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ktownshizzle · 3 days ago

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Pigments & Playlists [Final] | myg

✎ ˎˊ˗ Pairing: Min Yoongi x female Reader ✎ ˎˊ˗ Summary: Between makeup and music, you find the one person worth blurring the lines for. ✎ ˎˊ˗ Genre: Fluffy coworkers to lovers, idol au, older woman (by a few years), smut ✎ ˎˊ˗ Warnings: SMUT MDNI!, Undercut Yoongi!!, MC-noona is the embodiment of “independent check, got her own check”, office shenanigans as always, exhibitionist kink, fingering, edging, very minor pain kink, use of a blindfold, power play (im new to writing this so pls forgive any errors), unprotected p in v, idk tell me if i missed any of it, unfair/sexist HR practices, insinuation of self-harm (assumed wrongly), MC hatin’ on HYBE, happy ending woohoo ✎ ˎˊ˗ Word count: 9k ✎ ˎˊ˗ Posting date: June 21, 2025 ✎ ˎˊ˗ Notes: Yoongi’s discharge today. So proud of you, baby! 💜 Thank you so much @tea4sykes for your brilliant ideas, betareading, and basically keeping me motivated in writing this! Love yew! ✎ ˎˊ˗ Notes 2: Hope you guys enjoy reading this~ Made it a personal goal to publish today, because I didn't know how June 21 was gonna go for us, but I was sure it was going to be emotional. Consider this a gift from me to you. However you may be feeling today, I hope this makes you smile.

[Full taglist to follow in rbs.]

Part One | Yoongi Masterlist

So Yoongi disappeared after he did that. Frankly, how dare he?!

Way too many thoughts swirling in your head while you lay awake and there is no way you’ll be able to sleep.

Your arm flies across the bed as your hand pulls your nightstand drawer and fumbles inside for the one thing you need to help yourself relax…

Nah. Not the rabbit.

Tiger Balm.

You dab a bit on your temples and the tip of your nose and inhale deeply, letting the menthol work its magic. Yup. That’s the stuff.

Unfortunately, you’ve been staring at the ceiling for an hour, heart thudding like something’s wrong. Except nothing’s wrong. You kissed. That’s all.

You kissed and now you’re thinking about it way too much. Not because it was bad. Because it was… something.

And because the more you think about it, the more it’s starting to scare you how much you need it to happen again.

You sigh. Rub at the menthol on your nose, frustrated it didn’t thwart your torturous thoughts.

And then you do the logical thing. You call.

It rings once. Twice.

“...Noona?”

His voice is low, a little scratchy. Not groggy, just sleep-warm.

You swallow. “Sorry. I know it’s late.”

“Nah it’s fine,” he says. “You okay?”

You hesitate. “Kind of.”

There’s a pause. He doesn’t fill it. Just waits.

You exhale, quiet. “Remember when you said I could call you if I couldn’t sleep?”

“Yeah.”

“This isn’t about my ex though,” you say.

“Okay.”

“It’s about you.”

That makes him hum. You hear the faint rustle of his sheets, like he’s sitting up.

“Me?”

“Own up to what you did.”

Faint chuckles crackle through your phone and you can almost imagine how he looks. Eyes like the moon, shoulders bobbing, grin smug as shit.

“What did I do?”

You groan, tack his name at the end of it.

“Been wanting to do that for a while,” he says after a beat. “Is that a problem?”

“I don’t know yet,” you reply. “It makes me anxious.”

He hums softly. “Because?”

“Because I liked it,” you say. “And I kinda hate how much I’m thinking about it. And you’re probably chill.”

There’s a long silence.

Then he says, calm and careful: “I’ve been thinking about it, too.”

“Thought you don’t date coworkers.”

“And then there’s you.”

You let out a huff—relieved, breathy, kinda giddy. “That’s… okay.”

“Yeah.”

You sit up in bed, pulling your knees in.

“I was gonna wait,” you admit. “To see if you’d make the next move. But then I figured that’s dumb. I’m not a teenager.”

“No. You’re definitely not.”

“You don’t mind it?”

“Mind what?”

“That I’m older?” You roll your eyes, even though he can’t see.

“Noona,” he breathes. “I’m not really someone who cares about things like that. At the end of the day aren’t we all just human beings trying to find a connection?”

God this man. Your mouth moves before you can think about it any more. “If you’re not too busy… you wanna come over sometime?”

There’s a pause. Just enough to make your stomach flip.

“Noona,” he says, teasing, “are you asking me on a…”

“Yes, Yoongi,” you cut in. “That’s exactly what I’m asking.”

He laughs. Really laughs. Low and bright and warm through the speaker. You want to bottle that sound.

“Technically, I did ask first,” he says. “But yeah. I’ll come over.”

You kick your feet under the duvet before replying, “Okay.”

You talk more.

About nothing. About music. About how Namjoon’s on his ass about a song. About how he’s been working out. You tease him mercilessly about how he just casually dropped the last part.

At some point, the sky turns blue.

When you finally hang up, your body feels softer, a little less anxious. And when you fall asleep, it’s his cute throaty laugh still echoing in your head.

“Yoongi, will you please stop making that face? I’m trying to even out your eyeliner,” you scold, trying not to laugh.

Yoongi, the piece of shit, still keeps at his :] while you skim a q-tip along the outer corner of his eye.

“Yoongi-hyung, why are you acting cutely?” Hobi asks from the next chair. “Are we even filming right now?”

A flush creeps up Yoongi’s cheeks as he responds, mock indignant, “What? This is my face. Not my fault I was born cute.”

You meet Hobi’s eyes in the mirror. Then, he winks. You immediately look away, vaguely mortified.

Wait—does everybody know?

Trying to recover, you boop your powder puff on Yoongi’s nose, sending a cloud of setting powder into the air. “Quit it.”

He coughs once, laughing as the puff drops to his lap. Okay shit, good thing he is wearing khaki slacks and not black pants. But finally, he relaxes.

“Noona, you have a Rejuran appointment later,” Jimin chimes in.

Your head snaps up. “What? How did you…?”

Jimin grins from across the room, eyes glued to your phone screen where it’s charging in one of the other stations. Your sockets were full, so you left it there earlier and a calendar alert must’ve popped up.

“You’re so nosy, Jimin.”

“What’s Rejuran?” Hobi asks, peering over with mild curiosity. “I’ve heard that somewhere.”

“It’s just a kind of facial,” you say breezily, catching Hyein’s knowing glance as she smooths Hobi’s hair with her Dyson. These boys don’t need to know your anti-aging secrets.

“They inject salmon sperm into noona’s face,” Jimin announces with a totally straight face, mischief glinting in his eyes.

“Salmon what?!” Yoongi blurts, snapping his head up to look at you. Hobi recoils with a horrified grimace.

“Park Jimin, when I catch you—!”

Jimin squeals and ducks behind a rack of stage outfits as you toss a blending sponge in his direction, trying not to laugh yourself.

The commotion dies down, and you go back to packing up your powders, muttering under your breath, “It’s not even that weird. Just some polynucleotides. Helps stimulate collagen. Keeps the wrinkles at bay.”

Hobi raises a brow. “I don’t see wrinkles, noona.”

“Exactly.” Now it’s you who sends him a wink back.

Yoongi lets out a low chuckle. You glance at him and catch him typing something into his Notes app. Thankfully everyone goes back to their own damn business.

A second later, Yoongi tilts the screen toward you just enough for you to read it: Friday night?

Your hand holding a brush freezes for half a second over his cheek.

He’s already looking away like he didn’t just casually drop that invite.

“Okay,” you mumble softly under your breath.

The lilt of his lips tells you he heard it anyway.

The door buzzes. You’ve been so chill all day. Still chill. You're chill. (No, you’re not.) You rush to open the door before you make him wait too long.

Yoongi looks… casual. Just a black sweater layered over a gray tee, soft black pants. Hair tucked neatly under a beanie. He looks like your neighborhood ahjussi.

“Noona,” he says, voice muffled behind a white face mask.

“Wow. You’re on time.”

“I try to impress on the first date.”

You try not to smile too big, but fail.

He takes his mask off and hands you a small paper bag. “Dessert.”

You peek inside. Cream puffs from that place in Sinsa-dong that always sells out by 3 PM. “Did you have to bribe someone for these?”

“I have my ways.”

Dinner is simple, something you can make with your eyes closed. Miso salmon, cilantro lime rice, and a cucumber salad. You make this at least twice a month. You could’ve cooked steak or some grilled chops, something that gave a more date-night vibe, but you wanted to make the menu fool-proof.

You eat at the kitchen counter with his insistence, saying you didn’t need to set the dining table all fancy. (“It’s just me.”) So you sit close together on your bar stools, knees almost brushing. He clears his plate like it’s the best thing he’s eaten. You beam.

“Noona, this is really good,” he says, tapping a napkin against his mouth.

You smirk. “Better than Jungkook’s?”

He slides an arm on the backrest of your chair. “Are you as competitive as the maknae?”

“I’m just playing.” You chuckle. “I know mine’s better.”

He smiles, watching you quietly but intently as you sip your wine.

“What?” you ask, his stare is warming the side of your face.

“Just... haven’t done this in a while.”

“Eaten?”

“No.” He tuts, picks up his wine glass and sips before explaining, “Sat with someone like this. Them cooking for me. In their home. Talking.”

Your stomach dips. Not from nerves this time. From the way he admits it. Simple. Open.

You shrug, keeping it light. “Well. You’ve still got it.”

“Got what?”

“You know… the kids call it rizz.”

He laughs heartily, and you feel his fingers curling against your arm. “Was worried I might’ve lost my… rizz.” He overenunciates the last word, his lisp decorating the edge of the sound.

You raise your brow, not buying it. “Liar.”

He bites his lower lip and shakes his head at you. Your eyes track the way his pretty teeth sink against the pink plush and ugh. Again with this rizz.

After dishes are rinsed and placed in the dishwasher and dessert’s split between bites and laughter, the two of you end up on the couch. His arm stretched along the backrest yet again, just shy of your shoulder. Your head tilted toward his, but not touching, even if you wanted to.

There’s some Netflix movie playing in the background, purely for vibes. Neither of you are really watching. You talk about work. Gossip a bit. He asks about that corner shelf in your living room, the one with the knick knacks. You tell him stories about your travels, touring with Seventeen. He says you have the same lucky cat figurine from Hong Kong.

You try not to let his voice get under your skin. It’s different hearing his warm, caramelly tone when you’re not otherwise occupied with evening out his contour or with the buzz of a hair dryer in the background. It’s criminal how smooth it is when it’s all you need to focus on, even more so when he’s being earnest.

He glances at your hand resting on his thigh. (How did it get there???) Then up at your face. You nod before your brain realizes that he in fact did not ask a question.

But then he leans in and all thoughts fly out the window. His lips taste like vanilla cream and maybe the wine you shared earlier. It’s sweet. Even better than the first one because you’re ready for it.

You shift closer, hands finding their way to the hem of his sweater, thumbs brushing warm skin underneath. His breath catches a little. And then his fingers are trailing up your arm, until they settle gently on your jaw. His thumb presses against your cheek, coaxing your mouth open so he can press his tongue against yours. You feel dizzy with want.

His hands stay respectful, never wandering too far. Just the faint brush against the back of your neck, the side of your thigh. But every press of his calloused fingers leaves a quiet, contained fire in its wake. You need more.

You move closer, straddling his lap, never breaking contact with his mouth. He kisses you deeper, sloppier when your weight settles against him. His tongue licks into your mouth expertly and you welcome it. It teases you long enough to make you wonder how it might feel in other places, too.

Like butter, you're melting, unraveling as his hands find more courage—one sliding up, pausing at your ribs, then higher to cup your tits. He groans into your mouth and it nearly ruins you. You roll your hips forward, barely a grind, just enough to feel him straining between you. Just enough to hear him groan again.

You make out for what feels like an eternity. But you think you’re both on the same page, when your mouths move a little slower, softer. Air starts to seep between your lips as you retreat. You’re somewhere between wanting more and knowing it’s not time. Not yet. But god, it’s close.

Eventually, he leans his forehead against your shoulder, both of you breathless–maybe a little embarrassed.

“I should probably go,” he murmurs, even as he hugs you tighter at the waist.

“Probably,” you sigh, his undercut grazing your neck and igniting a dull, sweet tickle.

You stay like that for a moment, sharing the soft beat of your hearts as they slow back to normal.

He finally rises, slipping back into his white sneakers as you walk him to the door.

“Thanks for dinner,” he says, lingering by the frame.

“Thanks for coming,” you reply, fingers tightening on the knob as you hold it open.

“Next time, my place?”

“Already booking that second date?”

He pulls his mask on, but not before you catch the shy grin he tries to hide.

“I’ll bring dessert,” you offer.

“Just bring yourself. “ he says, gaze flicking down your body, before settling back on your eyes.

Oh. You are the dessert.

And this time, when the door clicks shut behind him, your heart isn’t racing from confusion. It’s welcoming the slow bloom of potential.

You: Thank you for dropping off coffee and donuts for the team Yoongi: 👌

Yoongi: finished it one sitting You: what? You: i got you 10 pcs 🍊 Yoongi: and? You: you dont get acidic? Yoongi: it’s my favorite!! You: i noticed

Yoongi: [spotify playlist link] You: hey dj suga Yoongi: thought you might like You: listened to it on the drive home Yoongi: favorite track? You: musiq soulchild - just friends Yoongi: me too

It’s not like there was a talk. No formal check-in or DTR. But somehow, as the weeks pass, the rhythm between you and Yoongi settles into something steady. There’s no pressure. No constant push for reassurance. No need to define what already feels known.

You see him constantly at work—during rehearsals, music shows, brand shoots. He’s not overly affectionate, that’s just not him. But there are moments. The way his fingers graze yours when no one’s looking. The way his eyes seek you out as soon as he walks in. The way he’ll shift his chair an inch closer when you’re touching up his base, so your knees knock just enough.

He really makes this whole thing feel easy. Comfortable in a way that still thrills you. Because what can be more thrilling at this point in your life than to finally meet somebody that makes you feel vibrant.

What surprises you most is how little insecurity you feel. You’ve seen how people look at him—the other makeup artists, stylists, managers, external clients. There’s something magnetic about him that draws attention without trying. You’ve clocked it. But Yoongi has a way of making sure you never wonder.

It’s in the way he says your name. How his eyes soften when he talks to you. How he remembers the little things. The tea you like. The one concealer you always complain about running out of. Sometimes you find a sticky note in your kit. Or a box of snacks with your name scribbled on it. Just things that say: I see you. You’re on my mind.

And then there are the others. The rest of Bangtan.

It’s a choreography video shoot day, which always means chaos. Full glam’s not required since most shots are wide, so it’s just you and Hwapyeong handling light touch-ups.

You’re finishing Yoongi’s concealer when Jungkook suddenly rests his chin on your shoulder. “Noona, if I promise to sit still, can I go next?”

Before you can answer, Jimin appears behind him. “She’s doing me next. I called dibs.”

“Not how dibs works,” Jungkook pulls back his arm for a mock-punch and Jimin clutches his heart, rattling off a litany of how Jungkook wounds him.

“Hajimaaa,” Yoongi gives them all a staredown.

But then from across the room, Taehyung yells, “Noona, help! My concealer’s making me look gray!”

“AISH!” Yoongi snarls with his non-existent fangs. It’s not even menacing. You know now that his canines are blunt. But he tries, so you giggle.

Jin comes to your rescue. “Why are all of you crowding her? You never even get your faces done for choreo. Fuck off,” Then, sweetly, “Hi noona, just a dab of lip balm, please.”

“HYUNG!” Jungkook giggles as he shoves his elder playfully away from you and they continue to horseplay elsewhere.

Yoongi turns slowly to Jimin and Taehyung, unimpressed. “Why are you still here?”

“Because she’s nice to us,” Jimin says, fluttering his lashes at you with zero shame.

“Because we love her more than you do,” Taehyung declares with a shit-eating grin.

That gets Yoongi to raise a brow.

“Okay, enough,” you laugh, pointing your brush like a weapon. “If you want me to do all your faces, line up like kindergarteners and bring me coffee.”

“Done,” Taehyung shoots up immediately.

When they disperse to bother other members of the staff, you catch Yoongi watching you through the mirror.

“I think…” you murmur as you smooth out the edge of his eye shadow, “I just got myself a new set of boys.”

He doesn’t say anything, but the way his smile lingers tells you everything.

When he stands up to finally let one of the maknaes take his spot, he whispers, “For the record, I called dibs.” Then pinches your hip slightly.

You’re still grinning when Jimin plops into the chair and narrows his eyes at you. Eye-smiling. Suspicious. Rightly so.

You: check your studio door Yoongi: ? Yoongi: why Yoongi: what did you do You: just do it

(three minutes later)

Yoongi: you cooked? You: 👩‍🍳 Yoongi: you even packed utensils?? You: i’m considerate Yoongi: shit you the best You: i know you’re busy but now you don’t have an excuse Yoongi: you tryna wife me up huh? You: idiot Yoongi: cmere eat with me You: i have a thing You: meeting a makeup artist friend who started her own salon Yoongi: thats nice Yoongi: but next time come in You: k Yoongi: 134340 You: ? Yoongi: door code You: guarding it with my life

(fifteen minutes later)

Yoongi: (photo attached: empty bento box)

Curious how time has passed and with frequency and proximity, you discover new things about Yoongi. Things that only came with time. Things you wouldn’t catch if you weren’t paying attention. Things you couldn’t have known before.

