#beach resort thread

[unshackled-instinct]

@demon-blood-youths

All Iori Yagami wanted to do was relax a little and take some time off for himself

...But no, he had to be a glorified babysitter for the duration of the vacation.

And that was enough to irritate him.

#starter #demon-blood-youths #crack #beach resort thread #Iori Yagami's Adventures in Babysitting

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[voidpetrova]

authority — rafe cameron x reader

☄. *. ⋆ content warning(s) & genre: swearing, objectification, mild aggression, very intimate and explicit sexual content described, choking, degradation — smut

˚♡ ｡˚ synopsis: he can't help the fact that he's obsessive, practically delusional as much as sociopathic, but you love him. no matter how controlling he could be.

✧.*

control, it's extraordinary the tactics people employ to obtain it. some rely on deception, while others engage in outright trickery. then there are those who resort to extortion. a good amount of people? fear, it's an emotion they feed off. why do we fight so hard for control? because, we know to lose it, is to put our faith in the hands of others. and what could be more dangerous?

the coastal winds whispered secrets as the sun dipped below the horizon, casting a warm glow over the outer banks. in the quaint beach town, where the search for gold led to twists of fate, another tale unfolded—unseen, yet pulsating with the undercurrents of possessiveness and obsession. for as long as you could remember, you've been caught in the crossfire of rafe cameron and his turbulent emotions. it wasn't something you had a particular problem with, you never made a big deal about it. sure, it ticked you off, there was no denying that, but you knew fighting it off was no use.

whether it was a skirt that was just a few inches too high, or a top that revealed a bit more cleavage than anticipated, not much was necessary to send rafe off the rails. it was apart of him, consuming him more with every upcoming day. of course, he'd have to face the consequences of his actions later on, and he always felt bad. sometimes, his aggression would be laid on a tad too thick, unnecessarily hurtful comments leaving you in tears. he would always make up for it, wrapping you in his arms, consoling you and kissing your tears away. however, in the heat of the moment, if his buttons were pushed just right, there was no going back.

on this particular night, it was just a few minutes past midnight. you had spent the past half hour preparing for a girls' night out with rafe's sister. you were already late as is, listening to the tv blaring as your boyfriend watched a movie on the living room, carefully staying focused as your phone lit up with messages from sarah. you slipped into a short, stylish dress that hugged your curves, unable to shake the feeling that every thread of fabric would invoke a storm within rafe. this time, you knew exactly what you were doing, you knew exactly which cards would be dealt, and you couldn't wait.

the air hummed with tension as you descended the staircase of the mansion, the soft click of your heels echoing through the grand foyer. you knew the minute silence struck, with the movie coming to a pause, that you would soon be in for it. you took a final step down thr stairs, making your way into the living room, your stomach in knots.

rafe was spread out on the couch, head resting on his elbow with his legs kicked back. at first he didn't turn around, the silence in the room practically suffocating. he knew you were going out, you had informed him earlier, but he wasn't particullarly fond of your decision. after that, you had spoken a total of two sentences, perhaps. when the scent of your strong perfume filled his nostrils, he couldn't help but finally turn around. his eyes locking onto you with an intensity that mirrored the swirling tempests off the carolina coast.

his voice, laced with a certain edge to it, sliced through the silent atmosphere. “where do you think you're going, looking like that?” the moonlight seeping through the cracks of the windows played on his features, emphasizing the dark intensity in his eyes. it was as if the mere sight of you in that dress threatened the fragile equilibrium he desperately clung to.

you feigned a sigh, your gaze unwavering. “told you i was going out, didn't i?” you knew you were going to play your part, but you knew rafe could only handle small doses of your attitude. his eyebrows perked up at your tone. “it's a nice dress, isn't it?” his jaw tightened, involuntarily, in fact, eyes low and heavy as they scanned you from head to toe.

there was no denying it, it was a gorgeous dress. a black one, clinging onto your body thanks to the straps on your shoulders. it showed more cleavage that necessary, hugging every crevice and curve perfectly. the way it stopped just inches above your knees only added insult to injury. he hated it, he hated how good you looked.

he cleared his throat, anger bubbling in the pits of his stomach. blood coursed through his veins, he could practically feel it, heat rushing towards every part of his body possible. he adjusted his position, kicking his feet off the couch in order to face you, as if serious. “you think 'm gonna let you go out lookin' like that?” he practically taunted, tone laced with venom. you shrugged, sliding one leg behind the other as if you were truly innocent, but you knew exactly what you were doing.

“well, my drinks don't pay for themselves, don't you know?” control was slipping through his fingers like sand, and the storm within him brewed. even the tranquil beauty of the outer banks couldn't make up for the storm of pure shit rafe was more than ready to unveil. “is that so?” he countered, the venom replaced with a low edge that sent a shiver down your spine. he was standing now—the faster your heart would beat, the closer he would come towards you. you could only nod in response in spite of how weak you were in the knees.

he was in front of you in a matter of seconds, the distance of a mere few inches separating you from him. his eyes bore into your frame, admiring how small you were in comparison, how frail you seemed. you met his eyes, as if to challenge him. “let me tell you somethin', sweetheart,” you didn't have time to react, he never gave you time—he wasn't exactly that gracious. before you could make any sudden movements of your own, you found yourself facing the cold exterior of the wall, cheek pressed against the rough surface. the brutal force of rafe's every move held you down, pushing you even deeper into the wall, with one of his hands making its way from your back to your face, wrapping around your jaw, his palm now pressing into your mouth, the weight preventing you from digging your grave more than you already have—you truly thought you would suffocate, eyes widening as his other hand held both of yours, straining and pushing down with a force you knew would leave bruises the morning after.

you were completely at his disposal, and you haven't even started yet. your eyes shot down to your phone, tucked into the side of your panties due to the lack of pockets. your handbag had been an innocent bystander, taking up space on the living room table. rafe lowered his head, tilting yours slightly upward in order to gain access to your ear. “guess you'll have to cancel with sarah,” he practically purred, removing his hand, only for a split second, to turn your phone off. his hand was cool against your flushed skin, fingertips grazing your bare thigh as he snatched your phone from underneath your panties, eager to rid you both of his sister's annoyance. “thought they had a policy against sluts, anyway.”

you scoffed, despite your compromising situation and position. “yeah? you should see how fond they are of me down there.” you knew you'd regret your words the minute they left your mouth, and rafe made sure of it. in a matter of seconds, you were back to facing him. he had let go of your hands, only to wrap his fingers around your throat, turning you around with such force, your back was slammed against the wall. once again, you were forced to meet his gaze, dark eyes boring into yours. for the first time in a long time, you were afraid.

“you must've forgotten who's in charge here,” he laughed, but there wasn't a trace of humor in it. his grip on your throat tightened, as if he knew you'd add fuel to the fire with your response. “must've forgotten that sluts have no place here, let alone a say in what goes.”

it was shameful to admit that his words sent a stroke of heat down your core, it was a disgrace. you felt filthy, his grip tightening with each passing second—it was supposed to teach you a lesson, scare you into listening, but you couldn't help the way it made you feel. it was something he picked up on, you could tell by the slight smirk playing on his lips. “don't even know why i bother with you,” he continued, as if he was doing it on purpose. “you love the attention, don't you? love getting put in your place like a bitch in heat.” you couldn't answer, weakly nodding, unable to stand against the truth. he saw right through you.

his grip loosened, but remained in place. his thumb trailed up your chin, pulling your lower lip down as he smeared your lipstick into your skin. he loved the sight of you, knowing it never took much to make a mess of you, thumb tapping against your lip. your throat was in steady recovery, but you parted your lips, making room for him. he grunted, unable to resist the way your mouth welcomed him so openly, sucking away at his thumb. he pulled back, only for a second, smearing your spit against your dimples, your chin. he loved the way you gave in so easily, letting him to you do whatever crossed his mind.

“such a mess for me, and here i thought you were going out tonight,” he practically purred in your ear, fingers slick with your spit as it travelled down to your panties as he awaited a response. you couldn't help but whimper, the feeling of his wet fingers against your clothed core sending you into tame bliss. he pressed his index finger against your slit, rubbing and silently admiring how wet you were for him. wet was an understatement, every slight touch had you soaking.

“so wet for me,” he groaned, pushing your lace to the side as a fresh wisp of cool air hit your now bare cunt. your back remained pressed against the wall, a single leg sliding upwards, knee digging into his chest to grant him further access. “please, rafe,” you exhaled in anticipation, growing heat making it insufferable for you.

“such attitude just a few minutes ago,” he taunted, but even he had his priorities set straight, more focused on the uncomfortable strain in his pants than your prior retorts. he had his free hand around the back of your neck, pulling you in for a kiss while his other hand worked for him. you couldn't resist him, locking lips eagerly as your fingers pulled his hair ever so gently. he took that as his sign, index finger pushing past your walls before he kicked up a pace of his own.

the moans that left your mouth were delicious as a second finger joined the process. eventually, a third. his lips trailed down your jaw, too eager to stay in one place, before moving down to your collarbone. his hand had started to ache, pace quickening as he fucked you open with his fingers. no matter how many times you had sex—you were like rabbits—under any circumstances, no prep was enough for the size of his dick. every time, no matter how many fingers prepared you for what was coming, it was never enough. the pain was unbearable, the pleasure unmeasurable.

once he knew you were ready, he retracted his fingers despite your protesting whimpers. “don't you worry, baby,” he uttered out frantically, fingers desperately unbuckling his jeans, all too eager to rid himself of his clothes. “'m gonna take good care of you.”

the absolute sight of him had your mouth watering. his hair was slick with sweat, chest heaving as he took himself into his hand, thumb spreading his precum alongside the head, coating it with a thick layer. he spat onto his hand, grunting as he slicked his dick up, jacking it to coat it up evenly. it wasn't enough for him, his hand was never enough. he needed you more than you needed him.

“turn around,” it was a command, not a question, and you were to do as you were told, cheek once again pressed against the wall's rough surface. he sighed as he took in the sight of you, ass bare and back arched for him. “that's my girl.”

he hadn't planned on showing any mercy, he sure wasn't going to. under normal circumstances, he'd have given you at least a few seconds to adjust, but you knew that wasn't the case the minute his tip pushed past your slippery walls. the tip was only in for a split second before the rest of his length accomodated it. you couldn't bite any of your moans back, fingernails scraping the wall in front of you. rafe knew he wouldn't last long, not with the way your pussy was squeezing him, or the way you moaned his name. you engulfed him, swallowing his dick hole, the familiar sensation chipping away at your pride.

he held your hips down as he fucked you with long, deep strokes that made your head spin. “so fuckin' tight, holy shit,” he groaned, hips snapping as he watched the way his dick slid out, just to slide right back in. the entire sensation consumed you—the way you could feel every vein against your walls, alongside his length slamming into your cunt, in and out. you felt him outside as much as you did inside. “so wet for me.” you were practically dripping all over him, your cries bouncing off the walls as his grip dropped to your ass, grabbing onto the meat for leverage before disappearing, only to come back with a harder, rougher smack. he watched the way your ass bounced against his pelvis, turning the prettiest shade of red, as if encouraging him.

in any case, it worked. as if possible, his pase quickened as he arched his own back, allowing him to go as deep as he could, balls bouncing against your ass to accompany your cries of pure nirvana. his heart was in his stomach, he knew he was close. all he wanted to do was fill you up and all you wanted to do was get filled up by him. you loved the way he made you feel, with his tip hitting your sweet spot, sending tears down your cheeks while his shaft filled in the blanks, leaving you filled to the brim with his thick dick.

he never warned you beforehand, he didn't have to. as soon as his thrusts grew sloppy, but remained desperate, you knew he was close. a string of curses passed his lips, and that was all you had to hear in order to brace yourself, giving his dick a final squeeze before his hips began to stutter, cock twitching frantically in the deepest pits of your cunt before he let go. you both cried out, his left hand pulling your hair towards him as he buried himself in as deep as possible, painting your walls with his hot, sticky cum.

you couldn't move, you didn't dare to. he took the first step, dick still buried inside you, it almost pained him. his hot breath tickled the lobe of your ear, provoking you in the best way possible, once more. “sweetheart, you just lost the authority you never had.”

#outer banks #obx #outer banks fanfiction #obx fanfiction #obx smut #outer banks smut #obx x reader #outer banks x reader #rafe cameron #rafe cameron fanfiction #rafe cameron imagine #rafe cameron smut #rafe cameron x reader #rafe smut #rafe cameron x reader smut

[blueicequeen19]

Dirty Hot Pogue Pt. 5

Warnings: cheating, unprotected sex, controlling behavior, insecurities, jealousy, use of toys

Series ML

Your heart beat rapidly in your chest, threatening to burst free from your chest as your boyfriend knocked on the dressing room door again. You shouldn’t be surprised seeing as how much of a control freak he was but you’d been a little distracted with JJ and his cum dripping down your thighs. Since he was the only guy you were having sex with, you didn’t see the point in condoms anymore since you had an IUD.

“Y/N?” Bryce calls through the door, giving it another tap.

“Why are you here, Bryce?” You snap, pulling away from JJ’s prying hands. You bite your lip to keep from moaning as his fingers attempt to get between your legs from his spot on the bench. He was enjoying this. The wicked grin on his face only confirmed it. You wouldn’t put it past him to try and make you have a conversation with your boyfriend while you were stuffed full of his cock.

“I wanted to make sure you actually showed up.” Bryce scoffs. You could picture the dismay on his face without even seeing him. He was ridiculous.

“I’m not a child, Bryce! I’m here so go.” You call back, swatting at JJ’s hands as he pulls you in front of him. You moan softly when his lips wrap around your nipple, gently sucking and licking. Desire pools deep in your belly, your pussy ready for more.

“You better be trying these dresses on out here for something else because I already told you what you’re wearing.” Bryce pounds his fist against the door, making you jerk in JJ’s hold.

“He’s a real piece of work.” JJ whispers so only you can hear, your nipple between his teeth. You thread your fingers through his hair, tugging gently as he palms your ass. You sigh dramatically, your knees starting to feel weak.

“Okay, Bryce! Good-bye!” You shout, shaking your head as you hear him grumble and his footsteps retreat. You hear the shop doorbell ring with his exit and you almost groan in relief.

“No wonder you’re obsessed with me. He’s a fucking prick.”

“JJ!” You hiss, pushing at him as he pulls you into his lap. His lips find yours and all your problems seem to dissolve.

If only it were that easy.

“Midsummers is tomorrow.” You mumble aloud, looking at the ceiling as JJ smokes next to you. A week had gone by since the dressing room incident and you’d resorted to using your parents beach house for.. privacy. Privacy that included fucking on every flat surface in the place. Even including the pool and hot tub.

JJ had marked many things off your sex bucket list.

When you weren’t off pleasing your parents, you were laid up with JJ. You’d never been more content or happy than when you’d started to spend nights together. Waking up in his arms was your own little slice of heaven. Seeing him groggy in the morning or taking showers together or cooking breakfast as he paws at you. It almost felt.. natural. Real.

But you knew it wouldn’t last. Summer would end in six weeks and you’d go back to school and he’d still be here.. with Kiarra.

“What are you thinking about?” JJ’s voice and warm hand on your hip draws your attention, his lips finding your shoulder.

“The end of summer.” You sigh, suddenly on the brink of tears. What would happen? No one would accept the two of you together. Were you even more than sex? Did he love you? Did you love him?

“Don’t think about it right now. Let’s just enjoy each other while we can.” JJ puts his vape down and pulls your body against his under the covers, engulfing you in his warmth. Tears prick your throat and you swallow away the emotion as he kisses your shoulder.

“I know you’re sometimes at the Country Club picking up shifts. Are you going to be there tomorrow?” You ask softly, noting when his body tenses against yours.

“I’d forgotten about that.” JJ sighs, rolling onto his back and staring at the ceiling. “Yea, I’m on the schedule.” His words fill you with dread. Now you knew for certain that you absolutely did not want to go. You did not want to be paraded around like arm candy in front of the town and JJ. It would hurt you to hurt him like that. It wasn’t fair.

“And Kiarra will be there too, I’m sure.” You clip, not missing the way he sighs.

“Her parents will make her. She won’t be there by choice.” JJ says calmly, bringing his weed pen to his lips.

“She’s an adult. So are you.” My anger swells and I see him turn to look at me.

“Says the girl in a fake relationship that her parents forced her into.”

Your jaw clenches as you become unreasonably angry over his response. Maybe he was just telling you the truth that you needed to hear, but all you heard was him defending Kiarra. That he was taking her side. You couldn't help but think maybe their relationship ran deeper than you knew. You'd both jumped into this "situation" without even knowing each other. Now it was less physical in a sense and was stressing you out more than you'd hoped. Now you were thinking about his previous partners. If Kiarra was one of them. You had no right to be mad. No reason to, but you were.

You throw the blanket off and swing your legs off the side of the bed to get up when his warm hand catches your elbow. You glance back over your shoulder, not really looking at him but using your hair as a curtain.

"Don't do that. Don't get jealous and insecure over something that doesn't matter." JJ's words are calm yet stern. Your mind started to wonder now that Kiarra knew about the two of you. Did he confide in her? Did she tell him to cut his losses? Did she tell him how stupid the whole thing was? There was no way she'd be supportive. All of his friends would probably tell him to cut his losses. And that only pissed you off more. You didn't have anyone to talk to about this. It's not like you could confide in Bryce over JJ. Or ask your parents for advice. Or the friends you only have because of your social status.

It took you all of two seconds to realize that JJ Maybank was all you had. The Kook girl who had everything she could ever want, could truly only rely on one person that also happened to be a Pogue. Your anger seems to dissolve as JJ pulls you back under the covers, tucking your body against his. You wanted to hold him and never let him go. You never wanted to leave this bed. You didn't want to go to Midsummers and you sure as shit didn't want to see Bryce or Kiarra.

"Stop thinking." You tilt your head back to look at him, his blue eyes studying you so intently it almost made your heart hurt. JJ saw you.

"I--." You open your mouth but he shushes you, placing a soft kiss to your lips.

"Don't talk. Don't think. Just feel. Stay in this moment with me. None of that other shit matters when we're here together. We can pretend in front of everyone else but not when it's just us." His warm callused hand cups your face, bringing you in for another kiss. You start to feel him growing hard again and you smirk, throwing your leg over his waist and grinding your pussy against him as you get lost with his tongue.

"I--." You stop yourself, panic setting in that you almost said it. You almost said those words. They almost came out so freely, so naturally, like you actually meant them. JJ studies you for a moment, his hand sliding down over your hip to cup your ass.

"I need you." You say instead, kissing him harder so that he thinks it's a physical need and not a mental one. You hated to admit to yourself that you did need him in more ways than one.

JJ groans, rolling so he's on top and pinning you beneath him. You loved feeling him on top of you. You loved how he could hardly control himself, how he always ravaged you without a second thought. It made you feel safe enough to want to try other things. You pull your lips back to catch a breath, his mouth working its way down your throat.

"I-I want to try something." You rasp, sliding your nails along his biceps.

"Yea?" He pulls back to look at you and you can't help but give a cheeky grin. He raises one eyebrow in question but lets you slip from beneath him to go to your dresser. You rummage through the top drawer until you find the little black felt bag and turn to face him. You smile as you hold up the little baggy and toss it to him. The clank of metal on metal from his rings has him looking at you with a puzzled look. You plop down next to him as he dumps the contents in his hand, revealing a bejewled butt plug. His eyes widen as he looks from the toy to you.

"You're not using this on me." The panic in his eyes is enough to make you burst out laughing but he quickly grins, just joking with you.

"Have you used one before? With anyone?" You ask, fighting that sense of jealousy and insecurity.

"No but I've seen it in porn before. Have you used one?"

"No but I'm curious. I've heard it makes it feel better for the both of us." JJ rolls the toy around in his hand for a moment, a smirk on his lips.

"Okay, we will need to get you relaxed first. I don't want to hurt you." You nod in agreement before pulling the lube from the nightstand, sitting it on top for later with the toy. You turn back and he's suddenly on you, shoving you down on the bed and kissing you breathless. You moan, all your worries fading away as your body ignites under his touch. Kissing him was the best form of foreplay. His hands roaming your naked body was just a bonus.

Your back arches off the bed as he leaves your mouth and kisses down your body. You’re panting with need by the time he makes it between your thighs. JJ locks eyes with you as he kisses and lovingly bites everywhere but where you needed him. You’d hold your breath every time his mouth hovered over your core, only for him to plant his lips against your thigh.

“JJ.” You whine, propped up on your elbows so you could watch him.

“Patience.” He raises a blonde brow at you before swiping his tongue over your clit. You hiss, the jolt of pleasure not being near enough as he does it again and again.

“More. Please.” You beg, your clit pulsing and swollen with need.

“Whatever the princess wants.” JJ teases before latching onto your clit and sucking the tiny bundle of nerves into his mouth. You keen as you cry out, your body arching off the bed as his hands being the only thing grounding you. He wastes no time in driving two fingers into your desperate hole, curling them just right until you cum seeing stars. JJ doesn’t let up, licking and sucking you into a frenzy as he adds a third finger.

“Don’t stop, oh god.” You cry, another orgasm washes over you just as you hear the obscene wet sound coming from between your legs. You can’t catch your breath when you realize he’s not down. He spits and suddenly his finger his pressing against your ass, eyes locking on yours in case you protest. His fingers continue to work your pussy as he pushes his finger in past the burning ring of muscle, your body shuddering and fighting the intrusion.

“Deep breaths, baby.” JJ curls all of his fingers, making your jerk with the sudden zap of pleasure. You’re surprised how quickly it starts to feel good as your moans grow louder and louder. It felt like a different type of orgasm. Almost more powerful and explosive as it worked its way up your toes and through all yours limbs before finally detonating like dynamite. Your screams rattle the windows as you climax, your body clamping down so tightly that you hear him curse but he’s determined to drag you through your high before your body finally goes limp.

You sigh in contentment until he suddenly flips you over, stuffing a pillow under your hips and angling your ass in the air. Your legs are shoved together as he straddles you. You didn’t know how much more you could take. That orgasm had taken a lot out of you.

JJ groans as he palms your ass, squeezing and kneading the soft flesh like he can't get enough. You'd always assumed he was an ass man by the way he always pawed at you but now you knew for certain. He was in heaven. You loved how obsessed he was with you.

"You're so fucking perfect." JJ growls, biting your ass cheek lovingly as his fingers find your clit. "And wet." JJ hums in satisfaction, massaging your needy bundle of nerves until you're withering beneath him.

"You want me to fill this tight little ass?" JJ murmurs, his teasing driving you delirious. You were on the verge of begging and crying.

"Yes! Please!"

You listen as JJ quickly leaves you for a moment, coming back after washing his hands and grabbing the items from the night stand. Your breathing becomes labored as he pours the cold liquid between your cheeks, letting it run down your slit and pooling on the pillow. You gasp softly when the cool metal meets your flesh and he slowly starts to press it inside you. It didn't hurt nearly as bad as you'd thought. There was a slight burn and a feeling of discomfort but his free hand quickly finds your clit, letting the pleasure distract you. Everything felt tighter in this position.

"Oh, fuck." You whimper, your entire body clenching as the plug becomes fully seated inside you. You felt full but now all you could think about was having him inside you also. You needed more.

