they had each other, and they had the unwavering love they felt for the little sparkling they’d lost, a love that would drive them forward, no matter the odds.

Finally, with an air of confidence, Elita pushed herself up, offering a servo to B-127.

"Come on. Let’s tell the others. It’s time we start putting together a plan”

Bee grabbed her servo, pulling himself up with a determined nod. 

This wasn’t over. They would tear the sky apart if they had to, but they were going to bring Optimus home.

[freezerbrldes]

short n’ sweet - part 2

“i can do a lot in 15 minutes”

PART 1, PART 2,

PAIRING. spencer reid x popstar!reader

SUMMARY. keeping the promise you made to spencer almost a year ago, you decide to pay him a visit at the bureau…

WARNINGS. afab!reader, sub!spencer, softdom!reader, semi public sex, oral (m and f receiving), orgasm denial, unprotected pnv sex, creampie, slight angst at the end

AUTHOR’S NOTE. the long awaited sequel to my last fic is finally here! i got a lot of requests to keeping writing about these two so i delivered. sorry it took so long for me to drop this, life has been pretty crazy recently. anyways i hope you enjoy and ill definitely keep writing more parts to this if y’all want.

credit to @cafekitsune for dividers

wc: 2,337

also on ao3

You smiled to yourself as you were led through the halls of the bureau, adjusting your sunglasses and scarf to conceal your identity. It wasn’t that you were a criminal on the run or anything; revealing your true identity right now would be less than ideal.

You had just finished your concert in DC the night before, but there was no way you were leaving without seeing Spencer, even if you only had a few minutes to spare before your tour bus departed.

You met Spencer backstage at one of your shows about a year ago. That night, he asked if he could see you again if you were ever in town, so you—like any sane person—planned an entire 2nd US leg of your tour, because catching a random flight to visit him just wasn’t romantic enough for you.

As you step out of the elevator and are led into a conference room just outside the bullpen, you wait in silence until the door opens again, revealing the man you had yearned for for months. He looks so much different from before. You remove your disguise as he stares back in shock.

“Y/N?” Spencer stammered, “what are you doing here?”

“I had promised you we’d meet if I ever found myself in DC, so here I am!” You smiled as you gazed up and down at Spencer. He had changed so drastically in a short span of time, and you were thoroughly enjoying it.

“Y-yeah, wow—I never actually expected to see you again. I figured you’d forget about me after we-“ Spencer trailed off—trying to organize his thoughts and not to think about the night you shared together all those months ago.

“Of course I’d remember you,” you chuckled, “the long hair threw me off a little bit but I’m digging it.”

Spencer laughs along with you before speaking again.

“D-Do you wanna get coffee or something?” He asks.

“Unfortunately, my tour bus leaves soon so we might have to skip the coffee, but don’t worry, I can do a lot of in 15 minutes.”

You walk over to spencer, practically pushing him up against the door as your fingers played with the tie around his neck.

Spencer's breath hitches as your body presses against his. He swallows hard, his heart pounding in his chest. The sudden closeness and intimate contact send a shiver down his spine.

"W-we shouldn't..." he manages to stutter, even as his body responds to yours, a flush rising to his cheeks. “I mean, this isn't... I’m at work.”

Despite his protests, Spencer finds himself leaning into you, craving more of your touch. His hands come up to rest on your hips, fingers digging lightly into the fabric of your clothes. The rational part of his mind knows they should stop, that they're in a public place, but the desire burning within him overrides any sense of caution.

"I want you," he admits, his voice low and husky.

“Don’t worry, It’s only gonna take 2 minutes to make you finish,” you grin mischievously as you slowly dropped onto your knees in front of him, slowly undoing his belt teasingly.

Spencer's breath catches in his throat at the sight of you on your knees for him. He watches, transfixed, as you unzip his pants with agonizing slowness, his pulse racing with anticipation.

"Oh God," he whispers, his head falling back against the door as you tug his pants open. His erection strains against the fabric of his boxers, aching for your touch.

Despite the urgency coursing through him, Spencer makes no move to hasten your actions, content to let you set the pace. Your skilled hands and wicked grin are enough to drive him wild with need.

"Just tell me if you want me to stop," you murmur, your hot breath ghosting over the sensitive skin of his thighs as you pull his boxers down. “I'll listen."

Spencer gasps sharply as your warm hand wraps around his stiff member, giving it a gentle squeeze. His hips jerk involuntarily, seeking more of your touch.

"N-no, don't stop," he stammers, his voice thick with desire. "Please..."

He's acutely aware of their surroundings—the door, the hallway beyond, anyone who might pass by and discover them in this compromising position—But the thrill of the risk only adds to his excitement.

"Your mouth..." Spencer whispers, his eyes locked on yours. "U-use your mouth.”

The request comes out more as a plea, desperation lacing his tone. He needs to feel your lips wrapped around him, needs the intense pleasure only you can provide.

"Please..." he repeats, his grip tightening on her shoulders as he urges you closer.

Spencer's moan echoes through the small space as you take him into your mouth, your tongue swirling around the sensitive head of his cock. He throws his head back against the door, fingers tangling in your hair as he guides your movements.

"Yeah, just like that," he gasps, his hips bucking slightly as you take him deeper. "Fuck…”

The sensation of your warm, wet mouth enveloping him is almost too much to bear. Spencer's mind goes blank, focused solely on the pleasure radiating through his body.

"Don't stop," he begs, his voice strained with need. "I'm so close already..."

He knows he shouldn't let himself get this carried away, not here, not now. But the feeling of your lips and tongue driving him towards climax is irresistible.

"I'm going to cum.”

Suddenly, you pull away, causing Spencer to let out a pained groan at the loss of contact.

Spencer's eyes fly open, his chest heaving as he struggles to catch his breath. The abrupt withdrawal leaves him feeling bereft and frustrated, his cock throbbing with unfulfilled need.

"What... what are you doing?" he asks, his voice tinged with confusion and disappointment.

He reaches for you, desperate to recapture the pleasure you were providing, but you evade his grasp with a playful laugh.

"Not yet, Spence," you tease, “we still have 10 minutes left."

With that, you lean in and capture his lips in a searing kiss, your tongue delving into his mouth to claim him thoroughly. Spencer melts into the embrace, surrendering to the passion that consumes him.

As your tongue dances with his own, Spencer's senses ignite once more. He wraps his arms around you, pulling you flush against him as he loses himself in the kiss. Your taste, the feel of you curves pressed to his body, it all blends together in a heady cocktail of desire.

"Need you," he murmurs against your lips, his hands roaming over your back and sides, yearning to explore every inch of you, "I need to be inside you."

Spencer's words are punctuated by hungry kisses as he nips and sucks at your lower lip. His arousal pulses insistently, begging for release, but he's determined to make this moment last.

Spencer's breath hitches as you pull him towards the desk, his heart racing with anticipation. When you hop up onto the cold surface, he's immediately drawn to you, his hands settling on your hips as he steps between your legs.

"Oh God," he groans, his eyes dark with lust as he looks down at you. “You're so beautiful..."

Without hesitation, he grips the hem of your skirt and slowly peels it up your thighs, revealing smooth skin and the lacy edge of your panties. Spencer's fingers trace the delicate fabric, his thumb brushing against your damp heat through the material.

"You're soaked," he marvels, his voice low and shaky. "I-I need you so bad."

“Well, take me then, we haven’t got all day,” You teased, chuckling to yourself at his desperation.

A shiver runs down Spencer's spine at your word, his breath catching in his throat. The mixture of teasing and urgency in your voice only serves to heighten his arousal, making his cock throb with need.

"Right, okay," he stammers, his hands shaking slightly as he hooks his fingers into the waistband of your panties. “Just give me a sec..."

With a swift tug, he frees you from the constraints of the fabric, baring you to his eager gaze. Spencer drinks in the sight of you, his tongue darting out to wet his lips in anticipation.

"Beautiful," he whispers reverently, leaning in to plant a soft kiss on your lips. "You’re so gorgeous..."

Slowly, he makes his way upward, kissing and nipping along the tender flesh until he reaches the apex of your thighs.

Spencer's nose brushes against your slick folds as he inhales deeply, savoring your intoxicating scent. With a low growl, he parts your folds with his thumbs, exposing your most intimate part to his ravenous gaze.

"So perfect," he murmurs, his voice husky with desire. "I could look at you forever..."

Before he can lose himself in your beauty, Spencer dips his head and laps at your clit, reveling in the taste of you.

"Mmm, you taste incredible," he praises, his words vibrating against your sensitive skin as he begins to circle the tiny bud with increasing pressure. "Let me make you feel good, baby-“

Before Spencer’s mouth could reach your aching heat, you pull him away by his hair, causing him to let out a husky groan.

“We don’t have time for that right now, Spence, I need you to fuck me,” you demand while still holding him by his hair, reminding him of who’s truly in charge.

Spencer's eyes flash with a mix of frustration and hunger. The commanding tone in your voice sends a thrill of excitement through him.

"Y-Yes, I ma’am," he says quickly, his breathing heavy with pent-up desire.

As you releasing your grip on his hair, Spencer positions himself between your thighs, the tip of his cock nudging against your entrance.

"Are you ready?" he asks, his voice strained with the effort of restraint. “I don't want to hurt you..."