There are lines you never noticed until you were tracing them at rest. Creases that only surface when he’s thinking too hard, or biting back a smile. Dimples, not on the smile lines, but on his chin, when he’s bored. And then there’s the slightest double chin when he’s slumped and snoozing when schedules get rough. It’s your job to know his face, to fill the lines. There are times you touch him a little longer, not for anything but comfort and maybe your greed. He lets you.

Lips, sweeter than any cherry balm you could ever swipe. But far more frequently chapped than you like so you’ve started packing bottled water inside your kit, making him sip while you let lip mask seep between the patches of dry skin. His lips have become your favorite. Sometimes it splits when he does that shriek he often pulls to make others laugh but then it also presses against your shoulder when he’s too tired to kiss you properly. Sometimes they murmur your name like it’s a sexy secret, and you wonder how you lived before hearing it said like that.

There’s also his eyes. Small, but somehow holds a significant power. He has a habit of narrowing them, but now you can tell why, when he’s suspicious, or teasing or just tired, or forgot his glasses. You don’t need him to speak. Sometimes the way he looks at you says more than full conversations ever could.

His default expressions are even more cat-like up close. On default :< When he’s playful :] But your favorite is the :3. You always make sure his features stay sharp, complimenting his felinesque features. You pull his liner outward, shade his jaw, angle his brow. Lil Meow Meow, apparently he is called. And what ARMY wants, ARMY gets.

His hair is finer than it looks. Silky in a way that slips easily between your fingers when you card through it absentmindedly, especially when he’s resting his head in your lap. The strands at his nape get extra soft after he showers, curling ever so slightly where they brush against his undercut. He likes when you play with it, especially the buzzed edges, more than he lets on. You figured that out the first time you tugged a little harder and heard the way his breath caught, low in his throat. Now it’s something he leans into, shameless. One tug and suddenly he’s pliant, open.

He smells like tangerines. Rarely does he not have it in his pocket. But also, there’s this perfume he wears. It clings. Intoxicating and addicting, and you wonder if it’s just you who’s not immune. It lives in your hair, your pillow, your skin. You catch yourself breathing deeper when you catch it, like your body recognizes what’s safe faster than your mind can.

You no longer think about what you used to think of him. When he only said four words, and always closed his eyes.

Finally, you know Min Yoongi. Not the pixels, but the person.

You know him now in the noise and chaos of backstage, from watching him when you have your kit open and he’s on his chair waiting to be groomed.

But you’ve come to know him more in the quietest hours, too. When he wakes beside you in his California king, face bathed in the kind of morning light no makeup could ever imitate. When he opens his eyes, and leans into your space like he always does, all soft and sleepy and sexy.

There’s no need to polish him here. Because this is him at his most perfect in your eyes. When you can just reach for him.

Not because he’s Min Yoongi, the idol.

He’s Min Yoongi, yours. Even without the labels, yet.

You: yoongi. Yoongi: ? You: we almost got caught in the fucking meeting room 😭 Yoongi: that was close. You: close??? do you know what would’ve happened if someone saw? Yoongi: i’d probably get a raise You: ddaeng i’d get fired Yoongi: we’re fine You: you are not serious Yoongi: you kissed me You: you pulled me in Yoongi: yeah and? You: AND?? Yoongi: should’ve locked the door You: Yoongi 😩 Yoongi: you wanted it You: i did NOT Yoongi: your hand was where? You: BYE

You (photo attached: wine glass, bare legs, tv in background): guess what i’m watching Yoongi: don’t care Yoongi: all i see is leg You: rude Yoongi: wear a skirt tomorrow You: so direct Yoongi: thought we’re not teenagers You: thought you said you’d behave Yoongi: sure 😃

Another day in the glam room, another TikTok dance challenge Yoongi somehow said yes to. This time with members of TXT. He’s really never beating the allegations of rizzing up his juniors.

He’s already styled when he walks in. And looking at what he’s wearing... Honestly? He’s wearing you the fuck out. And it’s barely noon.

White tank under a greige short-sleeved shirt, pretty, purple embroidered butterflies sitting on either side of his chest. But it’s the jeans—loose, shredded clean through the knees—that have you scandalized like a Victorian maiden seeing skin for the first time.

“Good morning,” you greet.

He hums, eyes you up and down shamelessly and you know the conversation last night is about to resume in the flesh.

“Hey,” he takes his spot on the chair.

“Looking forward to today?” You ask, turning to pluck a brush and pot from your kit.

“You can say that…”

As you face him, he parts his legs, glancing down at the freshly cleared spot on the floor, then looks back up at you. Waits.

You sigh, already knowing what it is. An unspoken invitation to take your place between his knees. To get closer. So you do.

“This what you wanted?” you ask, feigning indifference, as you swirl the spoolie through your brow gel, wiping off the excess on the rim.

“Not exactly,” he says, smirking, knees closing in on the side of your hips. “But close.”

You start brushing his brows up, grooming them into a perfect arch when you feel it. His fingers, slow and sneaky, sliding up your skirt, skimming the soft skin of your inner thigh.

You look him dead in the eyes.

He winks.

“Yoongi…” you tsk, moving to brush up his other brow.

“Noona…” he shifts forward, tongue peaking on the side of his mouth, which you try try try to ignore.

“Somebody might see,” you mumble.

“Let them.”

“Such a little shit.”

“You love it.” You freeze when you feel his fingers hook your panties to the side and when he discovers that you’re more excited than you let on, “Oooh. You really do.”

Mortified, is what you are. Soaked from anticipation and some light, slight petting. How dare your body betray you like this?!

“I like your skirt,” he murmurs. The hand that isn’t currently violating you taps the floofy fabric like it’s innocent. As if the other one isn’t busy toying with your cunt.

Dignity hanging by a thread, you grit, “Didn’t wear it for you.”

A bold-faced lie. He knows it, too. “Sure you didn’t,” he chuckles.

His index swipes your folds, lazy, teasing strokes that get deeper with every pass, never quite reaching the one spot you need him to.

“But aren’t you glad you did?” At that exact moment, he flicks your puffy clit, circling it like he’s known exactly where it was all along.

“Fuck,” you gasp, pitching forward, hands gripping his knees just to stay upright.

The pot and brush drops to the floor and rolls into oblivion. Much like your sanity.

He hisses through his teeth as he eases his middle finger inside you, walls fluttering at the sudden intrusion.

“So wet for me, baby,” he grins, lower lip caged between his pretty teeth in his pretty mouth. It’s devastating. He’s devastating. And the way he’s watching you fall apart while knuckles-deep, pumping steadily in and out of your dripping pussy only makes it worse. Or better. Definitely worse. But shit, it feels so good.

“Yoongi… shit…” you breathe, forehead falling into the crook of his neck as your knees threaten to give out. Your palms, slick with sweat, slide beneath the frayed denim of his jeans, desperate for more skin, more heat, more of him. Fingertips dig into his thigh, surely to leave little crescent moons in his flesh. He groans, but doesn’t stop. If anything, he moves with maddening precision, adding just enough pressure to make you whimper. You moan, high and sharp, the sound slipping past your lips before you can stop it.

“Feel good?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Wanna cum?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Do it,” he licks the shell of your ear. “I got you, baby.”

That fuckin’ does it.

You come with a soft gasp, body jerking slightly as heat rushes through you in quiet waves. It’s not loud, not messy, but it rocks you all the same—your breath hitching, muscles clenching, forehead buried in his neck to muffle the sound.

“Shit…” you breathe, blinking as the aftershocks melt through your limbs.

He pulls his fingers out slow and slick, and you wince at the emptiness he leaves behind.

Your mouth falls open. “Yoongi.”

“I like seeing you like this,” he murmurs, nudging his nose against yours so you look up. “When you lose control.”

His lips meet yours, stirring more chaos in your mind. When you pull back, trying to reorient yourself, he leans in again.

“Yoongi… fuck, you need to behave, okay?” You mumble against his lips, nipping his plush lower lip before attempting to pull away.

“But noona,” he lifts himself up, bucking against you once just so you feel the hardness between his thighs. “You're making it hard….”

You’re about to give in, when the door creaks open.

You spring backward like your life depends on it, bumping your back against your kit and you suppress the dull pain across your spine. A familiar voice floats in, Hyein, asking if you saw Jimin.

“Nope,” you reply as you start fixing bottles and palettes randomly. You meet Yoongi’s eyes in the mirror and almost crash out when he brings his hand to his lips—without shame, without pause—and licks two fingers clean.

You nearly choke on air.

“Yoongi needs to be out in 5,” Hyein calls out and closes the door.

The company Thanksgiving dinner isn’t really optional, since you’re both employees. But after a magazine shoot, Yoongi lingers as you pack up and still asks if you want to go with him.

“Why do you say it like that,” you laugh. “Like you’re inviting me to prom.”

“Well… I’m down if you wanna match…” He shrugs, leaning against the wall as he watches you zip up your Zuca.

That’s how you end up in all black—simple, classic, and just a little coordinated with his own sleek black button-down shirt and pants. Yoongi always finds a way to underdress the right way. You compliment him, but he downplays it saying, he just ‘wore an old shirt.’ Yeah, it's the same look from their Grammy performance, but he says it like it should somehow make him look a little less. Joke’s on him, your humble king.

The event is important, but low-pressure. Not quite a red carpet, but still enough eyes to notice when the two of you walk in together. Thankfully Namjoon and Jin are not too far behind with one of their female producers.

You keep a respectful distance, like the professionals you are. But people see. You know they do. A couple of glances. Some whispers. Nothing rude, just… curious. To your insistence and his disappointment, you have dinner with your glam team. Because wouldn’t it be strange if you’re seated with them? You don’t know if you’re ready for a soft launch.

But it sure seems he is. The way he looks at you like there’s no one else in the room. And it’s in the way he caters to you. Like while you’re walking toward the open bar, the strap of your heel suddenly slips loose. You pause, bending slightly to fix it, but Yoongi beats you to it.

He kneels (!!) right there on the marble floor, one hand steadying your ankle as he buckles the strap with steady fingers.

You panic, pulling him by the sleeve of his shirt. “No, you don’t have to—”

“Let me,” he tells you as he so often does. Head down, thumb brushing the side of your foot, he fixes your shoe and suddenly you’re Cinder-fuckin’-ella in your own damn fairy tale.

Obviously, more than one pair of eyes are turning toward the scene. Cos the scene is not something you see everyday: Min Yoongi, rapper-producer-self-proclaimed bad boy, on his knees for this random girl, rugged hands wrapped delicately on her ankle.

A couple of stylists from another team, wide-eyed. One of the project managers from digital looks like she might combust.

Yoongi rises slowly and nods his head towards the bar. You follow him. And that’s that.

After the dinner, you end up at his place. Still dressed up, both of you nursing hot tea listening to a record he chose. Something low and jazzy filters through the room as you curl into his sofa.

“I usually don’t like company parties,” you murmur. “But it wasn’t that bad.”

“Didn’t think it would be,” he says. “I’m glad you came with me.”

He looks at you for a moment, asks, “You okay?”

You nod. “Yeah. I think so.”

You were always a good kid, so you never knew what it felt like to be summoned to the principal’s office. It’s probably something like this then. When two days after the company dinner, you were asked to go to HYBE’s HR department.

You’ve never met this woman before, but it’s clear she’s a higher-up. The tightest hair bun you’ve ever seen, cartoonishly wide cat-eye glasses, you already know she’s ripped at least one person a new asshole in the last five business days.

Not much preamble. When she started, oh, she really didn’t mince words and waste time. The way she looked at you spoke volumes of what she thought you had plotted.

“Miss Y/L/N, it has come to our attention that you have gotten involved with one of the members of BTS. As such, you can no longer be the lead makeup artist for the group effective immediately.”

“Due to our current headcount, we are unable to reassign you to another division.”

“Given the years of our professional relationship, we will still provide you with any recommendations you need should you choose to find employment in another company.”

“Your final pay will be sent to you within 30 business days. Please pack up your things and surrender your ID on your way out.”

Somehow, you are able to hold your head high, temper the storm in your chest, and nod as dignified as you can. “I understand. I’ll see myself out.”

You saw this shit coming. Sniffed it out from a mile away. But that doesn’t mean that it doesn’t sting. You spent more than a decade in this company, shaping and sharpening the creative vision for their two biggest acts, and they’ll let you go all because you decided to date a coworker.

Although they are clearly correct, you are involved with Yoongi, no clear evidence was even presented to you. Nothing was said to indicate that they were in touch with the member of BTS in question to get his side. Regardless, it was never gonna be a man’s fault. She thinks you probably seduced him and took advantage of your close working relationship. Ahh, this is so fucked up.

“Noona…” a voice interrupts your thoughts.

Namjoon.

“Hey—are you…?”

You swipe a tear quickly from your cheek, but he already saw.

“What happened?”

You pull your cardigan tighter around your frame. Was there a point in lying about it? You sigh, “Got fired.”

“WHAT?” Namjoon’s voice echoes down the hall and your eyes widen like saucers.

He springs into action, stringing you like a marionette into every direction until then you end up in… his studio?

“The hell’s goin’ on?”

You shrug, take a spot on the couch. “Not much to it, Namjoon. They fired me because they found out about me and Yoongi.”

It’s the first time you’ve acknowledged this to any member verbally. It feels oddly comforting to say it out loud.

“Does he know about this?”

“I haven’t told him.”

“Imma call him right now,” Namjoon fishes his phone from his pocket, but he knocks over something from the side table. It’s a half-full cup of coffee from god-knows-when. “Shit.”

You take some paper towels from his desk and help him soak the brown liquid from the carpet. It’s not really working. His paper towels are kinda thin. And the brown liquid is almost black at this point and it’s making you gag.

“You know what, shit, let’s just leave that. We’ve got bigger problems…”

“It’s fine. I’m just gonna go.” You rise to your feet, smoothing your skirt down.

“Yoongi won’t allow this.”

“I know. But I did break the number 1 rule.”

“Let’s call him.”

“It’s ok, Namjoon-ah. I’m gonna pack up my stuff and go home. It’s a lot to process and I think I need to just… yeah. I’m gonna go home.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be,” you give him what you hope is a placating smile. “I just wish I got to say goodbye to everybody.”

“We’ll fix it,” he promises.

“No need,” you call over your shoulder. “Nothing’s broken.”

Bzzt… bzzt…

Your eyes crack open, a slow, confused blink. You’re warm, groggy, skin dry from sleep and mouth sticky from wine. The room’s dark except for the kitchen pin lights still on.

You glance at your clock: 11:02 p.m. it says.

The hell? There’s some heavy knocking going on now.

You pull yourself off the couch, legs slightly cramping, brain not quite awake. So out of it you don’t actually check the peephole before you pull the door wide open.

“Baby—what the fuck?!”

Yoongi’s voice hits first. Then his body—arms wrapping you up so tightly, like he’s afraid you’ll slip between his fingers. His coat’s cold but he smells like cedar and mint shampoo..

“I thought you—” he chokes out, one hand tangled in your hair, the other gripping the back of your sweatshirt. “You weren’t answering, I—fuck, I thought you—”

“I fell asleep,” you whisper, dazed, unsure how to hold all of this emotion spilling from him. “I’m sorry.”

His hands come up to your face, thumb brushing your cheekbone like he’s checking if you’re real. His eyes are wet. His breathing unsteady.

“Why didn’t you call me?”

“I did,” you say. “You didn’t pick up. So I just… went home.”

He follows your gaze to the half-full wine glass on the coffee table. His jaw flexes.

“Had a few drinks and crashed,” you add, quietly.

Yoongi doesn’t say anything. He just exhales shakily and pulls you into his chest again, tighter this time. You press your face against his shirt, feel the way his heart is hammering through the fabric.

“I didn’t mean to make you worry,” you mumble.

He doesn’t answer that either. Just holds you there, arms wrapped around you like he needs to physically keep you in his orbit.

You pull back slightly. Look up. “Let me just wash my face real quick. Just sit, okay?”

He nods, wordless, and sinks into the couch like he’s been holding himself up all day.

You go to the bathroom, splash cold water on your cheeks. Brush your teeth. Run a brush through your hair. Change to a lounge set.

You can hear Yoongi’s voice outside. He’s on the phone with someone, and he just told them that you’re okay.

You stare at your reflection, pale and puffy-eyed. Yeah, you’re okay. The lines under your eyes are deeper than usual. But overall, you’re fine.

When you step back out, Yoongi’s sitting with his elbows on his knees, hands clasped like he’s praying. He lifts his eyes the moment you enter, teeth pulling at the skin of his lips.

You sit beside him on the couch, tuck your legs under you. Let your knee rest against his thigh.

“So I got fired…” you say softly, voice thin.

“Namjoon told me,” he says. “I wanted to punch that new HR guy.”

“It’s a woman.”

His lips twitch. “Yeah. Found that out belatedly after I barged in.”

You smile despite yourself.

“Anyway, I talked to Bang PD. He didn’t authorize this. This HR lady, she’s new. A bit too eager, trigger-happy. I think she wanted to make a statement.”