"Good girl. You're doing so good for me. I'm so proud of you." Your heart almost bursts in your chest from his praise. JJ's hands find your hips as he straddles your legs, his cock suddenly kissing your entrance. You lift your hips as an offering, pleading for him to take you. You'd never had to beg him to fuck you but now, you just might.

"JJ--."

"Shh, I know what you need, princess." His cock works its way inside you, making you both moan loudly from the tightness of it all. JJ's body hovers over yours, his lips finding your shoulder blades as he bottoms out inside your clenching hole.

Everything was wound so tight that you were coming apart at the seams, your orgasm at the tip of your toes. You swore if he moved just once you'd cum harder than you ever had in your life. You felt so full of him. Like your body wasn't yours anymore.

"You're squeezing me so tight, fuck." JJ rasps as he starts to move his hips back and forth gently. Your bottom lip quivers as the pleasure washes over you. It felt so fucking good. Better than you'd ever imagined. But you needed more.

"JJ, please, oh god, JJ. Harder!” You cry, your body clenching painfully as the urge to cum becomes too great. JJ growls, his hands tightening on your hips as he raises back up on his knees and starts to fuck you hard, making the headboard slap against the wall as he pulls you back into every thrust.

You cum so hard you see stars, your mind going blank as you're transported to another dimension. JJ always made sure you were satisfied but this was something else. You could hardly breathe or stop shaking as you fisted the sheets, crying out his name in pure bliss. Every muscle in your body was taunt and screaming as he fucked you into another orgasm, his grip practically bruising with every jolt of his hips, the sound of skin slapping skin and both of yours moans filling the room.

"I'm gonna cum again." You cried, sobbing as your body became too sensitive for comfort. You didn't want him to stop but you didn't see how you could possibly take any more without exploding.

"That's the point. Let me have it, princess." JJ's low husky voice tips you over the edge, your release soaking the both of you and the bed. You struggled to get a breath, your entire body trembling as you tried to get your bearings. JJ cursed, driving into you harder than before.

"JJ, no more. No more! I can't take it." Tears start to fall, a gentle hand finding the center of your back as he releases deep inside you with a deep choked groan.

You'd never been more thankful for sex to finally end. Although you’d probably be ready to go again soon. You felt your body going limp as you both fight to catch your breath. JJ slowly slips free of your sore pussy then removes the plug before he slides off the bed and goes into the bathroom. You don't even open your eyes or hear him come back until you're gently rolled onto your back and he swipes a warm rag through your slit.

"Are you okay? Was that too much? I feel like I lost control for a second." You don't open your eyes but you smile weakly, reaching your hand out to touch him. JJ leans into your touch, kissing your palm as he finishes cleaning you up then lays next to you.

"That was like otherworldly." You mumble sleepily, fatiuge creeping into your body. You curl against his chest, feeling him kiss your forehead. "I'd give you a five star review on Yelp." You tease, feeling him shake with a laugh. Unconsciousness starts to take hold of you, dragging you under just as you think you hear him say something.

Something that sounds like three little words you almost uttered earlier.

#smutwarning #outer banks smut #jj maybank smut #jj maybank fic #jj maybank imagine #obx2 #jj maybank fluff #jj maybank x you #jj obx #rudy pankow #outer banks x reader #tw unprotected sex #jj maybank #outer banks fanfiction

[majorblinks]

takes one to know one (twice chaeyoung)

(ft. jihyo & sana) (smut, mommy kink, public sex, titfucking, breeding kink, fluff, angst, gold digger chaeyoung, but also gold digger you, 21k words)

Look - everyone’s always got something to hide. It’s the nature of summer, pushed into keeping everything safe and surreptitious, tucked into corners, finding shadows, reprieves; the sun’ll leak your secrets if it catches you at the right time. It’s just that kind of season. 

“Did you know?” Chaeyoung asks you once, near the end. She’s in your arms, pressed to your chest, her eyes the most stunning thing in sight. “When you first met me - did you think it’d all happen like this?” 

Like this, she says - fucked, fated, doomed. Like all heavy, all-consuming things. Like loss. Like longing. See, the two of you are cut from the exact same cloth; you’ve always been after the same thing. All you know how to do is get the money and run. Love isn’t in your vocabulary and for a good god damn reason.

(There’s always a breaking point. Yours is thinking back to the day you met her - there’s a girl on a beach, and the day’s gorgeous, but all of them are. You stare and you can’t help it. You swear you’ve met her before and you haven’t. She turns to you and smiles, and it cleaves you right in two, and it’s impossible but just like that you know.) 

“Yeah,” you murmur. The writing’s always been on the wall. “I think I did.” 

Chaeyoung glances up at you. In those few moments, she’s reduced to all the details: the long, wavy black hair, winding its way past her shoulders, the colorful tattoos - the dimple, the mole underneath her full bottom lip, the way she blinks and her eyelids shutter starlight. You’ve been pushing your luck just by having her by your side. 

“Me too,” she says, softly. 

There’s the ocean rolling out in front of you, proof that not all destructive things have to come to an end. It’s just the two of you, then. You’re the exception to the rule - you’ve broken enough of them by now to know it. 

(Something about her, you’ll say later. Something about us. Something unquantifiable. Sometimes you meet someone and it’s already over.)

“I guess,” says Chaeyoung, softly, haltingly, like it’s a confession in itself. Oh, like you said: it’s just that kind of season. “I guess I’m just glad that it happened at all.” 

There’s a lot to be grateful for. There’s a lot to feel that you haven’t let yourself until now. It’s summer and you’ve spent enough time hiding from it. You’re with her. There’s never any use. 

Your hand slips under her chin, tips it up; your mouth finds hers like there’d been a map to it, a beacon, a lighthouse. She smiles and it’s like she’s calling you home, the opposite of a siren, or a succubus; leading you to the shore, right to safety. You’ve spent your whole life jumping ship. Now you kiss her like you’re saying I’d follow you everywhere, even if you both know it’s a lie. 

“I know,” you say, fingers threading through her hair, because you always did. “I know.” 

(It hurts, but in the end, you’ll say later, that’s exactly how you know it’s love.)

-

If you’re taking it back to the start, here’s the truth: you’ve broken your fair share of hearts, but that’s never been your goal. It’s not that you’re a bad person, not really. You’ve got your own moral codes. You never went into any of this hoping to lead women on and leave them behind, leave them crushed and cursing your name - that’s never been the point. The point is- 

Well, if you really wanna know the long and short of it, the point is that you need money. 

“It’s this super swanky resort,” your ex-girlfriend is telling you over the phone. “It’s packed with famous people. The pay’s sort of not the best, but their whole thing is, like, super intense discretion. You definitely have to sign NDAs. All of that.”

She’s trying to get you a summer job, just for context - and she’s also selling it horribly. “What?” you ask, thoroughly confused. “Why would anyone want to work there if the pay’s shitty?” 

“Amenities. The resort’s on this remote island, it’s gorgeous, you get to live there the whole summer in these bungalows, you get access to all the facilities-” 

“A remote island?” It’s sounding more and more like a cult by the second. “Are you trying to get me ritualistically sacrificed?” 

“Babe.” Your ex-girlfriend may not be your girlfriend anymore, but she’s never grown out of the pet names. “My point is that there are rich and famous people. Rich and famous people who pay a lot of attention to the hot employees.” 

You’re quiet. 

“They pay more than attention,” she adds.

“So you’re suggesting I prostitute myself.” 

“Like you don’t do that already.” You make an affronted noise, but she’s already talking again, in that rapid-fire mile-a-minute way that’s so characteristic of her. “No, I’m serious! I know you’ve been in a dry spell ever since your last sugar mommy, like, died of old age or whatever-” 

“You’re so fucked in the head,” you say, a smile twitching at your mouth - okay, you are too. There’s a reason a break-up wasn’t enough to tear you and your ex apart. “She didn’t die, you dumbass - and she was only ten years older than me or whatever. She moved away for work.” 

“Same difference,” says your ex, unperturbed, and you feel an uncomfortable pull in your throat. It's not like she’s that far off. She’d cut off a good chunk of your income, just like that; she might as well have fallen off the face of the earth. “Look, you know I love you to death, and I’d keep paying for whatever you wanted, but-”

“I know.” Your ex has no qualms about supporting you financially, especially considering your current situation; she may be your ex-girlfriend, but she’s also been your best friend since forever, basically. Her family’s obscenely wealthy. To her, it’s no sweat off her back to pay for things for you. “Your dad’s cutting you off from giving me money because he thinks I’m a leech.” 

“Which you’re not.” 

“I kind of am.” 

“You’re my favorite person in the world. Even if you were a leech I’d let you suck me dry.” 

“Ew,” you say, but you’re laughing. “Why would you put it like that? Like, why the fuck would-” 

“The job,” interrupts your ex, so vehement your humor dies right on your mouth. “It’s just for the summer. You’re already a certified lifeguard, so that’s not an issue. I’ve been summering at the resort for like three years straight, so I can get you a gig right away - they trust my judgment and shit. Just say the word and I’ll get you in contact with the boss.” 

You fall silent, thinking. She’s trying - you know that. You’ve got odd jobs at home, but without a college degree, they’re all manual labor, they’re easy to pack up and transfer. There’s always work for you to do. Leaving for the summer won’t ruin you - and when you’ll come back, you’ll have everything you need. You’ve done this before. You’re good at your games. 

“Look at it this way,” says your ex, softening. “You’ll be doing exactly what you do at home, except you’ll get to be in paradise for the entire summer. And I’ll be there. Are you in or not?” 

She’ll be there - that’s part of the selling point in itself. She’s your other half. She knows every single skeleton in your closet; she knows why you need this money. She knows, in essence, that this opportunity is one of the best she can give - that it’s one of the best someone like you can get. 

You know it, too. And that’s the reason why you sigh, stop, say-

“Okay,” you tell her, and that’s where the story begins. “I’m in.” 

-

It’s not about love. It never is. It’s about strategy, really. It’s about being a fantasy, a product to promote and sell. It’s all curated, calculated: your body, your charm, the way you hold yourself, built but approachable, magnetic without being too intimidating. Women flock to you and you let them; you’ve made yourself that way.

(Oh, it’s just one of those things. You’re perfectly aware of what you look like and what that does to people. You also just happen to be smart enough to take advantage of it.)

It’s the first day of summer, and you’re causing a stir with your face alone. 

You’re on the deck of the ferry, headed straight to the island. You’re making a presence of yourself: there are already people staring, whispering, all those prying eyes. You’re laughing into the phone, because there’s no point in being attractive without being accessible - and also because no one makes you laugh more than your ex-girlfriend. 

“What if I get lonely?” you’re asking - you’re close enough to the island to be picking up a signal. You’re being annoying and it’s sort of justified. “I can’t believe you aren��t getting here for two weeks.” 

“I get it,” says your ex, cheerful nonetheless: okay, so you’re, like, mildly codependent. It’s old news. “You can’t live without me - I know.” 

“Am I supposed to make friends or something?” 

“You’re so adorable. Just take your shirt off and I promise everyone will want to be your friend.” 

“Ugh,” you say, like you haven’t relied on that exact trick countless times before. There’s a reason being a lifeguard is one of your most well-received jobs. Hey, you’ve been called plenty of things in your line of work - sugar baby is one, gold digger is another; you can’t exactly fight it when it’s true. “You’re my only friend and you know it. I’m bad at making friends.”

You say it, but then-

See, you’re actually not expecting it, the way it all happens. Sure, you see people staring - you’re unnaturally attuned to the way it feels when there are eyes on you, but that comes with the territory - but you’re visibly an employee and they’re all not, they’re leagues above you in influence, in wealth - you’re usually hot enough to transcend social status, but still-

“I could probably help you with that.” 

It’s so fast. You’re not even really doing anything - but you turn halfway, regardless. 

There’s a woman standing there, one hand on her hip, authoritative like she’s already marking her territory just by talking to you. There’s a pause here, catching you momentarily startled, throwing you off your course-

But an expectant, sudden smirk tugs at the woman’s mouth, and you get it.

You swivel to face her, adjust yourself, take on all your best angles. “Oh,” you say, out loud, because this is going to be much easier than you’d originally thought. “Hey.”

“Hi.” 

All of the other guests on deck avert their gazes, like they understand the message loud and clear. Somehow, they realize it: this woman’s in front of you and smiling and staking her claim, all at once. Hands off, the curl of her lips reads, possessive and delightfully transparent - this one’s mine. 

(Well, you’ve always been a fan of women with power. Alright - game on.) 

“Sorry,” you say into the phone, “I’m gonna have to call you back.” 

“New friend already?” your ex asks, amused. 

There’s the power, like you said - that’s the first thing. The smooth, easy confidence, the way the woman’s standing in front of you like she knows she’s getting sideways glances just from talking to you and she doesn’t seem the least bit bothered by it. Like she’s spent her whole life getting attention, knows it’s something she deserves - ah, you’ve always been into that kind of ego. It flicks something on in your brain, an instinct, an impulse. You love pleasing people who know exactly what they’re worth. 

Then there’s the second thing, which is the fact that she’s completely fucking gorgeous. 

“Something like that,” you answer, grinning. “I guess we’ll see.” 

There’s a pair of designer sunglasses perched on her head, her hair short and black and shiny; her eyes are brilliant, huge, smile a certain kind of infectious, mesmerizing - and then there’s the outfit, a pink two-piece that she somehow manages to make indecent by just standing there; the shirt’s cropped, the skirt rides sinfully high - and it’s all wrapped up with this air of notoriety, of self-importance, of fame and splendor, like she’s spent her whole life in the limelight, or somewhere awfully close to it. She looks at you and you get the sense that you should know her name and you don’t. You look right back and you think you’d like to. 

“You’re new,” says the woman, and you slip your phone into your back pocket.

“I am,” you say, trailing your eyes down her body like you’re taking inventory - despite the demeanor, she’s tiny, barely five-three in spotless white sneakers. “New hire. It’s my first summer here.” 

“You’re working at the resort,” says the woman, but not like she’s actually surprised; her tongue slides under her top teeth, studies you like she’s calculating the staggering height difference between you two down to every last inch. “I thought so.” There’s an implication here. There’s a reason she approached you first. “So you do need friends, then, huh?” 

You’re playing the long game. “Friends is one word for it,” you say, allow suggestion to serve as an undertone, salt in the sea breeze. “What, you think you can help me out?” 

The woman’s so stunning you can’t stop looking at her - her bone structure is regal, elegant, but then there are those eyes: huge and irresistible, knocking the vision off-kilter, curving so easily with her smile. She’s beautiful in the most disarming way, the sort of thing that triggers double-takes, slip-ups, mistakes; she’s got this way about her that makes you doubt any enemy of hers has gone head-to-head with her and lived to tell the tale. Oh, power, beauty - they go hand in hand. 

“Sure,” says the woman, all too casual, the ocean wind pulling enticingly at her hair like it could’ve been choreographed. “I’m Jihyo.” 

“Jihyo,” you repeat, and that’s a name you wouldn’t mind having in your mouth all summer. “Nice to meet you.” 

“Likewise,” says Jihyo, head on an incline, teasingly cordial. “I was just thinking,” she adds on, tone with a motive, “you and I - I think we could be really good friends.” 

It’s not even an attempt at subtlety. She’s forward like she’s never heard the concept of rejection, like it might be some far-off illusion - for a woman like her, it probably is. 

You raise your eyebrows, allow yourself a breath, a smile. It’s summer, after all. It’s exactly the time to get hot and reckless and wild. No matter how composed someone like Jihyo is, there’s no fighting that kind of temptation - and you’re right here, inviting it for all the wrong reasons. 

“Me too,” you say; she’s not being shy in the slightest, so you’ll go to her level. “I guess great minds think alike.” 

Jihyo lets her laughter fall so easily, and that’s how you know you’ve got her. 

-

So - you’re playing the long game, in theory. 

You don’t call her a mark, or a target; you’re not a con artist. You’ll make sure you both know where you stand. Yeah, you’ve broken your fair share of hearts, but you don’t do that anymore - you make it known exactly what you’re giving and how you’d like to be compensated for it. It’s a learning curve. You’ll work out an arrangement. 

In practice, well-

“Do you do this a lot?” 

You’re below deck, you’re in dark corners, you’re alone together and that’s danger by every definition. Jihyo’s so small in comparison to you, pressed against the wall, chin angled upwards like a threat; you’ve got a hand up her shirt, you’ve got one of her legs hooked around your waist, you’ve got your cock in her pussy and you’re ruining it. It’s fast, it’s greedy, it’s primal - realistically, it’s all going according to plan. 

(Hey, look at it this way: anyone who plays the long game like you do knows exactly how to kick it off with a bang.)

“Fuck strangers I just met?” Jihyo’s tits are unbelievable, and then there are those eyes - all heat and hazard lights, every thrust getting her eyelids fluttering - and you grin, lean in to kiss her. “Never.” 

It’s all sloppy, half-ravenous; it’s also patently untrue. “Liar,” Jihyo pants, right into your mouth, calling your bluff and beautifully. 

“Maybe.” You squeeze hard at her tits, scrape your nail over a nipple; you lower your teeth to her neck, let them bite and sink, leaving marks that you’ll return to all summer. Oh, well. As long as she knows what she’s getting into. “But I don’t think you really mind that I’m experienced.” 

“I-” Jihyo tries to say, gasps, fails. “I - Jesus, your fucking cock-” 

You snap your hips, you bury your dick inside of her, you’ve got her right where you want her - drastic times, drastic measures. You’ve got more than a few tricks up your sleeve. You’ll earn your keep. You’re only getting started.

“Yeah,” you breathe against her throat, grinning wolfishly as she moans - “that’s kind of what I figured.” 

-

This is something you come to understand, almost immediately: Jihyo’s perfect. 

“So, you’re about to make this summer very interesting.” 

You’re stepping off the ferry, side by side. Jihyo’s tossing her glossy hair, blooming hickeys scattered across her throat like needlepoint, darkening all her smooth skin. It ruins the image, the put-togetherness, the grace and the big, bright eyes - or maybe it’s just tying it all together. There are people staring. Jihyo’s smiling, serene, like it’s something she’s far past used to. 

“Yep,” you say, pleased with your handiwork.

Jihyo glances over at you, lifts an eyebrow lazily, lets it fall. The sun’s shining overhead, taunting. It’s the ideal time for playing games, drawing maps - here, you’ll point out, here’s everywhere I could take you; stick with me and you’ll see. 

“Lifeguard, right?” she asks, a piece of information you’d dropped casually, earlier, right before you’d slid your hand up her skirt and found her soaked. “I’ll find you later.” 

The resort looms in front of the two of you, gorgeous and giant and opulent, unselfconscious in its own grandiosity - it’s a lot, overdone, overwhelming. Everything’s straight out of a Hollywood movie, the sparkling coast and the streamlined architecture, palm trees swaying in the breeze like they’re on some automated timer, uncannily flawless. It’s almost too beautiful, too vibrant, too much. 

You’d gawk, but you know it’d give you away; you don’t belong here. Everyone else admires the resort in their own detached, cavalier manner, like it’s something they see on the daily. Even Jihyo barely bats an eye, lets employees flock around her, taking her luggage - Miss Park, they call her politely, like she’s a woman who needs no introduction, like she could snap her fingers and bend the world to her will. 

It’s so not your scene, on principle, but you’ll make it work. You’re good at pretending, slipping seamlessly into places you shouldn’t fit - events, buildings, beds. You’ll get there. 

“That’s what I’m counting on,” you tell Jihyo, your mouth at a tilt, holding tight to your own suitcases. Someone like you is never an outsider for long. 

(It’s you being honest, or the closest you can get. It’s what you’re counting on, because you quite literally can’t afford to do anything else.)

“Good,” says Jihyo, flip, intention clear in the way she examines you. There’s something so hot about someone who knows exactly what she wants. “See you on the beach, honey.” 

The nickname’s deliberate, drenched in condescension, sardonic superiority - you laugh out loud, and Jihyo breaks, cracks to a grin. Oh, at least she’ll be fun. That’s something you don’t encounter often, with the women you usually go after. Well, you did say it’s time for something new.

“Sure,” you say, skim a hand down her back, the curve of her ass; Jihyo leans into it in more ways than one. “See you then.” 

-

See, Jihyo’s perfect, because she’s everything you need right now: wealthy, shameless, bored, beautiful. It’s not about love and it never was, and that’s not about to change now. It’s not about anything more than money. 

It’s all paradise, and that’s the point. The sun’s glaring down on you like it disapproves, but it’s not about to get a say. It’s not your scene - which means, really, it’s the one and only place to be. 

-

Turns out that you’re not alone, with the kind of agenda you’ve got. You get settled into a bungalow with some of the other employees - bartenders, dealers at the casino, lifeguards like you - and they’ve all got their own plans, attachments, schemes to cook up and carry out. It’s summer, and all the guests here are powerful and apathetic, all in one; sex is just the thing to do.

“The other employees just aren’t as good as me,” you’re explaining to your ex over the phone, because you can’t go more than twenty-four hours without speaking to her - fine, it’s more than mild codependence.

“At sex or at being a con artist?” 

“Um, I’m not a fucking con artist. But - I mean, both.” 

You don’t consider them a threat, in the end. The other employees seem nice, they’re generally hot, but then there’s you: you know how to play the game. Show enough honesty to seem vulnerable, show enough grit to appear rough around the edges; it’s all intrigue with a risk. There’s an art to seduction, really. People don’t seem to see that there’s a lot of effort that goes into turning a profit. 

“Okay,” says your ex, entertained. “And what about your actual job? You know, the thing you’re employed for? How are you holding up there?” 

“I don’t know what you’re implying. I’m an amazing lifeguard.”

It’s your first day on the job, and you’re forgoing focus so you can fill your ex-girlfriend in on your sexual escapades: amazing is a little bit of an exaggeration. You’re just going to pray no one drowns, pretty much. God’ll be on your side, or whatever. 

In the interim, you’ll stay in your lifeguard chair, surveying the beach, the sand and surf - there are pools at the resort, but this is where your first shift ends up being, watching the guests wrapped up tanning or in the waves or playing truly tragic games of beach volleyball - tucked under an umbrella, and with your phone on speaker, recapping everything that’s gone down within your first twenty-four hours on the island. Or, considering the way you fucked Jihyo on the ferry, island-adjacent-

“Wait,” says your ex, voice suddenly high and disbelieving, “Park Jihyo?” 

“Uh, yeah.” 

Her voice rises to a squeal. “You fucked the Park Jihyo?” 

You pull a face, uncertain. “Am I supposed to know who she is?” 

Your ex shrieks something incomprehensible right into the phone. 

You pull the receiver away from you, fighting down a laugh. There’s the crash of the waves ahead of you, some faint music playing in the background, speaker echoing melodies across the beach; she’s snapping the serenity without even being present, but that’s a talent in itself. “Like,” your ex says, once she can speak, “I guess not - she’s not a household name or anything, but she manages them. Okay - you know Ahn Yujin? The singer?” 

“Obviously.” There’s not a soul in the country who doesn’t know Ahn Yujin; she’s one of the biggest pop stars in the game right now, she’s everyone’s favorite topic of discussion. “Wait, Jihyo’s Ahn Yujin’s manager?” 

“Yes! See? See?!”