You grip Spencer’s tie and pull his face down to yours, your free hand guides Spencer's cock to quivering entrance.

"Fuck me, Spencer Reid," you demand, biting your lip as you stare deep into his eyes.

With a low groan, Spencer surges forward, burying himself to the hilt inside your welcoming heat in one swift motion. He pauses for a moment, savoring the tightness that envelops him, before beginning to thrust in and out of you.

"Fuuuck, you feel amazing," he gasps, his hips snapping forward with increasing intensity as he loses himself in the rhythm of his powerful thrusts. “So tight and wet... Shit…"

Spencer's hands find purchase on your hips, gripping tightly as he pounds into you, driven by a primal urge to claim you, to make you his.

Only you’re not his, and you never will be…

Spencer's pace becomes erratic as he chases his impending climax, his strokes growing shorter and more forceful. The slick sounds of their coupling fill the air, mingling with their ragged panting and the creak of the desk beneath them.

"Close, so close," he grits out, his muscles coiling tight with tension. “Gonna... gonna cum inside you, Fuck..."

“Me too,” you whimpered, “Come for me, Spencer.”

His name rolling off your lips was enough to send him over the edge. With a final, deep thrust, Spencer buries himself inside you, his cock pulsing as cums.

The feeling of him filling you to the brim sends you over the edge, your moan out as you clench around his softening cock.

"Oh god, yes," he moans, his forehead dropping to rest against your shoulder as he rides out the aftershocks of his orgasm.

The sound of your phone buzzing on the table breaks the silence between the two of you. It was your manager.

“Fuck, I got to go,” you say as you push Spencer off of you and quickly redress yourself. “I’m sorry to run off like this but i have a plane to catch.”

Spencer's expression falls as reality sets in, the post-coital bliss rapidly fading. He watches, dazed, as you scrambles to put yourself back together.

He tries to process the sudden shift, the abrupt end to their passionate encounter. Spencer feels unmoored, as if he's been plunged into a nightmare where everything he thought he knew has been turned upside down.

"I... I should probably get cleaned up too," he mutters, his gaze drifting mess left on the desk. “My team is probably wondering what’s taking me so long.”

As Spencer starts to gather his scattered belongings, you approach him, a look of apology on your face despite the lingering hint of satisfaction in your eyes.

"I really am sorry, Spence," you say, reaching out to gently cup his cheek. “I didn't mean to leave things like this, but this is just how my life is at the moment.“

Your words are a bomb to Spencer's bruised ego. He nods slowly, trying to muster a smile even as his heart aches at the thought of parting ways so abruptly for a second time.

"Yeah, I get it," he agrees, his voice barely above a whisper. “Take care of yourself, and thank you... for today."

You flash Spencer one last smile before exiting the office.

As the door closes behind you, Spencer is left alone with his thoughts, the weight of the encounter settling heavily upon him. He stands there for a long moment, frozen in a state of emotional limbo, before finally forcing himself to move.

With leaden steps, he trudges back to the bathroom, his reflection in the mirror a pale imitation of the man who made love so passionately mere minutes prior. As he cleans himself up, Spencer can't help but replay the events of the day in his mind, analyzing every word, every gesture, every fleeting glance.

When he emerges from the bathroom, Spencer feels a strange sense of disconnection from the world around him. Everything seems muted, his mind racing with the exhilaration of what went down in that cramped office, the sting of abandonment, and the gnawing uncertainty of what lies ahead.

[p0orbaby]

Hello! If you’re still doing the short blurbs may I request a short one with R taking alexia ice skating? R’s really good and alexia’s really bad. So bad she needs to hold the kids penguin support thing type bad. But she’s a bit stubborn and doesn’t want help. She’s constantly holding on to the rail, falls on her bum and one kid even laughs at her. But after a few falls she finally gives in and lets R guide/help her, and even lets go of the side ☺️

No worries if it’s not your thing!

-

At first, she’s suspicious.

You’ve never seen Alexia side-eye a leisure centre before, but here we are. A converted warehouse in some unholy corner of South London with strip lighting, a vending machine from the ’90s, and the distinct smell of wet sock. She’s clinging to your sleeve like it’s diplomatic protocol.

“People do this… for fun?” she asks, brow arched, eyes darting around like she’s assessing the risk of frostbite.

“They do,” you say, handing her a pair of skates and watching her stare at them like they’ve personally wronged her. “It’s charming. Festive. Builds character.”

“You’re trying to kill me,” she decides.

You do not deny it.

She lasts twenty-three seconds on the ice before the first fall. It’s not even dramatic—more of a slow, deliberate sit-down, like her thighs have made an executive decision.

“I am not built for this,” she hisses, as a six-year-old glides past her effortlessly and then circles back to laugh. Loudly.

You try not to laugh with the child.

She glares at you from the ground. “I have two Ballon d’Ors.”

“And now you have mild bruising,” you reply, extending a hand.

She swats it away and scrambles upright via the wall like a very determined crab. “I don’t need help.”

“You just got shown up by a child in a Peppa Pig bobble hat.”

“She’s probably training for the Olympics.”

The next fall is less dignified. She tries to push off from the rail, gets maybe three inches of momentum, panics mid-glide, and immediately pancakes. A nearby steward offers her a little plastic penguin—the kind toddlers use to learn. She accepts it. With bitterness in her eyes and pride in shreds.

“This is humiliating,” she mutters, inching forward while clutching the penguin’s ears. “I play football for a living.”

“Exactly,” you say. “Footballers aren’t known for their balance.”

“I do Pilates.”

“That makes this even worse.”

She gives you a look that says I love you but I could end you right here on the ice and make it look like an accident.

You’re already pretty good. Comfortable. Confident, even. You circle around her once—purely to show off, obviously—then coast backwards in front of her like some smug, ice-dancing forest nymph.

“Stop that,” she snaps. “You look like that Disney ice queen, Elisa or whoever.”

“Is that jealousy I hear?”

“It’s rage,” she says, but her mouth twitches at the corners.

Three more falls and a minor tantrum later, she gives in.

You’re holding out a hand before she even asks. She takes it.

“I’m only doing this because I’m freezing and tired,” she says, like you’ve dragged her to a hostile terrain under false pretences.

You smile. “Of course.”

“Not because I need you.”

“Obviously not.”

And then—slowly, awkwardly, but determined—she lets go of the wall.

One of her hands is in yours. The other is still on the penguin’s plastic face, but it’s progress. Her feet slide forward, cautious but brave. You guide her gently, fingers tight around hers, keeping pace. Every now and then she wobbles, curses softly in Spanish, and shoots you a dirty look—as if the ice itself is under your command.

“You’re laughing,” she accuses.

“I’m delighted.”

“I’m never doing this again.”

“You’re doing so well.”

“I hate you.”

“You love me.”

A pause. A sigh.

“Yes. But I hate you also.”

And you can’t help it—you beam. The rink lights are too bright, the air smells like someone’s gym bag, and your girlfriend is hanging on to a fibreglass penguin for dear life, but it might be the best date you’ve ever been on.

Even if she spends the rest of it muttering darkly about broken ankles and national embarrassment.

[dksfml]

EIGHTEEN - YANG JUNGWON (PART II)

pairing: fboy!jungwon x reader summary: where on your 18th birthday, you receive a blessing that lets you see the future, only to find yourself married to jungwon, the college heartthrob you’ve barely spoken to, with a child calling you mom. genre: university / college au, soulmate au, fantasy, fluff, slight angst, love triangle, pining, slow burn word count: 4.8k playlist: 18 - one direction, stuck with u - ariana grande & justin bieber, you belong with me - ts, lavender haze - ts, wish that i could - umi, meddle about - chase atlantic A/N: forgive me if this part's a bit short. i promise to make it up to you in the next ones, hehe

masterlist.

This is a work of fiction. It does not represent real people, events, or systems. Any similarities are purely coincidental, and all elements are created for fantasy purposes only.

The drama club’s room smelled faintly of old velvet curtains and cheap perfume.

Jungwon was half-distracted, mind somewhere else entirely, when the girl he barely remembered the name of tugged at his collar, lips finding the side of his neck. Her fingers slipped under the hem of his shirt, nails scraping lightly across his skin.

He let her.

Only because he wanted to get this over with.

The only reason he even agreed to meet her again today was to retrieve his wallet. The one he stupidly left at her dorm last night. He didn’t even plan on staying longer than necessary. Hell, he didn’t even plan on seeing her again. Jungwon didn’t do repeats.

But when she leaned in too close, smirking against his ear and said, "At least let me give you an advanced birthday treat, babe," he froze.

He should have walked away right then.

Instead, when she kept pushing, fingers pulling at his belt loops, mouth chasing his, he kissed her. Hard. Too hard.

Just to shut her up.

A mistake.

A fucking mistake.

Because that’s when the door creaked open.

And everything inside him seized up.

Through the tangled mess of limbs and desperation, his eyes locked onto a figure standing stiff at the door.

You.

Wide-eyed. Frozen. Like you’d just witnessed a car crash you couldn’t look away from.

Fuck.

He pulled back like he’d been electrocuted, his breath catching sharp in his throat.

“Y/N?” he blurted, voice rough and broken.