“Well what kind?”

“She said she just wanted to protect Bangtan from people…” he pauses, shakes his head. “Who might be taking advantage of us. I told her you’re my girlfriend. Fuckin’ idiot!”

Oh?

“They could assign you back to Seventeen,” he prattles on, nostrils flaring. “Not like they’ve found a new person to take over. It’s not easy to find your level of talent and they’re stupid to…”

“Yoongi.”

“What?”

“You said something…”

His mouth parts, a little confused.

“No cause you just casually dropped that.”

“Baby,” he hangs his head, pinching the space between his brows with his index and thumb. “That’s your takeaway?”

“Well,” you shrug. “News to me.”

“You’re my woman, okay? Don’t–” he tuts when you almost cut him off. “Baby please don’t even argue with me on this. You know I’ve been yours. And right now I feel guilty. I should have said so earlier and done my due diligence with the paperwork and shit. But I hate getting legal involved in my personal life. Hoba told me to do it. Cause he’s doling out NDAs left and right, but I don't want you to think you're just some hookup. This is on me. And I’m fixing it, okay. They will transfer you to any group you want.”

“I don’t want it,” you say, more firmly than you expected.

“Huh?”

“I don’t want it,” you repeat.

“You don’t want your boys?”

You roll your eyes, because Seventeen is still some kind of chip on his shoulder. “No. I don’t want pity. Or to feel like they just let me stay because they’re afraid of you.”

“Damn right they are.”

You breathe out, jaw tight. “I want to leave with my head up. And I did.”

Yoongi nods, slow. Like he gets it. Because of course he does.

There’s a beat of silence, but it doesn’t last. Yoongi is still a ball of fire.

“You’re terrifying.”

“Why?”

“You’re so calm.”

You take a moment before you articulate your introspections as you enjoyed your merlot earlier. “You know what? Deep down, I knew it was gonna come to this,” you say. “And if it came down to it, I’d rather just leave HYBE… than you.”

That finally pulls a gentler sound from him. A quiet, pained exhale. His hand finds yours, holds it tight. When you look over, his eyes are glassy again, but his smile is faintly there—gummy, a little lopsided..

“What?” you ask.

He just shakes his head.

“Seriously, what?”

He presses his forehead against yours, closes his eyes.

“I don’t deserve you.”

You kiss him, and he lets you. For a minute or two you savor the way his lips slide against yours, no thoughts, just love. Then he pulls back and says something kind of out of pocket.

“I’m rich.”

You stare. “Okay…?”

“You know I can take care of you.” He says it so earnestly, but you can’t help but giggle.

“I don’t need a Sugar Daddy. How do they even call it if the woman is older?”

“How the hell are you so cool about this?”

“Because I know I have you, but I know I got me, too. I have some money saved up and some stocks I can sell if need be. Market’s looking bullish anyways…”

“You know how sexy you sound right now?”

“Umm talking about the stock market turns you on?”

“Something about a bull…”

“Want me to ride you like a bull?” You raise your brow.

“If you don’t let me fuck you right this second…”

Yoongi removes each button from your top, one by one, kissing every patch of skin revealed to him. You close your eyes, savoring the tiny, wet kisses deposited to your neck down to the valley of your breasts where he lingers for a beat. Purrs as he presses his cheek against your soft mounds and sighs before lifting his eyes to meet yours.

“Use me,” he says. “I know you’re angry, baby.” He peels your shirt down your arms. “Let it out…”

He holds your nipple between his fingers, twists it, and you groan helplessly in response.

“You can punish me. if you want…”

It takes a while for you to process his offer, between butterfly kisses and the teensiest sucks against your skin, a combination that's driving you wild.

But he’s right. As always. You are mad. Not at him. But the broken sexist system.

“Yoongi?” You tug his hair.

“Hm?”

“Sit back against the headboard.”

He nods and situates himself as you asked.

You walk over to your closet to find a scarf, this white and black Valentino that he gifted you some weeks back. You climb onto him, knees bracketing his hips as you watch the curiosity glistening from his eyes.

You’ve never really done anything like this before. But you’re familiar with it and you’ve always been down to try anything new. Bonus is you know Yoongi likes to play, so this is perfect. Honestly, he is perfect.

“I’m gonna blindfold you. And you’re not allowed to touch me. Is that okay?”

“Yes.”

The scarf drapes over his eyes, darkening everything he knows, leaving him with nothing but sensation. Breath. Sound. You.

“Use colors, okay?” you whisper, lips barely grazing the shell of his ear.

He nods, swallows. “Yes.”

“What’s it now?”

“Green:”

You hum in approval, fingers ghosting down his chest. “Good boy.”

You take your time with him. Explore his body in ways you never have before. Yoongi shivers. You watch his Adam’s apple bob, the breath hitch in his chest.

“You asked for this,” you say softly, dragging your nails across his ribs, just enough to raise goosebumps. “So I’m going to use you.” You slap his cheek, earning a soft gasp from him, before his lips curve into a smile. He’s going to enjoy this, you can already tell.

You trace the lines of his body with your mouth. Flick your tongue on his nipples before nibbling on them until they're raw, slightly bruised. You blow cool air against it, earning you a low purr from the back of his throat.

He’s hard already. His huge cock straining against the waistband of his boxers, but you don’t touch him there. This is not like other nights. You want him aching for it.

You slink down to suck faint bruises into the soft dip of his hipbones. Let your nails wander, grazing his soft tummy where pink lines have bloomed like cat scratches. When he moans, hips bucking slightly, you press a palm flat to his stomach.

“Stay still,” you warn.

His voice is a rasp. “Yes, noona.”

You peel his boxers off slowly. His cock springs free—dark at the tip, already leaking. The bead of cum on his tip shines. You circle it once with your finger, feather-light.

“Fuck,” he gasps, hips twitching again.

You slap his thigh—not hard, just enough for pain to mix with the pleasure painted clearly on his face. “I said still.”

His hands flex against the sheets he’s gripping sooo tightly. You see the tension, the need. His mouth opens, lips trembling.

“More…”

You smirk, finally leaning down and licking a slow stripe up his shaft. He whimpers, whimpers! And by god, if it’s not the prettiest sound in the world.

And just for that you can throw him a bone. But you suck only the tip into your mouth and let it pop free.

His body arches off the bed instinctively and one errant hand makes its way to the back of your neck.

Another slap—gentler this time.

“Sorry, noona.”

“Patience, baby. You wanted to be used, right? That means you wait until I’m done.”

You tease him for what feels like forever. Stroke him gently, then quicker, then stop just when he thinks you’ll give him more. Every whine you pull from him shoots straight to your cunt.

His thighs are trembling. “Noona. More…”

You finally straddle him, not lowering yourself yet, just grinding super slow against the base of his cock, letting your slick drag across him.

“You’re doing so well, baby,” you murmur, stroking his cheek where the blindfold wraps around his head.

“Fuck, noona, let me touch you.”

“Not yet,” you lean forward, let your tits press against his chest, and drop a small peck on the corner of his mouth. His lips pucker belatedly as you pull back.

“You are so hot like this, baby. So good to me,,” you assure him, sliding a hand down to wrap around his cock, pumping it just once, then again, tighter. “Color?”

“Green. Fucking green.”

Finally, you shift to guide him to your entrance. Still hovering. Still making him wait.

He’s breathless now, forehead sweaty beneath the scarf. “Fuck noona. Put it in. I need to feel you—fuck—need to cum in you, please.”

God, he sounds broken. Ruined.

You sink down in one slow, aching glide, and you moan in unison, in pure fucking ecstasy. Your voice high and needy, his low and desperate. He’s pulsing inside you as you steady your hips, letting your walls adjust, keeping him warm.

“Fuck, you feel—fuck,” he gasps. “You’re so tight, noona. So warm—please let me touch you.”

“Not yet,” you grit out, riding him slow and mean, using him. You let your clit drag against the short hairs on his crotch, finding the perfect angle to get you off. He can probably sense it now in the steady swivel of your hips and the stutter in your breath.

“Yeah, just like that, noona,” he says, voice hoarse. “Use me.”

You dig your nails into his chest, bite at his shoulder. You pant. Speeding up your grind. His legs are trembling now, the muscles on his thighs, stomach, taut. “Noona…” He’s babbling now, half-words and curses, his head tossing side to side. “Can’t—shit, please—I’m….”

He’s close. You’re almost there.

“Touch me.”

His hands immediately fly towards your hips, pressing you down, deeper. Grabs your ass and guides your movements.

You fuck him harder like this, ride him like your life depends on it. You feel him losing it. Coming undone beneath you.

“Where?”

“Inside me, baby. Fill me up…”

His whole body convulses, a strangled moan torn from his throat as he spills into you. You follow a heartbeat later, biting down on his shoulder to muffle the sound as you unravel together.

You don’t move for a moment. Just feel his chest heaving beneath you, the sweat between your bodies. You remove the blindfold.

His lashes are wet. He looks wrecked and raw and beautiful.

“Was that okay?” you ask softly, fingers combing his damp hair back from his forehead.

He nods slowly. Smiles. “More than okay.”

You guide him to lie flat again, press your palm to his chest to calm his breathing. You grab a warm towel and clean him gently, kissing each place you left a bruise or scratch.

He pulls you close afterward, arms around your waist, face pressed to your shoulder.

Before you drift off, you remember something you wanted to address.

“Can I ask you something?”

He hums.

“Why were you so worried earlier?”

“Namjoon said you looked a little, like, out of it, you know. And when I couldn’t get a hold of you, I thought you…” he heaves a sigh. “I don’t know why my mind went into that. But I just couldn’t bear the thought of losing you.”

Your heart squeezes. “That’s not gonna happen, Yoongi. I’m yours.”

He hugs you and doesn’t let go.

Post-HYBE life turns out to be pretty… as Yoongi says, slayyy.

It was tough in the beginning, starting from scratch. You start your own website and portfolio, reach out to friends and contacts to help get your skin back into the game. A few months in, you’re now affiliated with a salon who specializes in editorial and product campaign shoots. Your last one was with Choi San for D&G Beauty.

Yoongi slips deeper into your life until the boundaries blur. A toothbrush in his cup. His shirt in your hamper.

You never needed to say it. Because you both knew that this wasn’t fleeting. That you weren’t getting any younger. That whatever this is feels constant.

One night he sends you a Spotify link. To one song. It’s a BTS track.

He usually doesn’t send his own stuff when you exchange playlists (a ritual that stayed on). You listen to it.

🎵Home - BTS

Your chest tightens. Your fingers hover over the reply. But then he calls.

No hi or how are you. Just one question: “Move in with me?”

Life with him is a burst of pigments.

Yellow, in the warm sunlight that wakes you both every morning. Orange, in the tips of his fingers when he’s peeled his umpteenth tangerine. Blue, in the fabric softener he overused to the point that it triggered an allergic reaction for both of you. (Downy is now banned.)

Green, in the hangover soup you cook for him after a night out. (You, on the other hand, are sober for 2 months now.) Purple, in the marks he leaves on your inner thighs and the soft bruises on your chest. Pink, in the way he blushes when you walk out in his clothes.

And then, finally:

Red, in the two faint lines.

You blink down at the stick in your hand, seated on the toilet, heart pounding.

It’s only a minute before the door creaks open.

“Babe?” Yoongi floats in. “You’ve been in here a while.”

He sees your face first. Then the test clutched around your fingers.

He’s piecing it together.

“Omo,” he breathes, stunned.

You nod, heart tight in your throat.

“OMO OMO, you’re pregnant?” he says it with so much disbelief it makes you laugh through the lump in your chest.

“Yeah.”

“Yeah?!” he kneels on the tiles in front of you. His hands are on your cheeks, your shoulders, your belly. “Holy shit!!!”

You’re laughing now, ugly and teary. He pulls you into a tight hug, still stunned.

He leans back, eyes wild with emotion. “We’re gonna have a baby?”

“I guess we are.”

And then the tears come, his. Yoongi chokes out a wet little sound and buries his squishy face in your neck. “Fuck. I’m so happy.”

“Me, too.”

You are.

So happy.

So ready.

So loved.

Between pigments & playlists.

In technicolor. In surround sound.

In the forever you never thought possible.

This spring day.

A/N: Soooo?? Did y'all bogo your shipdas? (dk what the means, but hope you liked it?)

Yoongi is back! While it was a bittersweet note that we got today, I know things are only going to get better from here for him and us. I hope and pray that he knows that he is so so so loved by ARMY.

So the fic! Yes the fic! I’d love some feedback. And a reblog if you are so inclined?

Thank you for reading this you lovely beautiful human, xo

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snazzymolasses · 1 day ago

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I mean there were both pros and cons to this.

I grew up in the 80s/90s and our parents had no fucking clue where we were for the entirety of the summer, as long as you were home before dark

There was incredible freedom, but we also got into a lot of dangerous shit that we really, really shouldn't have, and sometimes didn't get hurt out of sheer luck

Even as I kid, WHILE I was enjoying that freedom, I also felt kinda neglected? Like I WISHED my parents would care where I was? I mean we would say things like "Dude if we fell down in this hole right now, nobody would find us for DAYS" and it was very existential. Kinda both sides of the nihilistic coin- "Man, nothing matters :(" and "Man, nothing matters! :D"

I don't know the answer here or even if there is one, but at least for me I kinda wanted parents who would notice if I disappeared and would be able to find me, while also wanting to be able to go wherever I wanted at the same time.

This post also doesn't take into account electronic freedom, but it's probably a similar pattern.

90s kids had infinite electronic freedom because our parents didn't even know how to turn on a computer. I don't know how monitored kids are these days but I know it's more than "none", and I'm not sure how I feel about that, either.

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nadin67 · 2 days ago

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Nadin’s Hope: A Mother, A Memory, A Future

Hello, my name is Nadin I’m from Gaza. I’m a graphic design graduate. I’m a wife. And now — I’m a mother.

I finished my design studies just before the war began. I had dreams of starting a small design studio, of making art that told stories. I used to think about colors, fonts, sketches. I used to think about the future.

Then the war came. And the future became something we tried to hold onto, moment by moment.

On October 22, 2023, I was pregnant when a missile destroyed my husband’s family home. 25 members of our family were killed — his mother, his siblings, his nieces and nephews, children. Entire branches of a family tree gone in seconds.

We were displaced twice after that. Everything we had disappeared — home, safety, routine, rest.

A few weeks later, I gave birth to our daughter. There was no crib. No stillness. No celebration.

But she came into the world quietly and beautifully. And in her eyes, I saw something I hadn’t felt in weeks: life that still wanted to grow.

64.media.tumblr.com

Now, I spend my days holding her and trying to build a world around her that doesn’t shake with explosions.

We don’t know what comes next. There is no clear path. We are walking toward the unknown, step by step — with our daughter in our arms and hope as our guide.

🧡 How You Can Help

This is why I’m asking for support. Not for comfort — but for survival. To help care for one baby girl who entered the world after everything else collapsed.

If you can spare anything, it will help us:

Cover basic needs, so we can breathe and heal

Support a path toward even the smallest stability in a place that has none

My husband manages the donations securely through a U.S.-registered Stripe account. Everything is converted to USDT and exchanged here in Gaza. The rates are difficult — $100 becomes only 245 shekels — but we use every shekel carefully, with full transparency and documentation.

🎨 Sharing a Piece of Me

I want to share more than my need. Over the next few weeks, I’ll begin posting some of my graphic designs from before the war. They are pieces of who I was — and who I still am.

They may not be perfect, but they hold something real: my story before the silence, and my belief that beauty can still live alongside survival.

If you’ve made it this far, thank you. If you can give — thank you. And if you can’t, just sharing this post is a form of support I will never forget

#gaza strip #palestine #free palestine #free gaza #gaza #gazaunderattack #gaza genocide

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8-evil-annoying-catboys · 6 hours ago

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it’s absurd that this post is missing the real reason kids don’t play outside anymore, in america, if not other places. it’s not parental choice, really, and it’s not a culture shift towards caring more about kids’ safety. the mention of the death of community hits part of it, but the other major part that’s missing is that green spaces keep disappearing. and in places where green spaces were already scarce, kids are targeted for ‘loitering’ wherever kids used to play outside in concrete jungles. outside is incredibly hostile to everyone, but especially kids, these days.

it’s no wonder kids don’t play outside when outside is nothin but a ton of roads and 15 chain restaurants with no park or basketball court or playground within walking distance from their house, and kids with a backyard are lucky. can you blame them for staying home, and seeking out a community online to supplement their loneliness? i sure can’t. after the age of, like, 10, i was doing the same thing, and especially after i turned 13, and things weren’t as bad then as they are now.

it’s only been 11 years since i first became a teenager, and so much has changed even in that span of time, but because i was a teenager for most of that time, i saw it and i know now as an adult. i can’t blame older adults for not seeing it, if they were teens 20, 30, 40+ years ago, and they’ve been too busy with their jobs and homes and marriages to worry so much about where kids have room to play, but i’m telling you. it’s because outside is a hostile place now, throughout most of america. maybe rural kids still have green spaces to play in, but urban kids and even suburban kids don’t, really. if they do, it’s limited, and less kids play there than they did 10-20 years ago, probably due to the fact that all their other friends don’t have green spaces to play in, so they’re all playing video games online instead.

i went to my childhood neighbourhood last fall to show my boyfriend where i grew up, and i was stunned by how empty everything was. there was still the same amount of grass, most of the same trees, still a playground, but no kids. 15 years ago, on an october afternoon or even evening, there’d have been kids running around everywhere in small groups, some supervised by adults but mostly not. even at the playground, there was like, one family with ONE small child. when i was a kid, that playground ALWAYS had someone there during the day, and in the afternoons/evenings or on weekends there’d be several families and kids of all ages playing. when i was a preteen and even when i was a teenager, before moving from that neighbourhood, i’d sit on the swings with my friend and talk for hours, watching other kids run around. the place was DESERTED on a weekend afternoon last fall.