“Whoa.” So you were right on the money, there: powerful’s gotta be incredibly accurate. “Then - yeah. I fucked the Park Jihyo.” You can’t keep the ego from sneaking in. “I think it’s gonna be a recurring thing, actually.” 

“So she’s your mark for the summer?” 

“Well.” There are those con artist insinuations again - it’s not like you’re going to swindle her. 

“No, no, it’s perfect,” your ex insists. “She’s everything. She’s filthy rich and she’s so, so hot. What more do you even need?” 

And she’s completely right: that’s the thing. 

Your gaze follows the line of the sea, trails to where the palm trees frame the volleyball nets - it’s pressureless, it’s relaxing, it’s fun - watching some of the guests flail and crack up over missed points, over bad calls. You’ve never been in a place more beautiful. This is something you’re not used to, either, not in the slightest. 

“I’ve never even gotten to talk to her even though I’ve seen her around the resort a bunch of times,” your ex is saying. “Oh, my god: you have to introduce us, I’m serious. I’ve tried so many times but she’s so sexy I forget all my social skills the moment I see her-”

“Alright, chill.” Ah, your ex and her taste for obnoxiously attractive women: there’s an answer to why you two never would’ve worked out romantically, and it’s not just that you come from two completely different worlds. 

This is her turf, the glamor and the opulence and the designer swimsuits - the way she can be carefree and careless and she’ll never have to pay for it. It’s foreign territory, for you, being able to let things go like you will here. That’s the name of the game, in actuality; it’s all about leaving things behind. No strings attached. Nothing tying you down. 

It’s not about love. It never was. When August slips away, so will you. 

Off to your left, you hear a bright, musical laugh ring out. 

“I’m so jealous,” your ex says. “You think she’d be down for a threesome?” 

Your eyes skate the sand, the scenery. You’re not far from the ridiculousness of the volleyball matches - there’s a group over on your left, people hollering insults at each other, hurtling the ball back and forth. You don’t know what you’re looking for, but you’re looking. “You don’t want a threesome with me. You barely even like men.” 

There’s that pretty laugh again, echoing in the distance, a little wild, intoxicating. There’s a twinge at your spine, like a memory unraveling itself, peeling back layers, defenses, walls. Your ex says, whimsically, “I could take one for the team.” 

“Oh, and what-” 

There’s a point you’re trying to make, there’s a retort on your tongue, there’s the world, upright and spinning on its axis - but that’s right when you see her. 

(There’s no explanation for anything that happens next, really. You’re just gonna have to take it and run.) 

-

One minute you’re on solid ground and then you’re not. One minute there’s your heart beating in your chest and then it’s not there anymore, suddenly, somewhere far-off and fleeing, somewhere with a girl and a laugh and a crazy, cosmic impossibility - and all at once, it’s like-

(Sometimes you meet someone, and it’s already over.) 

It’s like you forget all other words. There’s no reason for it, no logic. She’s laughing, and you’re struck silent, stonelike, drowning on dry land; she’s beyond beautiful, like she’s making a mockery of the concept. There’s the universe, and nothing’s where you’d thought it was: all the noise dulls to a hum, falls insignificant, unimportant; the sea melts into the sky, bleeding all shades of blue. The sun lets up, acquiesces, lets you be. You swear there are higher powers listening, or there must be - devils placing bets, angels throwing their hands up, gods above saying there, right there - that’s where it all goes wrong. 

She sees you at the same time you see her, or close enough that the gap’s indiscernible - and that’s a story in and of itself, a start and a conclusion. There’s a leap and you’re taking it just by the way your eyes meet; it’s summer, and you’re throwing yourself off a cliff, crashing straight into the waves. 

Son Chaeyoung smiles at you, and just like that, you know. 

-

“Hello?” Your ex is actually clapping into the phone. “Did you die? Oh my god, did you drown? Did you save someone else from drowning?” There’s a pause. “Are you giving a hot MILF mouth-to-mouth? Because, like - okay, I get it, priorities, but-” 

“Um.” You can’t speak, can’t think. You’re having a faintly out-of-body experience. “There’s - um.” 

“Talk. Use words. Are you having a stroke? Do I need to call 911?” 

It’s a valiant effort, trying to get through to you - it’s also completely futile. Your brain’s cut off, disconnected. All you can comprehend is the girl smiling at you from the sidelines like there’s an inside joke you’re both in on, something about her stare strangely familiar and nostalgic, intimate, bemused. The corners of your mouth twitch up, mirroring. You don’t know what it is but you know that you’re feeling it. 

“Sorry,” you say, and your voice sounds odd even to your own ears, distant and distracted. “There’s a girl.” 

It’s a wild understatement. It’s only a fraction of everything you want to say: she’s stunning, you mean, she’s surreal, she’s everything - you could say it all, and it’d be the truth.

“A girl,” repeats your ex, appropriately intrigued. “Okay. Elaborate.” 

A girl, like that could be her title and hers alone, like you’d stare at a masterpiece on the wall of a gallery with a plaque and a frame and a presence, and attribute each detail only to her. Long, black hair spiraling down her back, haphazardly tied out of her face; the barely-there flash of her teeth, the inordinately perfect porcelain lines of her face, the slope of her nose, mouth, jaw; there’s so much skin on display. Tattoos, all over her: the one winding up her spine, out of the waistband of her denim cutoffs, the colorful ones scattered across both arms, intricate like they each have a story, a purpose. You see her and you’re drafting folktales, creating mythos. You’re not sure how you could ever sum it up. 

“I can’t,” you say, helplessly. You take one look and you’re thinking of walking over, of laying down your rules, of saying it’s insane, but I swear, there’s something about you- “I’m, like - Jesus fucking Christ.” 

“Oh, man.” Your ex is laughing into the phone. “Don’t tell me you just fell in love at first sight.” 

“That’s not a real thing,” you say, automatically, but now you’re clambering down from your lifeguard chair, your feet hitting the sand. The girl’s still studying you, arms crossed over her chest - waiting, patient, the sun soaking her golden. There’s a pull, there’s a thread she’s tugging. There’s an inevitability and a promise. 

(Something about her, you’ll say later. For now, you don’t have anything else.)

“I have to go,” you tell your ex. 

“Fine,” she says, delighted. “Ditch me for the love of your life.” 

“I haven’t even met her yet,” you say, but even that seems wrong, stilted. Like there’s not an excuse in the world that could keep you away from her. You say, “Bye,” and you hang up the phone, and you don’t wait for a response. 

(Sometimes, you see someone, and you just-)

The girl tilts her head as she sees you approaching, dark eyes a little wide and dazzling, spellbinding. Your heart’s unsteady, thrown off-kilter - you see her straighten, see the wind tangle the inky waves of her hair, see the knowing flicker of a deep dimple in her cheek - even feet away, she’s got this grip on you - there’s no way to explain it-

You’re seconds away from it, really. From saying hi, from saying I know you, don’t I?, from saying it’s you, you, you, and falling right into the rest of your life. It’d just take a moment and no more. You already know it. 

“Hey, you.” 

You stop in your tracks. 

It’d just take a moment and you’d fall - the ocean pauses with bated breath, your pulse hollows out your ribs, arteries - but then it slips away in an instant. 

You’re too late: the conclusion dawns slow, sunrise-like. You’ve already made your choice, drawn up your strategies. You’ve kicked off your game and now you have to see it through, no matter what it takes.

“Oh,” you say, and you pull your focus off of the girl, torturous, turning to the side. It feels wrong, uncomfortable, your skin too tight, your heartbeat somewhere it shouldn’t be - but you have to, so you do. “Hey.” 

Because there’s your perfect plan for the summer, clad in a criminally skintight green bikini, staring you right in the face.

“Told you I’d find you,” says Park Jihyo, eyes sparkling over her sunglasses. 

There’s the devil you know, then the devil you don’t. Well, you’ve made your bed, you reason, and you can’t figure out why the thought is mildly suffocating. Jihyo’s here and deathly gorgeous and she wants you; more importantly, you need her. You have your whole life ahead of you, to make all your mistakes. This is the one thing you need to get right. 

(You don’t look back at the girl, because you don’t think you’ll be able to ever look away.) 

It’s all going according to plan - that’s where you are. There’s no reason to get distracted by anybody else. 

“Lucky me,” you say to Jihyo, smiling, and you let her take your hand. 

-

(The girl watches you walk away, a thoughtful tilt to her head, full lips screwed to the side. It’s like she’s saying fine, leave me be for now, go have your fun - it’s only a matter of time.) 

-

Work hard, play hard - sure, sure. You’re ditching your very first shift. You might get fired for this. 

“You’re not going to get fucking fired,” huffs Jihyo; you can’t take your eyes off her body in that fucking bikini - everyone’s scantily clad in swimsuits and somehow hers is more obscene, nearing pornographic; there’s her huge tits, her waist, hips, thighs - you’re tongue-tied, speechless - you’ve got her pressed up against the side of a building, and there’s the sun, there’s the threat of public eyes-

“You got a thing for exhibitionism?” You’re on your knees, mouth pressed to the inside of her thigh, teasing, laughing. “You seem to like having your tits out where you could get caught.” 

“All these assumptions,” bites out Jihyo, words already wrecked.

“I’m not assuming anything.” You’ve got her swimsuit bottoms pushed to the side, her cunt inches from your tongue. “You’re so fucking wet.” 

Jihyo’s got her big brown eyes fixed on you, one eyebrow raised in performative snobbiness - you can see her swallow hard, you’ve got all the proof you need of exactly the front she’s using. “Alright,” she says, and there’s something so hot about her above you, about you giving up your stature just to make her cum. “Are you gonna do anything about it?” 

You smirk up at her - that’s not a question that takes words to answer.

The noises she makes are like fucking blasphemy - something about her gasping, breathless sounds, trying to choke back her own pleasure, the way she’ll let a moan crack her façade right open - and you hold her thighs apart, flatten your tongue. “Fuck,” Jihyo gets out, fingers tangling in your hair, pushing your mouth further into her pussy: “Fuck, fuck-” 

You’re not thinking about anything else but what’s right in front of you. You know better than to lose focus. 

Jihyo rides your face when she cums, rocking her hips - it’s hot in all the ways you’re used to, her treating your mouth like something to fuck and ruin and leave - and when you pull back, breathless, your lips and your chin slick, Jihyo hooks her fingers in your lanyard and tugs you to your feet. 

“You aren’t going to get fired,” she reiterates, even though you’re ditching a beach full of people who could definitely drown at any second. “Aren’t there, like, three other lifeguards manning the beach right now?” 

“Sure,” you say, distracted by her tits in your hands, how her thumb skates your chin, gathers up her own cum. 

“Hm,” says Jihyo, distinctly humorous, tapping your mouth. 

“What?”

“First of all.” You part your lips, let her slide her fingers between them - you suck, obedient. “Another reason you’d never get fired is because I can bribe the higher-ups out of it.” That matter-of-fact arrogance creeps into her voice, the edge searing, filthy hot. “And second of all,” Jihyo adds, mildly, “I think you’re obsessed with my tits.” 

“Who isn’t?” 

Jihyo laughs, lets her hand creep under the waistband of your swim trunks - she’s turning the tables, pushing you up against the wall, pushing you both into darkness. It’s summer. Hiding is just par for the course. 

“Let’s see where this goes,” she tells you, tone reckless, ruminative. “Maybe I’ll let you fuck them.” 

That’s an idea you’re more than enamored with - fine. You’ll have all the fun in the world with her. That’s what you’re here for - that’s the point. There’s nothing more to it. 

“Oh,” you say lowly, and Jihyo blinks with all the faux-innocence she can manage, right before she wraps her hand around your cock. “I think we both already know exactly where this is going.” 

-

and when i arrive on the island and steal park jihyo away from you… your ex texts, at roughly three in the morning. then what. 

then i’d be broke, you say. you would literally be ruining my livelihood just for some pussy

SOME PUSSY????? IT’S PARK JIHYO!!!!!!!!!!!  have some RESPECT you heathen >:(

heathen? she’s not a god lol

YES SHE IS, says your ex, and you know her so well you can practically hear her squealing it at you already.  plus didn’t you meet the love of your life or whatever earlier….. like leave some women for the rest of us. WHORE

alright… i’m blocking you

NO

She says love of your life and your brain’s back on the beach, stuck and staring, transfixed. There’s a girl in denim cutoffs, covered in tattoos. She’s smiling at you and there’s a breaking point - you’re smiling back, and you’re doomed from the start. 

no but seriously i don’t even know what happened with that girl, you say. chalking it up to temporary insanity. heatstroke probably plus i ate jihyo out behind one of the buildings like 5 minutes after so it obviously wasn’t THAT serious

alright, replies your ex. I’M blocking YOU

It’s so much easier to make jokes about it, play it off: that’s territory you’re used to. There’s nothing you do with women that needs to be taken seriously. There’s no script here, no note with an emphasis on eye contact, on feeling, on fate - nothing scribbled in the margins, arrows indicating here’s the call to action, here’s the catalyst. No moments straight out of movies. You just don’t live that kind of life. 

it’s not a big deal, you say. i don’t even know her name. 

(It’s like the opposite of a blind spot, really. Something so consuming and obvious that you can’t look at anything else, can’t think, can’t do anything but pinpoint a before and an after: a timeline, a lifeline, an I was fine before I saw your face, and now I don’t know what I am.)

hmm, texts your ex, cryptically, because she still knows all of your tells. i have a feeling that won’t last long. 

-

She’s right: it doesn’t. It’s a day later and you’re strolling through the resort lobby. 

I’m gonna leave you something at the receptionist’s desk, Jihyo told you, yesterday, licking your cum off of her hand, so casually it almost didn’t register - and it wouldn’t have, if you were anyone else. Stop by there tomorrow. 

Oh, you said, because you’re not anyone else; it’s exactly the opening you’d been waiting for. So you’re reimbursing me for the sex now? What am I, a prostitute? 

Jihyo studied you, blatantly entertained. 

Consider it a token of my appreciation, she said, grin unfurling.

For the orgasms? you’d asked. 

Sure. 

Okay, you’d said, like it was her idea all along, and you were the one begrudgingly going along with it. I’ll take that. 

Jihyo raised her eyebrows at you, like she knew exactly what kind of game you were playing and loved it. You’d better, she’d said, and then you were off. 

The lobby’s showy, pleasantly busy. There’s music playing, something light and ambient. The floor gleams, the light fixtures seem to sparkle, the sun pours in through wide floor-to-ceiling windows: it’s gorgeous, it’s doing everything it’s supposed to. You, like most of the other unreasonably attractive employees, are doing your advertising and doing it perfectly just by stepping into the room. You’re getting stares. You’re used to it. 

“Hey,” you say once you get to the desk, half-distracted by the huge painting spreading across the back wall, the ocean curling blue and green into meticulously detailed sand, spilling at the coastline. “So, one of guests left something-”

Your eyes land on the receptionist, and your throat promptly dries up. 

(There it is again: like the world pauses, holds its breath. You swear there’s no one else in the room. You can’t chalk it up to temporary insanity when it happens every time you see her face - the sun glows, serves as a spotlight - there are things going unsaid, there’s all your instincts on high alert, wanting, waiting-)

“Hi,” you say, voice markedly more strained. 

“Hi,” the girl from the beach replies, and she’s so stunning up close you forget how to speak. 

She’s clad in a frilly white dress, flimsy straps, black hair half-clipped up, dripping over her slender shoulders like ink, all night skies and silk. You can see all of the tattoos that line her arms, swirls of color across her tan skin - her eyes are wide and dark and impossibly sparkly, like some animated cartoon character brought to life - she’s otherworldly, she’s unfathomably beautiful. You don’t know how you’re still standing. 

There’s a gold nametag pinned to her dress, flashing in the light. 

“Chaeyoung,” you say, and her name feels too familiar on your lips, like it’d already found a home somewhere close years ago, lifetimes. 

“Lifeguard,” Chaeyoung replies, gaze flickering to the lanyard around your neck; it jumps right to your face, gets stuck there. 

It’s one word, and it still comes belated, a little breathless - and for one crazy second you think of bending across the desk, think of asking you feel it, don’t you? You feel it too? 

She’s got the most perfect face, so flawless she doesn’t even look real - doll-like, angelic, mouth full and pink, inviting, inevitable. There are all the subtleties - the dip of her cupid’s bow, the slope of her nose, the twitch of her dimple, the mole underneath her bottom lip. You’ve never met anyone more gorgeous; she’s staring at you like she’s thinking something similar. There’s an intensity so tangible it’s like you can taste it. 

“You said a guest left something for you?” Chaeyoung can’t look away from your eyes, can’t break the contact; oh, it’s just another thing that’ll be entirely mutual. There’s a slow pull to her smile, deliberating. “Isn’t this, like, your second day ever working here? That was fast.”

You feel a laugh bubbling up, something beyond your control. “You’ve been keeping tabs on me?” 

You mean it to be light, teasing - but Chaeyoung just cocks her head, lifts a shoulder, says, “I guess I have.”

There should be something here - an introduction, an exchange of pleasantries, small talk - there should be a tip-off that the two of you have never met before, somewhere. You shouldn’t feel so comfortable staring at her. She shouldn’t feel so comfortable leaning over the counter, casually, pouty lips fixed in a curl, examining your face like she’s trying to commit it to memory, or maybe like she already has. 

(There isn’t any tip-off, because it doesn’t feel like the first time you two have met at all. There’s no rationalizing it. You don’t think you’ll ever be able to.) 

Chaeyoung’s eyes crinkle at the corners, a small scrunch appearing at the bridge of her nose. You’re so strangely aware of every minute change in her, tuned in to all the finer points: she adjusts herself, as if she’s observing at you from a different angle. Her dimple deepens, satisfied, like there’s something she’s been looking for forever and now she’s found it. 

“Park Jihyo,” she says. “Right?” 

There’s this way she asks it, like it’s not really a question, like she’s already on your wavelength. 

“Right,” you say, and Chaeyoung lifts her eyebrows, impressed, and reaches for a drawer behind the desk. 

You’re fascinated by the ease of it. “Is this in your job description?” you ask, somehow uncaring of boundaries, taking it slow; it just seems like you’re past all that, like you have been for years. “Shuttling presents back and forth between guests and employees?” 

Chaeyoung produces a small gift box with a sticky note on it, your name haphazardly scribbled across it in pen. The implications are hilarious: like Chaeyoung might have a whole stock of identical boxes just past the counter, lined up for delivery. You’ll ask her to see it later, you think - and that’s a thought that should be taking it too far, a future, a pathway. You’ll shelve it for now. 

“I’m not technically supposed to,” says Chaeyoung, equally uncaring, like it’s no big deal she’s spilling her secrets within a minute of your first conversation. “But the guests all give me some great tips for it, so.”

“Oh,” you say, grinning. “So you’re not doing it out of the kindness of your heart. You’re doing it so you can extort people.” 

Chaeyoung smiles back, mischievous, managing to read adorable nonetheless. She’s so ridiculously beautiful it should be intimidating, tattooed and confident and so sure of herself, but there’s something in her eyes, the way her lips seem perpetually pouty, her dimple always ready to reveal itself: she’s cute. You’re hopeless. It’s already a disaster. 

“It’s rich that you’re accusing me of extortion,” she says, prodding the box towards you. “What’d you do to get a present from Park Jihyo again?” 

“I don’t know,” you say, nonchalant; Chaeyoung narrows her eyes at you, visibly enthused by the act, not buying a word. “I guess she just saw my face and couldn’t resist.” 

There’s a fine print here. It’s been minutes. There’s something about you, you want to tell her, something here, something about you and me - but you meet her gaze and there’s the sun winding its way through her hair, there’s the tug in your heart, there’s the textbook nostalgia that you shouldn’t be feeling and are anyway. It’s impossible, insane. You look at her and you think she already knows. 

“I’d believe that,” says Chaeyoung, simply, plucking the sticky note off the box. Her lips pucker, theatrically pensive. “It’s quite the face.” 

She glances up at you through her eyelashes, smirk flickering at her mouth, and it’s like she’s confessing something else entirely. 

-

“You’re bad news,” you say, eventually, but you say it like I want you anyway. 

“Right back at you,” she tells you, like then come and get me. 

-

That’s the thing: this is a horrible idea. This isn’t going according to plan at all. She doesn’t have anything you came here for - doesn’t have the money, the status, the privilege - but you’re still here, somehow. 

“By all means,” says Chaeyoung, unbothered, fluttering her hands at the box. There were lines but you’ve crossed them. She’s relaxed in a way she probably shouldn’t be, elbows on the counter, eyes big and curious - you’re old friends playing catch-up, you’re feeling history that you haven’t made yet. “I wanna see what she got you. I’m nosy.” 

“You’re telling me you haven’t gotten any gifts from the guests?” Your eyes trail down to the tattoos crossing her arms, all that meticulous art, vivid color, clean lines. You think of tracing them, ink on her skin like roads - you think of letting your fingertips follow them as far as she’ll take you. 

Chaeyoung shrugs. “Maybe I have,” she says, flippant. “But - trust me, it took a lot more than my face to get presents from people.” 

“See?” Oh, that’s not a surprise, somehow: you know strategy when you see it. Chaeyoung’s gorgeous with a point, an plan in motion. “You get it.” 

“I get you,” Chaeyoung says. She sticks the stray post-it note to your top, pats your arm like it’s nothing. It’s an admission she’d let slip too easily, like she’d meant to dodge the weight of it but missed - I know you, she’s saying, I see you and I understand - and it’s too much, too soon. You stop short, examine her, watch her flush slightly like she hadn’t meant to say it out loud. 

She does feel it, you realize. Well, collective insanity, then, contagious; you’ll stick with that, for now. 

“I know your type,” Chaeyoung corrects herself, a little haltingly, pink sitting prettily at her cheeks. “There are tons of people like you working here.” 

“People like me, huh?” 

“Hot,” she clarifies, recovering fast, dimple winking coyly. “Arrogant. Slutty. Money-grubbing.” 

“Gee, thanks.” 

Chaeyoung waves off the sarcasm. “Hey,” she says. “It’s not a bad thing. You’re just like me.” 

(Well, and that’s the root of the issue, really: you two are cut from the same cloth. You two are after the same thing. You’re always going to take the money and run. She gets you, for some godforsaken reason, and that’s something she can’t act off forever - but she’s sure going to try.) 

“I’ll take that as a compliment,” you say. “It’s good to meet another kindred gold-digging spirit.”

“It’s summer,” says Chaeyoung. “This place is full of them. We’re not special.” 

Ah, but that’s where she’s wrong - there’s all this ease to your conversation, there’s the sun lighting your way, there’s how Chaeyoung’s eyes trail your body like she has some right to it, like she’s earned it and nothing less. Like you’re something that belongs to her, or you will be soon; hold a mirror up, and you’re sure you’d be caught the exact same way, enraptured by a feeling that shouldn’t even be there in the first place. 

“Really?” you ask, quirking your mouth. Chaeyoung’s gaze lingers there, skates your lips like she might find them unavoidable. “I think we could be.”

Chaeyoung sighs, as if it’s all a war she’s already lost. 

“Your lines aren’t gonna work on me,” she says, but she’s smiling. “Plus, I don’t think you can afford me.” She lifts her chin, and she’s surveying you again, top to toe. “I definitely can’t afford you.”

“Probably not,” you say. 