You didn’t say anything.

Didn’t move.

Just turned too fast and disappeared down the hallway, footsteps fading like a nightmare.

The girl beside him clicked her tongue, smoothing down her skirt, unfazed. She leaned against the desk casually, fixing her lipstick in the reflection of a trophy case.

“She’s pretty," she said, voice light, teasing. "Is that her?"

Jungwon stared at her, still breathing hard. “What?”

She tilted her head, smiling like she knew something he didn’t. “The girl who rejected you during freshmen year. Jake told me.”

His fists clenched at his sides. He stared at her, a million unsaid things clawing up his throat.

“I wasn’t rejected,” Jungwon snapped, sharper than he meant to. “And Jake doesn’t have the right to say shit. He’s in the same fucking position.”

The girl only chuckled, slipping her phone back into her bag like she hadn’t just dropped a nuclear bomb and walked away.

Jungwon stood there for a long moment, the stale, suffocating air pressing down on him.

He had come here for a wallet.

He had stayed because he was stupid.

He kissed a girl he didn’t even like because he thought it didn’t matter.

But it mattered.

Because for the first time in a long time, something actually fucking mattered.

And he might have just ruined it before it even had the chance to start.

It started small.

The kind of thing you wouldn’t even notice unless you were paying attention.

There was a vending machine tucked beside the science hall. Old, humming, half-forgotten. Students barely used it unless they were desperate between classes. But Jungwon did. And he always bought the same thing: the yellow-pack gummy bears.

Soft, sweet, just the right chew.

Something about them tasted like how he imagined being a kid felt simple and untouched.

Except, lately, they were always gone.

He’d walk up between lectures, coins ready, tap the scratched glass — and nothing.

Every other snack untouched.

Every other candy still neatly stacked.

Just the yellow gummies, empty.

It pissed him off a little.

He even once smacked the side of the machine in frustration, earning a few weird glances from passing students. He ignored them, he had bigger problems.

One day, he was earlier than usual. The hallways were half-empty, the vending machine still blinking lazily in the corner. And there you were.

Crouched low, head tilted, tapping the glass thoughtfully like you were deep in negotiation with the machine. In your hand? Two packs of the yellow gummies.

And in your bag? He caught the flash of even more, at least three, four crammed into the front pocket like a guilty secret.

You turned, mid-stuffing the last pack into your bag. Eyes meeting. Both of you frozen.

He recognized you vaguely. Freshman orientation, Jake's friend, the girl who laughed at his jokes but never stuck around for long.

And now? Now you were the damn vending machine thief.

You blinked, the barest flicker of surprise crossing your face before you straightened up calmly, like you weren’t doing anything remotely suspicious. You were.

Jungwon crossed his arms, smirking before he could stop himself.

"Leave some for the rest of us, maybe?"

You shrugged, not even guilty. "Survival of the fittest."

He huffed out a laugh. "You're hoarding them."

"They're the best ones," you said simply, like it was obvious. "Supply and demand."

He shook his head, smiling despite himself. You were something else.

"I’ve been trying to buy those for a week," he said, mock offended.

"You should be faster," you replied, voice light, teasing, as you zipped your bag shut and slung it over your shoulder.

Before he could think of anything clever to say, you tossed one of the packs toward him. He caught it, stunned.

"Here," you said.

A peace offering.

Or maybe just a dare to keep up.

Then you walked away, steps light, disappearing down the hallway before he could ask your name.

He stood there for a second, the vending machine humming behind him, the yellow pack crinkling in his hand.

Slowly, he smiled.

He didn’t know much about you yet. Only that you liked the same gummy bears. And that you didn’t apologize for it.

But that tiny, stupid moment? It stuck. Burrowed somewhere he couldn't dig out later, no matter how many months passed.

And later, when people joked about how he must’ve had dozens of girls chasing after him, he just thought about you, walking away without a second glance, leaving him standing there like some idiot holding candy.

After that day at the vending machine, Jungwon started noticing you everywhere. At first, he told himself it was coincidence. The campus wasn’t that big. Maybe your paths just happened to cross. Maybe you just happened to sit two rows ahead of him in economics. Maybe you just happened to linger outside the drama clubroom, laughing too brightly with Sunoo.

But deep down, he knew the truth.

He was looking for you now.

Tuning out the rest of the world, unconsciously drawn to the sound of your laugh, the flash of your bag stuffed with books and candy, the easy way you moved through life like you weren’t trying to impress anyone.

And you never noticed him.

Not really.

You barely even glanced his way.

He almost gave up then, almost let himself believe it was just a vending machine moment, a glitch in the universe that wasn’t meant to last.

Until rumors started.

Jake was courting you.

Jake, the golden boy with the easy smiles and a trail of admirers.

Jake, who was somehow close to you already.

Jake, who could make anyone fall for him if he really wanted to.

Jungwon told himself it didn’t matter. He lied.

It hurt.

More than it should have.

A stupid, sour sting every time he saw Jake walking next to you, tossing you candies or making you laugh in that easy, infuriating way of his.

So Jungwon, idiot that he was, joined the drama club. “I need the extracurricular points," he told everyone. Nobody believed him.

Mostly, he stuck to backstage work, fixing broken chairs, painting sets, running errands Sunoo barked at him with terrifying efficiency.

You were always around, helping, organizing, laughing. Sometimes you sat cross-legged on the stage sorting costume jewelry into plastic bins. Sometimes you passed him a bottle of water without looking. He said thank you quietly every time and you never noticed.

But he stayed anyway.

Because being near you, even if you didn’t see him, felt better than nothing at all.

Then one afternoon, everything shifted again.

He was fixing a crooked light rig when Sunoo’s voice rang out through the dusty club office.

"Y/N turned Jake down yesterday." Loud. Blunt. No room for misunderstanding.

The room went quiet. Someone gasped. Someone else whistled low.

Jungwon tightened his grip on the wrench. Heart slamming. Mind racing.

You turned Jake down?

"Yeah," another club member chimed in, dramatic as ever. "She said she's not ready for dating. Wants to focus on her studies first, plus she was thinking of running for the student council next year."

Sunoo laughed. "Classic Y/N. Always has her priorities straight."

Jungwon barely heard the rest.

All he could think was—

Maybe.

Maybe there was a chance.

Maybe he wasn’t as invisible as he thought.

He spent the whole night drafting letters he’d never send. Debating if he should say anything at all.

In the end, he didn’t write a love confession. He didn’t pour his heart out. He just kept it simple.

A bag of yellow gummy bears. And a note taped on it.

"I know this might not be the right time to give you something like this.

But I just wanted you to know,  you're interesting in every possible way.

You're the kind of person someone could admire quietly for a long time, even if the tides never turn in their favor.

I hope you keep smiling the way you do when you win arguments.

I hope you keep picking the yellow gummy bears, even if you have to fight for the last one.

No pressure.

No expectations.

Just... you deserve to know."

He left it in your locker early the next morning. Heart hammering. Hands shaking.

He thought maybe you’d know. Maybe the gummy bears would tip you off. Maybe you’d remember the stupid vending machine moment that never really left his mind.

Instead—

At lunch, he saw you. Marching across the courtyard. The bag of gummy bears clutched in your hand. Heading straight for Jake.

From where Jungwon sat on the stone steps by the library, he saw it unfold like a bad dream:

You smiling politely.

Talking softly.

Handing Jake the gummy bears back like they were some kind of apology.

And Jake—Jake just blinked, clearly confused, before awkwardly nodding and taking the bag.

You looked relieved.

Jake looked baffled.

Jungwon felt like something inside him cracked quietly open.

You thought Jake sent the gift.

You thought Jake wrote the letter.

And you turned it down.

Kindly. Gently.

And you never even knew it was him.

Later, Jake found him by the vending machines, tossing the crumpled bag onto Jungwon's lap.

"You’re a dumbass," Jake said, not unkindly.

"You should've put your name on it."

Then he left, leaving Jungwon alone with a silent, half-empty machine and a gummy bear pack that tasted a lot more bitter than sweet now.

Jungwon never said anything about it.

He just swallowed the rejection he was never even given the chance to earn.

And maybe that’s why now, standing years later in a messy drama room, when that girl tilted her head and said with a teasing smile—

"The girl who rejected you during freshmen year. Jake told me."

Because truth was… you never even knew it was him.

You never even saw him.

Not then.

Not yet.

The door slammed shut behind him.

Jungwon didn’t stop walking.

Down the hallway, past the bulletin boards, past the same scratched lockers he could’ve walked through blindfolded.

His fists curled tighter with every step.

Breath shallow. Mind buzzing.

He pushed outside, the night air slapping cold against his face. But the sick feeling in his gut didn’t go away.

He barely made it two steps across the courtyard when—

"Jungwon!"

He turned, shoulders stiff.

It was Sunoo, jogging up, frowning. "Dude, what happened? Why is Y/N storming out like she’s about to sue the entire drama club?"

Jungwon opened his mouth.

Closed it.

Rubbed a hand down his face.

"I messed up," he muttered finally, voice hoarse. "I didn’t mean for her to see... that."

Sunoo stared at him, mouth twitching like he wanted to ask a dozen questions but knew better.