This is a legitimate and damaging cultural shift for all involved parties and it needs to be addressed.

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autisticaradiamegido · 20 hours ago

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day 173

okay fourth time's the charm maybe tumblr will let my drawing through this time

if they think they can stop me from posting Aradia Wearing Fashions well. think a fucking gain

#day 173 #year 6 #chat i was so excited posting this one bc i just got a case for my ipad with a little bluetooth keyboard #and i was like ohhh this will make writing the captions/tags/alt text for my procreate drawings SOOOO much faster #and then i had to write all of them out like three different times only for the post to simply disappear into the ether :')#no draft saved nothing #so here i am. sending it to myself to post on my laptop in hopes that the desktop site will be kinder than the app #it is already past my bedtime since i couldnt help going hog fuckin wild on the rendering for like. no reason #siren song of the fabric textures simply Got My Ass this time #anyway lets hope this posts or ill have to type all this shit out again a FIFTH time a ha ha

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neodazed · 7 hours ago

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enhypen - boudoir polaroids

ot7!xfem!reader - showing them the polaroids of your boudoir photoshoot

boudoir: captures sensual, intimate, and often erotic images of a subject in a private setting

warnings: husband!enha, photos taken during sexual acts (solo), masturbation, recording, use of “slut”, brief anal sex, implied unproctected p in v, oral (f), tons of nasty shit i won’t spoil, lingerine, mdni, def longer than the other ones, not proofread

idea belongs to this lovely anon. interpented it in my own way somewhat, so it’s not 100% factually accurate lol. masterlist

HEESEUNG

Heeseung, your brand new husband — the most pussy-clenching title he’s ever worn, probably.

Ever since he became your fiancé, till now, he has been extra, super hot. Has been fucking you even rougher, better, like a good little wife should be fucked (by his words).

So this thing you decided to do, now it was like the perfect answer to that, the perfect sign of devotion.

You hand your brand-new husband an envelope—pretty cream paper, little gold wax seal, soft smile on your face like “open it later, okay?”

And Heeseung waits, as long as his curiousity let’s him. Then later, when he finds himself alone for some minutes, he opens it. You, taking your makeup off in the bathroom, can hear the paper rustling, and you smile at your reflection, waiting.

Silence.

Until he goes

‘Come here’

You gently open the bathroom door, and walk back into your bedroom. He’s sitting at the edge of the bed, a stack of little polaroids spread out on his lap. The look he gives you, is dark. Well, expected, because the photos are mostly close-ups of you…

— with your mouth open, two fingers shoved down your throat, gloss smudged

— you in a bridal white, fingering yourself with those same two fingers

— one with a toy, pink and cruelly realistic, barely halfway in – your eyes rolled back, thighs clenched

— one that appears to be a final shot, biting down on your veil, looking like you’re reaching your orgasm

And Heeseung?

Just processing.

Because his wife did this. For him. Because you posed like a full-on pornstar, hours before you walked down the aisle.

‘How many of these are there?’ ‘Who took them?’ ‘Where’s the rest?’

But he doesn’t actually give you the chance to explain or answer. He orders you to get on the bed. He’s already rock hard in his pants, and he is determined.

‘Wanna recreate this one.’ He holds up the shot of you with your fingers in your mouth and the toy barely inside you. His favorite.

‘But this time, you’re gonna fuck yourself on my fingers, and better keep your eyes on me the whole time.’

Obviously, it’s a sleepless night.

Doesn’t fuck you immediatelly, no, he makes you study the pictures with him.

‘Did you cum before or after taking this one?’

‘Did it feel as good as my cock?’

‘Don’t you think this is more slut than wife-material?’

And when he finally fucks you, it’s mean. No mercy, no patience, just using you to his own desires.

‘This how you looked when you came all over that toy?’

‘You wanna give me more pictures, baby? I want the ones you were too shy to include.’

JAY

It only suits you that you had a damn argument one day into your honeymoon with Jay. Maybe your plans and wants didn’t align perfectly, and the post-wedding stress was still wearing off. Jay was cold. Distant. Didn’t even say goodnight properly.

So the next day, you toss him an envelope across the bed like

‘Peace offering. Take it or leave it.’

Jay opens it like he’s giving you a favor, chin high and movements full of spite. But the second he sees the first photo?

You. His wife. In white lace. On her knees. Sucking a finger like it’s his cock. His reaction is immediate, his throat pushes out an almost choking like sound, and his whole body stiffens. Well, expect his hands which he uses to flip through some of the pictures.

One with you bent over, wedding veil still on, looking back at the camera while your hand disappears under your panties.

Another with your bra pushed under your tits and one hand squeezing lube out onto a toy off-frame.

He sits in silence for a minute. Hand on his thigh. Breathing steady.

Then folds the photos back into the envelope neatly… and comes to find you.

You’re brushing your hair or something casual when you hear his voice behind you:

‘You gave these to me just to get out of apologizing, didn’t you?’

You smirk. ‘Did it work?’

Jay comes up behind you, grabs your hips a little too hard, and leans in to your ear like:

‘You know what works better than an apology?’ He tosses the envelope onto the vanity table — ‘Giving me the real show. On your knees. Now.’

He makes you recreate every shot. Expect, this time he is behind the lens, using his phone camera to make himself even more intimate material.

‘Yes, that’s my perfect wife.’

‘Gonna save this one. Maybe send it to you next time you try to walk away from a fight.’

JAKE

Jake is the most grateful man alive on your wedding night. You could show up in sweatpants and he’d cry and pop a boner right away. But like with most things, you top his imaginations by far.

You pull out the pink envelope, decorated with a little bow in the middle. Slide it over to him on the bed, like it’s no big deal at all.

‘You should open it after your shower, babe.’

He opens it in the warm glow of the hotel lamp, fresh out the shower, towel on his hips — and he just stops breathing. Like genuinely. Just blinks. Stares. Gets real quiet. Because the first glimpse he gets, just a little part, already screams perfect. You’re layed out on soft sheets, pale ivory lingerine panties barely covering your folds. His mouth waters. Lot more of that kind. Some thigh-focused ones, some of you slobbering over your fingers and fingering yourself with the other.

The best one, though? (If gun to his head, he was forced to choose one).

It’s a close-up. Your fingers spreading yourself open, all slick and swollen. A heart-shaped lollipop resting just against your clit. Your hand holding it. His love for pussy and his habit of oral fixation are being stimulated through his eyes.

You’re in the bathroom brushing your teeth, and all you hear is, ‘Baby please come here. Right now. Please.’ In the neediest voice possible.

You walk out and he’s on his knees on the floor. Literal towel pitched up, photos spread out around him.

And when you smile and go — ‘I thought you’d like them. Do you? — he just whines.

Not groans. Not moans. Whines.

‘Are you crazy? I’m already so in love with you I could die, but this is literally attempted murder!’

Then he pulls you into his lap, kissing all over you, your lips, your neck, your breasts, going down on your stomach…

‘Fuck, I love you. I love you so much…’

SUNGHOON

You were sneaky with it. You gave him the envelope with a sweet smile, like you’re handing over a hand-written love letter rather than the dirty content it was hiding.

‘Hope you like them, Love.’

Sunghoon raises an eyebrow but takes it, fingers careful, gaze suspicious. He opens it while you’re brushing your hair.

Starting off strong, the first photo is you on your side, gripping your tit with one hand and pulling your panties aside with the other, head tilted almost innocently, but eyes filled with lust. Then a bunch of other positions, showing off your silky lingerine and delicate curves, always teasing what’s beneath but never displaying it fully.

And Sunghoon — Sunghoon does not react well.

He stands up, envelope in hand, and walks over to you with that same dead-calm expression. Slow and collected.

‘Who took these?’

‘What?’ You blink up at him.

‘The photos. Who the fuck took them?’

Though he’s not even close to being loud, you still stutter, seeing the tension on the veins on his neck, the way he grips the paper, trying not to crumble it entirely.

‘I-I took them myself, of course. Timer. I set it up. Just me. I swear.’

At that, his whole body relaxes. He might even flash a little relieved smile.

Then.

‘Get your ass on the bed.’

At first, he’s cold. No kisses, no nothing. He trips you naked, and studies the polaroids while playing with your body in real time.

‘Spread your legs. No, wider.’

And when he thinks it’s good enough (like he actually gave a fuck about how accurate it is), he grabs his phone and starts taking his own shots.

No warning. No direction, only

‘You want to give me photos? Fine. Give me new ones. Better ones. Real ones.’

‘You think your little solo pics could compare to this?’

‘You’ll look even better when I’ve filled you up.’

SUNOO

You slide it over while you two are cuddling on the honeymoon bed. You’re in a fluffy robe, bare legs over his lap, and he’s scrolling his phone when you whisper

‘I made you something. Open it after I shower, okay?’

Sunoo nods softly, excited but also curious about what could you have come up with.

But baby.

The moment he opens that envelope?

He lets out a scream.

Like a literal, hand-over-mouth, spine-curved squeal.

Because inside of that, it’s you, in a strappy white set, veil slightly off your hair, pink gloss on your lips, sucking your fingers while side-eyeing the camera like a whole whorehouse with a coquette dresscode.

One where your legs are closed on top of each other, but with your palm inside of them, obviously teasing your clit (he can just tell by looking at your face on it).

But the worst for him? Probably the one where you’re pressing your shiny little cunt down on his pillow.

‘You’re evil.’

‘How dare you be this sexy.’

‘You’re not fucking real. What kind of slutty wife does this?’ While he’s already palming his cock.

When you go over to him, giggling, saying it’s not that big of a deal, he just pushes you down on the bed.

‘No. You don’t get to act all casual after doing this to me, baby.’

After that, it’s a mess of giggles and recreating the ones he liked the most. Calls you “my beautiful wife”, “my good little girl”, and “my pretty slut” in the same ten minutes.

Sticks one of the Polaroids to the headboard like a shrine while he eats you out.

‘Just to see how much messier you can get when it’s me who makes you cum.’

JUNGWON

You hand Jungwon the envelope while you’re still glowing from the wedding night — robe slipping down your shoulders, bare thighs brushing his under the covers.

‘I made something for you’

He tilts his head to the side, like a confused little cat.

‘What’s in it?’

‘You’ll see’ Kissing his cheek. Then you stand in front of him, wanting the full, unfiltered first reaction you’ve been itching for.

Jungwon opens it.

Then he goes feral.

Cause every picture looks like you’ve carved the blurry image of them right out of the depths of his mind (which you might have, by how deeply you know and understand him).

Of course, you know he’s a tit-addict. And the photos feed right into that obsession.

You pushing your tits into the camera, covered by the prettiest white bras he’d ever seen. Gripping them, caressing them. With your bra off, looking into the camera with the deadliest doe eyes, licking off frosting (from God knows where) from your fingers, then circle around your nipple with the same one.

One picture of you rubbing your clit and wetting your sweet pussy, followed by smearing your own slick (then cum) all over your chest.

His mouth parts. He stares at them one by one, then flips through again. Ears red. So hard it’s painful.

‘Do you like them?’ You ask with a smile.

In a second, you’re under him, while he’s practically feasting off your boobs, rubbing your cunt with his hand, muttering shit like

‘Were you thinking about me while you did this?’

‘You want new ones? Want me to take them while I fuck these perfect tits?’

And he does.

Set up his phone on video mode while you’re straddling his lap, tits bouncing as he thrusts up into you.

Perfection.

RIKI

You hand Riki the envelope during the car ride back from the ceremony. He’s in the passenger seat. You’re still glowing and giggling, playing with your ring.

‘Open this at the hotel.’ And Riki just shrugs like whatever, tucks it into his jacket.

Later that night, you’re changing into something special in the bathroom, when he remembers he has it and opens it, not expecting to be flashed.

You in a white thong, back arched, pearls laying down your spine, heels still on. His favorite position, his favorite curve. Literally framed like art. It starts off like this?!

The second one might be even better though.

You bent over, panties pulled halfway down your thighs, ass cheek lifted so you can get your fingers underneath. Flash lighting up your thighs, gloss on your lips, veil around your shoulders. Looking like a fucking Goddess.

Polaroids from that position, with your finger teasing both holes, with toys rubbing over them, pearls on your spine, all pretty for him.

There’s one photo, which is…different than the rest.

No face, no pearls, no lingerine, no veil.

Just you, on your belly, knees spread, panties off, and your hands reaching back to pull your cheeks apart. The flash puts a delicious focus of the curve of your spine, ending in the most intimate, shameless shot of your tightest hole on full display — puckered, pink, just a little shiny.

Like you’d already played with it.

Like you prepared it just for him.

In that perfect little black polaroid border, you scribbled in sharp letters

“Next time, it’s yours<3”

Riki doesn’t smile. Doesn’t speak. Doesn’t even move for a solid ten seconds.

Just stares. Blinks once. Closes the envelope. And then knocks on the bathroom door.

‘Babe. Come out.’

You peek out in a silk robe, small nightgown under, and his gaze goes straight down.

‘Hands on the bed. Just like that photo.’

He drops his pants, and gets behind you. Grabs your hips with so much harshness like he’s mad. Then pauses — cause you have the nerve to giggle.

‘You liked them?’

‘Stop talking.’

Then he spits on your back and watches as it slides down in between your cheeks. Your hole, it’s still open for him. Those damn pictures were freshly taken, with this exact purpose. To get him to fill you there.

So he pushes in. No more prep, no more teasing, just raw pleasure.

‘Gonna stretch it for me properly, baby’

‘You made it look so pretty… wanna see it twitch when I cum inside.’

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littleslaywrites · 2 days ago

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no bark, all bite | aaron hotchner x reader

nsfw, mdni

summary: you can’t help but bite Aaron when he wears a short sleeve shirt.

word count: 1.8k

cw: smut, biting (all aaron receiving), unprotected sex, f!reader, holy moly his arms in that gif

based on this post by @l1v1ngz0mb1e

It had been difficult to get used to seeing Aaron out of his suits. Not in a bad way, not at all. But it was difficult to behave yourself when he wore those polo shirts that revealed just enough of his biceps to make your mouth water.

That’s not to say his suits didn’t reveal a lot. You’d noticed recently his button ups clung to him tighter than usual. A good girlfriend would buy him a size up, but you wouldn’t dream of it. You enjoyed it too much when he’d take off his suit jacket and you could see the seams practically bursting as his muscles flexed beneath his shirts.

But it was even better when you could see the skin, the veins, the hair on his arms. It was the complete picture, all that you imagined when his long sleeves were covering him. And somehow, it felt even more erotic to get a glimpse of him from beneath a short sleeve shirt than to actually see him shirtless.

He truly was very distracting. Every day, you wondered how any of his coworkers were able to get anything done while he was around.

And here you are again, trying to focus on the task at hand while all you can think about is his arms. It was a Friday night, Jack was at a sleepover, and Aaron had invited you over. You’d had dinner at his house, simply enjoying the company, and forcing yourself to not stare at his biceps.

Your dinners at home are always casual, as Aaron wants to get out of his suits as much as he can and wear something more comfortable.

(You can relate to wanting to get him out of his suits, although in a different way.)

Tonight, he answered the door in track pants and a t-shirt. When he opened it, you instantly knew you’d have trouble keeping your eyes off of him. But you smile as normally as possible, setting the wine down on the counter.

Once your hands are free, he wraps you in a hug, and you can’t help but focus on the strength of his arms around you. You can feel his muscles squeezing your sides, and you almost feel bad that you’re objectifying so hard. You know the tight hug is simply his way of comforting himself, releasing the stress of his job, but it almost makes your eyes roll back as you feel how tight his grip is.

He pulls back, his hands on your shoulders, leaving his biceps right in your sight line. He says something you don’t even hear, and when you nod mindlessly, he leads you to the table.

You eat dinner, listening to him talk about work. And every time he takes a sip of his water, the sleeve of his shirt pulls up, giving you an even better view. You manage to focus on his stories, even though half your brain power is being used to keep your eyes from drifting.

After dinner, you end up on the couch, sitting side by side. You might have eaten already, but the sight of him in that shirt is making you want something else to chew on. His arm wraps around you as he nuzzles into your neck.

“I missed you,” he murmurs, kissing your pulse point gently.

“Missed you, too,” you say, your hands moving to squeeze his arm. Your grip tightens as he continues to trail kisses along your neck, until he pulls back.

He opens his mouth to say something, but you lean forward, taking his bicep in between your teeth and biting down before he can speak.

“Hey!”

You pull back, a grin on your face. “Got you.”

“What was that for?”

Your index finger rubs circles onto the area with the small indents that are slowly disappearing. “You just looked… biteable.”