“You should just walk away now,” advises Chaeyoung, mirth poorly disguised, tapping her colorful nails to the table. “Us hanging out together would be really bad for business.”

“I should,” you agree. You’ve got a gift to open and an inability to pull yourself away from her, something unimaginable, incorporeal. She says lines and you don’t have any. You look at her and she’s a girl with an allure, smoldering, vaguely destructive - there are tsunamis, there are forest fires, things that do nothing but devastate. You should walk away and you don’t; you should, and you don’t know how you’re ever going to. 

(It’s summer, so it’s the only place to be.) 

-

The gift just happens to be this ridiculously expensive watch, gleaming silver - but there are also, for some reason, bills in cash tucked just past the buckle, folded and clipped neatly together. You stare, open-mouthed, and Chaeyoung throws her head back, exposing the pretty column of her neck, and laughs so hard you can’t help but join her. 

“Jesus fuck,” you say, in awe, running your fingers over the watch, the cash. “I don’t know if I’ve ever gotten a payout that’s been this…” 

“Ostentatious,” Chaeyoung supplies, like she’s throwing out the answer to a crossword puzzle. 

“You read my mind,” you say, entertained - you don’t think you’ve ever used that word in casual conversation before. “No, I was gonna say fucking awesome. Like, did she get this delivered or something?” 

You don’t know why it happens like this, but all of a sudden you’re slipping the watch into Chaeyoung’s hand, letting her buckle it around your wrist. There should be boundaries, convention says, somewhere far-off and distant. There should be personal space and there’s not. 

“We have a gift shop here at the resort,” Chaeyoung’s explaining, her hands tiny around yours, fiddling with the clasp. “It’s really well-stocked. Lots of people come here for, like, complete discretion, you know?” Her thumb brushes the inside of your wrist, sends a shudder up your spine; you barely move, outwardly, but she looks up at you pointedly, like she’d felt it regardless. “So the gift shop has basically everything anyone would want to buy their mistresses, or their secret summer flings, or their sugar babies. And - yes, they’re all this insane. Jihyo’s a… repeat offender, so to speak.” She throws a sly look your way. “She always spoils her boy toys like this.” 

“Lucky me,” you say. “I think it kinda clashes with my uniform, though.” 

You’ve got a point - you’re in a tank top and swim trunks - but what really gets you is the way Chaeyoung laughs, so sudden and sweet that it steals all the air from your lungs, leaves you marveling at how her eyes crease, that same slight scrunch appearing at the side of her nose. Everyone here is so beautiful, but then there’s her. Like something in her is calling to you, just by existing. 

“I can keep it safe for you,” she says, leaning on her elbows, an offer without expectation. “If you wanna come back after your shift and pick it up. Wouldn’t want it to get waterlogged from you heroically rescuing some billionaire from drowning, or whatever.” 

You grin at her; there’s an inflection you take, a provocation. “Is this you trying to steal shit from me or are you just looking for an excuse to see me again?” 

You’re aiming to fluster, but it’s like Chaeyoung’s utterly immune. Well, maybe it makes sense. She’s just like you, used to smooth-talking and movie-star charm, pick-up lines and suggestion, the prospect of sex like a threat, always on the horizon.

Chaeyoung’s forearms drop to the desk, drawing attention to the sharp line of her collarbone, the low dip of her neckline; she spills her eyes wide, all practiced, alluring innocence, the definition of sensuality seemingly without being aware of it, bottom lip pulled into her mouth thoughtfully, releasing slow. There’s something guileless about it, seductive and naïve at the same time - it’s a magnetism so perfect it should be patented. It’s as impressive as it is fucking hot. 

“Huh,” Chaeyoung says, voice slipping into something just off the edge of musical, “you’ll just have to wait and see, won’t you?”

“Fuck,” you say, a beat too late. “You’re good.” 

Her dimple winks at you, betraying the performance. “So I’ve heard.” 

“Your dimple,” you say, distracted entirely, unable to stop yourself. “It’s so fucking cute.” 

Chaeyoung starts, almost like she wasn’t expecting something so honest, something without innuendo - and suddenly she cracks right open, tosses the act out the window, out to sea. Here, she’s saying, and then she laughs again, but it’s almost shy, soft. I don’t need it anymore.

“I’m so sorry,” she says, and she’s switched topic on a dime. “It’s just - thanks, I’m glad you think so, but-” 

(It’s exactly the opposite of all her rehearsed charisma; this is her, going woefully off-script. You’ll follow. You think you always will.)

“Okay, I’ve been thinking this the whole time, but - I need to say it.” Chaeyoung straightens, like she’s doing something reckless, thoughts disorganized and taking flight all on their own. “We’ve - I swear we’ve met before. You and me. Like, before working here.” She clears her throat, wavers, somewhat amazed just by you here, standing in front of her. “This just feels so…” 

Her expression slips out of the meticulously constructed mask she’d had on - she lets her smile split and it’s real, lets her head shake, her shoulders slump, unable to label it. It’s like seeing some award-winning sculpture coming to life, seeing a masterpiece in oil paints get up and walk straight out of the frame: something impossible, dreamlike. You can’t stop staring. 

“Yeah,” you say, breathless. “I know. I’m getting insane fucking deja vu or something.” 

“You’re getting it too!” Chaeyoung taps her knuckles against the receptionist’s desk, relieved. “I thought I was going crazy. But I have no idea where I’d know you from.”

“Maybe we knew each other as kids,” you suggest. 

There’s that dimple again. “Ugh. Too cliché.” 

“You got anything else?” 

Chaeyoung shrugs, throws her hands in the air, gives it all up so easily. “I don’t know, man,” she says, so genuinely you’re laughing again. “Maybe we knew each other in a past life.” 

“Oh, because that’s not cliché at all.” 

“I’ve fucked my fair share of screenwriters,” laments Chaeyoung, somehow crass and cute simultaneously, an animated series with filthy dialogue, banking on the juxtaposition like she invented it. “I’ll come up with something better.”

(She tells you this, but you’re not sure that she can. There’s nothing sweeter than fiction, or at least that’s what people say; they just haven’t seen the two of you yet.)

-

Strangely enough, you leave both the watch and the money with her, like you trust her. There’s no reason why you should - you just fucking met her - but you do. This might come back to bite you later, but not in the ways people would think. It just depends on where you’re going, really. 

“All this cash,” you say, feigning disinterest, tossing the bills back in the box. “I feel like a hooker.” 

“Shut up,” says Chaeyoung, so blunt and brash that you bust out laughing. “You are a hooker.” 

“Look who’s talking.”

“You literally don’t know me,” says Chaeyoung, but there’s a twist to her mouth, a pointed kind of irony. She scans your body like she’s cataloging landmarks, places she’s already been; your eyes, your lips, your hands. There’s no explaining that, either.

Even looking at her feels both like a possibility and a death sentence, everything you can’t have but you want anyway. The post-it note with your name on it flutters to the desk, but it doesn’t matter; there are some things so familiar neither of you will ever forget them.

“Sure,” you say, dryly, and her smile widens. “Let’s say that.” 

-

“Um,” you say on the phone, later that day, and nothing else. 

“Hello to you too,” says your ex. “Wait, let me guess-” 

“Here we go.” 

“You talked to the love of your life today?” your ex asks, smug, and she can read you front-to-back, even through the phone. You’re too caught up in everything to be even remotely surprised by it; you think of it like something anybody would be able to see, like someone would spot you and Chaeyoung together and automatically have you two pegged in an instant. 

“It’s not like that,” you try and say, even though it kind of is. 

“Right.” 

(You came back to the lobby in between shifts to pick up the gift, take it back to your bungalow. Chaeyoung was waiting for you. Hey, she said, and slid you the box. See, I didn’t swindle you. 

Oh, I knew you wouldn’t, you said, and she smiled.)

“It’s just-” You have no idea how you’re going to put this into words, but you’re going to try. “Have you ever talked to someone and it’s like - like you knew them before you met? Like everything feels so - I don’t know. So familiar. Like it’s all happened before.” 

Your ex pauses. 

“Huh,” she says, suddenly softer. “You’ve got it bad.” 

“You think?” you ask, even though you already know the answer. There’s a beat, and then-

“She’s your soulmate,” declares your ex - and that’s what breaks you, gets you to laugh out loud; she’s fucking ridiculous. “You’re on that twin flame shit. Don’t laugh, I’m serious. You’re never gonna be able to leave this alone. It’s, like, decided by the cosmos.” 

“You’re so dumb.” 

“I’m so right.” 

She isn’t, because you’re a man of logic, of cynicism, or at least you try to be - theoretically, you’re nothing if not practical. It’s what you’ve had to be forever. Daydreaming’s never gonna get someone like you anywhere good, so you don’t bother. You keep impossible things right where they belong; out of reach, all far-off concepts. You don’t think of hope, because it’s the sort of thing that devastates plans like yours. It’s all a running joke, the past-lives thing, the familiarity, the nostalgia. There’s nothing else it can be. 

“You’re not,” you insist. “I’m fine.” 

(You can’t figure out why that somehow feels like a lie.) 

-

There’s this sense of a storm warning in there, a little, predictions of a catastrophe. It’s summer, and Chaeyoung’s the most beautiful thing you’ve ever laid eyes on. There’s no point in playing for keeps. She’s not even part of the game. 

“Here’s the problem,” you tell your ex. “She’s also here to be a gold digger.” 

“Whoa,” says your ex, stunned. “She really is your twin flame.” 

“That’s not a thing,” you insist, exasperated, but maybe it doesn’t really matter. Your ex is right about something, after all: you’re never gonna be able to leave this alone. 

-

“I see you liked the watch.”

You’re in between shifts - you’re gonna have to be at the pool in an hour and a half, but that’s a problem for later - and you’re in Jihyo’s hotel room, being everything she paid for. Your shirt’s already off, but Jihyo’s in your lap, trailing her fingers up your wrist. You can’t imagine she dresses like this in her daily life, but out here she’s all miniskirts and gauzy tops, so form-fitting they might as well be painted on. She’s got her arms looped casually around your neck - her bed’s huge, and you’re ready to take full advantage of it. You’re not thinking about anything else. 

“Yeah,” you say, skimming your hands down her sides, “it was quite the gift. The cash was a little much, though, no?” 

Jihyo rolls her eyes, presses her palm to your cheek. “Okay, look,” she says. “I think we can stop pretending that you have zero ulterior motives for fucking me. I know guys like you. You’re super broke and I’m rich as fuck. I get what’s going on here.” 

You laugh out loud. “Okay,” you say, more endeared than you probably should be by her callousness, “I’m not super broke-” 

“I don’t care,” interrupts Jihyo. “The sex is fucking amazing. I’m getting everything I want out of this. We can mutually use each other, honey.” 

You lift a hand, slip it through her hair; there’s the big, gorgeous eyes, the no-nonsense demeanor, the way she smiles and it transforms her whole face - “Fine,” you say, and tip forward to kiss her jaw, uncharacteristically chaste. There’s something mildly demeaning about the way she calls you honey, something slightly patronizing; you’d be lying if you said you didn’t like it, and you’re pretty sure she knows it. 

Jihyo presses her thumb to the spot your lips touched, pleased. “I guess this settles it, then.” 

“Yeah?” 

“I’m your sugar mama for the summer.” She pauses, considering, comfortable in your lap like she has all the time in the world. “Does that sound right? I have to admit, I’ve never been one-hundred-percent on the terminology. If I were a guy it’d be a sugar daddy-” 

“Sure.” 

“-but does that make me your - well, I guess sugar mommy works, too.” 

It does work. The thing between the two of you’s simple, synchronous; this is what it means to be practical, really. You get sidetracked by the way your hand spans her toned thighs, skin all tan and smooth - everyone’s getting sun these days, including you. It looks good on her, but everything does. 

“Hm,” you say, a little belatedly. 

You stroke your fingers up her inner thigh, but Jihyo eyes you, hand back on your wrist, suddenly suspicious. “What was that?” 

“What was what?” 

“Why’d you say hm like that?” 

You flounder, caught. So, you hadn’t exactly meant to give yourself away this early. “Uh, I don’t - I mean, I didn’t say it in any particular way.” 

It’s useless; Jihyo spends all her time getting exactly what she wants out of everyone she knows, and you’re no exception. Nothing gets past her, that shrewd intuition, those eyes - she barely knows you, but somehow she still gets this like you’re the easiest person in the world to read, like you don’t have a thousand defenses at the ready. She’s too smart for you, in effect. It’s a real fucking liability. 

“Oh,” Jihyo says, a smirk finding her mouth. “You like hearing me refer to myself as mommy?” 

“Um,” you say.

“You do,” interprets Jihyo, thrilled, readjusting herself on top of you. “That’s fucking priceless.” 

That’s one way to put it, but you let it slide. Or, at least, you have to, because now Jihyo’s got her hands pressed to your bare chest, nails mapping a path to your waistband, deliberately teasing. She tilts her chin up at you, dark eyes glinting, tone right on the edge of a warning. 

“You want mommy to titfuck you?” she asks, and leans in, goading. “You want mommy to wrap her tits around your cock and make you cum?” 

“Jesus,” you say, voice hoarse. “Yes. Fuck.”

Jihyo arches an eyebrow, perfectly, sternly authoritative. “Yes, what?” 

You’re so much bigger than her, taller and more imposing, intimidating; you could crush her in an instant, push her into any position, wrap your hand around her throat and press down. She’s the one calling the shots, and you won’t - you’ll give in. 

“Yes, please, mommy,” you exhale, and Jihyo grins like the devil. 

-

(Here’s how Jihyo sees it: there’s something about having a huge man under her control, wrapped around her finger. You’re so tall and built you could snap her in two. Instead, you just get on the bed, get underneath her, get naked and start begging. Hey, Jihyo’s always loved having power, in all aspects of her life - this is just one of her favorite ways to exert it. 

“C’mon, honey.” She’s moving her tits up and down your cock, she’s got you right where she wants you - sprawled on her sheets and speechless. “I know you wanna cum on mommy’s tits, huh? You wanna cum all over mommy’s tits?” 

It’s not even like you’re fighting instincts. You, with all your charm and confidence and presence, submit to Jihyo like it’s the easiest thing you’ve ever had to do.

“Yeah,” you’re panting, the strain in your voice intoxicating, something you could bottle and get wasted on. “Yes, mommy. Please let me cum-” 

Let me, you say, and you’re already pleading for permission, composure ripping itself to pieces. 

“Fine,” says Jihyo airily - it’s all about knocking you down a peg - and slides her tits up your cock one more time. “Then cum.”

You do, but recover so fast it’s inhumane; you steal back control like it’d never left, get Jihyo on top and riding your cock, but it’s your fingerprints scorching her hips, the filth falling from your mouth - mommy gets a cock in her slutty little cunt and suddenly she’s not so high and mighty, huh? you taunt, and she’d slap you, but you’d probably like it - and it’s how you leave her breathless afterwards, unreasonably spent and satisfied, cum glazing her tits, stomach. Realistically, she’s probably not paying you nearly enough for how phenomenal the sex is, she thinks, but she’s not about to tell you that. It’s not the money; it’s her pride. She’ll let you figure that out on your own.) 

-

This is the problem - well, you’ve got a lot of those, in retrospect, but here’s the main one:

“Hey,” Chaeyoung says, sunglasses perched on her head, finding you lifeguarding out by the pool a day later. “So, you wouldn’t fucking believe who checked in yesterday-”

It comes out casually, like talking to you is something she’s been doing her entire life. Her chin’s tilted up, face drenched in sunlight, eyes glimmering. You’re fucking someone else. You’re here only for the summer. It’s all so awfully impermanent - and she’s so beautiful your breath catches at the sight of her.

You’re giving up, giving in. There’s a gravity you can’t resist. You look at her and it’s like everything in you’s craving her: your arteries, your bloodstream, nerves shorting out and shot. Impossible things: she’s all of them wrapped up in one, standing in front of you, like she already knows how this ends. 

“Tell me,” you say, and that’s how you know you’re doomed. 

- 

That’s how it really begins, if you had to pick a moment: you two start talking and there’s never a time that hits where you want to cut it off. It’s so uncannily natural, instinctual - there’s no awkward silences, no fumbling through conversations, no mind games or hidden motives. Chaeyoung picks a lounge chair next to you and has to crane her neck to look up at you, but you make her laugh and it’s like there’s no space at all. 

“This is weird,” you comment, halfway through, a little amazed. “You and me.” You’re used to being a great, strategic conversationalist; it’s one of your best tactics. This feels different and you can’t put a name to it.

“What’s weird about it?” says Chaeyoung, smiling. “That I’m in a bikini and hot and you’re not trying to fuck me?”

“No,” you say. “I’m definitely trying to fuck you eventually. Just not, like, right at this moment.” 

Chaeyoung splutters with laughter, and - oh, you two could get carried away here; you’re both barely clothed and there’s a tension between you two that shouldn’t be, a possibility, a yearning - but she says, “Let’s table that for now,” and it all stays where it is. “Hey, have you ever read-” 

It’s the second day you’ve ever spoken and you can’t get enough of each other, somehow. You’re always picking up on threads, easily sidetracked and prone to detours - you can’t just talk about one thing. She tells you about all the books she’s reading, but recaps them more like action movies - you’re telling her about crazy hook-ups you’ve had back home, age gaps and wild kinks. It could be suggestive, but instead it’s not. You’re too busy laughing. 

“It is weird,” she says suddenly, in between stories about her own various sugar daddies. “I just - there’s something about you. Like I want to tell you things I don’t usually tell people.” She rolls her neck, black hair unruly past her shoulders, down her back, curling around the tattoo covering her spine. “Which is probably stupid, right?” She grins, only half-joking. “You’re a gold digger. You’re untrustworthy by default, pretty much.”

“So are you,” you prod back. “That’s why this works, I think.” 

“Damn,” says Chaeyoung, amused, and you get it - God, it’d be so much easier if it didn’t work so well. She stretches back out on her chair, an unholy amount of tan skin left uncovered; the sunglasses on her head are vibrantly red and shaped like strawberries, oddly enough. “Fine. Just tell me if I’m boring you.” 

“You could never,” you say, almost without thinking. It’s you, you want to say. You feel it, don’t you? It could’ve been anyone, but here you are. It could’ve been anyone but you’re with me. 

Chaeyoung tucks her tongue to her cheek, eyes narrowing, picking up on your tone; she’s so familiar with you. It’s just another sign. “Careful,” she says, voice like blaring alarms. “We barely know each other. I could really end up disappointing you.” 

We barely know each other, she says, but she’s got an eyebrow raised, like there’s an inside joke between you two and the universe, some cosmic plotting and planning required to get you both in the same place. There’s nothing about this that should feel this monumental, but it does anyway. The pool’s filled with chatter; off to the side, glasses clink. The music’s soft like it’s meant just for your conversation alone, ambience tailor-made. The sky’s in on all your secrets. 

“I don’t see how that’s even possible,” you say. “My opinion of you’s already so low.” 

There’s a shocked beat, and then-

“Fuck you,” Chaeyoung gasps, but instantly she’s laughing, fully aware of how absurdly false that is. I could’ve never predicted you, you could tell her; that’s the real truth. I couldn’t have even dreamt you up. Like I didn’t know what I wanted, and then I saw your face.  

“Maybe one of these days,” you say. Innuendo’s your favorite fallback. “We’ll get there.” 

“Not if you keep being an asshole to me,” says Chaeyoung, sweetly, and now you’re the one laughing - she’s never told a more obvious lie. 

-

(“I’m joking, by the way,” you add, because you can’t help your own instincts. “My opinion of you is actually unreasonably high. That’s the weird part.” 

“You’re hard to impress,” Chaeyoung interprets, miraculously following where you’re going; she doesn’t seem to mind that you’ve given yourself away, given forth to honesty instead of carrying out the joke. There are steps you’re skipping. “That’s cute.” 

“Is it?” 

“Yes,” she says, decisively. “I’m the opposite. I’m really easy to please.” 

“I could’ve guessed that,” you say, unable to fight your grin. “I bet you have a lot of fun in our line of work, then.” 

You think you’ve got her, but then she pauses, tilts her chin up at you, says lowly, “Maybe you can see it first-hand sometime.” 

That’s something that’s got immediate fantasies in your head - Chaeyoung in your bed, Chaeyoung whining and wrecked, Chaeyoung without that bikini on - and you choke on your own spit, losing the battle immediately. It breaks her front, sends her into hysterics. She’s better than you at this, probably. 

“Shit,” she says, giggling, “you’re so easy, dude.”

“Not usually,” you say, vaguely, and the implications are obvious; her laugh softens to a smile, her eyes dial down and crease, understanding. There are things you don’t have to say out loud for her to get them. 

Not ever, you mean. Not until you.)

-

It’s the second day - or the third, since you first saw her. It’s way too fast. 

it’s not like you’re fucking her? your ex texts. what’s the issue??

You don’t know how to explain that it’s right there - that is the issue.

sex is easy, you reply. it’s simple. like it would make more sense if we WERE having sex but we’re not i don’t know what this is. like i don’t know what to call it

friendship? your ex offers. LMFAO

it’s not that, either, you say, and nothing else. i mean i barely KNOW her… it’s been two days.

the heart wants what the heart wants… your ex says, cryptically. and sometimes the universe just makes it happen :D

you and your fucking fortune cookie wisdom

omg…. you think i’m wise…….

ok. don’t talk to me

love you too <3

You know friendship - you learned it from your ex herself, weirdly enough. You know what it feels like to have someone you’d do anything for. It’s not a foreign concept. It’s just-

i literally don’t know what’s wrong with me i’m obviously used to getting close to people really fast just cause that’s my job you know but there’s like no other motive i just LIKE her or i’m drawn to her, you say, and you’re rambling, you know that. i don’t know. it’s insane. it’s way too soon

You’re like a teenager with a crush - except it all feels so weighted, so significant. You’re breaking it down in the simplest terms you know how. You don’t know another way to say I see her and I want to tell her everything; even the awful things, the skeletons, the things I’m running from. It’s too soon and it’s like her smile snaps me open. It’s too soon for all of it.

oh, you, your ex says, and you can practically hear the teasing fondness even now. i always knew you were a hopeless romantic. 

-

(twin flame, she says, later. i was onto something. 

fuck you, you respond, because it’s better than admitting she’s right.) 

-

So, you’ve met a lot of people that do the same thing you do. 

It’s straightforward, hypothetically. You need to be hot, you need to be charming, you need to keep your eye on the prize. There’s a healthy amount of manipulation in it, sometimes: if your target’s not on the same page as you, you’ve gotta drag them there. Make them think it’s love for the right price. Make them fall and be there to catch them, as long as they pay up. 

“I don’t do it like that anymore, though,” you tell Chaeyoung. “I grew a guilty conscience, or something.” 

“That’s commendable,” says Chaeyoung. She’s with you on one of your lifeguard shifts, which gives her an excuse to stroll the beach in a skimpy, colorful bikini top, denim shorts so tiny they show off her tanned legs, thighs. She’s in the sun almost constantly - it’s turned her golden, angelic. Then there’s the amount of skin showing, which presents as something like devilry, inhumane; you want to touch her and you can’t. 

“Really,” she says to you. “I mean, personally, I try not to break people’s hearts - but sometimes it’s definitely, like, oh, maybe I’ll love you if you spoil me enough. Art of the tease, I guess.” She shrugs, the sea breeze toying with her black hair. “People like that. The idea that I could be theirs if they play their cards right.” 