Jungwon dug into the pocket of his hoodie and pulled out the bright yellow pack, the gummy bears he'd bought earlier, before everything went to shit. Before he'd ruined it.

And then it hit him.

Today was your birthday.

You were supposed to have a good day.

You were supposed to laugh and smile and maybe — maybe — open your locker to find a stupid, cheesy pack of candy from someone who actually thought about you.

Instead, you found him like that.

Instead, he made you leave like your heart was breaking in real time.

A fresh wave of guilt slammed into him, sharp enough to make his stomach turn.

He shoved the pack into Sunoo’s hands, almost too rough.

"Give this to her," Jungwon said, jaw tight. "Tomorrow. Please."

Sunoo blinked down at it. "Uh. Okay? What is this, a bribe?"

Jungwon gave a humorless huff of air.

"Just... tell her I’m sorry. Tell her it’s from me."

Sunoo tucked the candy into his tote bag, still looking like he wanted to say more.

"I have to check our biochem lab results tomorrow," Jungwon added, half an excuse, half the truth. "I won’t see her before lunch."

Sunoo nodded slowly.

"You sure you don’t wanna just give it to her yourself?"

Jungwon shrugged helplessly.

"I don’t think she wants to see me right now."

A beat of silence.

The wind picked up, rattling the bare branches overhead.

Sunoo sighed, clapping him lightly on the shoulder. "Alright. I’ll make sure she gets it."

He started to turn away, then paused, glancing back with a small, lopsided smile.

"Oh—and, uh, advance happy birthday, Jungwon."

Jungwon managed the barest curve of a smile.

"Thanks."

And then he turned, hoodie pulled up against the cold, and disappeared into the night.

The morning Jungwon turned eighteen, the world stayed silent—for a moment.

The sun rose like it always did, pale and slow against the cracked skyline.

His apartment was still the same too: neat, spare, clean to the point of looking unlived-in. A couch, a low coffee table, a desk piled with textbooks he didn’t really touch anymore.

Nothing screamed special day.

Nothing at all.

He sat up on the edge of the bed, elbows on his knees, staring at the muted light seeping through his curtains.

In families like his, birthdays — eighteenth birthdays — were monumental.

Because here, you only got your blessing once.

It came exactly on your eighteenth birthday, and it never changed after that.

It was supposed to be a celebration. A doorway into the life you were meant to live. But in Jungwon’s family, it wasn’t magic. It wasn’t wonder.

It was a contract.

A cousin who awakened the ability to manipulate probability was immediately signed into risk management for the family's overseas holdings flown out within two weeks. An older sister who could predict crucial decisions before they happened became the sharpest negotiator in corporate mergers. An aunt who could sway opinions through subtle energy became a political lobbyist, shuffled from one continent to another, her life signed away to strategies and campaign wars.

The blessings were always bent, reshaped, weaponized.

Once your blessing appeared, you were sealed into it. Expected to serve it. Or get discarded quietly, like those who didn't "align" well enough.

Jungwon learned early not to hope. Hope made you vulnerable. Hope got you chained.

His phone buzzed on the bedside table.

🎉 Happy 18th Birthday, Jungwon 🎉

It's time to check your Blessing 💫

He stared at the screen but didn’t move.

Because once you checked it, there was no going back. Once the world saw what you were it would decide who you were.

The phone buzzed again.

A text from his mother.

[Mom]

Happy Birthday, my love. Remember, make today count. Everyone’s watching and waiting. We love you.

And then bleeding in like a crack through the wall  he heard it.

He can’t afford to screw this up. We’ve invested too much already. If it’s not useful, we’ll need to reassess him for overseas placements.

Jungwon stiffened.

It wasn’t a message.

It wasn’t in the text.

It was her thoughts.

He wasn’t reading her words, he was hearing the parts she didn’t say.

He sat there, frozen, as realization sank in.

With a slow, almost reluctant movement, Jungwon finally tapped the blinking notification on his phone.

The screen flashed once, then displayed in clean, gold lettering:

Blessing Activated: The ability to hear the thoughts of those you are conversing with.

And if he could hear it through this simple text conversation...

What would happen when he spoke to people in real life?

A sour, heavy feeling settled into his chest.

This blessing wasn't something he could turn on and off.

It wasn’t something he asked for.

And it sure as hell wasn’t going to make his life easier.

He pushed himself to stand, grabbing his jacket in a stiff, mechanical motion. Then powered off his phone.

When he left the apartment, the air outside was cold against his skin.

As he made his way down the street, he avoided conversation like it was poison. He ignored the greetings of the security guard in his building. He nodded mutely to the woman who sold coffee on the corner without saying a word.

Because he knew what it meant now. Because he knew the moment he exchanged words, he would hear the real thing hiding underneath. Not their smiles. Not their words. The truth they kept locked away.

And Jungwon had spent his whole life surrounded by that kind of duplicity. Family members who said "I'm proud of you" but thought "You better not ruin our name." Cousins who laughed over family dinners but secretly wished for each other's failures. An uncle who clapped him on the back and said "You’re lucky" while thinking "It should have been my son instead."

He grew up seeing it already. The way blessings, were twisted into weapons, into currency, into burdens too heavy to carry.

And now?

Now he would never be able to unhear any of it, would he?

By the time he reached the university, his head was already aching.

He remembered, vaguely, how Sunoo had clapped him on the shoulder yesterday, laughing, "Advance happy birthday, Jungwon!" before running off to one of his club meetings.

How easy it had been to smile back then.

He wished he could freeze himself in that moment before the world tilted sideways.

Now, everything felt heavier.

He was grateful for the excuse to be alone today. Hidden away in the lab under the pretense of gathering data for his project. The thick walls, the stale scent of old paper and chemicals, the silent machines, it was a kind of peace he didn’t realize he needed so badly.

Here, there were no conversations.

No words exchanged.

No truths bleeding through.

Just silence.

Finally.

Jungwon leaned back in his chair, staring up at the cracked ceiling tiles.

Was this what blessings were supposed to feel like? Or was this just another leash, dressed up like a gift?

He closed his eyes and exhaled quietly.

Happy birthday.

What a joke.

Jungwon stayed frozen by the wall, watching you cross the quad like you were some mirage that might dissolve if he blinked too hard. The lab data crinkled faintly in his fingers, forgotten. His brain, usually so sharp, so careful, now felt like someone had jammed it into slow motion.

Because you were here.

Because you had actually replied.

And he had heard it—your thoughts, clear as day, slicing through the usual static of the world.

Sorry I just saw this. Where are you now?

He’d read the text with a stone face. And underneath it, he heard it—the rush of your guilt, the tiny pang of something warmer, something unbearably human.

Not calculation. Not politics. Not some angle to manipulate him, like everyone else he grew up around.

You.

Just you.

The moment your gaze locked with his across the quad, something in his chest tightened painfully. He stuffed his phone into his pocket, stood straighter, forced himself to smirk internally even though his throat felt dry.

"Hey. President," he called, casual, careful.

Because he remembered the look in your eyes that day outside the drama room—how you flinched when he tried to apologize, how you wouldn’t even look at him.

The last time he said your name out loud, you flinched like he was something rotten.

So now it was just "President." A shield between you and him.

You approached, steady, distant. Your voice clipped when you asked about the lab data. Jungwon handed it over, his fingers brushing yours—and he felt it, again, like a ripple of static under his skin.

Your thoughts cracked into him like sunlight through a stained glass window.

"His hand’s warm."

"Focus, Y/N. You’re being ridiculous."

"Just get through this. Don’t let him see you melt like some idiot."

Jungwon almost dropped the papers.

He bit the inside of his cheek instead, forcing himself to stay calm, to stay cool. Because if he lost it now—if he said anything wrong—you might shut him out completely.

You thanked him in that same clipped voice, turned to leave.

And then he heard it.

"God, why does he have to look at me like that? I hate feeling like this"

"Ugh, why he out of all people? Everything was fine until what I saw last night.”

“Just forget it, Y/N. Forget that stupid future your blessing showed you. It doesn’t mean anything.”

“He’s not going to be your husband. No way. Watch me prove fate wrong.”

Jungwon's world tilted.

Husband? Your husband?

His instincts scrambled for something, anything, to tether him back to earth, to slow the pounding in his chest. The words just slipped out, raw and unsteady, the first thing his brain could grab onto.

“…You saw the file?”

You paused. Nodded. Muttered, “It’s good.”

Then you walked away.

Jungwon stood there, rooted to the spot, heart hammering against his ribs so loud he thought someone might hear it.

Because for the first time since he woke up this morning, with the whole damn world feeling like it was pried open, every thought bleeding through the noise, didn’t feel suffocating.

That night, Jungwon’s dorm was too quiet, but his mind is completely the opposite.

Jungwon sat hunched on the edge of his bed, hoodie sleeves half-pulled over his knuckles, phone glowing dim in his hand. He’d read your message probably a hundred times.

"Sorry I just saw this. Where are you now?"

So casual. So harmless. But the memory of your voice, your clipped tone from earlier, the way your eyes didn’t quite meet his. All of it kept repeating in his head like a glitch in a dream he couldn’t wake up from.

And worse than the silence was the part he couldn’t shake.

Husband.

The word had lodged somewhere in his chest and refused to leave.