He raises an eyebrow in fake indignation. “Biteable?”

You nod, pushing his sleeve up more to bite him again, this time probably harder than you should.

He hisses softly, staring down at the way his arm turns red in the shape of your teeth as you pull away.

You almost tell him he’s asking for it with the shirt he’s got on, dressed like an absolute whore in that gray t-shirt, but get distracted by the skin he’s showing.

You take his wrists, pulling his arm up to your mouth. You bite his upper arm again, then move down, biting from his bicep to his forearms. Each time, you nip a bit harder, slowly getting addicted to the feeling of his skin pulling between your jaws.

You take extra care when you reach that vein on his forearm, tracing it with your tongue before taking it in your mouth, gnawing on him like a puppy with its favorite chew toy.

“Stop that,” he says with no real fire behind his words. It’s what he always says when he wants something but is too embarrassed to admit it’s turning him on— as if you can’t feel the hardness forming beneath his pants.

“No,” you say, eliciting a small laugh from Aaron.

You nip at his neck, getting him right in that spot you know he likes, so he doesn’t argue when you slip his shirt off and push him down on the couch.

You graze your teeth from his collarbone to his chest, biting on the flesh of his peck. He gives a groan in response as you lick the spot to soothe it.

He nearly whines your name as you slide off his pants, then take his underwear off. When you gaze down at him, it becomes clear he’s enjoying it more than he lets on.

“I just want to nibble on you,” you say as you nip at his hip bone.

“I thought you said you were full after dinner,” Aaron says breathlessly, a hand tangling in your hair.

“You’re my dessert.”

You bite his thigh, hard enough that you know it’ll leave a mark tomorrow. The supple flesh of his thighs squeeze between your teeth, and you feel the dampness pooling in your underwear as you taste his skin.

“Baby,” he says, gently tugging on your hair to get you to look at him.

“Yeah?”

“You’re being a tease.”

You giggle, taking your shirt off. His large hands immediately go to your back, unhooking your bra. He pulls you into a deep kiss, and you unzip your jeans as he tongue slips into your mouth. When he pulls back, you capture his bottom lip between your teeth, letting it pull before you release him.

You hurriedly slip your pants off, straddling him. “You just look delicious. I could eat you up.”

He gives a chuckle, hands going to your hips. “My little vampire.”

You smile in response, shifting above his length, grasping the base of it and guiding yourself down.

You both tilt your heads back as you slowly sink onto him, breaths becoming more rapid.

Once he bottoms out, you lean down, giving his neck a love bite. When you pull back, it’s clear that you’ve bitten him hard enough that he’ll have to hope there’s no case over the weekend to give the bruise time to heal before he has to face his coworkers again.

He gives your hip two gentle taps, signaling you to start moving before he does it himself. You take the cue, slowly riding him. It’s not lost on you that his muscles flex every time your walls flutter. In fact, you make a point to deliberately squeeze him, just like your teeth were squeezing him earlier.

Usually, you’re watching his face, focused on the way his eyelids flutter. But tonight, you can’t tear your eyes away from the way his biceps flex as he grips your hips, the movement of the muscles emphasizing the bite marks you’ve littered along his body.

You place a hand on his chest for leverage, bouncing faster as his groans spur you on. You will always be grateful that he’s let loose with you, giving himself permission to be vocal beneath your touch. You reward his sounds with your own moans, desperate as you feel every inch of him filling you up.

You get carried away as you gaze at his build, losing rhythm in your distracted state of mind. You don’t even notice his whimpers go from pleasured to depreciate until he can’t resist any longer and starts to buck up into you.

“So good,” you whimper out.

“I know,” he says, fingers digging into your hips. You know it’ll leave an imprint, but it’s only fair after what you've done to mark him up.

He’s pressing into you deep enough that it reaches your brain, thoughts going blank as you mindlessly meet his thrusts.

As he starts to lose control of his hips, your walls clamp around him, coaxing him into filling you up.

You’re back arches as you fall over the edge, the wetness of your release dripping down your thighs and onto his.

The feeling of you coming around him has Aaron quickly following, his eyes glued to your chest as your back arches. His hips stutter as he gives one last deep thrust, painting your insides white.

He gently pulls you down to rest on his chest, hugging you tightly to help you come down for your high. As he wraps his arms around you, your eyes are drawn to his muscles again, your hazy mind still having enough power to seek out his arms.

You wrap your arms around his forearm, nuzzling into his upper arm.

“You’re really obsessed with me tonight, aren’t you?” He says it teasingly, flexing as a half-joke.

You take the opportunity to bite him again, not releasing him for a good few seconds.

“Are you staying like that all night?”

You hum around him, opening your jaws even further to take more of him in your mouth.

He laughs softly, patting your back. “You’ve gotta let me go eventually.”

You sigh around him, eventually releasing him and laying your cheek down on your chest, his peck right in view for you to admire the teeth marks you’d left. You trace it gently, proud of your work.

“You know, it’s not nice to act like a teething puppy while your boyfriend is at your mercy.”

You giggle. “Then you shouldn’t be so biteable. I could chew on you all night.”

“You’re so cute I might let you.”

You snuggle even closer to him. “Besides, what’s so wrong about appreciating my big, strong man?”

Aaron rolls his eyes, even though he can’t help but blush at your words.

As he holds you tighter, you feel content, not even tempted to bite him as you watch his arms. At least, for now. And as Aaron falls asleep with you on top of him, he has a looming suspicion that his wake up call (and your breakfast) tomorrow will be the pressure of your teeth around his bare arm.

#criminal minds #criminal minds x reader #aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner one shot #aaron hotchner smut #hotch #thomas gibson x reader

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voodoochildthings · 3 days ago

Text

Beach days

Sam x reader x Dean

This doesn't really have any plot. It's just you. And the boys. On a hot summer day at the beach. Wouldn't even count it as smut 😏

Word count: ~ 1K

Tags: 18+, poly, our boys x reader. Just one sentence of actual smut, the rest is very fluffy.

A/N: For my lovely moot @ambiguous-avery's Summer Snapshot Challenge! I swear I had this thing ready within 12 hours of them posting the announcement. That's how great the prompt was <3

Special thanks to @jollyhunter, the amazing banner definitely jumpstarted the writing!

“Dude. Those are way too short.”

“No they're not.”

“Any shorter and you'll get arrested for public indecency.” Sam's face looks serious, but his voice betrays him.

“Shut up,” Dean drawls. He looks down on himself, pulls the waistband of his trunks away from him with his thumb.

“You're just jealous. And little Dean here just loves the sea breeze.” He pulls his finger out and lets the elastic snap back into place, a broad grin on his face.

You bite down on your lip to suppress a chuckle as you stand there in the doorway, watching your boys. The stupidly cold beers you're holding are starting to hurt your hand, but you just want to savor the moment. Watch them for a little bit longer, not fighting, just bantering.

Forcing them to take this trip has been one of your finer ideas. Your last case hadn't been extraordinarily gruesome, or hard to crack. You had just noticed how the boys had grown more and more tired with each new hunt, and how they had been retracting, starting to become monosyllabic, the creases between their brows becoming deeper.

Initially, they had been against a vacation. Talked about responsibilities. But you'd made puppy eyes at them and dangled your skimpy new two-piece in front of them, and Dean had the car packed before you even could say scuba diving.

The air around you is hot and humid, condensed water drips from the smooth glass bottles, finding its way onto your hand. Everything looks like someone cranked up the color saturation.

Sam runs his hand through his hair. It falls back in place exactly the way it was before. He picks up a guava from the counter, takes a big bite. The only thing distracting you from the way a droplet of juice runs over his chin, the way the muscles in his jaw dance as he bites down, is his brother.

Dean's still playing with his trunks, testing how far up or down he can wear them, making that stupid V appear and almost disappear over and over again. He's the one who notices you standing in the doorway when he catches you staring shamelessly in the mirror.

“You think those are too short?” His eyes are big, sparkling like a kid's on Christmas. And he leans back, flexes his abs and wiggles his junk at the you in the mirror.

You laugh as you finally push yourself off the doorframe and walk over to him.

“Not nearly short enough. It's giving Tom Selleck and I love it, you really should think about growing a mustache.”

You stand on your tiptoes and press a kiss to the tan, freckled skin on his shoulder blade, then, obviously purely on accident, touch the icy cold bottle to his naked back. Dean flinches, has one hand on the bottle and the other around your waist faster than you can react.

He glares at you with those deep green eyes, playful mischief written all over his face.

“You need to be more careful, missy, or you're gonna get ducked later!”

You shriek when Dean sandwiches your face between his lips on one cheek and the cold bottle on the other, and you try your best wiggling out of his grasp without spilling Sam's beer.

You flee into the younger Winchester's open arms, let him lift you up to sit on his hips where he holds you close to his body. You blindly reach for the counter and barely manage to set the second bottle down without letting it fall to the floor, because Sam, apparently, is not in the mood for beer. Instead, his lips wander all over your face, peppering kisses onto every inch of skin they can reach. Closing your eyes, you let yourself be swept away by the sensation.

You hold on to him tight, tangle your fingers into his hair as your mouth seeks out his. He tastes sweet, just like the fruit you watched him eat, and salty from the sweat the ocean breeze has dried on his skin. You feel him carrying you over to the couch where he gently puts you down, lips not parting from yours. And you hear Dean protesting, putting his bottle aside as he makes his way over to the two of you.

“No way, get outta here, it's my turn,” he growls at his brother. Your eyes flutter open as you feel Dean's hand between your and Sam's faces, almost violently pushing his brother away. You have to laugh at the scene, at Sam's incredulous look as Dean drops to his knees between your legs. He's already licking his lips as he ruffles up the thin fabric of your pareo, pulls down your bikini bottoms.

“Dude, seriously?” Sam looks between you and his brother, still deciding if he should fight this battle, when Dean quips again.

“On second thought, you can continue upstairs. I'm going to be busy down here for a while,” and then he goes straight for the honey pot.

You have a hard time keeping your eyes open as he runs his tongue over your heat, but Sam's excited expression makes the effort worth it. He chuckles, sits down next to you, brushes a rogue strand of hair out of your face.

You want to say something, about how they shouldn't fight, about how there's enough of you to go around, about how they're best when they work together. But the words die in your throat as Sam pulls you in again, lips brushing over yours. So you close your eyes. Sigh blissfully. And let your men get to work.

#SummerSnapshotChallenge2025 #supernatural #Sam x reader x Dean #fanfic #lovely moots 💕#sam winchester x reader #sam winchester x you #dean winchester x reader #dean winchester x you

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smutmind · 3 days ago

Note

I'd really love to see more minnie and shuhua for when it doesnt fit, if you'd be so kind of course.

Thank you very much!!!!!

When it Doesn't Fit ft. Minnie (ANOTHER FLUFF)

I don't know why Minnie fits these fluffy ideas. HAHA

The bell above the café door chimed at exactly 7:02 a.m., just like it did every weekday.

Minnie glanced up from behind the espresso machine, already smiling. She recognized the stride before the man even reached the counter—sharp, measured, always in sync with the ticking wall clock. Marcus. Dark coat, darker expression. A tall drink of don’t-talk-to-me.

“Morning,” she chirped, slipping a fresh post-it onto the side of a to-go cup. The ink was still drying.

Marcus eyed the cup like it had personally offended him. The sticky note read: "Even strong coffee envies your focus."

His jaw ticked. He took the cup without a word. No tip, no smile. Just the same quiet nod and a turn on his heel.

Minnie’s lips pursed as she watched him disappear into the rain-slicked street. “Someone’s allergic to serotonin,” she muttered, half to the steamer wand.

Over the next week, the post-its got bolder. "Your suit called. It wants a day off." "You look like you wrestled stress—and won." "Smile. No one’s watching. Except me."

Marcus never said anything. But he never stopped coming, either.

It was Thursday night when the weather turned. Wind pressed wet leaves against the glass. The café lights glowed honey-gold in the gloom. It was Minnie’s closing shift—slow, quiet. She was wiping down tables when the door creaked open.

He was soaked.

“Didn’t expect you this late,” she said, tugging her oversized cardigan tighter. “The coffee machine’s still hot, if you want.”

Marcus nodded once, brushing water off his coat. “Black. Usual.”

She fixed it, fast. No post-it this time—just a curious glance as she handed him the cup. He didn’t leave. Instead, he leaned against the counter, his fingers curled tight around the paper warmth.

“You never smile,” she said softly.

He looked at her. Really looked. “I don’t have time to smile.”

She blinked. “Why not?”

“I’m working to prove something.” He paused. Rain lashed harder against the windows. “That I belong where I am. That I’m not just some lucky hire. That I’m better.”

Minnie studied him. His stiff posture. The faint crease between his brows. She wanted to smooth it with her thumb. “That’s a lot to carry,” she murmured. “No wonder your shoulders are always tense.”

The lights flickered once.

She jumped. “Ugh, I hate power outages. Please don’t let it go out.”

“You afraid of the dark?”

“Only when it’s storming and I’m alone in here.” She tugged the sleeves of her sweater over her hands. “Don’t suppose you’d… stay?”

Marcus hesitated. The rain thundered like a hundred tiny fists against the glass.

“I can’t leave anyway,” he said finally, glancing at the flooded sidewalk. “Storm’s too heavy.”

“Then it’s settled.” She padded to the back room and returned with a spare blanket and a couple of overstuffed floor cushions. “Welcome to your first café sleepover.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Is this standard protocol?”

“No. But I figure if I’m stuck here, I’d rather not be scared and alone.”

Marcus sat, stiff at first. Then a little less. They sipped lukewarm coffee and listened to the storm. She talked. He listened. And somewhere between lightning strikes, the silence between them softened.

Rain threaded like silver needles across the café windows, blurring the world outside.

Minnie curled her legs beneath her on the cushion, clutching her lukewarm mug. The space felt smaller now. Not because it was tight, but because Marcus stayed. Still. Present.

She’d never seen him still.

“So,” she said, voice lilting, “what’s the deal, Marcus? You’re always suited up. Always tense. What do you actually do when you’re not glowering at espresso?”

He looked sideways at her, lips twitching faintly. “Real estate. Commercial, mostly. Downtown properties. Warehouses, corporate spaces.”

“Figures.” Minnie smirked. “You’ve got the energy of a man who sells buildings like chess pieces.”

He gave a soft, tired huff. “It’s more paperwork than people. Lots of big egos in small rooms.”

“You ever like it?” she asked, chin resting on her knee.

“I like being good at it.”

The rain thickened. She could feel the air growing damp, cold curling around her toes.

“What about love?” she asked softly, without teasing this time. “You ever like that?”

The shift in him was instant. His shoulders locked. The silence that followed felt like something sharp, stretched between them.

“I don’t mix well with...that,” he said flatly. “Too many expectations. Too many cracks to fall through.”

Minnie blinked, her smile dimming. “Sorry. That was—too personal.”

He exhaled, slow and hard. “No. I’m sorry. That wasn’t fair to you.” His voice softened. “It’s just… hard to explain things that didn’t end well.”

A heavy pause hung between them. Neither knew what to do with the sudden chill in the air.

Minnie rubbed her arms, shivering a little. “This place gets freezing after nine. Never noticed it until I wasn’t moving.”

Marcus glanced at her, then at her thin cardigan. His jaw worked, conflicted. “Do you want...?”

She hesitated, then gave a sheepish nod. “Yeah. If you’re okay with it. Just a little warmth wouldn’t hurt.”

He shifted closer, slow and careful. His arm draped over her shoulders—awkward at first, then less so when she leaned in instinctively. His body radiated heat like a furnace.

They said nothing. The thunder softened. Her head rested gently against his chest.

And for the first time since either could remember, the quiet didn’t feel empty.

The wind howled like it had bones to rattle.

Marcus’s arm around her helped, but Minnie was still shivering. Her knees knocked gently against his thigh.

“You’re cold,” he said quietly.

“I’ll live,” she muttered, teeth nearly chattering.

He gave her a look. Then stood, pulled off his tailored coat, and held it open. “Come on.”

She hesitated. “That’s like... a thousand-dollar coat.”

“Only eight-fifty.”

She squinted up at him. “You’re really gonna argue luxury while I’m about to freeze to death?”

He sighed and moved to wrap it around her himself, muttering something about stubborn baristas. But as he pulled it over her shoulders and adjusted the lapel, his hand slipped—just slightly—brushing the soft curve of her chest.

She yelped.

He froze, hand mid-air. “Shit—I didn’t—oh my God—I’m not—”

Her eyes widened. “Wait, did you just—?”

“I was adjusting the—coat,” Marcus stammered, face already flaming. “I didn’t know you weren’t wearing—uh—something more.”

She looked down, then up again, biting her lip. “It’s just nipple patches. I hate bras on night shift.”

He blinked, hard. “That’s—information I didn’t expect to have at this hour.”

A long beat. She held the coat closed with a grin curling at her lips. “Marcus,” she said sweetly, “you’re sweating.”

He wiped his palms on his slacks. “I’m just trying to not get arrested.”

She tilted her head. Her voice dipped lower. “What if I want you to act like a pervert around me?”

He stared at her, genuinely stunned.

Minnie didn’t flinch—just smiled, a slow, dangerous thing.

Marcus swallowed, visibly. “That’s... not helping.”

She laughed, warm and full, curling into the coat like it was her armor and his doom.