It’s not the first time Chaeyoung’s brought up the way she plays the game. She has this matter-of-fact way of talking about it, so different than the way she talks about anything else - Chaeyoung’s passionate by nature, you’ve discovered, dropping into tangents at the drop of a hat: there’s art, there’s music, there’s films she adores, there’s the smell of the sea or the blue of the sky, capturing her attention in seconds - but she’s so clinical, with the way she makes her money. Like it’s not even connected to her. Like she’s putting her body up for grabs and her soul is somewhere far, far away. 

 “Sure, it’s selfish,” she says, another day, “but honestly, selflessness is a luxury I can’t exactly afford right now.” 

You don’t say anything, because you know exactly what she means. 

-

You’ve met people like you: sugar babies, gold diggers, leeches, professional opportunists. You’ve seen it all, people using their looks to get what they want. You’ve been there. You’re very, very good - but Chaeyoung’s better.

You don’t realize quite how much until one day where you might be ditching your shift just to hang out with her, loitering around at the receptionist’s desk. It’s a little bit of a habit - you swear you’re only there to check for new gifts, pay her a visit, but it’s too easy to get tangled up in conversation with her - so it’s a lost cause. You’re with her and you can’t pull away. You’d probably get in trouble for it, but you’re shirtless. 

“Whoa,” says Chaeyoung, when she sees you, eyes blown comically wide. “I thought this was a classy establishment. No shoes, no shirt, no service.” 

“I am the service,” you point out, and she breaks on a laugh, delightfully easy to entertain. “Plus, I’m good for business. Half my job is just standing around looking sexy.” 

Chaeyoung cocks her head, lets her gaze rake down your body. “Fine,” she says, lips curling. “Then I’d say you’re succeeding.”

You’re here to check for new gifts, or at least that’s your excuse. You forget to even ask about them because there’s something magnetic about Chaeyoung, something polarizing about you and her; the moment you’re in her orbit you can’t just leave it, like there’d be a physical ache if you tried. It’s stupid, and you can’t explain it. You won’t even try. 

“I was supposed to go to art school,” she’s telling you, now. “Well - okay, technically I still am going to art school. I start in the fall. But I actually got accepted earlier than that; I had to take a year off so I could save up some money for it.” 

You startle a little at the mention of the fall - at the mention of a time after summer, a time where you and her won’t exist. You brush it off, quickly; you’re jumping the gun. You’ve got months. 

“Art school,” you muse, and avoid the undertone; you already knew she needed money. She wouldn’t be here otherwise. “Yeah.” 

Chaeyoung grins at you, anticipatory. “Yeah, what?” 

“No, I was just thinking-” You shake your head. “Sorry. It just suits you, that’s all. Like, I can imagine you there kind of perfectly.” It’s too sentimental, so you backtrack, let it fall to jokes: “I mean, surrounded by people who are just as pretentious as you-” 

“Shut up,” says Chaeyoung, but you can tell by the way her nose crinkles that she’s pleased. 

“-debating the meaning of life and the law of attraction or whatever-” 

“Uh, okay, you clearly have no idea what art students are like.”

“I know you,” you point out, too easily: you’re recalling long-winded rants on metaphors in cinematography, on the symbolism of color in art, on lyrical prose in dictionary-thick novels, on poetic theories of the universe. That’s Chaeyoung for you - so fascinated by the world around her, so completely in love with just existing, like she’s never had a reason not to be. It’s the simplest things, she tells you one time. That’s what makes life worth living, for me. 

Chaeyoung doesn’t even falter at the confession, just tips her head, examines you slowly. “Yeah,” she agrees, softer than you were expecting. It’s been a little more than a week. It’s crazy but she won’t deny it. “You do.”

“Excuse me.” 

The new voice effectively jolts you both out of the moment. Chaeyoung’s eyes flick to yours, meaningful - it’s the closest she’ll get to rolling them, to sighing, to saying I can’t believe I have to do my fucking job right now when all I want to do is talk to you - but she straightens in her chair, puts on a smile. You back off, angle yourself against the desk; it’s your way of making yourself decorative, a selling point. 

“Hi,” says the man standing in front of you both. He glances at you, but he settles on Chaeyoung; you’re not about to blame him for that. “I wanted to check in?” 

“Well,” says Chaeyoung, sweetly, “I guess you came to the right place then, huh?”

And, so, like you said: you’re good, but she’s better. 

The change in her is instantaneous, flipping the charisma on like a switch, like an innate skill. It’s her tone of voice, the way she talks - bubbly, bright, so ready to laugh or smile or give any reaction that’ll validate - but it’s also strangely in her body language, her facial expressions. There’s a certain way she arranges her features when she’s aiming to charm: spilling her eyes wide, flashing her dimple like it’s a party trick, the parted lips, the glimpse of teeth, the angle of her jaw. She leans forward, tilts her head on an incline, like she’s placing specific emphasis on how small she is, how easy she’d be to pin against a wall and feel up and fuck - she plays so innocent, but every part of her body screams danger, the tan and the tattoos - she knows exactly what she’s doing and she’s doing it spectacularly-

“I’m Chaeyoung,” she’s telling the guy, now, hands clasped underneath her chin. “If you need anything, I’ll be right here. Like - if you wanna ever take me up on that volleyball game, let me know.” She smiles up at the man; there’s an inside joke you’d missed while tuning them out - you should never underestimate how Chaeyoung can craft connections in seconds. “I’ll go easy on you, I promise.”

“Right,” says the man, flashing a vaguely predatory grin. He’s studying her a little intensely, like he’s thinking of balling her shirt in his fist, wrapping his hand in her hair. “Chaeyoung. Thanks so much, sweetheart. I appreciate it.” 

Chaeyoung waves him off, her laugh like bell chimes. “Hey - no need to thank me, sir. Just doing my job.”

You don’t quite realize it until then, how seeing her in action is a masterclass: cute, coquettish, inspiring dirty dreams just by opening her mouth. She’s so good at it that it’s kind of fucked up. There’s a power in knowing how pretty you are; it’s another thing entirely to know just how to wield it, how to put it in practice. 

“Sir,” you repeat once the man is out of earshot, impressed despite yourself. 

“Nice touch, right?” Chaeyoung leans back in her chair, adorably self-satisfied. “How much you wanna bet he’ll want me to call him that when I fuck him?” 

Ah, the games you play - it’d be stupid to bring money into it. You know better than to bet in cash: you’ve got other things in mind. A kiss, a touch, a possibility. You can’t want her, because everybody does. She can’t want you, because it goes both ways. 

“I’ll bet a night,” you say. 

Chaeyoung lifts an eyebrow, uncomprehending. “What?” 

“I’ll bet a night with you.” You place a hand palm-up on the counter, leveling your offers. “If he makes you call him sir while you fuck-” 

“Jesus,” says Chaeyoung, a little strangled, like the insinuation of established titles during sex means something completely different coming out of your mouth. 

“-then we stay out for a night and you take me anywhere on the island.”

There’s an insinuation, here, and for once it’s something past sexual: you don’t have nights together. You spend most of yours in Jihyo’s bed and Chaeyoung spends hers hopping between whoever’s paying the right price - you’re indentured to the highest bidders. It’s just the way things are. 

(Give it up for me, for once - that’s what you’re really asking. We already both have a million things to lose - give yourself one more.)

It’s not even really a question, in the end. Chaeyoung watches you, lashes fluttering, no longer putting on a performance but somehow just as mesmerizing, surreal, stunning. The magnetism’s always been mutual. She’s never really going to say no to you. 

“Fine,” she says, like she knows what she’s getting into - like she’s counting on it. “I’ll take that bet. What do I get if I win?” 

“I’ll be your doubles partner in volleyball.” 

Chaeyoung gasps, jaw dropping, so earnestly excited by the prospect that you can’t help but laugh, endeared. It’s cute, how easy she is to please - well, at least it’s always been easy for you. “Really?” 

“Really.” She’s been begging you to go out to the beach with her for days. It’s only fair. You were always going to give in, anyway. Even if you win, you’re probably still going to.

“Deal,” says Chaeyoung, grinning wildly. “You’re on.” 

It’s a bad idea, probably, but they all are. You’ve never been a betting man but you’re starting now. The hands of fate have already gotten their grip on you, on her - there’s the moment you first locked eyes, there’s the world shattering at your feet - so you’ll leave it up to them, now. They took you this far. 

You shake on it, Chaeyoung’s hand in yours, a risk the second you’re touching her. Fate, that’ll do it; it’s so much easier when there’s someone else to blame. 

-

“I’m aiming to fuck him anyway,” Chaeyoung reasons, a little later, tapping her vibrantly lacquered nails to the desk. “The bet’s just on the sir part of it. The sex is already happening - or, most likely,” she adds, an afterthought, a far-off scenario. “I mean, there’s always a chance he’ll turn me down.” 

“He won’t,” you say. “He’s a man. You’re the hottest woman alive. Wanting to fuck you senseless is practically instinct.”

It’s crass, it’s forward, it’s an admission of guilt; it’s the first time you’ve said something about you fucking her that hasn’t landed as half a joke, too dark and deliberate. You pause, wholly incriminating, and you wait for it. 

It’s a direct hit. Chaeyoung freezes, stares, genuinely speechless, like she doesn’t get men throwing themselves at her feet on the daily - like she doesn’t get married guys offering to leave their wives for her, like she doesn’t get billionaires offering to pay her college tuition, like she’s not the most gorgeous girl to ever walk the earth - and says, finally, somewhat breathless, “God, don’t talk to me like that.”

(She’s speechless, you know, because it’s different with you, when you say things like this and mean them.)

“Like what?” 

Like you want me - that’s what she’ll never say. Like you’d die to fuck me. Like you have a bed with my name on it. Like you know I want you too. 

“You know what,” Chaeyoung murmurs, instead, and you do. She doesn’t have to say it out loud for you to understand.. 

-

(“Also,” she says, “that’s hilarious. The idea that men are biologically programmed to want to have sex with women - like, okay, forget the spectrum of sexuality, or whatever-” 

“I’m not forgetting anything,” you say, entertained. “Believe me, I know all about the spectrum of sexuality. I’m an equal opportunity gold digger.”

You’re not sure what kind of reaction you’re expecting, but then-

“I probably could’ve predicted that,” admits Chaeyoung, considering. “I mean, we’ve already figured out that you’re just like me.”)

-

You’ll get to the bet, eventually, but in the meantime-

“How many people are you fucking on this island besides me?” Jihyo asks you, one night, as you’re perched on the edge of her bed, getting re-dressed. “If you can’t keep count, just give me, like, a ballpark estimate.” 

You burst out laughing. She’s a bitch, but only at the funniest moments. It’s strangely adorable. “Jesus Christ.” 

“You can tell me,” Jihyo says candidly, running a hand through her hair. “I won’t be mad or anything.” 

“You’re cute,” you say, and lean over to drop a kiss on top of her head; Jihyo scoffs but allows it, too spent from the orgasms. Her chest is littered with hickeys - you can’t keep your mouth off her and you won’t pretend you want to. “I’m only fucking you. Contrary to popular belief, I like to focus on one person at a time.” 

“One person at a time to exploit,” says Jihyo, haughtily. “For money.” 

She’s not fooling anyone. “Baby, we don’t have to fuck if this isn’t working for you.” 

“Ugh,” groans Jihyo, slumping backwards, looking like she’d rather launch one of her pillows at you. You follow down her gorgeous face to the line of her neck, her collarbone, the tops of her tits purpled with bruises, nipples that you’ve found are insanely sensitive-

“My eyes are up here,” says Jihyo, but there’s a sudden grin in her voice; she’s kind of in love with how obsessed you are with her tits. 

“What eyes?” 

“Perv,” she snipes, rolling over on her side. You stand, admiring the view; there’s no way any of her shirts will be able to cover up those hickeys. She looks a little like she’s been mauled. “Hey, if I’m the only person you’re sleeping with, what the hell have you been doing with all your time?” 

“Working. Doing my job. Obviously.” 

She gives you a droll look. “Uh-huh.”

She’s got a point; you’re kind of fucking terrible at your job. Hey, at least no one’s drowned on your watch yet. 

“I’m being social,” you say. “I made some friends. Well, one friend.” 

You don’t even say Chaeyoung’s name, but it’s like the mention of her puts her ghost in the room, puts weight on your tongue; Jihyo tilts her head, assessing you, strands of short black hair cutting through her cheekbones, eyes with a gleam. She’s too aware of the details, the giveaways. Chaeyoung’s on your mind and somehow it changes things. 

“Oh,” Jihyo says, meaningfully, smile forming slow. “A friend.” 

“That’s what I said,” you reply, not giving in. “Okay, bye.”

You hear Jihyo’s laughter ring out behind you, but you don’t look back. There are some things you aren’t even admitting to yourself, yet - you’re not about to let her figure them out first. 

-

“Look,” says Chaeyoung, just as you’ve hit two weeks. “I’m just saying, you’re fucking Park Jihyo. If you’re not a tit man, I don’t know what you are.”

“Um, excuse you. I like a lot of different things. I’m multifaceted and shit.” 

You’re blowing off one of your shifts again, but it’s worth it - it’s paradise, and you’re making the most of it. You’re existing on borrowed time, but at least you’re existing at all. 

“Plus,” you add. You’re leaning on the counter, noticeably less clothed than everyone around you; Chaeyoung’s remarkably casual today, matching you perfectly. Despite how high-class the resort purports to be, she’s dressing like she’s the one on vacation and somehow getting away with it. “I’d be fucked financially if I only got involved with women that fit one specific type.” 

Chaeyoung’s currently got a tiny, lined notepad out in front of her, the top of it embossed with the resort’s logo. She says, “Okay, but if you had to pick a type.” 

There’s something a little wild about her, a little unruly: her black hair falls down her back in wind-mussed waves, her shirt askew, slipping down one shoulder to expose her collarbone, her nails each painted a different vibrant color, polish chipping at the edges. Her denim shorts are unbuttoned, rolled down carelessly at the waistband, exposing patterned blue bikini bottoms. Her tongue settles at the corner of her mouth, and she’s humming between sentences - there’s a pencil in her hand, tattooed fingers drawing lines, curves, thoughtful and deliberate. Stop, wait, any filmmaker would say, if they could see her now: there, that’s the shot. 

“I’m looking at it,” you say, grinning. 

Chaeyoung glances up, catches your smile just to mirror it, immediately, an instinct she can’t fight off. “Boo,” she says, like she’s heckling you, and pretends to chuck her pencil in your direction. “Lame. So lame.” 

“I’m serious.” 

“I know,” sighs Chaeyoung, like that makes it ten times worse. “You’re not subtle, dude. You - I mean, you look at me like I was made for you.” 

It’s two weeks in; time grinds to a halt. You stop short, startled. Chaeyoung hesitates, momentarily struck by her own words. You’re always doing this, always dropping the ball, always drawing lines just to cross them; you’re shifting tones, lanes. She says sentences like they’re not revelations, like they’re not the end of the world. It’s two weeks in, and you’re both saying insane, outrageous things - wondering why they slip so easily into conversation, why it’s like they’re making themselves at home. 

“Well,” you start, too soft to serve as a joke. “Sometimes - sometimes, it’s like-” 

“I know,” says Chaeyoung, again, hands stilling on her page. “Don’t say it. We’ve known each other for, like, five seconds, you lunatic.” 

She says it because it’s what’s expected; it’s all too quick, too soon, too sudden. It’s all feelings that shouldn’t be there here or now or ever. It’s all wrong - but Chaeyoung’s lips tilt ruefully, understanding. She can never keep things from you, or at least that’s what you’re learning. Like it’d be going against something preprogrammed into her code.

“But,” she concedes, quietly, “yeah. It’s like that for me, too.”

-

(It might make us both crazy, she’s saying, but sometimes I feel like you were made for me.)

-

“Actually,” says Chaeyoung. “While we’re on the subject of of types.” 

“I’m yours. I’m already aware, Chaeyoung.” 

“You’re mine,” agrees Chaeyoung, raising her brows wryly, and there it is again: every statement loaded, a weapon to aim and fire. “Shut up. So - okay, I know we made that bet about me fucking that one guy, and I will-” 

“I’m counting on it.” 

“-but there’s also this girl I was planning to get with this summer.” 

It’s a short story, this girl she’s got her eye on. She’s an heiress, Chaeyoung says. She’s gorgeous, she’s sexy, she’s generous - and she spent all of last summer attached to some world-famous pop star that Chaeyoung won’t name, lest she break the half a dozen NDAs she’s locked into-

“But she’s late,” groans Chaeyoung. “I’m starting to think she’s not even gonna show up.” 

“Wait,” you say. “Can we circle back to the pop star?” 

“No.” 

“Just give me a hint on who it is.” 

“Uh.” Chaeyoung’s forehead puckers thoughtfully; she’s never really going to put up much of a fight against you. It’s become obvious that you both want the same things, really. “She’s hot?” 

“Chaeyoung, you think every famous rich girl you meet is hot.”

Chaeyoung scrunches her nose happily, dimple taking precedence; it’s you, you realize, the way you talk to her so easily, like you’ve already gotten her all figured out. Like you have some right to know her, to treat her like this: like you’ve known her forever. 

“Well,” she begins, like she’s considering it, “you’re not completely wrong. The thing about my heiress is - oh, shit.”

There’s some sort of commotion going on behind you; you can hear it, the all-too-polite, mildly smarmy, gossipy murmurs that you’ve come to recognize as characteristic of the guests here. They’re used to it, probably; drama, intrigue. It’s probably not cool to be anything but detachedly blasé, so they aren’t. Chaeyoung’s the opposite; you pause, distracted by how her irises sparkle, lips parting prettily - but she’s zeroing in on something just over your shoulder. You finally give in, turn, and there’s-

“Huh,” says Chaeyoung, a satisfied smile in her voice. “Speak of the devil.” 

Standing there in the middle of the lobby is a girl so outrageously beautiful that it’s like time stops around her - like everyone in the room freezes, like there’s a spotlight with her name on it, like there’s a spell she’s cast just by walking into the room. She’s lithe and lean, dark-haired, infuriatingly attractive: the kind of beauty that makes people want her dead, the kind of smile that makes it impossible for anyone to do anything less than adore her. Her shirt’s black and cropped, her jeans skintight and dark - she’s beaming, giggling, waving off the doorman like they’re old friends. The whole lobby’s half in love with her from her eyes alone, dark and long-lashed and endearingly earnest, like she’s never had a bad intention in her life. She’s got monogrammed Louis Vuitton luggage, a fluffy blue Prada bag hanging off her arm. She’s slipping right into the center of attention as if it’s a space carved out just for her. She’s captivating, she’s everything, she’s like a five-five supermodel, made to be put in print and looked at - she’s probably the most stunning thing anyone in this room’s ever seen. 

You laugh out loud, because, well - if there’s anything your ex-girlfriend knows best, it’s how to make a fucking entrance. 

It’s the sound of your laughter that does it, or it must be. The girl in the center of the room swivels immediately, and her eyes land on you, jaw falling open, always one for the theatrics. Oh, you’ll indulge her. It’s just the way the two of you work. 

“Hey, gorgeous,” you call, and Minatozaki Sana drops everything just to run right into your arms. 

-

“Oh my god, it’s a fucking miracle.”  

“Sana.” 

“I haven’t seen you in, like, years. I thought I was going to die.” 

“It’s been less than a month,” you inform Chaeyoung behind the counter, which is mildly hard to do given that you have a habit of lifting Sana up when you hug her, and she also currently refuses to detach herself from you. “She has separation anxiety when she’s not with me.” 

“Please,” retorts Sana, but brightly good-natured, pulling back just to cup your face in her hands. She’s being so over-the-top she’s drawing eyes, her smile megawatt, blinding. “You can’t survive without me either, babe. Codependence is a two-way street.” 

You drop a kiss to Sana’s forehead, laugh as she beams brighter, satiated. “It’s true,” you relent to Chaeyoung, as Sana slips from your arms just to rest her head against your shoulder. “I’m in this bullshit for life, probably.”

Chaeyoung doesn’t say anything, instead watching the both of you, head at an angle and eyes narrowed.

Well, you can already tell where she’s probably at. It’s what any sane person would think seeing you and your ex-girlfriend attached at the hip, intertwined, somewhat addicted to being around each other - it should probably be time to call it there. Name whatever’s going on between you and Chaeyoung dead on arrival, mark the time and wait for the rigor mortis to set in: it’ll be over before it begins. There’s no use in getting involved with a guy who spends all his free time with his ex-girlfriend, especially when that ex-girlfriend is-

“Miss Minatozaki?” 

“Oh, fuck, my luggage,” realizes Sana, and then rushes to meet the bellboy halfway, where he’s already wheeling them towards her. She’s a whirlwind of expensive perfume, perfectly styled hair - there’s never a thread out of place, never an imperfection, even as she waves her hands bashfully. “Sorry, sorry!” 

“This is an interesting development,” pegs Chaeyoung, once Sana’s out of earshot, tone an enigma, unusually unreadable. 

“Jealous?” 

“Never,” says Chaeyoung, slyly, like she knows something you don’t. “Just… reevaluating.” 

You shoot her a look - oh, the company you keep and their flair for the dramatics - but Chaeyoung sees your skeptical expression and cracks into a grin, unable to be cryptic for long. There’s something so cute about it, so simple and significant: how she can fake anything for anyone except for you.

“Sana,” greets Chaeyoung, suddenly, propping a palm under her jaw, smile sweet and intact. “Great to have you back this summer.” 

“Chaeyoung!” squeals Sana on her return, like this might’ve been the first time she’d noticed her; you wouldn’t be surprised. That’s the thing about Sana, heedlessly flighty, easily sidetracked. “I missed your face. God, I haven’t seen you in forever.” 

Sana’s leaning across the desk in greeting, the collar of her cropped black top gaping open, a few too many buttons popped and her hand suddenly slipped in yours, fingers adorned with expensive silver rings. Chaeyoung, to her credit, seems slightly more preoccupied by Sana’s grip on your hand than the way Sana’s shirt reveals her chest. She’s probably the only one.

“I know,” says Chaeyoung, lips twitching in that way they do when she’s fighting off a laugh. It’s Minatozaki Sana - it’s impossible to not be enchanted by her. “I was starting to think you’d abandoned us.” 

“Ugh. No.” Sana flaps her free hand in the air, like the thought’s ridiculous. You tug her back close to your side, dropping her hand just to absentmindedly fix one of the buttons on her shirt up. “Are you kidding? No other resort has such sexy employees.” 

You pause, letting her shirt fall; Chaeyoung barrels on smoothly, flicking a painted nail between the two of you. Despite it all - the messy waves of her hair, the too-casual outfit, the chipping polish, the colorful tattoos scattered across her arms - there’s a sudden sophistication to her, a pointed, practiced charisma, sanding out all her edges. 

“So,” Chaeyoung says. “How do you two know each other?” 

You almost say her name, call her on it. Logically, there’s no reason for Chaeyoung to be performing like she is right now, in front of you, and it’s just Sana-

“We’ve been best friends since birth, or whatever,” says Sana cheerfully, wiggling her fingers like it’s nothing. “And we used to date. But we broke up a while back. Mutual thing. All good.” 