He didn’t even realize he was grinning like an idiot until his reflection caught in the dark window. Quickly, he sobered, scolding himself but it was useless. That voice—your voice—echoed in his head with too much heat.

She saw a future where I was her husband.

She thought about me. Dreamed about me.

She didn’t just push me away for no reason.

His thumb hovered over your contact.

He wasn’t supposed to use his blessing like this. He knew it. It was too intimate. Too invasive. But tonight, he needed to understand. Because your voice inside his head didn’t sound like hate. It sounded like fear. And want.

He opened the chat.

[9:47 PM]

hey.

it’s jungwon.

He hit send, then hesitated.

Don’t text her this late, idiot. You’ll just look desperate.

But what if she thinks you don’t care?

He sent another.

thanks for checking the file.

Still nothing.

He tapped his leg nervously, eyes locked on the screen. His thoughts were a mess with half apologies and half what-ifs.

are you still mad about yesterday.

it’s fine if you are. just wanted to say i wasn’t trying to... make you uncomfortable or anything.

didn’t know you’d walk in.

The reply came fast. Faster than he expected.

[Y/N]

Don’t flatter yourself. You didn’t make me uncomfortable.

I’ve seen worse.

But your thoughts betrayed you, spilling into him like sparks on skin.

Liar. I felt like my lungs collapsed when I saw him.

Because seeing him with someone else felt like a punch in the gut. Because it confirmed he’d never be mine. Even if the blessing said otherwise.

Jungwon’s heart thudded, warm and dizzy. You wanted him. Maybe not openly, maybe not consciously, but it was there. Real and raw.

His ears burned. He grinned against his knuckles.

He typed again.

you sure? you looked like you saw a ghost.

Because I did, okay? You were the ghost of that stupid dream. That version of you who held my hand and whispered all those sweet things.

And then I saw you tangled up with someone else like a slap of reality. God, maybe it wasn’t a vision at all. Maybe it was just a stupid delusion and I was the idiot who let it mean something.

His smile faded, just a bit. He wanted to explain. He wanted to reach into your thoughts and pull that version of him out, hand him to you like a promise.

Instead, you answered.

[Y/N]

I was just surprised. That’s all.

Another lie. Another flicker of your truth curled under it:

You make me nervous.

You make me mad.

But worse, you make me want to hope.

And I don’t know what to do with that.

A soft laugh bubbled from Jungwon’s throat. It felt... new. Not like the practiced chuckles he gave to classmates or the stiff polite ones he reserved for teachers. This one felt like sunshine cracking open in his chest.

sunoo said you looked pissed.

[Y/N]

Well, maybe tell Sunoo to mind his business.

That little traitor.

But... he’s not wrong.

I was pissed. Still am. But also, ugh. Why do I want him to keep texting me? NO, every text from him makes my head boil.

His chest ached in the sweetest, most unbearable way.

He barely realized what he was typing next.

you don’t like me much, do you.

The silence stretched just long enough to make him nervous. But your thoughts answered before your fingers did.

I don’t know how to not like you. I don’t know how I feel about you. That’s the problem.

You make me mad. But you also make my hands shake.

He sucked in a breath.

You were trying so hard to protect yourself. And yet, your walls had tiny cracks and through them, he could feel your heartbeat echoing like his.

[Y/N]

I don’t really know you.

A beat passed.

Then another.

Jungwon stared at those six words for a long time. And when he finally replied, it came from somewhere deeper.

This time, he didn’t hesitate.

then maybe let me fix that.

The words were barely on the screen before your thoughts fluttered again.

What does that even mean?

Is this how he talks to the other girls? That easy, casual charm?

God, I hate this. I hate how I want it to be different with me.

Is it stupid… that a part of me wants to say yes?

Jungwon pressed the phone to his chest, eyes closing for a second.

For once, the world was quiet.

Except for the soft, dangerous hope blooming between your mind and his.

And god… he hoped you could feel it too.

That night, Jungwon thought maybe his blessing wasn’t so bad after all. Not loud. Not suffocating. Just... quiet enough to feel like something sacred.

He fell asleep on his birthday without telling anyone what he’d received. No big announcement, no family expectation, no performance. Just him, alone with the memory of your thoughts that are honest and vulnerable echoing softly in his chest.

It might’ve been his favorite birthday yet.

Because for the first time in a long time, he dreamed not of pressure, pleasure, or perfection, but of you.

And when morning came, groggy and golden through his window, the first thing that surfaced in his mind wasn’t the dread of responsibility.

It was you.

Now, hours later, that same girl—the one who’d occupied his mind all night, maybe even all these years—was clinging to the back of his shirt, arms wrapped around his waist as his motorbike hummed down the empty road.

And Jungwon smiled, wind in his hair, heart louder than the engine.

masterlist.

sorry for another cliffhanger hehe, notes and comments are very much appreciated :D

permanent taglist:

@1starqi @imfuckingwhipped @moon0fthenight @jiawji @shawnyle @simja3 @babyboomysweetie @50-husbands @charlizefaye @anudocuments @ooriwoo @sa-brinaaa @luumiinaa @personallyminelol @yjwonsgf @lvvstruck @leah-rose03 @kanonjji @kyunlov @somuchdard @seongiewon @theothernads @luumiinaa @enhaverse713586 @lynanist @moriwori

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[manticorecure]

ive been rewatching a lot of old princezam vods and videos and her rlcraft vod got me thinking abt this skin again... its so beautiful :(

[heartsforjh]

hi lovely, congrats on 100!! may i request luke hughes and acts of service, with him giving to reader? thank you so much, xoxo 🩷

ofc lovely !! this one is short and sweet, hope that’s okay 🫶 (also it wasn’t specified exactly WHICH acts of service so i just went with a brand new idea!)

main masterlist | 100 follower celly masterlist

You groan, sitting at your desk, and staring at this dumb study guide. Even with a big help like this, all hope feels lost. Chemistry is not your strong suit. But, of course, life. You have to do things you’d normally avoid like the plague… ahem… this final you’re taking tomorrow! 

Your boyfriend, Luke, quietly slips into the room, not wanting to disturb you. He’s headed towards the bed, before he notices you. Your head is in your hands and you look the farthest thing from okay. 

“Baby?” he says, a sad tone in his voice already. It’s like he can immediately feel all of your frustration. 

You pick your head up, looking over at him, unaware he was in the room to begin with. “Uh, yeah? What’s up?” 

“You okay, sweet girl?” he asks, coming over and wrapping his arms around your shoulders from behind. 

You shoot a fake smile up at him before looking back to what you’re working on. “I’m fine. Just… studying chem.” 

He groans at that last word. This guy knows everything. Including your beef with chemistry. “That sucks. I’m sorry. Need help?” 

“No,” you answer, not even thinking it through. “I’ve got it.” 

“You sure? You know, you’re not bothering me by getting some help? I think it’d be good for you to talk about it out loud. Might help you remember better,” he pushes, knowing how you can be. 

You honestly feel called out. He pretty much hit the nail on the head. “Um… well, I guess, if you want to, you can. You don’t have to, though.” 

“Of course I want to.  Are you kidding me? I’ll be right back,” he says, hurrying out of the room. 

You have no idea what he’s doing, but you decide to just get all of your topics for study set up. The both of you will be lost if you don’t. Shortly after you’re done, Luke comes back in. He’s got a crisp looking glass of ice water in his hands, and sets it–along with some medicine–in front of you. 

“For your head,” he nods. 

You’re a bit caught off guard. “How’d you know my head hurts?” 

“Baby, your head always hurts when you get stressed like this,” he laughs. 

He’s not wrong. He sits next to you on the extra chair that he had dragged in here when you first started seeing each other for moments exactly like this one. “So, what do we gotta do?” 

Luke stays and works with you, not complaining a single time. He’s patient, gentle, and helpful in the way he works through the questions with you. The two of you only wrap the study session up when you’re ready. 

“You didn’t have to do all that, Lu,” you tell him, packing your supplies back up. 

He packs your things as well, but quickly shuts your comment down. “I know. But, you deserve a little extra help right now. You’ve been working so hard.” 

You feel like you’re going to cry, suddenly getting a sense of validation. Somebody sees how much you’ve been trying finally. 

“And hey, you’re gonna kill this test tomorrow. All this that you’ve been doing? It’ll pay off. I promise you that,” he reassures, pulling you into a hug. 