“I’m teasing,” she said, finally. “Kind of.”

Marcus wasn’t breathing.

Outside, the storm began to lighten, but inside the café, tension flickered—half humor, half heat—across every inch of shared space.

Minnie blinked up at the ceiling. “Well, look who decided to rejoin society.”

Marcus stood, brushing off his slacks. “Lights are back. Rain’s dying down. Guess we’re free to return to capitalism.”

She stretched, the borrowed coat still draped around her like a cape. “We should close up, then. You sure you want to help? Wouldn’t want to steal you from your very serious, life-saving spreadsheets.”

He grabbed the mop leaning against the counter. “I’m just making sure you don’t frame me for anything.”

She arched a brow. “Frame you?”

“I was alone with a woman, in the dark, after hours. I touched something I wasn’t supposed to. That’s at least a misdemeanor.”

Minnie cackled, nearly dropping a stack of chairs. “Touched something? You brushed my boob like a panicked librarian reaching for a banned book.”

He paused, jaw twitching. “That is... uncomfortably accurate.”

They finished in record time—laughing, bumping elbows, trading glances that lingered a little longer each time.

By the time they stepped outside, the rain had softened to a mist. Marcus offered his umbrella, holding it just high enough to cover both their heads.

The sidewalk gleamed wet under streetlights, and their steps fell into an easy rhythm.

“You didn’t have to walk me home,” Minnie said softly, the city quiet around them.

“I’m still just trying to keep myself out of prison,” he replied, deadpan. “Imagine the courtroom sketch: barista claims emotional damage after unsolicited warmth.”

She bumped his arm. “You’re not nearly as scary when you make jokes.”

“Don’t tell my clients,” he said. “They pay extra for the scowl.”

They stopped at her building. The entry light buzzed faintly, illuminating the curve of her cheek as she turned to face him.

Minnie stood on her toes and pressed a soft kiss to his cheek—just warm enough to make him forget what words were.

“Thanks,” she murmured. “For staying. For not being... well, who I thought you were.”

Marcus blinked. “Who’d you think I was?”

“A suit with legs and no soul.”

His laugh came out surprised, almost boyish. “Ouch.”

She smiled. “You proved me wrong. A little.”

He cleared his throat, unsure what to do with his hands. “Guess I’ll see you at 7:02 tomorrow?”

“I might start opening at 7:01,” she teased.

“Rebel,” he said, eyes crinkling.

She slipped inside, the door clicking shut behind her—leaving Marcus outside, still warm from her kiss, still smiling like an idiot under his umbrella.

The bell above the café door stayed quiet.

Minnie checked the wall clock. 7:01. Then 7:03. Then 7:07.

The cup with the next post-it stayed untouched on the counter. "You made silence louder than coffee. That’s a skill."

She sighed and peeled it off. Stuck it to her apron instead.

Marcus didn’t come that day.

Nor the next.

By Thursday, she’d stopped prepping his order. The cups felt lighter somehow. The café too bright. Too yellow. Like a stage light waiting for the actor who missed their cue.

“Miss your boyfriend?” her coworker Teela asked, elbow-deep in croissants.

Minnie blinked. “He’s not—he’s just a customer.”

“Uh-huh. Who you let spend the night in your shop, gave your blanket, and kissed.”

“It was on the cheek.”

“That’s a gateway cheek.”

Minnie smiled faintly but didn’t argue. Instead, she stared out the rain-speckled window, her breath fogging the glass.

She didn’t know his number. Didn’t know where he lived. Didn’t even know his middle name. But every morning, 7:02 came and went without Marcus. And that… hurt more than she’d expected.

The weird part? It wasn’t just missing his face or the way he stood like his suit was military-issued. It was missing the version of herself that came alive around him—sharper, braver, louder.

And now, the mornings just… felt beige.

She wiped the counter one extra time and tucked the latest post-it in her pocket.

Just in case he ever came back for it.

The rain came down like a verdict.

Minnie locked the front door early, her nerves coiled tight as the sky growled. Thunder rolled deep and mean, rattling the glass. The café lights flickered—again.

“Not tonight,” she whispered, pressing her forehead to the cool glass. “Please not again.”

The storm had a way of peeling her open—too many memories, too much silence, too much dark.

She gathered the cushions from the back, her cardigan already wrapped twice around her. The idea of another night alone in the dim cafe made her chest feel tight.

Then the bell rang.

The door—still unlocked from her forgetful hands—squeaked open, and there he was.

Dripping, coat clinging, hair damp against his forehead.

Marcus.

Minnie froze mid-step, heart thudding like it wanted out.

He didn’t say anything at first. Just looked at her like he wasn’t sure she was real.

“I didn’t know if you’d still be here,” he said softly.

Her voice caught. “You—you disappeared.”

“I got pulled into a deal. Huge project. Took everything.” He stepped in, the storm closing behind him. “I worked from home. Couldn’t break the rhythm. But tonight… I remembered the rain. The power. You in my coat.”

Minnie blinked, heat rushing to her face. “So you came back?”

He nodded. “I needed to know if the café still glowed like I remembered. If you were still here.”

Her breath hitched. She smoothed her sleeves down her arms to hide the tremble. “And?”

“It’s brighter now,” he said. “Because you didn’t forget me.”

Minnie exhaled a shaky laugh. “I couldn’t if I tried.”

Another rumble of thunder.

She glanced at the windows, then at him. “I still hate storms,” she whispered.

Marcus stepped closer, close enough to smell rain and cologne. “Do you want me to stay?”

She looked up, eyes wide, vulnerable. “Only if you can keep me warm.”

A smile ghosted across his face. Not the smug one. The soft, slow kind—the one he didn’t know how to wear until her.

He reached for her gently this time, fingers brushing the hem of her sleeve before pulling her in, coat and all.

The storm outside was still angry. But inside, she found warmth in the quiet rise and fall of his breath.

This time, she wasn’t alone.

The backroom door clicked shut behind them, and the storm outside vanished into a muffled pulse.

Marcus turned to face her. Minnie stood barefoot on the worn tile, cardigan falling off one shoulder, cheeks warm and eyes dark.

“You sure?” he asked, voice low, edged with restraint.

She smiled, slow and wicked. “I’ve had a month to think about it.”

With one fluid motion, she peeled off the cardigan and pulled up her shirt—revealing two circular nude patches barely covering her nipples. “You left me cold, Marcus,” she whispered. “You owe me warmth.”

He stepped closer. “Yeah?”

“Start here,” she said, pointing at her left breast, “and use your mouth.”

He didn’t ask twice.

His tongue hooked beneath the patch, teasing her skin as he peeled it off, slow enough to make her gasp. The other followed, sucked between his lips until her knees trembled.

Minnie laughed breathlessly, gripping his shoulders to stay grounded. “You’ve got a mouth built for sin, agent man.”

“Show me yours,” he murmured, fingers brushing her waistband.

She stepped back, tugged down her pants—and let her cock spring free, thick, flushed, already twitching with anticipation. She wrapped her fingers around the shaft and stroked once, her eyes locked to his. “I get so wet watching men like you grind themselves into the ground.”

Marcus exhaled sharply. “Busy bees turn you on?”

“Stupidly hard,” she grinned. “Something about men who forget they have bodies until someone reminds them.”

He cupped her jaw. “Then prove it. With your tongue.”

She dropped to her knees like she was born for it, licking up the length of him before taking him deep, slow, deliberate. Marcus’s head hit the wall. One hand fisted in her hair, the other gripping the edge of the counter for dear life.

“Minnie—fuck—”

She hummed around him, lips slick and wet, the rhythm torturously steady. When she pulled off, saliva stringing between her mouth and his tip, his legs nearly gave.

“I want you inside me,” she said, voice husky, climbing onto his lap.

He was already thick and ready. She guided him to her entrance and sank down, inch by glorious inch, her mouth parting in a moan.

They didn’t move at first—just held each other, eyes locked, breath shared.

Then she started to roll her hips.

Slow. Deep. Fucking luxurious.

“God,” he groaned. “You feel—unreal.”

Her grin was all teeth. “And I haven’t even started yet.”

Minnie braced herself against his chest, her thighs trembling as she sank another inch onto him.

“God,” she panted, forehead pressed to his. “You’re so fucking big—I can’t… I can’t take all of you.”

Marcus groaned low in his throat, his hands gripping her hips. “Yes you can,” he murmured. “You’ve got it in you. Let me help.”

He shifted beneath her, tilting just right, guiding her hips until she slid deeper. Minnie gasped, nails digging into his shoulders.

Her voice cracked on a moan. “Holy shit, Marcus.”

He kissed her—rough and wet, stealing the air from her lungs. Then he pulled back and whispered, “Suck my tongue.”

She did—mouth open, tongue curling around his, riding him slow and deep as the kiss turned filthy. Each bounce stretched her wide and full. His cock rubbed her just right, grinding up into her until she was cursing against his mouth.

“I missed this,” he growled, lips brushing her jaw. “Missed your mouth. Your sounds. The way you move.”

“You didn’t even text,” she teased breathlessly. “Just vanished like some kind of overworked ghost.”

“Maybe I needed another storm to wake me up.”

She laughed, bouncing harder now, sweat dotting her temple. “You’re lucky I’m weak for workaholics with stupid pretty mouths.”

He grabbed her ass, thrusting up to meet her strokes. “And you’re lucky I’m a man who respects a woman who knows how to ruin my sanity.”

Their bodies clapped in rhythm. Wet, messy, perfect.

Minnie cried out as she came, her cock twitching between them. The pleasure rolled through her like thunder, hot and deep and shaking. She sagged against him, gasping into his neck.

Marcus wasn’t far behind.

“Where?” he asked, voice strained, desperate.

She looked up, eyes burning with mischief. “I want it like my favorite order.”

He blinked. “What?”

She grinned. “Hot. Strong. And in my mouth.”

“Jesus Christ,” he muttered, pulling out fast.

She dropped to her knees again with a practiced hunger, lips parted and waiting as he stroked himself, groaning hard—

—and spilled across her tongue in thick, salty bursts, his name half a gasp in her throat.

Minnie swallowed, then licked her lips. “Mmm. Better than espresso.”

He collapsed back against the wall, chest heaving.

“Rainy nights really are your thing,” she added with a wink.

He reached down, cupped her jaw, and laughed.

“You’re gonna kill me.”

“Maybe,” she said, rising up to kiss him, “but you’ll die warm.”

---

Sunlight bled through the café windows, golden and unmerciful.

Minnie stirred first—blanket tangled, skin warm against Marcus’s chest, limbs still draped over him like he was furniture. Her back ached. Her thighs... ached more.

She blinked up at the ceiling, then to the clock.

“Oh no,” she whispered, slapping his chest. “Marcus. Wake up. We’re so screwed.”

He groaned. “You said I could die warm, not early.”

“It’s eight-forty-seven. I was supposed to open at seven-thirty.”

As if on cue, a knock rattled the backroom door. “Minnie?” came her boss’s voice, laced with suspicion and half-amusement. “You alive back there?”

Minnie froze. Marcus sat up fast enough to nearly knock over a box of stirrers. “Shit. Shitshitshit.”

They scrambled. She pulled her pants on inside-out. He yanked on his wrinkled dress shirt and tried to fix his tie, only to realize it was Minnie’s. She tossed it back with a snort.

“We’re walking out there like adults,” she whispered.

“We just had backroom sex loud enough to steam the espresso machine.”

“Then we’re walking out there like actors.”

She paused, snatched two sticky notes off the counter, and stuck one across her forehead, the other across his.

“What are you doing?” he hissed.

“Costume drama. Just roll with it.”

The door creaked open.

The owner, a petite woman with an immaculate apron and a dry sense of humor, stood with one eyebrow raised.

Minnie walked out first—barefoot, hair wild, post-it on her forehead that read: "I regret nothing."

Marcus followed, post-it on his chest: "Just here for coffee (and poor decisions)."

The owner clapped once. “Well. I was wondering when this would happen.”

Minnie blinked. “Wait—what?”

“You’ve been leaving those thirsty post-its for months, sweetheart. You think I can’t read?”

Marcus flushed, rubbing the back of his neck. “I’m not fired, am I?”

“You don’t even work here.”

“Still. Good to know.”

She waved them toward the counter. “You’re lucky the regulars haven’t arrived yet. Fix yourselves. Then fix some coffee.”

Minnie turned to Marcus as they moved behind the counter, faces red, grins helpless.

“That was the worst walk of shame in history,” she said.

“Best I’ve ever had,” he replied.

They bumped hips. Made two coffees. Shared one kiss over steaming mugs and silent promises.

Sometimes, love didn’t arrive with fireworks or fanfare.

Sometimes, it walked in late, soaked in rain, wearing a frown.

And sometimes, it left a post-it that said everything without needing to explain a thing.

#asks #minnie smut #girl group smut #smut #kpop smut #female idol smut #male reader smut #kpop idol smut #male reader #gidle smut #idol x bbc #minnie #g idle

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echantedtoon · 1 day ago

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Oh, okay, so how about.... Jealous cookies ?

Like, we were doing how own thing, (they were not too far away from us) then a cookie started to flirt and our (dear) husbands arrived saying "we're leaving now."

And sorry for disturbing you again !! Sometimes drama get over me >_<

Its ok. Don't apologize. Sorry for taking so long with this, however please read the rules before sending anything. Usually I don't do requests but I'll do yours cuz I like some jealous cookies. I'll be using the same cookies from my last post hope you're ok with that. Warnings for harassment.

ELDER FAERIE COOKIE:

-Im gonna say it now, he doesn't get jealous very easily. He trusts you fully and in very secure in your relationship. After all you both had been married for hundreds of years. Of course you both being gorgeous cookies has had lots of admirers over the years so he's very much used to it. So in short it takes a lot for him to be jealous- However a persistent cookie who's constantly making googoo eyes at his wife while he's right there and knows she's VERY married?? Oh yeah. That'll wear down his patience after a while.

-He's probably kept his mouth shut about your new 'assistant' for a long while now because he knows you'd always shut him down and he didn't want to look insecure in front of you or his subjects. However even White Lily Cookie noticed her friend's glares at the flirty cookie. The way he'd frown and narrow his eyes whenever he'd tail after his wife and make comments. "You're so lovely today, Your Majesty.~" "Thank you." "It's a shame his lordship can't accompany you, perhaps I can-" "Can you please bring me the reports about the delegation? I have to go eat lunch with my husband."

-However his breaking point was when he walked into the assistant fairy going through your belongings in HIS bedroom- "Darling?" "Hm?" He doesn't look up from his book. "Where is Assistant Fairy Cookie? I thought he was going to help me coordinate the festival?" "Oh. He was fired for unprofessional workplace conduct. I'll have a new attendant assigned to you soon...Preferably a lady attendant." You're not surprised but you were surprised by your husband contemplating constructing a dungeon for a cookie in particular-

SHADOW MILK COOKIE:

-The cookie is DEAD. He's either going to be instantly crumbled or be prolonged at his whims thanks to his strings. There's no in between. Shadow Milk is THE strongest of the Beasts and we know how possessive he can be towards things that belong to him or he perceives at his and you are no exception. It all really depends on what mood he's in when the 'Nice Guy' Cookie shows up and starts flirting on you. It also depends on how the cookie flirts with you.

-If he apologizes and leaves when you tell him you have a husband, then he might not do anything at all. He'll be extremely clingy and suspicious for the rest of the day but that's about it, might still send Candy Apple to prank him tho. If he persists then he has no problems with appearing, threatening, and literally throwing hands if he gets heated enough. However if he grabs you or Witches forbid tries to forcefully kiss you or something similar then it's 100% over for him. Either he's getting crumbled right then and there doesn't even care who's watching, or he's disappearing into the Spire where he'll 'take care of' his new toy later. As I said it really depends on what mood he's in and how the cookie reacts to your rejection that decides his choice.

BURNING SPICE COOKIE:

-Hoo boy. Another very jealous and possessive cookie. His possessiveness rivals Shadow Milk's however with Shadow Milk you have a chance to walk away unharmed and with your dough in tack. You don't stand a chance of living if THE LITERAL COOKIE OF DESTRUCTION so much even THINKS you're looking at HIS woman. HE staked a claim on her once he conquered her village and took her for himself. He has her wear his colors and soul jam symbols for a reason!! Despite the fact that he refers to you as his 'concubine' and there really wasn't any official ceremony, you're MORE than married to him so others making eyes at your beauty is a direct challenge and insult in his mind.

-It was learnt pretty fast to keep away from you, and even the female servants you were given often didn't look you in the eye in fear of Burning Spice mistaking eye contact or interest. The few times that someone WAS bold enough to try anything was immediately crumbled as soon as he found out.

PURE VANILLA COOKIE:

-This sweet boy has the patience of a saint! Literally since he actually IS one. Like with Elder Faerie Cookie, he's very secure in his relationship with you and trusts you to not cheat on him. He knows you can handle yourself so if someone starts hitting on you, he'll patiently watch and see what happens. If the guy persists then he'll step in and defuse the situation trying to get him to go away politely first. If it escalates to the point of a physical fight-...Well Pure Vanilla won't be so vanilla then. A lot of people mistake his patience and kindness for weakness but he won't tolerate someone insulting and trying to get through him to his wife, so they'll harmlessly find themselves thrown across the room eating dirt. A harmless blast that won't hurt them but gets his point across. He doesn't like violence but will use a small amount of it if needed.