One of Chaeyoung’s eyebrows inches upwards. She’s looking at you, trying to figure out your strategy - Sana’s practically hotelier heiress royalty, her dad the owner of a long string of luxury establishments; everyone here knows her money and her name. She’s a payout personified, or she would be. “Right,” she says, slowly, like she’s attempting to discern whether your friendship with Sana is just an obscenely long con or not. “That’s-” 

“Chill,” you say, amused, beating her to the punch. “I’m not fucking Sana for money - or at all. She’s seriously my best friend. And she already knows I’m a gold digger.”

“I didn’t say anything,” says Chaeyoung, pulling out her large, patently innocent eyes, like some obnoxiously adorable cartoon animal; a flutter of her lashes and she could talk her way into anyone’s bed, or heart, or bank account. “I would never insinuate that you’d sleep with someone for money. That’s, like, really inappropriate.” 

“Sure.” You’ve become too familiar with that particular trick to fall for it at this point. “And now you’re doing the eyes-”

“My eyes literally just look like this,” says Chaeyoung, lying, breaking character. She can’t hold up the performance for long. Half as sweet and three times as gorgeous, mischievous; this is a genuineness she seems to save just for you. 

“Not to mention you call me a hooker constantly-” 

“Okay, well, you behave like a hooker constantly.” 

“Says you?” you point out, and Chaeyoung huffs, tosses her hair over a shoulder, opens her mouth to fire back-

“Whoa,” says Sana, gleeful, tapping her finger to the receptionist’s desk like she’s tallying points. “What’s this?”

You and Chaeyoung exchange a glance - ah, it’s always something. The corner of Chaeyoung’s full mouth pulls up, revealing her dimple. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” says Chaeyoung, playing coy like she’s getting paid for it, slipping right back into the charm. “We’re just…” 

“Having friendly workplace camaraderie,” you pick up, shooting her a grin. Chaeyoung rolls her eyes, turns her head so you don’t notice her hiding a laugh; you see it anyway, hear it in your head like she’d let it loose. 

“Oh my god.” Sana nudges your elbow, jaw dropping. Chaeyoung looks away, and Sana zeroes in on you, dark eyes wide with the realization - she tugs at your hand and mouths love of your life. “So this is-”

(Love of your life, like it’s the most obvious thing. It’s true, then: it’s there, and everyone can see it. It’s you and Chaeyoung and both of you are blowing your own covers just by being around each other. It’s been two weeks, barely. There are some things that are impossible to quantify.)

“Alright, that’s enough.” You cut Sana off, poke her in her ribs. Sana immediately squeals with laughter, ticklish; she bats wildly at you with her hands and in the process attracts at least twenty prying eyes. “Don’t you have a room to check into or something?”

“This is amazing,” declares Sana, looking from you to Chaeyoung in the least subtle way possible. “I obviously got here at the perfect time.” 

“I’ll say,” cuts in Chaeyoung, timbre back to airy, dripping with that light musicality you’ve come to recognize as her first giveaway. There’s a switch flipped, somewhere: eyes wider, lips poutier, dimple deepening warmly. “This place has been a snoozefest without you, Sana.”

You watch Chaeyoung closely, mark the moves she’s made - there’s something here you’re not seeing. Sana giggles; she’s quick to laugh, quicker to flirt, always receptive to some effort.

“Oh, no,” she says, demurely, “it seems like you two have been getting along just fine all by yourselves.” 

It’s a line unexpected enough to throw Chaeyoung off her game. Her shoulders rise, perturbed, and she looks at you immediately, like there’s a pull she can’t fight - someone mentions the connection between you and it’s like you can’t do anything but prove it, her eyes locked on yours. Well, you’re both caught and badly. There are a million things neither of you will admit out loud, but you don’t really need to - it seems like everyone can tell, anyway. 

“I guess we have,” Chaeyoung says, softly. 

(Turns out there’s no need to call a time of death, after all. You and Chaeyoung are always breaking some rule, somehow - the status quo’s just first in line.) 

-

“Wait,” you say, after Sana’s gone - it’s not for long, but it’s a moment - and everything clicks so much later than it should have. “Did you say speak of the devil, earlier?” 

Chaeyoung’s got those eyes on again, deliberately, politely customer-service clueless. “Sorry?” 

“She’s your heiress.” You laugh out loud, getting it all at once: the demeanor, the tone, the act. “You’re trying to fuck Sana.” 

There it is: the interesting development. She came here to snag Sana and somehow she got you instead, off of some far-off twist, some butterfly effect. Somewhere, you swear you hear fate laughing at you - oh, she’s saying, you thought you could beat me. 

“Yeah,” says Chaeyoung, pointedly, “before I knew that she was your ex.” 

“My best friend,” you say, not quite a correction but an amendment nonetheless - it’s always what’s been more important. “Don’t worry, you’re not breaking bro code or whatever if you go after her.” You grin at her, dryly glib. “Business is business, right?” 

“Ew.” Chaeyoung flicks your arm. “But, yeah. Thanks.” 

There’s a pause here, yet another thing left unsaid. It’s not about Sana and you both know it. It’s about you and Chaeyoung, about that pull, about gravity - about the feeling you can’t shake, the one that indicates the two of you are hurtling towards something inevitable, an eclipse, an astronomical phenomenon. Something that’ll consume you both, in the end. 

You pass over it; you have all summer to get there. “But that means I know all about the pop star from last year, by the way,” you say - Sana isn’t shy about anything, but especially not all her high-profile hook-ups. “Im Nayeon, right?” 

“Yes!” Chaeyoung smacks the desk with her fist, taking the out, eyes lighting up. “It was wild. I swear I caught them seconds from fucking, like, fifty different times. But I don’t think Nayeon’s coming back this summer, so - God’s on my side, I guess. No competition.” 

“Yeah, I didn’t think she’d come. Nayeon has a boyfriend now.” 

“What?” 

There’s something genuinely fun about gossiping with Chaeyoung; she always gets so wholeheartedly invested in it all, expressive and animated in the best way, the exact opposite of all the bored, disinterested guests roaming the island, too cool to get so caught up. Chaeyoung’s never had any of those reservations - she’s nosy, she’s chatty, she loves drama. It’s cuter than it should be. 

“No,” Chaeyoung gasps, fully impassioned. “No way! But she’s - people would know, wouldn’t they? I haven’t heard anything about it. Is she even allowed to date?” 

“It’s this big secret: he’s some random no-name guy from her hometown. High school sweethearts, or something.”

“Wow.” Chaeyoung presses a palm to her chest, apparently overcome, eyes dreamily wide. Somehow, with you, she always ends up with her emotions on her sleeve. “That’s so romantic.” 

There’s a sudden, familiar rush of affection; there’s no reason a girl like her should be so invested in love, and yet she is anyway. God, you think of saying, crazily, I hope you never change. 

“That’s new,” you tell her, instead. “A gold digger who believes in romance, huh?” 

“I love love,” Chaeyoung says, shrugging unabashedly, open and without defense. In front of her, pencil sketches stretch out across her notepad, anatomy whittled down to something whimsical - hearts and hands, ribs sharp enough to count, the human form turned to a fine art. “It’s just really impractical for me right now. That doesn’t mean I don’t believe in it.”

You’ve never really had anything to believe in - no religion or higher power, no hopes, no false deities - but now you’re here, with her, and somehow, things are different. You smile to yourself, and that’s all there is to it. 

(There’s something to be said about faith, here, but neither of you ever find the words.)

-

“Hey,” Sana says, a day or two later, when you catch her out by the pool. “Why is the love of your life trying to fuck me for money?” 

So, Chaeyoung moves fast; you can’t exactly say you’re surprised. “Uh, please don’t call her that.” 

Sana turns in her chair, looking at you over her Prada sunglasses, brown eyes wide. “What else should I call her?” she asks, crooking an eyebrow. 

It’s rhetorical. There’s not an answer you could give that wouldn’t give you away.

“Well,” you say. “Do you want to fuck her?” 

“Yes,” says Sana, immediately. “Obviously. She’s so hot. But if you don’t want me to, I won’t.” 

“It’s not like she and I can even do anything,” you say, but even as it comes out of your mouth you don’t mean it. “Or it’s not like we should.” There’s jokes, and then there’s craving; there’s no money in it and so it shouldn’t happen, but somehow, you already know it’s going to. You’ll go for denial first. “And it’s not like she and I are - I mean - we’re friends, Sana.” 

Sana tilts her head, dark hair falling smoothly over a shoulder. “That’s not what you texted me.” 

You throw her hands up, lost. There’s no way to explain it - no way to say I see her and it’s like no one else exists. “I don’t know,” you say. She’s right - you’re not just friends. It’s not up for debate. You get within feet of Chaeyoung and she can’t stop touching you and you can’t stop looking at her and you’re woefully trapped in each other’s space, supernovas tugging and ruthlessly, black holes threatening to ruin everything you’ve worked for. There’s a galaxy in her eyes; she smiles and it suspends the world. 

Sana watches you, waiting. She’s always known you too well.

“She can’t fuck me for money,” you point out, eventually, and that’s the problem in itself. There’s no bite to it, no bitterness. It’s just the truth. 

-

It’s two weeks in. You’ll play your parts. It hasn’t nearly been long enough for you to give in so easy.

-

(Here’s how Sana sees it - you and Chaeyoung are both fucking blind. 

Don’t you know how rare it is? she wants to say. Don’t you see how amazing it is that you two are even in the same place at all? It takes forever to meet someone and just know. You know. Why are you wasting that? 

But she’s known you long enough to know she can’t push you into anything. Plus - she’s not as selfless as she tries to be. She sees Chaeyoung and her tattoos and her eyes and her pointed seduction; she sees a pretty girl and she needs her hands on her. She’s used to getting what she wants and you gave her a go-ahead. Well, we can’t all be perfect people. 

“Alright,” she says, cheerfully, settling her sunglasses atop her head. “Then it’s settled.” 

“Have fun,” you tell her. It’s odd, but you don’t seem jealous, or bothered. Maybe you know, she thinks. Maybe you can read the way Chaeyoung looks at you, too: like nothing else has ever mattered. Sex is inconsequential, to people like you. It won’t change a thing. 

“Yeah,” she says, smiling, standing. Oh, she’ll have her fun, alright. “I will.” 

Also - and this is her real point - she sees what happens when you and Chaeyoung get into the same room. Really, she figures, it’s only a matter of time.)

-

“Hey,” you point out before she goes; there’s one last thing she hadn’t mentioned. “I thought you were trying to fuck Park Jihyo. Like, steal her from me and shit. How are you gonna do that if you’re with Chaeyoung?” 

It barely takes a second to get an answer. “I can multitask,” says Sana, serenely, and - yep, you can’t say you were expecting anything less.

-

“Oh, Jesus fuck.” 

“Thanks,” says Chaeyoung, the next time you see her; you’re grabbing breakfast at one of the cafés offshooting from the resort, for once actually utilizing your breaks and not just ditching your shifts. She grins like it’s a compliment she’s taking. “I think so too.” 

“Shut up.” You slide in the chair across from her. “Man. I forgot how much Sana likes to bite.” 

Chaeyoung’s got her hair tied down in two braids, tiny colorful clips wound through them - her shirt’s low-cut, making a point. There’s been at least some effort to cover the hickeys scattering her neck and chest, but she’s not hiding much of anything, regardless. 

“Yep,” says Chaeyoung, cheerily, and nothing else. She passes you an iced coffee; she’s gotten in the habit of ordering for you. “Here.” 

“Thanks.”

You’d think it’d be more awkward - she’s fucking your ex-girlfriend, and you’re both dancing around whatever nameless, consuming thing you’ve both got going on with each other - but it’s not, somehow. Sex isn’t a taboo topic; you’ve recapped hook-ups like they’re nothing, every gory detail and then some. It’s not this emotionally charged thing, for the two of you. At worst it’s your job and at best it’s just fun. 

It’s nothing new; you fall back into your rhythm. She’s got her tiny sketchbook and her huge, clunky headphones slung around her neck. “Oh, by the way,” she says, suddenly. “He did want me to call him sir.” 

It’s apropos of nothing, but you still get it - that’s the thing about you and Chaeyoung, constantly on identical wavelengths. It’s just another sign. “What? How do you even have time to fuck all these people?”

“I’m efficient,” she says, comically straight-faced. “Anyway, you won the bet, so…” 

Chaeyoung trails off. The implication’s in the air, unsubtle. A night with her - that’s the agreement. 

“I did,” you say, considering. 

Chaeyoung puts her pencil down, fixes her eyes on you. “Is this gonna be a sex thing?” 

“Please get your mind out of the gutter,” you say, and she cracks up. “And - of course not. I thought I made it clear by now that the last thing I want to do is have sex with you. Like, I have standards.” 

It’s such a lie that Chaeyoung swallows her laughter - she walks in the room and you can’t peel your eyes off of her, you want her and it’s the farthest thing from a secret; you’d worship her if she’d give you the chance. “Right,” she says, settling her tongue at her teeth, droll and disbelieving. “No, no, I get it. I’m not even on your radar.”

“Exactly,” you say. “I don’t know if anyone’s ever told you this, but you have zero sex appeal, Chaeyoung.” 

Oh, that’s a joke taken too far - now it’s more on the edge of a challenge. Chaeyoung’s eyebrows lift, fingers pausing, head stopped at an angle; it’s like you see the moment she’s decided to make you eat your words, kick them back through your teeth. There’s the bruises on her neck, the full lips and the dimple, the collarbone and the tattoos - she drips desire, she takes a breath and you’re thinking of fucking her. She’s irresistible, and you’re full of shit. You stare and realize she’s about to prove it.

“Huh,” Chaeyoung says, cryptically, dark irises glittering, grin curling wicked. “We’ll see about that.” 

-

(“I’ll play volleyball with you,” you offer, like that’ll absolve you of whatever she’s planning. ��Even though you lost the bet.” 

Chaeyoung stands and she’s in a denim miniskirt, top cutting off high at her midriff, legs lean and toned. She looks at you and she’s almost unbearably beautiful, every single sin and their synonyms. She smiles and it’s like something from a myth, or a memory. There’s no way to explain it but there never is. 

“I know,” she says. “You were going to do whatever I wanted either way.”)

-

You’re just daring her to torture you, really. You’re always a breath away from losing control. A taunt’s never just a taunt, a joke’s never a joke: you know what I want, her eyes say, even when her mouth won’t; I want what’s right in front of me. 

“Hey,” Chaeyoung says, breezily, as you meet her during one of her later shifts. She’s still in her miniskirt, but she’s worked her hair out of her braids; it falls over her shoulders in waves, disheveled like something you could wrap your fist in and tug. Well, you’ve already lost. “About what you said earlier.” 

“Don’t,” you warn. 

She smiles, the glint of her teeth only slightly feral. “I’m not doing anything.”

“Whatever you’re about to do is a bad idea.” 

“Isn’t it always?” she asks, and she’s right - it’s all been the worst idea in the world, since the day you saw her and lost your breath, since the day she leaned across the counter and touched your wrist like your veins had her name on it, possessive. Maybe this is something you lost a long time ago. “I just thought you might wanna hear some more details about my night with that guy.” 

“Chaeyoung.” 

Her name on your tongue - in the right context you think it could kill her. Her eyes twinkle, her mouth seems like it could grow fangs, break skin and suck; in this one, it just spurs her on. 

It’s late; the lobby’s got people, but barely. You’re not under scrutiny but one wrong move and you could be. Chaeyoung says, “It shouldn’t be an issue, since you’re not attracted to me or anything.” 

She’s got the devil in her voice, words dripping poison. There’s this thing people say, about craving, about temptation: wanting something you can’t have only makes you want them more. She’s already got bruises on her neck. It’s so easy to imagine biting down. 

“Come on,” she purrs, leaning closer. You’re just drawn to her - call it planets, call it predestination. “Let me tell you. I know you want to know.” 

It’s been a little more than two weeks. There’s always a breaking point. The sun’ll leak your secrets, but it’s the evening and it’s not spying on you anymore; there’s the moonlight instead, and it’s got nothing on her. Sex and emotions are two separate things, you’ve thought. It hasn’t been nearly long enough for you to give in. 

“Well,” you say, and you give in. “It’s not like I can stop you.” 

-

(“Lots of guys have this thing with me,” she says. “Because I’m, like, five-three and pretty tiny compared to most people. It turns them on to use me, I guess.” Her smirk’s like knifepoint; her eyes are so wide, unassuming. “Throw me around, mark me up.” She drops her tone. “Do whatever they want with me and my body.”

“You’re sick,” you say, hand to your temple. She’s gonna be the death of you. 

“So this particular guy.” It’s almost conversational, the way she says it. “He wanted me to call him sir - yeah, that was a given. It’s the age gap. Lots of people get off on that. Like they think because I’m so young that I’m just this innocent little girl who doesn’t know the first thing about getting fucked, I guess. Like the second they get their dick in me they’ll be corrupting me.” 

She laughs, but her eyes don’t change, trained on you like she’s tracking your movements. You can’t look away. You’ve traded war stories from the field - like you said, sex isn’t taboo, for you two - but she’s never shared them like this. 

“He’s got me in his hotel room,” Chaeyoung says, slowly. Her hair unfurls over her thin shoulders, brushes the countertop; her eyes are half-lidded, lazy. “And he can’t stop touching me. He’s like, baby, you’re so small - which is basically code for I want to fucking break you. Like if he gets his cock in my cunt he’ll split me open.” She shrugs. “Maybe it’s demeaning, sure, but he was hot and I was wet.” She pauses, then says, deliberately, “It’s not like anyone else was gonna take care of me.” 

The room’s closing in - there’s gotta be water pouring down the walls, there’s gotta be the threat of drowning, suffocating, losing air. There’s no one else: you and Chaeyoung in the open ocean. Your mouth’s a desert. You’re not even touching. 

It’s not like anyone else was gonna take care of me, she says. It’s not like you were there. 

Because-

It’s the kind of insinuations that dig their claws into your mind and don’t come out, crafting fantasies - and it’s the point. You’re staring at her and thinking about all the positions you could push her into. You’re thinking about rounding the counter and bending her over, your hands on her ass, getting her skirt up, getting her panties down - fuck it all, fuck everyone who sees, fuck the plan, the money, all logic - you’d get your hand in her hair, there’s no way you’d be gentle - you’d get her dripping wet and wanting, panting, all her ego and seduction on the floor, useless now that you’ve got her in your grip-

“He doesn’t even want foreplay.” She’s got her elbows on the desk, top slipping low. “He says, fuck, I can’t believe you just walk around looking like that. How does anyone you meet do anything but think about fucking you?” 

Chaeyoung, you’d say, her name as a weapon. Tell me what you want. 

“He says,” Chaeyoung murmurs, “if I were that lifeguard friend of yours, I’d have fucked your needy little cunt a long, long time ago.” 

“Stop.” Your voice is shot. “He did not say that.”

She doesn’t stop. “He says, it’s so clear you want to fuck him, sweetheart. It’s so obvious he’s all you want.” She knows she’s stripping you bare - peeling back your skin, layer by layer; she knows it’s something more violent than taking off clothes, consuming and catastrophic. “It’s so obvious that you dream about him fucking you nightly. He says, I know that when I fuck you right now, all you’ll be thinking about is him.” 

“Chaeyoung.” 

Tell me what you want, you’d say, but it’s no use: you already know.

“And I say, well, sir, that’s actually the problem. He is all I want. Every since I first saw him, every time I fuck someone else, I only think about his cock, his hands, his mouth, moaning his name. I think about him cumming inside me. I think about him being the one who breaks me.”

You’re too close to the edge. There are tsunami warnings; there are tides coming in that won’t stop. You’re staring at her lips, her tits, her hands, hips - you’re thinking about dismantling, about crumbling, about the sea and how it devours everything, in the end. 

“But he won’t.” Chaeyoung’s eyes, the full moon lighting your way: every rule, every treacherous desire. “He won’t even lay a finger on me.” 

You’re stranded, together. Someone made this island just for you two, you think. Someone must’ve known. Someone must’ve seen the summer and you and her and said ha, let’s throw them together, come on - let’s watch them both ruin their own lives. 

“And then…” It’s barely a breath, barely a whisper. “He says, oh, baby, it’s okay. If he won’t breed your fucking cunt, I will.” 

Someone must’ve drafted a script just like this, put it all in motion. They’re perfect for each other, the foreword reads, they’re twin flames, they’re something. They’re not even ready for it. They won’t even know. They have no idea that they’ve never known what it is to crave something until they find each other. 

Chaeyoung hasn’t even touched you, not once, and she’s fucking destroyed you. 

“And then he did,” she says, and her mouth curls, and her irises burn, and she’s finally, truly won. “So I guess it was worth it.”

Oh, you think, raw and hollowed out and gorgeously ruined. Oh, I guess it was.)

-

“You’re bad news,” you say, hoarsely, “but you know I want you anyway.” 

“Right back at you,” she says, smiling. “Come and get me.” 

-

It’s crazy, it’s irrational, it’s impossible. You’re both losing your minds. Sometimes you meet someone, and there’s no way to explain it, but you find them and you’re never the same. It’s over. It’s a disaster. There’s an eclipse swallowing the sky; the sun and moon will trade all their private affairs, share every dirty thing they’ve seen. They won’t tell anyone else. You might just get away with this. 

Tell me what you want, you could say. We came this far, didn’t we? Tell me. 

You, she’d say, every time, and the ocean pulls you both under. You. I swear I never wanted anything until I wanted you. 

-

this was meant to be a one-shot for the comeback but then it got too long even for me LMFAO... so i'm breaking it up into parts. aka part 2 eventually lol. stream between 1&2! <3

#kpop smut #kpop fanfic #idol x male reader #idol x reader #reader insert #male reader #twice smut #twice chaeyoung #chaeyoung smut

[mostlysignssomeportents]

How Facebook's Real Names policy helps Cambodia's thin-skinned dictator terrorize dissenters

A common refrain from Facebook apologists and anti-anonymity activists is that its “Real Names Policy” promoted “civility” by making users “accountable” for their words. In this conception, snuffing out anonymous speech is key to protecting “the vulnerable” from trolls and other bad actors.

If you’d like an essay-formatted version of this thread to read or share, here’s a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/01/24/nationalize-moderna/#hun-sen

But while some trolls hide behind anonymity, others are only too happy to sign their vitriol. Donald Trump didn’t need an anonymous account. Tucker Carlson is right there in the chyron. Nick Fuentes isn’t hiding behind a pseudonym — he’s proud to be associated with Holocaust denial.

Despite the moral panic about “cancel culture,” the powerful can say outrageous and disgusting things without any meaningful consequence. But when it comes to speaking truth to power, anonymity protects the vulnerable from retaliation.

Nowhere will you find a better case-study of this phenomenon than in Cambodia, a basket-case, one-party dictatorship that has been ruled over by the corrupt, authoritarian dictator Hun Sen, a former general, since 1985.

Hun Sen’s corruption and authoritarianism chafed at the Cambodian people, but his repressive statecraft allowed him to keep a tight grip on the reins of power. But all that nearly came to a halt in 2013, when an opposition movement, organized on Facebook, came within a whisker of defeating him during what should have been a sham election.