As Luke places a kiss to the crown of your head then rests his own head on yours, you feel a lot more confident. To be completely honest, you had your doubts. You still do to a certain extent. But, if Luke can see your mistakes and still believe that you’ve got this, why shouldn’t you believe in yourself? 

tags: @beenucks @mainly-miracle @nic0-hischier @emsdevs @puckmedude @joesnumerouno @alex-wotton @r0wdymaize86 @macklin-celebrini-71 @randomcuboidshape @when-im-with-you @quillycrow @rainyvalentines @alwaysclassyeagle @star2fishmeg @wackomcgee @cheesecakeinahole @dancerbailey3 @hwalllllllelujah

join the taglist here! :)

[captain-kit-adventuress]

mine isn't directly politically related, but i am a disabled person with a lot of chronic health issues, which means my opportunities for activism are pretty limited because i can't get around by myself, even in a wheelchair.

but i do have a lot of medical appointments with a lot of different people. so i really focus my activism on that, and in teaching healthcare providers how to interact with a fat, disabled, queer person in ways that aren't completely toxic. admittedly, i generally interact with people who are already willing to listen, because i have to keep myself safe, but i still do it. i make a point to (subtly) dispel whatever stereotypes they may have and i am always careful to gently point the blame at inadequate systems in healthcare, rather than the provider or myself. i talk about things like weight-neutral care and health at every size, and i've gotten pretty good over the last few years in particular at identifying what's a good opening for that conversation. this directly helps me and others like me access better care. i've found tying it back to harmful insurance practices is often a great way in, because most providers already know how fucked insurance is in the US. and i also know i've made some providers think about stuff, and i even got one to take on a little bit of a different approach, at least with me, because of it. so maybe next time when they have a patient like me, they'll remember that and that person won't have go through all of the medical distress i have over the years.

it doesn't have to be volunteering for a specific organisation, it doesn't have to be directly politically-related, it doesn't have to be formal or something you can put on a resume or whatever else. changing hearts and minds requires positive interactions with people who have different life experiences from you, and there's nothing to say you might not learn some things from them, too.

in the end, one of the best anti-fascist movements you can participate in is interacting with someone in an in-group and reminding them that the out-group are human beings, not the monsters they're hearing about. activism doesn't have to be big and loud to matter.

Watching the politics tag fill up with exhausted liberals talking about how they're too drained to keep resisting and no one should blame them for that and like. Yeah, you're right this sucks and you shouldn't be forced to do it to be treated as human and you shouldn't need to be able to be on and in activist mode all the time either and ALSO

I've been doing this since 2002. My mother did this from 1981-2015. My auntie marched in Alabama during civil rights and my childhood minister has been in resistence since the Vietnam war and has shown no signs of stopping as she collects civil disobedience arrests across all 50 states like badges of honor.

And you all are burnt out after 8 yrs of some of the biggest (and therefore LEAST DEMANDING ON YALL PERSONALLY) movements we've ssen in decades because you feel too poor and tired???????

My mama would go around to every grocery store she had friends working at in the valley and collect all the food they were gonna toss, then host educational salons where she fed everyone in the neighborhood and performed innoculation work. She was a single mom raising a deeply disabled child ALONE on a salary half that of her male coworkers you think she had money? You think she had TIME????? NO!

If you are tired now, I'm sorry to be harsh, but it is BECAUSE YOU DID NOT LISTEN when you were told you needed to settle in for the long haul. You DID NOT LISTEN when organizers shared with everyone their practices around self-care, specialization, community care, and communication, and you spent the last 8 years burning the candle at both ends in person and online with no regard for the actual WORK only for your own fear and feelings of reassurance.

This will never sustain change. I'm sorry. I truly am. I never wanted this for anyone who came after me and I have so much grief that it's here. But I also do not have time to force yall to fucking listen to us when we talk.

Stop trying to assert that only the wealthy and energetic resist. Anyone I see doing so will be bitten repeatedly until fucking dead.

[littlelovelunette]

Ambessa X Possessive/Yandere Reader

Reader is possessive in the sense they will scare people away from Ambessa and are a threat to everybody. Their hands are rated e for everyone but Ambessa. What makes them scary is that reader is smart enough to deal with threats without leaving a trail.

My Queen

Ambessa x Possessive!Reader

SUMMARY: You’ve always been possessive of those you love, and Ambessa Medarda knew that—despite your warnings, she still proposed. She never flinched at your threats toward anyone who so much as flirted with her. At a lavish gala, you leave briefly to fix your lipstick. When you return, a woman is trying to charm Ambessa, who’s clearly uninterested. Still, your blood boils. You. Will. Make. Her. Regret.

Reader is obsessive, violence, kidnapping, death-threatening, implied death of a wannabe home-wrecker.

"I just hope nothing bad happens," you put on your earrings.

You were dressed in a stunning, off-shoulder ivory gown with intricate designing and a rose accent at the waist. The Medarda emblem ring on your finger never failed to shine past your other jewellery as per the usual. You took a last look in the mirror before putting your lipstick in your purse just in case.

"Nothing bad will happen, my love," Ambessa offered you a hand which you took with a small smile.

"I hope."

You both walked out of the Medarda Estate together. The journey to the gala wasn't long but you were already starting to feel uneasy. This wasn't one of the first galas you've been to, you've been to several ever since you and Ambessa started seeing each other. Partially because you wanted to feel more involved in her life and partially because you couldn't stand the idea of any other woman taking the chance to entertain the warlord. She was yours and you were hers.

Ambessa's hand found yours, resting on your lap as she gave it a firm squeeze. It wasn't rough but it wasn't gentle either— just enough to ground you and remind you that she was still there and she wasn't leaving any time soon.

"Relax, dove," Ambessa's voice was low and controlled, "Everything will be alright."

You tried your best to smile at her with a little nod of your head, looking ahead. Everything felt a little overwhelming but you needed to push through. Appearances matter as a General and you knew that. So you put up with the extravagant balls and galas you both were invited to. Ambessa could always sense it that before such events, you'd get uneasy with the thought of Ambessa being surrounded by so many beautiful single women.

No, you weren't insecure. Simply the thought that your couldn't plunge a knife in the hearts of these girls made you feel icky. You wanted to though, you needed to keep Ambessa safe and close to you at all costs. She was the reason there was any hope in your life anyway. One might even call this an obsession...

The gala smelled luxurious as ever, rich Topsiders and their pompous children. You sighed, hand tightening around Ambessa's arm slightly. Ambessa, ever the observant, took notice and wrapped her arm around your waist instead.

"Everyone here knows I'm a married woman." She reassured.

"I know, but still." Your eyes warily surveyed the surroundings before you decided to try and relax a little.

Everything was going well. Ambessa was introducing you to one politician after the other. One of them even tried to hit on you despite knowing Ambessa was watching, but of course he stopped after you told him "Your lousy attempts are hilarious."

Ambessa chuckled and pressed a kiss on your forehead. "Very well, sweet child." She guided you away from the cheerful chaos of the gala so you both could quietly enjoy each others' company instead.

"I'll be back in a bit, honey," you said, taking your lipstick from your purse, "Just gonna go touch up, okay?"

"Will you be okay?" Ambessa asked warily as one of her hands caressed your waist over the material of the dress.

You grinned and nodded, "It's just the bathroom. Not a battlefield."

Ambessa sighed with a shake of her head but a hint of a smile lingered on her lips. You gave her a last glance before leaving. You walked admist the chattering groups of rich politicians, women who held their noses up far too high and Councilors. You opened the bathroom door just a little and squeezed inside, your golden heels clicking against the surface of the marble tiled floor.

As you did your lipstick, you felt that feeling in your stomach intensify as if you were sure to walk back to Ambessa just to see a woman who likely knew no good trying to cozy upto her. Even though, you knew your Ambessa was loyal, the feeling nagged at your heart. Hastily you shoved your lip makeup back in your purse and click-clacked out of the bathroom. Just as your instincts had told you, there was a curvy woman with red hair and freckles— there was no doubt she was beautiful. Absolutely stunning. But she was talking to your wife.

"Hey, dearie," you said and hooked your arm into Ambessa's right arm.

"Oh, my wife," Ambessa said, emphasizing the 'my' as she pulled you closer, arm snaking around your waist.

"Who's this?"

"You're married." The woman said, acting surprised. "I'm Elena."

You said your name in a steely manner, arms crossing. She looked from you to Ambessa.

"See you around, General," it was the way she said the title, the way her tongue curled around each syllable, dragging it out menacingly and seductively— your hands itched to grab a fistful of her luscious red hair and rip it out.

Ambessa noticed, and held your hand when she left, giving it a small squeeze, "Shhh, babe, it's fine..."

Your nostrils flared. It wasn't fine. And you'd have your revenge. As Ambessa led you out of the event venue, you were already plotting all the ways you'd make Elena regret ever even thinking of flirting with YOUR Ambessa. The ride back home was quiet and you knew Ambessa was aware of the internal turmoil you had ongoing in your heart. But she didn't comment on it. Instead, when you both returned to the bed chambers, she pulled you in bed with her.

"Let's stay like this for a while," she said, pulling you into her chest and you didn't fight it.

"Mhm," you hummed. After a bit of a pause you said, "I didn't like the way Elena said 'general'."

"I didn't either." Ambessa said, pressing her nose against your hair and taking a soft sniff of the vanilla scent of your shampoo.

Your fingers subconsciously played with the Medarda emblem ring. "Am I being too possessive?"

"Not at all, my dear." She held the side of your face and made you face up at her, "You're perfect the way you are."

You smiled. "Thanks, darling. I needed to hear that."

Although you acted like it didn't bother you after the conversation you had with your wife, your insides still churned and protested for revenge. The night was quiet and the moonlight seeped through the ceiling-high windows of the bed chambers. Ambessa was sound asleep beside you, her chest rising and falling slowly as she slept on in peace.

The woman was tired after a long day of training and her muscles had been aching so you gave her a comforting massage and sex followed right after. Your body was aching after she devoured you in her own ways but you didn't mind. You wore her marks, her hickeys, her bites on your neck as a prized possession. A symbol of love. You slowly moved away from her, your body leaving the silken sheets of the bed. Ambessa stirred, eyes still closed.