MILLENNIAL TREE COOKIE:

-A mixed reaction of Pure Vanilla and Elder Faerie Cookie. He's very, secure, trusting, etc. He also doesn't intervene unless he deems absolutely necessary for him which may sometimes cause a problem if it seems like he doesn't care but really he's just patient. If they keep bothering you then he'll conjure up a few tree branches around you both. To bring you to him, and to go dump the instagater into the nearest body of water.

#cookie run #shadow Milk Cookie x Reader #Shadow Milk Cookie #Millennial Tree cookie x reader #Millennial Tree cookie #Burning Spice Cookie x Reader #Burning Spice Cookie #elder faerie cookie x reader #Elder Faerie Cookie #Pure Vanilla Cookie x Reader #Pure Vanilla Cookie

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skzdominate · 21 hours ago

Note

Imagine surprising Han by coming to the skz concert and how he would react!! 🤭🤭🤭🤭💕💕💕💕💕

A/N: I honestly am so tired and unmotivated but I promised a post here so here I go. follow my other blog @parkjihoonswifey for weak hero content :D

p.s this is like less than 1k words💔

p.p.s look at my fine ass husband ahhh

The crowd was deafening. Lightsticks glowed like stars across the stadium, synchronized with the beat of the next opening track, "Hold My Hand". Fans chanted, screamed, cried—waves of love crashing over the stage.

Backstage, Jisung’s heart pounded in time with the music. He was used to it by now—the adrenaline, the anticipation, the thrill—but tonight, he couldn’t shake a feeling. A buzzing in his chest that wasn’t just the concert high. Something else.

“Han, you good?” Changbin asked, handing him a towel.

“Yeah. Just... feel weirdly nervous.”

“You’re always nervous suddenly right before a songs about to start,” Seungmin said with a knowing smirk. “You’re not slick.”

Jisung rolled his eyes and laughed. But it wasn’t that. Not really.

❀⊱┄┄┄┄⊰❀

You’d never seen anything like this. Thousands of fans chanting in unison, energy thick in the air, the floor vibrating under your shoes. You had your hoodie up, lowkey as possible—Bang Chan had helped sneak you in through the back earlier.

And now, here you were, dead center in the crowd, lightstick in hand, about to watch Jisung live for the very first time.

He didn’t know you were here. You’d told him you couldn’t come. Told him you had school. Told him you were cheering from home. Lied through your teeth so you could fly out and plan this with Chan. And now…

The lights dropped.

Jisung’s solo was starting.

He jogged onto stage, mic in hand, smile wide and full of fire, hair slightly damp from earlier sets. The crowd exploded. You swore your heart stopped.

You screamed louder than you ever had in your life.

And for a moment—just a moment—his eyes scanned the crowd.

You were sure he wouldn’t spot you. But then his head tilted, Brows furrowed, Squinted.

Double take.

And then, in the middle of his verse, his voice faltered. Barely a fraction of a beat, but enough to notice if you really knew him. His lips parted slightly, eyes wide.

You waved your lightstick harder.

His jaw dropped. He almost missed his next line.

❀⊱┄┄┄┄⊰❀

After the show, Jisung practically sprinted offstage, towel around his neck, still half in disbelief.

Chan met him by the hallway.

“Where is sh—?”

“She’s waiting in your dressing room,” Chan grinned. “Don’t say I never did anything for you.”

Jisung didn’t even reply—he bolted.

You were sitting on the couch, chewing on your bottom lip when the door flew open.

Jisung barreled in like a kid on Christmas morning.

“YOU’RE HERE?!”

You stood just in time for him to scoop you up in the tightest, giddiest hug of your life. His arms wrapped around your waist, spinning you a little off your feet. You laughed into his shoulder.

“I wanted to surprise you.”

“More like wanted to kill me,” He pulled back just enough to look at you, eyes glossy with shock and adoration. “You said you couldn’t come!”

“I lied.”

“Do it again.”

“Huh?”

“Lie again. Surprise me every day. Forever.”

You laughed, and he kissed your forehead, still holding you like you’d disappear.

“I missed you,” he said, nose brushing yours. “And now you’re here. Like here here.”

“I wouldn’t miss your concert for the world, Jisung.”

“You’re insane. But you’re my insane.”

He leaned in and kissed you—soft and smiling—and whispered, “Best. Surprise. Ever.”

“You’re insane. But you’re my insane.”

His mouth pressed to yours again, more grounded this time. Less surprise, more hunger. The kind of kiss that made your knees buckle a little, that made you fist the back of his concert jacket like it was the only thing keeping you upright.

“I missed you,” he whispered, hands roaming under the hem of your hoodie, fingertips skimming the skin of your lower back. “You don’t even know how bad.”

“I have a guess,” you murmured against his lips.

“Oh yeah?”

“Mhm.” You slid your hands beneath his shirt, palm pressed flat to his sweat-warmed stomach. “Pretty sure someone left me a bunch of dirty voice notes the other night.” He chuckled lowly, about to lean in for another kiss.

"We're still on a schedule, and at a concert. Get dressed and come out." Chan shouted from the other side of the door. You sighed heavily as he pulled away from your body.

"Sorry, baby. Tonight?" He asked, eyes full of hope.

"Of course," you sneak in one more kiss before opening the door to return to the concert. only difference is, this time, you watched the love of your life front and center.

A/N: First skz post on here lmk what you think! ik it was really short but it's kind rushed sorry honey💔

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melwnst · 2 days ago

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────── ⋆⋅☆ LIFE’S WAY, SAM WINCHESTER

⭑.ᐟ needed to post something because I feel bad for deserting this app so here a cute-ish little something I just wrote:) please interact and send requests if u have any!

word count. 470

supernatural masterlist/full masterlist

──────────୨ৎ──────────

Life is quiet.

The street sounds outside of the motel are blocked off by yours and Sam’s breathing.

Your head rests on his chest along with your hands. His are around you like he’s afraid to let you go, because he doesn’t want you to disappear.

He wonders if you’re even real.

His fingers trace patterns on the cold skin of your hips left bare.

Sam stares at the ceiling, his mind full of thoughts,fears and questions.

Your eyes are closed, not to sleep- but to concentrate on the beat of his heart pumping against his chest to calm your own.

Hunts are always draining.

At this point you’re not sure where Dean is- you just know his room next door has been left untouched since he showered and left.

He’s the only one to do that. Have the strength to go out after a hunt instead of rotting in bed like you and Sam do.

Both of you use this time to resource, rest, and hold on to each other like your lives depend on it because frankly- that’s kinda how it is- especially after hunts that prove to you that you could die right then and there. You could be taken out within seconds and there’s nothing anybody could do about it.

Unless maybe you make a deal for the other.

Which Sam would do in a heartbeat- and so would you.

It’s an unspoken rule though. He knows you’d kill him if he did that for you- and he’d probably hate you forever if you did it for him.

That’s where his mind wanders.

What if you’d died hours before?

What if you die on the next hunt? Or he does?

Did you get enough time together?

Do you know how many people he’d kill for you including himself?

You do.

But you wonder the same.

So as you lay there, calming down from the high, the adrenaline, the few scares the hunt gave you- you take it all in.

You don’t have to talk.

You hold each other, you breathe him in, watch his figure closely the moment he decides to close his eyes trying to draw a perfect imagine of him in your mind so he’s painted behind your eyelids so if something happens to him, you’ll still see him even with your eyes closed.

Sam dreams of you.

He dreams of the live you could have if only you could get out of this.

He thinks it might happen one day-when you both don’t depend on helping people so much, or when you finally feel the courage to tell Dean that’s him, and not either of you.

It may be your life now, but it doesn’t have to be forever.

As long as you’re together, you’ll adapt.

That’s life with Sam. The meaning of it anyway.

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

taglist: @tinas111 @blossomingorchids @bluemerakis @that-stanford-girlie @mostlymarvelgirl @l0v33-rey @sunnyteume @bohoooitsme @beelzebzb (comment to be added!🤍)

#imagine #fanfic #supernatural #dean winchester #sam winchester #dean winchester x reader #sam winchester x y/n #dean x reader #sam winchester x female reader #sam winchester x reader #sam winchester x you #sam winchester fluff #sam x reader #sam winchester headcanon #sam winchester fic #sam winchester fanfiction #sam and dean

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rainrot4me · 22 hours ago

Note

Hi! How are you? I love the new icon, it gives your profile a very personal and eye-catching touch. 🫶 If you don't mind, I was wondering which creepy person you think would become obsessed with a victim who managed to escape or survive one of their attacks? Your post about the victim defending themselves really caught my attention, and it left me with that question. 😔 I love your posts, you heal the creepy-obsessed girl inside me and I love your interpretation of them too ♡⁠♡

Thank you so so much!!! You’re too kind!!

── .✦

✦ . jeff the killer

The more you fight, the more he feels. If someone escapes Jeff? Hits him, bleeds him, survives him? Oh, he’s hooked. Not just because of the thrill—it’s that you stood toe-to-toe with him and lived. You made him feel alive.

“You scratched me,” he mutters later, tracing the scar on his cheek. “No one does that. No one gets away.”

He starts dreaming about you. Not killing you. Finding you again. Watching you from the dark with a grin that stretches ear to ear.

“You made this fun. Don’t disappear on me now.”

✦ . ticci toby

Doesn’t fully understand why it haunts him. Why he dreams about the look in your eyes. Why the memory of you fighting back lingers.

“They were suppo-supposed to die. Why didn’t they just die?”

But something about your will sticks with him. He doesn’t talk about it. He just… wanders a little too far off trail on missions. Takes long detours. Always scanning. Searching. Hoping. And if he ever finds you again?

“I don’t know why I let you go,” he says softly. “But I’m not doi-doing it again.”

✦ . eyeless jack

He doesn’t typically get sentimental. But if a victim survives—especially if they do so smartly—it stays in his head like a riddle he can’t solve.

“They anticipated me. Adapted. That’s… rare.”

He might even respect it. Admire the intelligence. It plants a slow, creeping obsession—not romantic, at first. Just fixation.

But if he sees your name again? If he senses your blood in the air?

“You survived once,” he murmurs, mask lifting slightly. “Do you think you’ll do it again?”

✦ . masky (tim wright)

Tim’s not the type to romanticize survival. But if someone gets away from him? If they make him bleed? It gnaws at him like rot.

“That shouldn’t have happened.”

He starts treating it like unfinished business—but it twists. He watches old footage, rewinds moments of your fight. It becomes about more than closure. It’s about you.

“You’re not supposed to haunt me,” he mutters. “You’re supposed to be dead.”

And yet he finds himself looking for you. Maybe not to kill. Maybe to understand.

✦ . hoodie (brian thomas)

Brian will never say your name out loud again, but he remembers you. Every second of the encounter. The blood. The breathless escape.

He saves the footage. Replays it. Not out of malice—out of fascination. Out of a need he doesn’t fully comprehend.

You were clever. Brave. Beautiful in the way you refused to die.

He tracks you for weeks in silence. Never approaching. Just… watching.

“One day,” he thinks, “you’ll stop running. And you’ll realize you were always meant to belong to me.”

✦ . kate the chaser

You left a scar on her—literal or not. And she hates that. But she also lives for it.

“You shouldn’t have gotten away. But god… it was fun watching you try.”

Kate becomes obsessed with the idea of “finishing it”—but her fantasies start shifting. Less about the kill. More about pinning you down.

She sharpens her knives with your name on her breath.

“One day, sweetheart,” she grins, “I’ll catch you again. And I won’t let go.”

✦ . ben drowned

You glitched his system. You ruined the script. You did something unexpected, and now he’s spiraling about it.

“They should’ve died. They were supposed to hit the Game Over screen.”

He starts leaving coded messages in your devices. Flickering lights. Glitched dreams. He doesn’t know if he wants to punish you or kiss you.

“Come back,” he whispers into the static. “I’m not done playing.”

✦ . clockwork

She hates when people get in her head, and you did.

She won’t chase you down—not unless ordered—but she’ll remember every breath, every swing of your weapon, the flash of fear that somehow didn’t break you.

“You had a death sentence and still fought like hell.”

It lingers. She dreams about it sometimes. If she sees you again?

“You know what I am,” she’d say, standing over you. “But I want to know who you are.”

✦ . laughing jack

You were funny. Not in the haha way. In the “you made him feel again” way.

“You screamed like all the others. But your eyes?” He licks his lips. “Your eyes said no.”

You made him laugh in a way that hurt. He wants more. Wants to peel you open and see what made you survive.

“It’s a magic trick, darling! You vanished right out of my act!”

He’s obsessed. Playfully. Madly. Dangerously.

✦ . slenderman

He doesn’t often care who lives or dies. But if someone resists him—if they escape his influence, deny his pull—it leaves a mark on his ancient mind.

“An anomaly,” he muses. “An unclaimed thread.”

He might not pursue you. But he will remember you. You will dream of the forest. Of whispers. Of static. And if he does come for you again…

“You’ve been running long enough.”

꩜ .ᐟ

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fell-e · 2 days ago

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June 19th

Happy Birthday to me

I KNOW my birthday was already a few days ago, but the reasons for this delay and the lack of posts in general will be explained in the tags. Feel free to skip it tho!

This entire post is for the (at most: seven) Fayrouz fans whom I've promised to release "canon" lore of😭

Press read more for Fayrouz lore!

Before I infodump on my Turquoise lore, just want to let yall know that Fayrouz has two canons,

Turquoise AU (her actual canon storyline, i'd say)

and NRC AU (game adjacent au which i only made bc i wanted her to interact with the other characters).

Turquoise AU was based on a small animatic concept I made when I i finished Book 4 (around 3 years ago) where I wanted to give Jamil a cute shy girlfriend. Thatse it.... (p.s. i made a small ErosEpel AU and i might revive that too)

This animatic was heavily based on themes and symbolisms, like Turquoise Sky, Scalding Hot Sun, Golden Cage, etc, instead of actual Disney related stuff. And without that context Fayrouz being twisted from the sky wouldn't really make sense😭

In Turquoise AU, Fayrouz is a magicless, lowly servant. I haven't decided if Fayrouz will have parents yet, but even if she does, they're very emotionally abusive. Her perception of herself as disposable and more worthless than a grain of sand is what's relevant here, so either she adopts that mentality from the other servants or from her own parents.

One day, during a party, Fayrouz sees someone pour some suspicious liquid into someone's drink. Before the owner could drink it, she slapped it out of his hand. The person being Kalim. He asks her why she did that, and she tells him. A person put something inside his drink. The crowd erupts into chaos and they're both dragged away before they could say another word (Fayrouz for interrogation, and Kalim for protection)

Kalim (in my barely put together AU) is lowkey kinda lonely?? He has Jamil, sure. His siblings too. But after the first assassination attempt, he was forbidden from interacting with the other servants. even some of his own siblings. He's determined to befriend Fayrouz, because, in his mind, she's *safe*. She saved his life. That's enough proof for him, and apparently for his father, who allowed him to befriend Fayrouz (or try to)

Shenanigans ensue, where Kalim tries to interact with Fayrouz while she tries her best to avoid him. (She's intimidated by the Asim's. Doesn't help that an older servant told her lies that Kalim's dad beheads people to scare her). Kalim defeatedly asks Jamil for help, and talks to Fayrouz in his favour. This marks the prolouge? beginning? I guess? They all become friends.

I haven't really fleshed out the story after this, but I'll note some important info:

• Fayrouz's self esteem is absolutely dogshit. I'm talking down the shitters abysmal. Self-loathing to the absolute MAX. I say this because this is a crucial flaw of Fayrouz which leads to some crucial plot points.

• Fayrouz is immediately enamoured by Jamil. Fayrouz sees herself as clumsy, talentless and pathetic, so seeing someone her age be so talented was enough to envelop her in pure admiration (and jealousy, but it doesn't last long). She asks him to teach her everything he knows. And so, growing up, they did everything together. (I'll make comics exploring their relationship in the future if im able to🫠🫠🫠)

• An important plot point in this AU is Fayrouz going missing. Two years before Jamil and Kalim enter NRC, Fayrouz suddenly disappears.

• Im not sure how exactly they'd meet, but Kalim's relative Jasmir (canon relative. i checked. Not the name though, i made that up) forms a sibling-like bond with Fayrouz. Growing up as an only child, he craved for companionship, and was jealous of Kalim always being surrounded by younger siblings. He found the companionship he wanted in Fayrouz.

• Jasmir has a servant twisted from Rajah called Khan(placeholder name). He isn't important to the plot i just love him.