Other dictators would have used that moment to block Facebook, but not Hun Sen. After squeaking out a narrow victory, he decided to take control of Facebook in Cambodia and co-opt it as a tool of oppression. To do this, Hun Sen would weaponize the Real Names policy.

Because he was dictator, Hun Sen already knew the real names of every person in Cambodia, which meant that he could tell when a Cambodian poster used a pseudonym. Armed with this knowledge, Hun Sen forced Facebook to order Cambodians to post under their real names (which made them liable to arrest and torture) or fall silent.

https://www.buzzfeednews.com/article/meghara/facebook-cambodia-democracy#.km2QBoKME

Hun Sen then spent public funds to hire a bleating army of astroturf supporters from Filipino clickfarms who would “like” his posts and shout down Cambodians — especially exiled Cambodians speaking from abroad — who dared to criticize him:

https://qz.com/1203637/facebook-likes-are-a-powerful-tool-for-authoritarian-rulers-lawsuit-says

All of this created cover for the “Khmer Riche”: politically connected insiders and Hun Sen’s relatives, who looted the country, hired Pricewaterhousecooper to help them offshore their money through Cypriot banks, and procured glden passports from Cyprus to let them trip through the EU on luxury spending-sprees:

https://www.reuters.com/investigates/special-report/cambodia-hunsen-wealth/

Earlier this month, Hun Sen took an “official visit” to the Maldives, which was commemorated by an official Facebook post that included a gallery of Hun Sen relaxing in a seaside luxury resort:

https://www.facebook.com/hunsencambodia/posts/pfbid02KYoqDAJbeMGyRP9xMYpntYEdKsczGQijRGYJiDDiPSV4u5DDxmwXuCjpRrse8AEtl

As Mech Dara1 wrote for Vod, the post racked up thousands of “fawning comments,” along with a single, brave remark from “Ver To” (a pseudonymous account): “Yes, our beaches are the most beautiful, but our leaders are the dirtiest in the world, aren’t they?”

https://vodenglish.news/hun-sen-orders-police-to-find-facebook-beach-insulter/

Within hours, Hun Sen had vowed to use Facebook to hunt down and punish the person behind “Ver To,” writing “This is a wicked man’s words. Please, police, find it immediately. Where is it?”

In an expanded version of Daral’s article on Global Voices, we see Hun Sen’s Interior Ministry swing into action to punish this mild act of dissent, with ministry spokesman Khieu Sopheak saying:

> This is not freedom of expression — this is insulting the leader of the country. … Even for me, we cannot accept this.

> People who live abroad can say anything, but in Cambodia they cannot.

> Even though the prison is crowded, there is enough space to hold these people.

Hun Sen knows that Facebook will help him hunt down this dissenter and jail them in one of his “crowded prisoners,” because Facebook’s Real Names policy dictates that this will happen.

The Real Names policy might as well be called “The Zuckerberg Doctrine.” It originates with Mark Zuckerberg’s oft-stated belief that people who present a different facet of their personality to different people are “two-faced.” This is an abysmal, idiotic belief, one that requires that we related to our bosses the same way we relate to our lovers, and also to our grandparents. But on the plus side, outlawing anonymity and pseudonymity makes it a lot easier to assemble nonconsensual surveillance dossiers on our activities, social graph and beliefs, and then sell access to those dossiers to advertisers:

https://memex.craphound.com/2018/01/22/social-scientists-have-warned-zuck-all-along-that-the-facebook-theory-of-interaction-would-make-people-angry-and-miserable/

Lots of companies have tried for their own Real Names policy. Famously, it was a feature of Google Plus, Alphabet’s failed Facebook competitor. More recently, Twitter’s new owner has made moves to link Twitter accounts to identities by hiding posts that aren’t from “Twitter Blue” accounts, and then insisting that these accounts must be verified with a phone number.

The powerful can abuse the powerless and get away with it, in large part because the powerless can’t speak back without risking retaliation. Sexual abuse was a feature of many industries and large companies for decades, but it too anonymity to create the #MeToo movement. There, anonymity is a force for accountability — not a way to avoid it.

Image: Hun Sen/Facebook (modified) https://www.facebook.com/photo.php?fbid=765259764955813&set=pcb.765259798289143&type=3&theater

Fair use: https://www.eff.org/issues/intellectual-property

[Image ID: Cambodian dictator Hun Sen's Facebook photo of himself swimming in the blue Maldives sea. Superimposed over him in white sans-serif lettering on red rectangular backgrounds is a quote from a Cambodian Facebook user: 'Yes, our beaches are the most beautiful, but our leaders are the dirtiest in the world, aren’t they?']

#pluralistic #streisand effect #cambodia #nym wars #real names policy #dictators #public-private partnerships #hun sen #facebook #meta

[yuseongboard]

YUSEONG BAY'S ANNUAL SKY-VIEWING PARTY!

on saturday, may 18, 2024, visibility of the eta aquariids meteor shower will be at its peak in yuseong bay. this is a phenomena experienced by the town every year, but this year, it happens to line up perfectly with the pink moon—a full moon named in honor of springtime & the blossoming rosebay fields. the city of yuseong bay will be hosting an evening/nighttime viewing party in which everyone is invited to attend. the first 20 to RSVP will receive a complimentary commemorative t-shirt courtesy of eclectique 33.

WHAT TO EXPECT:

the viewing party will be taking place on the grassy cliff that overlooks the beach, which also happens to be where the "haunted" lighthouse is located. attendees are kindly asked to refrain from approaching or attempting to enter the lighthouse.

this is a byob (bring your own blanket) event. those who wish to sit in the grass or bring their own lawn chair instead are, of course, welcome to. seating/ground coverings will not be provided.

various food trucks and market stalls will be set up on the beach and along the pier, most of which will be tailoring their products to fit the theme of the meteor shower and pink moon. attendees can expect to indulge in complimentary pink moon shakes and shooting star sugar cookies provided by andante cafe.

a large boat will be docked at the end of the pier, courtesy of one of the annual viewing party's long-standing sponsors. a stage is set up on the boat where a talent show will be carried out throughout the evening for those who wish to watch or participate. the top 3 voted participants will receive various prizes.

of course, it's worth noting that hanwha resort will be temporarily opening its doors to locals for an afterparty which is set to begin at 10:00pm. the afterparty will take place on the resort's private section of the beach and attendees will have full access to an outdoor bar, "endless appetizers" and open-mic karaoke. it's presumed that the afterparty is an attempt by the resort to make peace with the locals, but it's safe to assume that the reputation of those seen (or heard) in attendance might take a hit.

OOC INFORMATION:

this event takes places the evening of may 18th in-character, but threads can be started anytime from may 5th to may 25th. please tag all threads/in-character posts related posts with yshqs:event1.

if you're interested in having your character host a market stall, please fill out and submit the event stall form. we will be keeping this page updated with all canon and player-submitted stalls. if there's a stall that you would like your character to work at, just submit an ask letting us know the character name and applicable stall. the deadline to submit a form is sunday, may 19th at 11:59pm est.

if you're interested in having your character participate in the talent show, please fill out and submit the talent show form. all participants and their acts will be listed on this page. the deadline to submit a form is sunday, may 19th at 11:59pm est.

and finally, please like this post once you've read through it!

#yshqs:event #yshqs:event1

[bwoahtastic]

ohmigod nico at the resort! she's totally burnt out from f1 and desperately needs a break, so she books herself into this incredibly luxurious and exclusive resort on a private island with only 10-15 private villas. at first, it's the best choice that nico has ever made. she has a soft bed with 1000 thread count sheets, her own pool, a private beach, bottomless cocktails and some very handsome wait staff to admire as they serve her. she gets massages every day, swims, and has never felt so relaxed before.

but after a week, another guest moves in to the villa next door. nico doesn't think about it much, but her pool overlooks their pool, and they share the private beach. one morning, as she's out for a swim, she hears splashing from the other pool and looks over, only to see jenson. all of a sudden the best time of her life has become just another extension of the job that she is trying not to think about.

she tries to avoid jenson, but he keeps finding her, even following her into the sauna, making quips about her pretty white bikinis or the way that the staff trip over themselves to help her even more than they do for the other guests. nico tries to laugh off his comments but they begin to sting, especially as she has always secretly held a bit of a torch for jenson. eventually, jenson makes some filthy joke about the way nico hollows her lips around the straw of her cocktail and nico finally snaps. she shouts at jenson that all she wants is to be left alone and not have moronic arseholes like jenson bother her before storming off.

jenson goes very quiet and lets nico leave. later that evening, he knocks on nico's door with her favorite food, which he had the resort kitchens make specially for her. he explains quietly and very seriously that he understands how she feels, that he came to the resort for a break from f1 too, and that he has only been acting so obnoxious/in the usual teasing way so that she wouldn't realise how miserable and stressed he has been. nico accepts his apology, and invites him to have dinner with her.

Oh plss!

Nico retiring after her championship and she is just burned out and exhausted and needs to be fully away from it all.

She thrives the first week at the resort, sleeping in and getting breakfast in her 1000 thread count sheets bed and lazily floating in her little pool while the staff falls over rthemselves to bring her more drinks and snacks lol. She even has quite a few deserts? I can see her being so strict with her diet during her career there was a lot of food she wouldn't eat; but now she can! She gets massages, manicures and pedicures and whatever else they offer her.

Then a week in, she gets a new neighbour and she is so startled when she is in her private pool lazily flirting with one of the wait staff to get another off-menu cocktail and suddenly jenson is there!

Maybe she even goes to the main resort pool instead of her own to avoid jenson, but jenson had the same idea and they run into each other again. Jenson teasing and flirting as always, in his way trying to make it less awkward but it's a lot and Nico doesn't like it.

Nico let's him at first, thinking it'd easier than trying to avoid him but she gets miserable because they keep running into each other, even in the sauna Nico had to herself so many days and she is so glad she wore her bikini this time! Then jenson makes a flirty comment about her getting waited on hand and foot by the staff and the way she sucks on the straw of her cocktail and Nico flips out! She screams at jenson to fuck off, that she came here to leave f1 behind and be alone, not to have jenson tease and annoy her every step of the way.

She has a good cry in her room and at least the sheets are soft when she dries her eyes on them and her favourite waiter doesn't mention the tear streaks on her face as he comes to being her tea.

Then jenson shows up in the evening with her favourite food and drinks and a clumsy dessert he decorated himself and apologises to her for being such a dick, he was just so vulnerable and hid behind all the teasing and flirting. Nico sighing and letting him in snd they eat together while talking about how fucking hard it is to leave f1 but also how toxic it is to stay and its nice, comfortable.

The next morning, nico waves hello at jenson in his pool as she goes for a morning swim too, and asks him to join for lunch. They still have their precious time alone, but it'd nice to eat together and talk! And nico thinks it's quite convenient to have jenson help her put on sunscreen lmaooo

(And then they kiss during a sunset the end)

#asks #rule63 verse

[niragisimp]

The Pain Before (Niragi X Reader) (Part Seven)

Part Six, Part Eight, Series Masterlist

TW: Blood, some stabby-stabs

Note: One day I swear I’ll learn how to dialogue. One day.

Game night was upon the members of the Beach as they stood, crowded in what was once a lobby for the resort. (Y/N) was standing in between Kuina and Chishiya, eyes on the Hatter as he spoke the same speech he gave every game day. Everyone let out cheers, most still drunk from the afternoon rave. 

Slips of paper were handed out to the crowd by a few executives, holding your slip you looked down at the number printed, "5," it read. You turned to Kuina and Chishiya, both holding up the number "2." You sighed, pursing your lips and nodded, wishing them both well in their games mentally. They reciprocated the gesture, Kuina adding a smile. 

You headed outside and to the car with a bright "5" written on the side. You stood by the door, waiting for your group to gather. Two others had approached you, getting into the front seats. You didn't recognize either of them by name yet, but they were rather new to the beach. You let out a heavy sigh, crossing your arms as you got into the car's backseat, your patience wearing thin. You were waiting on one more person, who definitely liked to take their time, apparently.

Niragi began to squeeze the trigger as the man suddenly burst out crying, "Take it! P-please, just take it!" He held out his slip of paper, hands trembling. Niragi smiled coyly, ripping the paper out of his hands. "See, was that so hard?" He laughed, slamming the butt of his rifle into the man's face. He looked down at the slip proudly, gleaming at the number written on it. He slung his rifle over his shoulder, proudly walking to the cars waiting outside. He looked down the line of vehicles, eyes darting from one to another. A smile spread across his face as he found it, a blue car with a bright number five written across the doors. 

You were too busy making small talk with your two group members you hadn't noticed him approach the car. The door swung open, making you jump in your seat. You swallowed a breath, knowing already by shirt and rifle who your group was waiting on. You pushed yourself into the corner of your seat as much as you could, trying not to be too obvious. By the look on Niragi's face when he slammed the door behind him, you were failing.

The silence in the car was nearly deafening. The two men in front, the ones that were laughing with you at some lame attempt of introducing yourselves just minutes ago, both as silent as could be. You could feel the tension radiating off Niragi, seemingly glaring daggers into the two up front. 

It wasn't long before the car rolled up to the stadium, lights beaming into the sky. You hurriedly got out, welcoming the fresh air that greeted you. You took a deep breath, closing the car door behind you, and walking into the lit entrance. Niragi trailed behind you, the two others in front of you. The four of you each grabbed a phone next to the "One per Player" sign, letting it scan your features. There were already a few people in the arena waiting for the game to begin, your group splitting up amongst them.

Niragi stuck to you like glue, never letting you get more than a few steps ahead of himself. You waited patiently, trying not to look nervous. Arenas typically meant only one kind of game; Spades, your weakness. It wasn't long thankfully before the announcement rang out, "Registration has now closed. Twelve players entered. The game will be: Obstacle Course. Game difficulty: Seven of Spades."

You tried not to let your disappointment show as your heart began to beat faster, a small bead of sweat dripping down the back of your neck. Everyone made their way to the start line, audible gasps heard from some. The arena had seemingly been carved out, squares of cement being held in place by small steel rods throughout. The walls were covered in spikes; spears hung from the ceiling by a literal thread. The entire place, in a serious sense, was a death trap. 

The start bell rang out loudly, much to your displeasure. You stood back, observing those who chose to maneuver through the cement blocks first, and much to their surprise they were not, in fact, held up by the steel rods underneath them, but rather merely placed on top of them. You held firm in your blank expression as two fell to their deaths into the pit beneath them, the blocks giving away almost immediately. The third stood gingerly atop the block, his arms shaking. It wasn't hard to read people in these situations, he was most certainly going to die. 

You don't know what happened to the rest of your group. Somewhere along the line, you had gotten separated from them. You were gingerly making your way across the ledge, your chest hugging the wall the best you could. You could hear the man grunt angrily on your side, spitting into the void that was a certain death pit behind you. "Would you hurry the hell up?!" He shouted at you, grabbing your wrist and pulling you backward. Your footing had failed you as you fell, barely catching yourself on the ledge.

"What the fuck?!" You screamed as the man above you laughed, placing his foot heavily on your fingers gripping the ledge. "Women are so useless, every one of ya, why don't you just die already?!" He brought his foot down on your left hand, crushing it beneath him. You let out a scream, feeling at least one of your fingers breaking under the pressure. You closed your eyes and gritted your teeth, all you had to do was wait for him to move on, then you would hopefully be able to pull yourself up again.

You let out the breath you hadn't realized you were holding when you felt a sudden relief in your hand. You looked up, eyes going wide with horror. Above you stood Niragi, his knife shoved into the man's throat. Blood was dripping down his arm as he pulled his knife out, using the same arm to push him down into the pit. You wanted to scream, but nothing could come out as your breath hitched in your throat. Niragi looked down at you, his eyes scanning yours for a moment. 

You let out a surprised yelp as he grabbed you by your arm, hoisting you up. His arm wrapped around your waist as your feet hit the ledge, gaining their footing once more. "Wh-what are you--" You could feel his calm heartbeat as his eyes locked onto yours, a small "shh," escaping from his lips. You silently nodded after a moment of silence, his arm tightening around you.

His grip was warm, not harsh like you thought it would be. But then again, you would've never thought Niragi would be helping you either, so maybe anything is possible. He held you close to him as he guided the both of you to the other side safely. You thought he would let you go after that, but you were proven wrong. He held you by his side until you both made it passed the finish line, clearing the game.

The announcement didn't take long as the time limit was passed. "Congratulations! You have successfully cleared the game. You have earned seven days on your Visa." You let out a sigh as relief washed through you. You hadn't noticed until you felt the breeze on your face that you were being led out of the arena with Niragi's hand in yours, gently pulling you along toward the car. Your eyes were beginning to hang heavy as he ushered you into the car, opening the door for you. You looked towards the arena as he started the car from the driver's side, hoping to see the other two members of your group walk out after you.

Niragi stepped on the gas, leaning over towards you for only a moment, "They didn't make it. Spikes." You put your head down, nodding in understanding. The ride back was as silent as it was beforehand, even as you said a silent prayer for the other two, the only noise of comfort was the sound of tires running over the few potholes that riddled the street.

The Beach filled the sky with lights. From afar, one might even think it was a game arena, but the triumphant noise coming from inside would prove one wrong. Niragi drove up to the entrance, and looking over you could see his knuckles white on the steering wheel. Your legs ached, and warm water was calling your name. He pulled the car up to the front doors, turning to you and breaking the silence. "Stay away from that snake." He spat out his words, tension echoing throughout the car. You opened the door and stepped out before turning back and looking him in his eyes, "He said the same thing about you." You shut the door, swearing you heard him catch his breath. 

Niragi watched in disbelief as you walked past the open doors and up the stairs to your floor. He clenched his jaw and slammed on the steering wheel, frustration boiling inside him. "Did she just ignore me?," his thoughts echoed. His eyes burned with anger as he caught that smirk out of the side of his vision, there stood Chishiya, hands in pockets as always, a sly smile crept across his face. "Trouble in paradise?" He sneered as he watched the blonde walk leisurely into the building, only quickening his pace to catch up with (Y/N). Niragi felt the pressure on his jaw as he saw Chishiya stop you, tapping your shoulder and swinging his arm around you. He saw you laugh as if anything that cat could say would ever be funny.

Niragi snapped back to the present as rain started to pour from the sky. He looked up into the dark sky, sighing at the sudden change of weather. He remembered once again the girl in the alleyway all those years ago, recalling it was raining that day as well. He looked back into the building, watching (Y/N) and Chishiya talk in the hallway. His heart shot adrenaline through him as he recalled her face, your face. It was you. The girl running from Haru, from your own brother, mascara stained and top partially ripped open--.

His breath caught in his throat as he began to piece together information from his memories. He grabbed his rifle, hopped out, and slammed the car door shut, leaving the keys. He walked into the building, eyes roaming the halls for you. He caught the back of your swimsuit from the corner of his eyes, walking towards Chishiya's room. He gripped his gun, running up the stairs. He approached you fast, grabbing your hand and swinging you around to face him,

"We need to talk."

#niragi #niragi suguru #aib #aib pairing #oc #original character #fem!reader #fem reader #niragi x fem!reader #alice in borderland #alice in borderland pairing #fanfic #aib fanfic #aib fic #reader x #kuina hikari #kuina #chishiya #chishiya shuntaro #reader aib #chishiya aib #niragi aib #niragi pairing #niragi x reader

[car-lozsigns]

A few minutes more (pt6)

Synopsis: You and Carlos had crossed paths more than you thought was possible over a short weekend but time was not on your side. A love story that’s about the slow burn and emotional connection, and how sometimes right place wrong time is the best of the available options

So this story will be split between POV telling chapter by chapter from each perspective as they are my favourite to read. The plan is for this to be very slow paced, so if you’re reading this, considered yourself warned.

Length:~3.6k

Warning: none, unless you don’t like inquisitive parents

Link to Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 7

Part 6

Carlos’ trip was only two weeks whilst you were away for a month. However, given where you were both holidaying, it meant that neither of you were able to talk much unless one stayed up late or the other woke up early. You both resorted to voice notes where you could as the opportunities to facetime were slim with you both staying with your families who were are curious as they came. All the while, you both worked to maintain a steady thread of conversation. Carlos’ responses to you landing in Australia had helped keep the conversation going, albeit it quite slow with mostly trip photos, selftimer pictures taken on hikes, cool places to eat and the general, ‘what did you get up to todays?”. Your chats now held more photos of your trip that both of your instagrams combined, only really wanting share what you’ve done with each other not your other friends.

These limited interactions alone were enough to get the attention of both your respective families, well both of your sisters at least. Your parents were a little out of the loop but your sister was not, and Carlos’ family picked it up in a heartbeat. Neither of you were the people to spend your time away from work sitting on your phones with Carlos spending his time outside where possible, phone often left forgotten in another room or charging before he left, and you had your phone perpetually on do not disturb. It started slowly, you both sharing what you did each day at the end of your days being the last thing you did before calling it a night. It slowly changed to checking your phone in the morning to see if the other had responded, which moved to checking mid-way through the day if the other had a later night which changed to bringing your phone with you, switching it from do not disturb to silent to vibration only. Carlos started to leave his phone near his keys or by the front door so that he wouldn’t forget to carry it on runs to wearing clothes that could allow him to have his phone in his pocket at all times just in case you had replied. 

Your families had started to notice that changes too beyond phone usage habits. Carlos had started to workout to the same intensity as he did during the F1 calendar, not unheard of come late January in order to get ready for pre-season but he typically revelled in his time away in December, making use of the laziness that the month could afford him. He told himself that if he continued training during his break it will give him the edge come next year, not lingering on the fact that when he sent the pictures of him at the beach and by the pool that he wanted to make sure he looked his best for you. You had started to wear slight amounts of makeup, during the day, not just when you were going out. Again, this was not uncommon when you went to see friends, but when you were on holiday you were known for going into full hermit lifestyle, relishing that you could not worry about what you looked like or wore around your family, knowing they’d love you just the same. You told yourself it was to help you be active and leave the house and a face of makeup helped you fight the urge to faceplate on the couch, not the fact that there was the slightest chance that if Carlos facetimed you, you wanted to give the impression you were put together.

It was both of your sisters who respectively began putting the pieces together first. Both of them reflecting on how they were with their boyfriends when they started dating. They both took different approaches, your sister began taking candid shots of you whenever she caught you smiling at your phone, content at seeing you come out of your shell and blossom slowly with whoever was keeping you preoccupied on the phone. Blanca on the other hand had started to hover in the chance of overhearing Carlos answer his phone, to figure out who was making him happier by the day. Her attempts were less fruitful, and she roped in her younger sister as well as mum to try and work out who it was and if they knew them; but now that Carlos never left his phone unattended and the calls were few and far between, they couldn’t learn much more than what Carlos was willing to tell them, which at this stage was nothing.

Carlos’s dad had noticed his daughters following Carlos around more than Carlos’ changed behaviour. He caught them one morning lingering outside his bedroom which was the opposite end of the villa to where both of their respective rooms were. Both were so engrossed with their ears pressed against the door, they didn’t hear their dad come up from the other end of the corridor. At the sight of their dad, and the sheepish looks across both their faces from both being caught in the act of spying, they scattered like children, knowing that if they didn’t get caught they wouldn’t have to deal with their father’s scolding. It was at this point where Carlos Sr mentioned to his wife Carlos’ behaviour a few nights before they were due to return home.