"Sleep on." You whispered and ran a hand into her hair, giving her false security that you were still there in bed with her.

Ambessa's lip corners twitched in a smile but she didn't wake. Perhaps she knew but she feigned innocence. Whatever the case was, you needed to take car eof the little guest you'd kept chained in the dungeons of the Estate.

"Well, hello there," you greeted in a maliciously sweetened voice, walking down the steps and entering the dungeon where you kept Elena chained. "Didn't expect to see me so soon?"

You smiled. Elena, her arms bound back against the concrete wall with shackles, said something through the gag but you couldn't really comprehend what the woman was spewing. She looked like an utter mess in the rags that you'd put her in to fit the prisoner look more, her once silky red hair now tangled and greased. You laughed, the tone cold and unforgiving.

"What you did was unacceptable." You said, running your long red fingernails alongside her neck, "And actions have consequences."

No one knew what you did to Elena after that because simply... No one found her. Her remains, her blood, her body— nothing. Not even a strand of hair on her head. In fact, no one could even vouch for the statement that you once had Elena in the Medarda Estate itself. Because the accusations would paint a bad picture and nobody wanted to disrespect the General's wife. Ambessa herself didn't believe the thought of Elena possibly being murdered by you.

But the woman, being of her age, had seen a lot and had a gist. Maybe she knew. Maybe she didn't. Whether she did or not didn't matter to you though. As long as you killed those who got in your way— it was a job well-done.

[oswildin]

SFW LOKI X READER FIC RECS

I saw a post from someone about struggling to find more sfw fics so thought I’d compile some that I have rather enjoyed in the last few months! May add to this list as and when!

Ditched by @cueloki // Your Valentine stood you up so Loki decides to take matters into his own hands. (F!Reader)

Sweet Rest by @thefairyloveschaos // Loki helps you relax after a stressful day at work. (F!Reader)

Have Mercy by @mochie85 // You're a powered being with healing abilities and you try to bring Loki back from the brink of death. (F!Reader)

The Pebble and the Frost Giant by @vbecker10 // Loki is trying to deny his feelings for you so he doesn't ruin your friendship but when he passes an area filled with pebbles and small rocks, he's unable to resist the urge to bring one back for you and tell you he loves you. (F!Reader)

Every Detail, Always by @billionairebratenergy // For the girl who’s spent her life overlooked, he’s the one who sees everything. (F!Reader)

Change of View by @holdmytesseract // Your friend drags you along to an Avengers event, which changes your life forever... (F!Reader)

Nightmares by @amethystarachnid // request (F!Reader)

Team Loki by @muddyorbsblr // Thor poses a question that puts you in an uncomfortable situation, and causing you to give him a desperate and thinly-veiled half truth. (F!Reader)

Comfort by @lokileaf // Reader is on her period and Loki wants to help! (F!Reader)

In A Fathers Eyes (pt.2) by @wittyandobsessed // Since your child’s birth, Loki has been loving and devoted—but doubt still lingers, he can’t help but wonder if he’s meant to be a father. Then one day, when your son’s magic bursts free and chaos follows, Loki’s instinctive, fearless response says it all: he was always the father your child needed. (F!Reader)

A Christmas To Cherish, A Yule To Remember by @angelremnants // When tasked with organizing a holiday cultural exchange between Midgard and New Asgard, you face clashing traditions and unexpected connections. To foster goodwill, you plan a hybrid celebration that blends Christmas with Yule, inviting world leaders and dignitaries to experience Asgard's unique customs. However, hosting off-worlders, especially a skeptical Loki, proves challenging. His sarcasm only more adds tension as sparks begin to fly between you, testing your growing connection. As Yule and Christmas traditions collide, an unexpected kiss under the mistletoe might just be the season's most surprising twist. (F!Reader)

A Draw by @mischiefmaker615 // You and Loki tend to make a great team where it's almost casual in a dangerous situation. (GN!Reader)

In The Bleak Midwinter by @lokisgoodgirl // On a mandatory Christmas Avengers Getaway, resident Scrooge Loki discovers there is warmth to be found. (GN!Reader)

Elskhuga by @whimsyfaes // After thrusted into the storm of battle, Loki and his gang of trustees reach the outskirts of Svartalfheim in order to recuperate and tend to the wounded. His lover included, the Prince must find the strength to not fall into despair. (GN!Reader)

Little Gifts by @monstersandgenderqueers // Loki, a new resident in the compound, sparks your interest. You decide to give him a gift in secret, hoping he might cheer up just a little bit. Well, it didn't work out that way. (Neurodivergent!Reader)

May try and make a GN!Reader fic rec list too! But if you’re looking for more that are gender neutral, I also write and typically only write that unless specified. My own masterlist is on my pinned post!

[sophiacloud28]

Alright then, my turn.

Favorite Color: Colors, actually. Purple and Green. I have a pretty lapghan and blanket that are those colors and I love them to bits.

Last Song: Can I say songs? I've been listening to two albums for inspiration for a fairytale I've been writing, those two being OSTs for the games Final Fantasy Crystal Chronicles and Hollow Knight. The last song with lyrics I listened to would be Wild Horses by Grace Power, and I'm blaming Jayus when the oneshot related to it happens.

Currently Reading: Dog Days of Summer by ADebauchedSloth

Currently Watching: Film Theory on FNAF. No, I've never played the game and will never play it. I'm an absolute wuss. However, I love the depth horror goes to when it comes to lore, which I rarely find in other genres, especially romance. If you're wondering why I go so in-depth in my stories, this might be why. 🤣

Currently Craving: I have a Hershey's bar waiting for me in the fridge whenever the craving hits. I'm good.

Coffee or Tea: Oh god. Uuuuuuh.... Where do I start with this? Both? I'm super fucking peculiar about both, though. I love coffee in the morning with a sugar-free creamer. However, I can only have decaf since regular coffee gives me the jitters, and I love a dark roast. Do you know how difficult it is to find a dark roast decaf coffee? I spent a month looking for a good one! The annoyance. Anyways, tea.

Weekend mornings, I switch to Breakfast Irish Tea or Earl Grey with a spoonful of honey and a splash of milk. Other than that, tea and infusions are my go-to when modern medicine or sleep refuses to happen. Passionflower is excellent for sleep, and peppermint is great to relax with. And don't forget Raspberry Leaf tea for cramps! Highly recommend.

Tags: .... Uuuuuuuuuh.....

get to know your moots tag game ! ✶ answer the questions, then tag six people

favorite color ꕀ green and brown last song ꕀ tú by maye currently reading ꕀ the luminaries by susan dennard currently watching ꕀ the great british baking show currently craving ꕀ massaman curry. like always. and like. alcohol and a couple cigs HAHA. a break too :P coffee or tea ꕀ always tea! i don't like coffee

ty for the tag @saltcxrcle ! tagging: @lelapine @toadspondofwhimsy @outof-spite @h0neyst4rz @hhoneylemon @our-lady-of-venom

[apolocheesy]

𝑨𝑮𝑨𝑰𝑵

|| 𝗁𝗂 𝗇𝗈𝗍 𝖺𝗌 𝗅𝗈𝗇𝗀 𝖺𝗌 𝗂 𝗐𝖺𝗇𝗍𝖾𝖽 𝖻𝗎𝗍 𝗂 𝗃𝗎𝗌𝗍 𝗐𝖺𝗇𝗍𝖾𝖽 𝗍𝗈 𝗌𝖾𝖾 𝗁𝗈𝗐 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗀𝗎𝗒𝗌 𝗅𝗂𝗄𝖾 𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝖼𝗈𝗇𝖼𝖾𝗉𝗍!! 𝗌𝗈𝗋𝗍 𝗈𝖿 𝗒𝖺𝗇𝖽𝖾𝗋𝖾 𝖻𝗎𝗍 𝗂𝗍𝗌 𝗉𝗋𝗂𝗆𝖺𝗋𝗂𝗅𝗒 𝖻𝗎𝗂𝗅𝖽𝗎𝗉 𝖺𝗅𝗌𝗈 𝗐𝗈𝗋𝗄𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗈𝗇 𝗍𝖻𝖺𝗍 𝗌𝗁𝖾𝖽 𝗋𝖾𝗊

𝙃𝙤𝙢𝙚𝙡𝙚𝙨𝙨 𝘾𝙝𝙖𝙣𝙘𝙚 𝙭 𝘼𝙨𝙥𝙞𝙧𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙁𝙖𝙨𝙝𝙞𝙤𝙣 𝘿𝙚𝙨𝙞𝙜𝙣𝙚𝙧 𝙍𝙚𝙖𝙙𝙚𝙧

The city. Wild, filled with people who’ve just about lost it, and unimaginably irritating. The heels of your shoes clicked on the paved tiles, strutting past individuals of all kinds. Pigeons rustle, cooing away, stopping momentarily just to be driven by an urgent walker. A cranky lady berating a young woman for simply walking in a way she dislikes; people without the ability to whisper trample any thought you dared to have, instead filling it with information about how their fish had tragically drowned. You grimaced, clutching onto your bag tighter.