(Placeholder designs for now, but i love them💕)

#SMALL RANTING IN TAGS #its genuinely been so hectic these past few days that i wasn't able to even fully enjoy my own birthday #let alone make art for it #which is lowkey kinda depressing because ive looked forward to my 19th birthday (my golden birthday) ever since last year.#i promised myself to make comics; posts; etc explaining my turquoise au because the lore is pretty complex LOL #but my cat; layla; had gotten sepsis. and her condition has gotten so bad that the doctors had suggested putting her down so that she #wouldn't suffer any further.#sorry for the downer of a news!! i genuinely am not asking for pity #i dont even know why i am typing this. maybe i just want to rant because ive been overwhelmed with so many emotions #layla only seems to be getting worse and worse; and the threat of death is still looming above her #but the only thing i can do is hope #felle draws〔𖧶〕#twst #twisted wonderland #twst fanart #twst oc #twst mc #twst yuu #twst yuusona #yuusona #fayrouz〔⛈〕#turquoise〔☁︎〕#fayjami〔𓆃〕#jamil viper #kalim al asim #jamiyuu #scarabia #twst kalim #twst jamil

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snoopledrooplecheesedoodle · 9 hours ago

Text

YANDERE Mermaid! Robin and YANDERE Mermaid! Sunday

Hey ya'll I haven't been posting for a variety of reasons and the main one being tumblr not letting me save my work for a fic I had been working on for a while, so why not post something about the halovian siblings.

TW: racism towards humanity, gore, manipulation

Robin🕊️🎶:

Robin is a sweet mermaid beloved under the sea for her kind nature and beautiful voice.

Being curious by nature Robin often dreamed about visiting the land and performing for humans, much to her brother's displeasure.

Despite her brother's constant warnings about the cruel nature of humanity, Robin was driven to bring kindness and harmony with her voice.

One day Robin became a little too curious compelling her to explore the surface of the water. This led to the poor girl being pierced with a harpoon on the neck. Driven by fear and pain Robin swam as fast as she could before losing conscious.

Robin woke up to a touch lighter than feathers before feeling a stinging pain. Blue eyes lock into (e/c) ones in fear, had this other human come to harm her? Robin noticed the worried look on the human's face as the continued dabbing the sore wound with a towel.

The human cleaned and bandaged her wound, speaking calmly in a language she could not understand. She smooches the kind human on the cheek before returning to the sea giddy off the kindness shown.

Robin lies to her brother for the first time in her life about her would, claiming it was due to a brief encounter with a shark. Sunday shows concern for his sister's well being and orders some members to treat the girl's wounds.

After that day Robin would swim to the surface in the direction she swam when attacked. It took her a couple of days before she found the exact spot. The mermaid frowned when she couldn't spot the human from before, she wanted to thank them for helping her.

Robin sang to herself to cheer up only to hear the noise of clapping. It was the human! Overjoyed, Robin approached chirruping happily. While she couldn't understand a word her human said, her human was oh so kind. They drew pictures with a stick in the sand to communicate. How clever they were!

Robin saw the sunset and realized she would be in big trouble with the pod and her brother. She looks remorsefully back at the human, making a silent promise to return. The mermaid was just too happy to have made a friend outside her pod.

Robin slipped away from her pod every chance she could get to search for you. While she wasn't always successful, you came more frequently. You fussed over her wounds and began teaching her your strange language.

"(Y/N)" you point to yourself when you said that. "(Y/N)" Robin repeats pointing to herself. A hearty laugh spills from your lips as you shake your head. "(Y/N)" you once again point to yourself, causing Robin to tilt her head. "(Y/N)?" Robin questions while pointing to you. You nod and jump around with happiness. "(Y/N)!" Robin shouts excitedly while pointing at you, before pointing towards herself. "Robin" You smile gently and point towards the mermaid. "Robin." She never felt so happy hearing someone say her name.

Robin finds herself blushing at the thought of being around you, singing to you, and you attempting poorly to sing back. She didn't realize she was attempting to court you until she asks her brother.

"Brother" A gentle and ethereal looking woman approaches a serene and commanding figure that was her brother. Golden eyes crinkle when hearing her voice. "Robin, I'm surprised you made time to see me." Robin blushes as she didn't realize how little she interacted with her brother recently. "I have a question that has been weighing heavy on my heart." Blue eyes gazing shyly at the aquamarine floor of the pod's glorious complex. "If I was friends with someone, what gifts should I get them?" Sunday's amused expression disappears as a skeptical frown appears. "Robin don't you think gift giving is too intimate for a friendship?" Blue eyes widen at her brother's words. "It is?" Sunday chuckles and ruffles her long white locks with a clawed hand. "Yes Robin it is a method of courting for our kind, which is why I highly discourage this action."

Robin started finding any information in the pod's library on merfolk courting rituals and forbidden books about humans. Robin particular liked the love story between a mermaid and a prince (she didn't like the ending though).

The mermaid receives legs in exchange for her voice from a sea witch. Robin places a hand on her throat as her voice was very important to her. However a seed of doubt began growing in the mermaid's mind.

The mermaid forgot all about rehearsing for an upcoming festival as she had too much fun spending time with you. When she returns in a good mood Robin is met with an angry Sunday. Robin tries to cover up the reason for her absence but Sunday finds a blue plastic hair clip of a bird in his sister's hair. Robin is sent to her room and barred from leaving the pod complex.

Robin sobbed in misery of her gilded cage, why was she wrong for wanting freedom? Slamming her fists against the door dislodged a certain scroll. The story of the mermaid and the human, more specifically the deal with the sea witch.

Robin floats timidly into the gaping maw of the cave of the sea witch Bonajade. Inside a beautiful woman is mixing ingredients in a cauldron before turning to face Robin. The sea snake mer purrs as she circles Robin. "Hello little angelfish, what brings you to my lair~?" Robin while frightened steels herself. "I heard that sea witches can give merfolk legs." Jade pauses before smirking. "Ah has our little singer fallen in love with a human?" Robin blushes and looks away, much to the purple haired woman's amusement. "I can give you legs in exchange of something of equal values, perhaps that famous voice of yours." Robin pales but remembers her current predicament. "Only if you also give me the ability to understand human language." The sea witch laughs huskily before sticking out a clawed hand. "You have a deal."

Robin arrives to shore completely nude and with a new set of legs. Attempting to stand was terrible as every step felt like stepping on a sea urchin. However you show up like a night in shining armor and blush at the sight of the naked Robin. Robin thinks it's cute the way you take off your jacket and give it to her, while guiding her to the lighthouse you live in.

"How did you end up like this?" You ask as you hand Robin some of your spare clothes praying it will fit decently. You had connected the dots much to Robin's joy and even better was understanding your gentle voice. The former mermaid goes to open her mouth to reply but nothing comes out. How could she have forgotten the price she paid?

"It's okay, you don't have to say anything. Wait here while I find you something to eat." As you left she couldn't care what price she paid. You were worth it

Yandere Aspects:

Robin is a Manipulative, Slightly Delusional, Dependent, and Clingy Yandere.

Wherever you go you have your cute yet graceful housemate following you attached to your arm. Personal space is a thing of the past as she insists she's scared in a new place. So scared you have to share a bed because of her nightmares.

Cuddles, hugs, kisses are what Robin adores and loves to shower you with them. Can use difference in customs as an excuse to squish your body against hers. Pouts when you refuse her and melts if you initiate any level of affection.

Delusional in the sense that she believes you two are destined to be together. Not delusional enough to believe her thoughts and desires are completely pure, however she begins courting you. Seashell necklaces, drawings, and sweet poems in a broken version of your native tongue. When you accept she believes you're aware of her intentions and searches for a way to return to the sea with you.

Ignores any admirers she receives as the gorgeous yet shy roommate of yours. You care for her better than any other human and their shallow attention towards her. Willing to cry wolf if they annoy her to much.

Lets you have friends and hopes to endear herself to them, after all you like them so they aren't horrible people. Love interests however...Robin doesn't allow that. When she sees a person flirt with you casually at the bar you both were at, she snaps. Her beloved mate was off limits, Robin musters up tears and clings to you shaking. When you rush her home, she decides that she will be the only one you see until you're officially hers.

Queen of guilt trips and will use her lack of a voice and perceived frailty against you. Need to go to work? Work from home, Robin needs your support with her trauma. Hangout with friends? Robin is frightened of being alone and being attacked while voiceless. A date with a cutie? Oops, the knife slipped and she needs your help.

Dependent on your love and attentiveness, Robin is an addict. She purposely acts like pain and weariness is worse so you coddle her. Normally she would hate this babying from her brother or a pod member, but you're different. She could lay in your arms for an eternity and still want more.

She doesn't care how but she wants to be tied together be it marriage or something else. She doesn't care whether she returns with you and her voice to the sea or stays on land (she would prefer to speak to you).

All of her tendencies are worse when she and Sunday share. While she may love her brother she will encourage his worse traits so you depend on her.

Sunday🕊️⛓️

Ever devoted head of the Oak Pod known for his intelligence and leadership skills.

Ever since their mother was killed by humans, Sunday swore to protect Robin and his pod from those monsters. He has shed the blood of many humans and will continue to coax them only to drown them.

Robin's fascination with humanity concerned Sunday as no matter what he said or demonstrated Robin was convinced they were worth saving. Sunday made sure Robin was distracted by singing lessons and concerts to prevent her from surfacing.

Sunday felt a part of him break seeing Robin return to the pod injured, fearing the worst he held her close. His sister claimed it was a shark but Sunday was skeptical. However, he allowed this to pass while commanding more pod members to keep an eye on his sister. Perhaps a few more performances will keep his sister safe.

The merman grew more frustrated and concerned with his sister disappearing for long periods of the day. When he asked she simply giggled and discussed needing to prepare for a concert. Sunday knew she was visiting the surface to watch humans, but he didn't know she was actively talking to one.

"Brother" Sunday perks up and the sound of his sister's mellifluous voice. There was Robin his beautiful, delicate sister, the reason he used his "gift". "Robin, I'm surprised you made time to see me." A bright pink blush covers the mermaids face. Sunday chuckles internally at his sister's flustered expression, it was a shame they couldn't spend so much time together."I have a question that has been weighing heavy on my heart." As any good sibling, Sunday nods to hear what troubled his twin sister."If I was friends with someone, what gifts should I get them?" Golden eyes darken as a storm swirls beneath the surface. Everything made sense now with the disappearances and her dream like state. Someone has stolen his innocent sister's heart, something Sunday did not approve of. Composing himself the merman responds as gently as possible. "Robin don't you think gift giving is too intimate for a friendship?" Robin looks confused and tilts her head. "It is?" Robin and her innocence were quite charming to Sunday. Ruffling his sister's hair fondly the merman smiles"Yes Robin it is a method of courting for our kind, which is why I highly discourage this action." He hoped she would understand.

Rage filled Sunday's body when the star of the Charmony Festival wasn't there. How could his sister abandon her duty? Water seemed to boil around the merman as other pod members attempt to pacify him. Then he sees the blue plastic bird in Robin's hair.

Sunday stands above a quivering Robin with blazing golden eyes. She abandoned her duties to the pod to see a human of all things. Had his years of protection meant nothing to her? Not caring about Robin's cry of pain, Sunday rips the bird out of her long white locks. If she likes birds so much then why not treat her like a canary? He ordered pod members to lock his sister away. As Robin is dragged away sobbing, Sunday grips his hair harshly. He had been so careful, planned meticulously, done everything Gopher said to do. No, it's this human's fault for seducing his sister, they may have even caused the wound on her neck. Ichor colored eyes fill with a sinister and calculating gaze. He had some work to do.

Sunday never told Robin but he learned to practice magic to begin surveilling the pod. Now he will use this plastic abomination to find the cause of his unrest. In his room Sunday lays on his bed and begins chanting while holding the bird in his hand. Then he saw you and your deceptively kind gaze as you cooed at a local seal who seemed comfortable with you. It disgusted him to see a human pretend to care about the life around them with how they left the planet.

Sunday able to memorize your face and name as unlike his sister he was well versed in human tongues. He planned to lure you into the water and save his sister from your wicked grasp. All he needed was for you to talk to him and then he can bring order once more.

Sunday surfaces and decides to do further investigation to find your weak spots. What he didn't expect to see was his sister washed upon the shore with...human legs. Sunday feels his heart crack as he knows the only way she could have received those legs is by visiting someone with powerful magic. Powerful magic like Lady Bonajade.

The purple haired witch knew that the head of the Oak Pod was coming before he pinned her by her throat. "What did you do to my sister?!" Jade scoffed before remarking calmly "Your sister approached me with the deal, all for love. Very romantic isn't it?" Jade doesn't flinch as further pressure is applied to her neck. "Change her back." The harsh demand was met with cold laughter. "Why would I do that? I gave the angelfish the ability to be with her human in exchange for her voice. I could have added another clause but I didn't." Sunday saw red before sighing. "Fine Lady Bonajade if you won't do as I ask, how about a trade." Slit pupils dilate as the sea witch smirks. "Go on~"

The trade was simple a life for a life, the blood of a human for his own blood (his sister). Jade demanded you for his sister to return to normal. Holding the sharp fang like knife, Sunday was prepared to kill. All he needed to do was get you in the water.

Like the naive creature you were you feel for his gentle words and were easy to influence. Like a worm on a hook, Sunday had you right where he wanted you. The glazed over look in you eyes and dopey expression made the merman scowl. This was his threat? The one who seduced his sister? Really pathetic. Raising the knife above his head he stabs you in the chest. You wake up from the trance and grapple for the knife, your blood filling the water around you. Sunday was far stronger and tired of the resistance. Your head was forced under the waves and yet you fought hard. When you began slowing he eased a bit. Only to feel something sharp hit him.

From the shore Robin threw sharp shells and rocks with a fiery look in her gentle eyes. Why would she hurt him? What made her choose a human over him? A pain in his side is felt as the human drenched but very alive had stabbed him with his own knife.

Sunday expected to die but you spared him, even tending to his wounds. When he asked why you answered that Robin didn't want him to die. Which lead to him being tended to while unconscious, when the human could have gotten revenge.

Sunday sized up the human who survived his attack. Maybe he can get another opening if he plays nice.

Yandere Aspects:

Sunday is a Manipulative, Possessive, Semi Sadistic, Paranoid, and Worshiper Yandere

While it may take a while for Sunday to fall for you when he does, it'll be too late to escape. Having experienced your kindness and warmth much like Robin, he's hooked. Before this Sunday is Sadistic mostly towards you.

He's got trauma surrounding humans so be prepared to be attacked if you aren't careful. While he seems diplomatic and calm, Sunday is bent on getting his sister back. However as time goes on Sunday sees you as an exception, a person unfortunate enough to be born a human. Don't worry as the merman forgives you (what the heck Sunday).

Returns everyday claiming it's only to see his sister but he still starts conversations with you. What's your family like? Favorite food? Favorite color? Hobbies? Which was supposed to be weaponized against you but Sunday becomes interested in you as a person. Even opening up about his love of classical music (only good thing humans did).

Sunday has a way with words and can see you are suffering under human society (taxes, inflation, the normal stuff). Wouldn't it be easier to live in the sea where you won't have to deal with any of these things again? Sunday promises you'll be taken care of and treated well. You laugh at his "joke" but slowly his words worm their way into your mind. You confide in Sunday more which fuels his desire to protect you from the world around you.

Possessive of both you and his sister (platonically for Robin) as in his path the merman knows things are easily lost. If you go swimming in the water with him, Sunday will circle you like a shark. Sharp claws ghosting gently over you shoulder and sharp teeth grazing your nape. He longs to mark you for the world to see that you are his chosen human.

There is a high chance Sunday is willing to share with his sister since she loved you first. However all of you are going back to the sea where he can watch over you. Say goodbye to life on land as his magic practice pays off giving you a beautiful new tail. However he could also just kidnap you and leave Robin, it's just less likely to happen.

When you leave for work, Sunday is paranoid. What if something happens to you and Robin on land? What if you get hurt or taken advantage off? Sunday can taste metal of the blood where his teeth sunk into his lips. He will have to deal with the issue soon enough.

Is less clingy than Robin but still desires you physical affection. If you get him in the right mood Sunday will practically worship the ground you walk on. His worshiper side comes out more when you are no longer human. Pet his hair and he melts like putty in your hands.

A giant tidal wave sweeps the sleepy sea side town into the water and you into his arms. Bonajade wanted blood so he'll give her the whole village of drowned souls. All for his sister and you to turn into merfolk.

Is still willing to psychologically torment you to get you to behave. Will bring an innocent human down to the pod and make you watch as they are ripped open. With blood staining his pale scales and skin his golden eyes taunt you. It was your fault so just behave and it won't happen again.

The Twins ⛓️🕊️🎶

Both are able to share easily due to their strong bond and desire to keep you safe.

Prepared to have your every move watched and to rarely leave the pod compound. You have everything you want here so why leave?

Robin will sing for you to cheer you up while Sunday will be more gentle like offering you the best catch and giving you more space. However they will lose their patience if you insist on continuing to sulk.

Sunday gets first pick of your time since he will be gone most of the day due to being the head of the pod. He just wants to rest his head on your neck and cuddle, you won't be moving.

Robin enjoys shopping and taking you on cute dates. You won't have an easy time escaping due to the paparazzi swarming you two. Robin takes advantage of the cameras to cuddle close and smile, while you are forced to give her what she wants.

Sunday will do most of the punishing which is more emotional manipulation and psychological torture. Locked in small dark rooms, watching humans and some pod members be dismembered before you. So much guilt tripping from both sides. Don't you see what they feel for you? Why won't you let them love you?

Robin is willing to take advantage of your fragile state and play the hero. Sunday knows about this and is fine with it. If you depend on his sister emotionally you won't leave. After all that's the goal to keep and care for you, at any cost.

Posting now as I don't have the energy to edit at the moment. Enjoy!

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