At first, arrival was a spectacle. Tall buildings appeared to be brimming of mellow unknown, sweetened with muses to meet. Best of all, it was the beginning of your career in fashion. As soon as you stepped foot outside of the plane, you weren’t a child playing dress up with dolls anymore, hoping to the stars things would fall into place. Now, you were alone in the solitude of your apartment. Not exactly home, but it may come to be. The inside was everything you expected. Windows peering outside where cars swarm. Barren, sleek. You hoped to decorate it, making it truly yours.

It wasn’t long until you reluctantly took the rose-colored glasses off and saw the world for what it really was. Barely scraping by, your days eventually turned into a grueling factory preset, run everyday in order to conserve energy. You too were beginning to become a robot, sitting idly next to the window of the nearby coffee shop you forget the name of.

It would be correct to say that this humble establishment is your second home. Might even call it your first. There’s nothing special about it besides it being just down the corner. An array of oak woods and philodendron veiled in warm lights paralleled every other coffee place.

The staff recognize you. At least you think so. They never get your name right. Today would be just as important as the rest. Tedious, and pricked with sewing. Even from the comfort of a booth, your skin crawled. Your gaze finally met the abandoned cup turning cold in your palm. Bandaids covered your fingers, small misshaped that made you wonder why you do this anymore. Taking a final sip, you tossed it, a deep breath escaping your lips.

Navigating around meant steering clear of any beggars littering the streets. After a while, sympathy wasn’t worth it anymore, especially when most would rather be blessed with a drink or cigarettes. Some get rowdy. The last thing you need is to cover up bruises. Without another glance, you stride past with two things in mind: keep your head down, lest you want attention, and most importantly, go to class.

You stuck to the sides, every step causing your faithful hair pin to come undone. No matter how many times you fixed it, the pin, determined to fall, denied.

Clack.

Abruptly, you stopped to snatch it. Another hand preemptively reached out.

“What a nice pin, yours, pretty?” A voice chimed. It sounded… rich? Undoubtedly not one that belonged on the streets. You cocked a brow when you lifted your head. His attire is quite creative. Albeit, a bit— No, very questionable.

“Yes,” you swiftly pocketed the pin. “Thank you.” Your face briefly tightened. Hopefully your other plan wont be so suddenly ruined. He wore cardboard shades paired with matching headphones, topped off with a newspaper fedora. His soiled brown rags were tattered in ways that almost looked to be on purpose. Though, their current state suggested otherwise.

Despite his nice smile, there was no doubt that he’s spent nights enduring; nothing more, and it almost made you feel bad. Almost. The alleyway his box resided is tucked in between two stone walls, soft trickling water barely audible. Anything beyond his residence rendered to be a void. Surprisingly, it didn’t reek so much. You were just thankful a surge of garbage didn’t invade your senses.

“I’m sure you’re very busy, aren’cha?” His sentence fell short, words faltering on his tongue. They smirked anyway, tilting forward revealing a glimpse of their golden eyes, glimmering in the slightest rays the sun spared them. For a homeless man, he stayed relatively fresh. A refined touch to his fraying gray hair, breaking free from a slick back. Shorter strands fell towards his forehead below the makeshift fedora. The rest tied, noticeably unbrushed, hidden behind their stature.

“You’d be right,” You rose up, itching to take off— not without stopping momentarily. Huh… He looked at you so intensely, you thought he would try to stop you. It was hard to tell behind his opaque “sunglasses,” but you swore his gaze softened, eyebrows slightly raised. It lacked any sort of tension. Which for some reason, made you feel all the more like strangers.

“Need something?” They smoothly rolled a shiny, yet worn coin between their calloused fingers.

You blinked. Perhaps a particularly chilly gust brushed your skin, securing its place in the back of your mind. Something about his collected tone had you reeling what’s on your schedule.

“…No, goodbye!” You rushed away, clenching your fists as a faint blush overcame your cheeks. That was certainly unexpected. You hadn’t thought you’d ever lose your cool like that, especially to a man living in a cardboard box. You were supposed to be classy; not haughty enough to think they would want you to stay. Unbeknownst to you, his gaze never left your figure until the crowd swept you away. He lingered for a while. Quietly raising his hand, he gave the coin a flip. It lands on heads.

Another.

Heads.

Once more.

Heads.

A satisfied grin tugged his lips.

“May we meet again, stranger. Lady Luck sure wants us to.” They muttered into the wind. His face dropped not long after. Oh how he’d come to envy those even of the simplest lives. Flipping a coin wouldn’t suffice for the missing rush they received from collages of 7. Blood would race through his veins just watching the numbers fall into place, doing it over and over obsessively until stars were outshined by the brightest of them all. Money plummeted, then skyrocketed till the bank couldn’t handle it. Damn it, they’d even put their life on the line just to feel something. He shivered, shaking the thought.

The same breeze which carried his hopes lazily rustled upon the tree you’ve been staring at for what seems hours. Your instructor covered topics you knew as well as your bed. What more was there to do other than stare outside, beating yourself up over what you did today, yesterday, and five years ago? You couldn’t put your head down either. A gentle reminder that you paid to be here would get you up and going no matter how dreadful. So you were stuck with helplessly replaying the interaction. The more you did it, the more you swayed, looking closer to an escapee rather than a student.

Your mind drifted from what you could’ve said to what you could say. Meeting them was inevitable unless you were to deviate. Classmates shot you glances, your somber contemplation bringing worry to their faces. Eventually, everyone found themselves sighing heavy mindedly.

“You okay?” The girl who sat near you gruffed, firmly tapping your shoulder. Her eyelids fell heavy, red-orange hair held high into a ponytail. An oversized t-shirt leaves a shoulder bare, unraveling at the collar.

You nod, earning a head shake no. She digs into her crossbody on the table. Scratched red nails slide you a few packets of coffee. Ones of a roast you haven’t tried. You wordlessly stiffen.

“Take them,” She finally tapped. “You better stop sulking. Otherwise people will start complaining; think they might be already.”

“Right,” You slipped them into your bag. Waves of humiliation pumped your heart faster. Taking a new path is too much work, you determined. But hey, more coffee.

Hearing the words, “you may leave” has never been more freeing. You were first out the door, having been prepared for the past 20 minutes. People exchanged looks, boring into your back.

At night it’s just as hectic. Bright attractions tailored for every taste burned into your eyes, spurring you to move faster. You crackled the coffee packets in your hand, barely registering the black fur ball on the sidewalk. Upon closer inspection, little ears poked out of its voluptuous body. Bending down, you figured it wouldn’t hurt to shuffle the rabbit over considering the people here.

Your hands enveloped around its fur, keeping it a safe distance away. It was silly, since the legs you thought would kick at you stayed dormant. Turns out, it couldn’t carry the weight in its legs. You noticed a small pendant around the neck. Engraved on fine metal was the name Spade. Your tentative fingers curiously flipped the collar.

On it, a scratched photo of a man. He grinned ear to ear, proudly showing off Spade. His skin seemed to glow, wearing a black pristine condition suit and… accessories that you couldn’t shake. Faint bitterness swept onto your face.

If enough hadn’t happened already, then you sure wished this would be the end. Was it him in the polaroid? You caressed the photo’s sharp corners, trimmed down to fit. That set of adornments; identical— ignoring the clear difference of materials. You bit back a smile, sight coming down to the cursive writing underneath. Chance. Chance was their name. Below it was what you assumed to be an address, marks scored overtop, making it unreadable.

Before you, the alleyway inhabited by Chance’s cardboard home. Your breath hitched, crossing forward to return his chunky pet. Not much snoring heard, more of murmuring. He shifted in his sleep, hands unconsciously searching. You let go, setting Spade by Chance’s thigh.

Chance blinked sluggishly. Realizing himself awake he groaned, rubbing his back. At the sight of a foggy you, he shot up.

“He-hey!” He pulled down his shades. “Guess Lady Luck was right, eh?” Chance playfully spoke. Cutting you off, he crawled out, meeting your height. “Interested in see’in me? Or are ya here for this guy? I see it your eyes.”

In no time, the chatty streets livened.

…

Since when did their face become so punchable.

Crossing your arms, you swallowed your pulse. “Please,” you backed out of the alley, “make sure your bunny doesn’t wander off, this place is pretty dangerous for smaller animals.”

“And you be sure to not drop that pin of yours.” Chance smugly parroted. “For you, my dear, it won’t happen again.”

Your unimpressed face was you being kind. Oddly, you couldn’t quite bring yourself to revolt in disgust.

“Yeah, I don’t think I’ll be doing that again either.”

“Don’t you worry! I’ve gotcha covered if you do.”

Gosh, was he really this dense? You began to think if you threw rocks at them they wouldn’t notice. Nervous laughter broke.

“No need, take care.”

Simply watching you leave caused something within Chance to spike. It wasn’t foreign. Far from it. His chest tightened, lips quirked asymmetrically. Two fingers, unhurried, came to their neck. They wouldn’t let go of this feeling. Ever.

Something nudged Chance’s leg.

“Aren’t you sweet…” They cradled it into their arms. “Spade, they were real nice, weren’t they?” He said gently. It glanced at him, unbothered by his many whims it couldn’t comprehend. He ran his hand through its dark fur, huffing a stifled laugh. “We’ll meet soon.” They promised, dragging a loose coffee packet towards them.