“You have been blind” Reyes said to him. “Carlos has spent every moment he can on this trip on his phone.” Carlos Sr had noticed this but thought it was just common with people his son’s age considering his youngest was glued to her phone whenever he saw her. “Looking beyond that, he is obviously happy, happier than he has been in a long time, at least outside of racing. I think he has found someone he cares about as much as that ridiculous car. Let him enjoy it, young love is always sweet, leave him be” she warned. Carlos Sr took in his wife’s words and went to mention what he caught his daughters doing this earlier.

“Blanc…” he started

“I will have a word with Blanca and Ana. They both should know better. Imagine if Carlos caught them, he will never feel comfortable that they have been following him” she interrupted

“If they were as obvious as they were today I’m surprised he hasn’t caught them sooner” Carlos Sr reflected upon how his son could miss the town girls following around considering he was typically hyperaware of who was near him.

“Oh honey, don’t you remember when we started dating, you only had eyes for me” Carlos Sr still only had eyes for his wife , and like father like son, Carlos now only had eyes for you.

*****************************************************************************************************

Carlos like yourself was a family person, opting to spend time with his siblings where he could. It was always a point in the year he looked forward to and helped to keep his family close now him and his sisters have grown into adults, all of you making the effort was difficult but important for each of you to reconnect and recharge just like it was when you were kids. It is different now though with both his sisters bringing their partners on these trips, but it was as close to childhood as they could recreate. Carlos though this year, was actually looking forward to Mexico finishing. Normally he wasn’t too thrilled to go back to Europe in the middle of winter. He loved the sun and would try to find a way to escape to the warmth at every opportunity he could. However he wanted to go home. Being home meant instead of the 15 hours or so time gap it would only be 8 to talk to you while you were still in Australia. Carlos was less than tactful in hiding that he was excited for once to go home and his father saw this as the opportunity to talk from the recent info he had gathered from the women around him.

It was the final evening before they flew out, with both Carlos’ preparing dinner with Reyes, Ana and Blanca getting ready inside. They had barely started to prepare the food when Carlos’ dad opened a sore spot that usually ended up in an argument or Carlos becoming silent for the next few hours, refusing to engage. Partners and relationships was never a topic Carlos wanted to be a part of when with his friends and family brought it up. Both of his sisters were in happy long-term relationships, with one a little more serious and greater longevity than the other but they both had people with them to provide company and companionship. Carlos had always used racing as his company, his career choice taking up so much of his life then that when he wasn’t in the car or with his family, he wanted to spend time alone to prepare for the next race and recharge. Racing for the majority of his life was always the most important thing to him so he had never really pursued a relationship nor considered it important enough to try and find somebody to share his life with. 

Most of his friends were in relationships, getting into them when they were 22 or 23, now he was 25 he seemed to have missed the boat at least with those he spent time with outside of racing.

On friend trips he was always the only single one there, his friends had tried to set him up with some of their female friends of their own however Carlos hadn’t gotten along with them enough where he was able to string more than a few sentences together without others present. He dreaded to think what it would be like when it was only the two of them without the friends and without alcohol to soothe the nerves and to filter out the awkwardness.

It had gotten to the point where his friends had stopped setting him up. After multiple failed attempts they had had enough. Carlos, realised though it wasn’t from his friends strictly giving up but more as an influence from their own respective partners being tired of dealing with their sobbing friends coming to them why Carlos didn’t see in them what they did.

Carlos understood, after rejecting so many and just having general poor luck and minimal effort from his part the dates were bound to fail. He would have drawn the line too and stopped pushing girls towards him if the roles were reversed and he was setting up his friends. 

The last ditch attempt for his friends to find him someone was through online dating profiles. Carlos was adamant that he could sign onto hinge and bumble and be treated like his friends. He knew he was good looking , hell, he was the spitting image of his old man who he thought was the definition of handsome in the eighties. Carlos however underestimated or maybe was just naïve, by just how popular he would be. Each of his profiles both blew up , to the point where he couldn’t open the apps without them crashing . So before he even started to talk to someone he deleted both profiles. He thought that would be the best option given the overwhelming response, which his friends vehemently disagreed with. They pushed him to use the apps tailored to those who are within a more influential circle but Carlos had no interest in dating someone who had an ego large enough to only want to be associated with the rich and famous. 

His friends thought that his profiles blowing up would be an ego boost but what it had done instead of boosting his egos like his friends kept saying, was the actual opposite. That reaction alone could have only been generated from people trying to date the F1 driver not him. He toyed with the idea of a fake profile but then what was the point? Is being catfished by a celebrity to being normal just as bad as those American reality shows? So he was stuck, the option of using online dating profiles for now in the too hard basket and as a result he hadn’t attempted or entertained any notion of a girlfriend since 2018, at least from the help of his mates.

His parents decided to take a different route, instead of finding dates through friends , they had started to invite him along to their dinner parties where the guests always conveniently had daughters of their own who tagged along. Carlos at first didn’t mind these, at the comfort of talking over food it was always more relaxed, that was before the end of the night where his and the unlucky girl’s parents would disappear to the patio for coffee and biscuits and he would be left to entertain them. This was the opposite response to the online profile, most of these girls were NOT interested in him because he was so well known, repeatedly citing that the lifestyle didn’t suit them. That all apart from one girl his parents tried to set him up with, she turned out to be the last of these dinner functions as she had stormed out in the middle of the night , apparently picked up by her real boyfriend who she had been dating for years but her parents had refused to acknowledge his existence let alone accept that their daughter was taken.

So that was the end of those. They were more recent than his friends with the last dinner at the end of the 2019 summer break. After that dinner his parents hadn’t brought it up again, the season was ramping up and he was performing the best he had in his whole career , his dad understood the drive and why Carlos was working so much harder now than in March so his parents left him to his own devices.

Carlos had accepted that dating might not just be for him. He had chosen to go the old fashion route, get to know them as a person first and then if he can be their friend let’s see what happens. He was a romantic at heart and amongst his family a not so secret fan of rom coms. If it worked for him as well as it did in the movies, why can’t he meet the girl ‘organically’. In Carlos’ mind worst case scenario nothing changes , he still has his career which will keep him busy and happy enough for the time being (at least until his friends start getting married), best case scenario he gains a best friend and a girlfriend.

Carlos, upon deciding to go the old fashioned route, decided to research how to do this. He had tab upon tab open on his phone while he was tanning under a cabana during the summer break reading intently about how to make friends , he had never struggled with meeting new people but his parents and friends failed attempts had left him feeling cynical about the process and doubtful on whether he actually knew how to do this.

The article that seemed the most helpful was one aimed at people finding friends after their spouse had died in old age. Carlos was far from retiring but the page stated that he should start going to a place regularly outside of his work and make that a routine as then his face will be familiar and that will help him feel comfortable to strike up a conversation with a stranger.

He had applied this through his social and sponsor engagement , not necessarily a location be frequented often , but it was a happy medium between a hobby and his workplace. Yes, all of the sponsor events were technically work, but he wasn’t paid to go so he thought it ticked the box just fine.

And that’s how he met you, the first event he signed up to was on a whim. That weekend in October was his first one free since Singapore and it had worked like a charm, you were the first face he saw that morning. He had also physically ran into you afterwards so he had to take the chance seeing as it presented itself twice in the span of 12 hours.

He didn’t quite believe that after all the previous failed attempts , he let the opportunity to get to know you further slip through his fingertips, missing his chance when he left that night , but seeing you in an airport of all places confirmed that the article for retirees was right . He just wished that neither of you had to get on a plane that day, but he had learned his lesson, making sure that you had his number this time. Him keeping the effort to still talk to you not letting you go again if he could help it.

The warmth from the barbecue being turned on to Carlos’ left pulled him out of his revery, turning to look at his dad who has began to place the meat down to cook.

“Have you enjoyed your time away? You are glowing more than you usually are at the end of the holiday” his dad stated

“Yeah, the sun has really helped” Carlos diverted knowing where his dad was going to try and lead the conversation

“Yes your skin is also glowing“ his dad said , not looking at Carlos but focusing on the fish over the grill. “Has the team been talking to you much ? You’ve been on your phone more than you normally are on break”

“No, no, no one has been bothering me which is welcome” Carlos was not falling into his dad’s trap, if he wanted information he’d have to get to the point  and asking him directly.

“Ok well, whoever is keeping you busy in the phone is doing you good , you’re much happier” Carlos Sr left it at that with only the sound of Carlos chopping up ingredients for the salad and the low sizzling of the grill filling the absence of conversation .

“Her name is Y/N” Carlos said opening up to his dad . His dad always did this, leave a silence that was more compelling than him pulling his ear when he was little to get him to tell the truth.

“We met a couple of months ago, she’s not in Formula 1” Carlos paused. “She doesn’t know I’m in Formula 1, well she knows I work with McLaren but what he thinks is that I’m just there working with the company not their driver, she thinks I’m just Carlos” Carlos said quietly hoping his dad heard how his toned had softened

Carlos Sr just looked at Carlos, his sons eyes trained on chopping the tomatoes very carefully.

“You know you can’t keep that part of you hidden forever, I tried before I met your mother and it was hard when it finally aired each time.”

“I know , but I want her to like me for me and not the world I’m in.” he paused , “I will tell her but when the time is right “ Carlos responded.

“What if she finds out before you tell her?” His dad posed.

“Then we see what happens, if it is meant to be it will be, if not and she doesn’t want part of your world and my world then I’ve had a friend that is worthwhile of stories to tell in the future “

“The right one will love you regardless, she wouldn’t care if you’re and driver , had 3 arms or was old and grey like me … and she’s stuck around this much , maybe it won’t be a problem for her , all you can do is give it a try” his dad always had a way with words and hearing that helped to placate the thoughts that had been floating around his head late at night when thinking about what to do when he got home and how to see if this can work.

“Maybe don’t mention it to your mother or sisters though, you know how they love to gossip, so let’s get her in your world first then we can deal with them” and Carlos Sr winked , closing the conversation .

Carlos was glad that his dad had brought it up and confirmed the doubt that had been sitting in the back of his mind the trip so far . He knew last seeing you in Amsterdam that everything could be fine , but what if your friends or family had worked it out? Oh well you hadn’t changed the way or frequency you were talking to him so maybe it didn’t matter to you. Or at least if you had found out you hadn’t made it obvious

Y/N in fact had not worked out that Carlos was a driver still. Her family couldn’t have been less involved in sports if they tried , her friends too only had eyes for fishing or Australian football, cars served no interest to them other than to get them to and from work. So Carlos was unknowingly granted more time to try and plan how to tell you and if it worked to plan you’d still want to be around him and if he executed it expertly, he’d end up with his own partner in crime at the end of it.

Link to Part 7

#carlos sainz x you #carlos sainz jr fanfic #carlos sainz jr x you #carlos sainz jr imagine #carlos sainz fanfic #carlos sainz imagine #carlos sainz x reader #carlos sainz jr x reader #carlos sainz x y/n #f1 imagine #f1 fiction #f1 x reader #f1 x yn #f1 x y/n #f1 x you #formula 1 fiction #formula one fiction #formula 1 imagine #formula 1 fic #formula one fanfic #cs x you #a few minutes more #damn #cs imagine #cs fanfic #f1 fics

[chaoticgeminate]

Black Vultures Masterlist

Summary: When your plane to a beach resort vacation crashes, nowhere near your destination, you have to depend on a stranger to protect you from horrors you never could have imagined.

Pairing: Pero Tovar x f!Reader

Rating: Explicit (Chapters with smut will be marked)

Notes/Warnings: Series involves general survival, cannibals, violence, and gore with body horror elements. This is based loosely off 'The Forest' and while I may have used a picture of Pero in armor we are working with a modernized Pero here.

Written for @yearofcreation2023

Status: Complete (15,308)

Year of Video Game AUs Masterlist

Chapter One: i'm on the edge of the war (3.2k)

Chapter Two: i'm holding on and hanging by a thread (3.7k)

Chapter Three: i am the eye of the storm (3.7k)

Chapter Four: and you haven't seen the last of me just yet (4.6k)

#year of video game aus #the great wall fanfic #the forest fanfic #pero tovar x f!reader #cw gore #cw cannibals #cw cannibalism #cw dark content #chaoticwrites #year of themed creation

[your-sweet-cookies]

[ smile ] for your muse to smile at mine from across the room

Word prompts compilation (Also doubling as a starter for a thread between Kuina and Kukki. <3)

It was a rather normal and boring afternoon, as Kuina was wandering aimlessly around the vast halls of the Beach's resort, in the hopes of finding something fun and interesting to do. Chishiya was off on a scouting mission today for supplies and new 'toys' he could use in his scientific experiments, so she was left alone for the time being.

Luckily for the beautiful tall woman, as soon as she entered the giant main hall entrance in order to exit towards the pool via the main door, Kuina's eyes were met by those of her very close and dear friend's, Kukki. Catching her gaze, Kukki gave Kuina a bright hopeful smile, as she began walking towards her friend with hurried steps.

"Kuina! Thank goodness I found you! This is an emergency! A really big emergency in fact! A life threatening situation, one might say!" Kukki began talking in an erratic stressed out tone, making it clear that something was truly bothering her, and as Kuina was about to go on and ask what was the matter, she got an immediate answer before even laying out the question.

"I messed up real bad, Kuina! Chishiya is going to kill me! I... I ruined his favorite white hoodie! You have to help me! I am too young to die! I don't want to die!" Resting her hands on Kuina's shoulders, the silver-haired woman looked at her with pleading eyes. "Please, say you'll help me!"

#aib rp #aib roleplay #alice in borderland roleplay #alice in borderland rp #aib oc #aib oc rp #kuinaoflight #rp with kukki

[seung-hwa]

neptune

Word Count: 3.4k

Pairing: Hongjoong x reader

Genre: Pure fucking angst babes

Warnings: listen it’s fucking sad okay, not enough people on here write sad shit and sometimes you just need to be sad alright??

Summary: The mini vacation that you’ve planned for yourself and Hongjoong is the last resort you have to save your dying relationship with him. You may still love him, but love isn’t enough to fix what’s broken.

A/N: This is VERY heavily based off of this song here. Lyrics are italicized.

Pitch black, pale blue. It was a stained glass variation of the truth and I felt empty handed. You let me set sail with cheap wood. So I patched up every leak that I could, ‘til the blame grew too heavy.

The wind that whips is harsh against your skin, the smell of the sea is heavy in the night air as the waves crash against the ocean shore. You try to focus your attention on the way the moon shines down onto the sea, rather than thinking about the argument that just ensued between you and Hongjoong.

This vacation was supposed to be a respite from both of your hectic lives, but of course what was supposed to happen never came to fruition. It started from empty promises before you even boarded the plane. He had sworn to you that he wouldn’t take work with him, that the company understood that he was taking some time for himself. It wasn’t like he was going to be gone for months at a time, just a week. A week is all you asked from him, all you needed was for him to put you first for just a single week.

You had been his rock since before his first audition, there for every single up and down in his career, you have always understood him and his busy schedule. Always. More often than not you felt like he took your patience for granted despite the many times you begged for him to just be present in the moment with you.

For you, this vacation was the last chance you felt like you had with him. You had hoped, with everything inside of you, that he’d leave his work behind and focus on you. It’s not like you asked for much, you figured that this couldn’t, shouldn’t, be so hard for him to do. But, of course, he proved you wrong.

Stitch by stitch, I tear apart. If brokenness is a form of art I must be a poster child prodigy. Thread by thread, I come apart. If brokenness is a work of art, surely this must be my masterpiece.

“You said you wouldn’t do this Joong. You didn’t just tell me you promised me that you’d leave all this shit at home,” you try to be calm but you can both hear the fury beginning to creep its way into your voice.

It was two in the morning, and you had woken up to a cold and empty bed, something you had grown used to back home, but not something you had expected to happen here. The day had been wonderful, you spent the morning exploring the small beach town, grabbed dinner once the sun started to set and as the night befell you spent the rest of it wrapped up in each other's embrace until you both fell asleep. Had you not woken up at this ungodly hour then you would’ve never known that he had snuck off into the night just to work. He had to have known you would wake up, you always do at this time just to go to the bathroom. You can only surmise that he thought he’d be able to make it into bed before you woke up but ended up losing track of time.

“I know baby I’m sorry but-,” you cut him off before he can even give you whatever excuse you know he had already thought of.

“No Hongjoong I don’t want to hear it from you. All I asked is for you to just give me your time this week. Why is that so hard?”

“I don’t get why it matters if you were already asleep,” and of course he won’t just sit there and admit he’s wrong.

“It’s the principle of it! When we’re home I am constantly having to wake up to my boyfriend not even being in the same bed as me. That shouldn’t be the case here, you know that!”

“And you know how busy I am! Honestly (y/n) don’t you think it’s selfish for you to expect me to put my whole career on hold for you?”

“Are you fucking kidding me?!” you blurt out before even thinking about it. You’re automatically heated by his accusation.

“No, actually I’m not kidding at all. You know that I have a comeback just around the corner and you drag me away, the least you can do is let me work without feeling guilty for it,” he says, getting just as heated as you. He stands from the dining room table, now fully facing you and preparing for the argument you’re about to have.

I’m only honest when it rains if I time it right, the thunder beaks. When I open my mouth I wanna tell you, but I don't know how. I’m only honest when it rains, an open book with a torn out page and my ink’s run out. I wanna love you, but I don’t know how.

“This was supposed to be for us! No work! No responsibilities! We were supposed to come out here and just enjoy each other’s time. I didn’t realize it was so selfish of me to want for you to give me the attention you literally never give me when we’re home,”.

He gives you a roll of his eyes and fixes his face into a scowl. He looks as though he’s about to say something else but decides not to as he shakes his head and turns around. You reach for his arm and force him to look back at you.

“No! Nuh uh! You’re not just about to ignore me. Say what you want to say!”

“You really want to hear what I have to say?” He says to you with a raise of his eyebrow, irritation clear in his tone.

“I would love to hear whatever bullshit you’re about to spew right now!”

“You’re clingy, you’re needy, and it’s annoying (y/n). You’re so fucking annoying!” His voice begins to raise.

“Let me tell you something Kim Hongjoong, I’ve been here for you since the very fucking beginning with little to no complaints. The least, the absolute fucking LEAST you could do for me was this. I never ask you for much, NEVER,” it doesn’t hurt you that he’s called you clingy, needy or even annoying, it’s more irritating than anything else because it’s a bold faced lie.

“You take advantage of the fact that I have always stood behind you where others would have left you. And honestly? I am so fucking SICK of being with you when you never give me a moment of your time. Tell me Hongjoong, what the fuck do you want from me?”

“You’re being so dramatic,” he says, clearly none of what you’re saying is getting through to him.

“I don’t care if you think I’m being dramatic. I asked you a question. What the FUCK do you want from ME? Would it suit you better if I was just a little plaything for you to use whenever you need to get your dick wet? Is that what you want? Is that what you need? Because if that’s the case then let me know and I’ll be out of this door in an instant,”.

He raises his hand to his head, fingers rubbing at his temples as you can hear him mumbling under his breath.

“If you’re gonna say something then say it out loud. I’m tired of your shit,” you say.

“You know what. Yes. That’s exactly what I need. For you to leave me the fuck alone so I can get my shit done. Is that what you want to hear?”

I don’t know how. No, I don’t know how. I don't know how. I wanna love you, but I don’t know how. I don’t know how. I wanna love you, but I don’t know how. I wanna love you, but I don’t know how. I wanna love you.

“You want to be alone? Fine! Then be alone! Maybe you’ll finally be able to feel how I’ve felt ever since you fucking joined your company and left me hanging every fucking day!” Your voice doesn’t even sound like your own. You can’t remember the last time you yelled, let alone yelled at Hongjoong. You’re just so sick of having to deal with being in a relationship where you’re the only one who cares enough to try.

You don’t let him answer back to you, instead you grab a jacket and stomp out of the house. You tell yourself that you’ll start packing your bags once you come back in, for now though you need to be able to calm yourself down.

Although the air is cold around you, you feel much warmer out here than you did inside the house. At least you know you can rely on yourself, Hongjoong has proven to you time and time again that you can’t rely on him for anything. You’re too angry to cry, too angry to even think straight as you watch the way the waves crash. Why is it so hard for him to just show you the love you know you deserve. He makes you feel like you’re crazy for wanting him to be present in this relationship, as if it’s a chore for him to love you like how he used to. You understand that he’s stressed from work, but what you don’t understand is his incessant need to always put himself under so much stress that the company doesn’t even expect from him. You’ve met the CEO, you’ve had lunch with him and other staff who treat the boys like kings, they aren’t the ones to put this pressure on Hongjoong. He’s the only person who puts this much stress on himself and you can’t comprehend why.

Maybe it is selfish for you to feel like he buries himself into his work just as a way to get away from you. He always seems to have time for everyone else but you, so what else are you supposed to feel when he makes you out to be the problem. You’ve felt the way he’s drifted from you for a while now, but you always hoped it was just because of work. Now you feel like it’s been purposeful.

You wonder if he still loves you. Do you still love him? Or have you both grown so comfortable with each other that the thought of finding something better, someone better, seems like too much of a hassle? You know he needs someone who will let him do his own thing, if he even needs someone at all. If anything you’re sure that Hongjoong would rather be single and happy than miserable and with you. You, on the other hand, know that you need someone who’ll actually give more than just 10% while you consistently give them 90. You need someone who will make time for you, not because they have to but because they want to.

Pitch black, pale blue. These wild oceans shake what’s left of me loose just to hear me cry mercy. A strong wind at my back so I, I lift up the only sail that I have. This tired white flag.

You can smell the rain before the droplets begin to come down. It’s the realization that you’re in a failed relationship that finally gets the anger to simmer down and become replaced by sadness. It’s far too windy for you to be out, but you would rather freeze out here than be anywhere near him.

As the clouds begin to roll in, the moon disappears, leaving you in pitch blackness. Despite the rain that begins to hit your skin, you stay seated in the sand, kicking off your shoes and digging your toes into the ground. You pull your jacket closer to your body, shivering as the rain begins to pick up. The waves and the rain are almost loud enough to drown out your own thoughts, but the sadness still prevails.

It’s painful to feel like you’ve wasted some of the best years of your life to someone who couldn’t care less. You’ve no idea how long you’ve been outside, and he doesn’t come out for you either. Maybe he’s far too invested in his work to notice how hard the rain is pouring outside of the house, maybe he has his earbuds in and can’t hear the way the thunder rumbles, maybe his eyes are so focused on his computer screen that he can’t see the way the lightning lights up the sky.

You experience all of it. You feel the icy rain stinging your skin, can feel the way the thunder rumbles the ground beneath you, see how the lightning illuminates over the ocean and makes the waves more daunting. And yet all the chaos around you can’t stand a chance to the chaos you feel in your heart.

This was it for you. You told yourself before you even planned the trip that if he couldn’t just keep his focus on you then this was it. You would stick to that decision and live with the consequences. It hurts because you wanted more for the both of you, but he kept putting everything else before you and you were tired of being second best.

When were you allowed to be his priority, especially when he was always yours.

I’m only honest when it rains. If I time it right, the thunder breaks. When I open my mouth I wanna tell you, but I don’t know how. I’m only honest when it rains, an open book with a torn out page and my ink’s run out. I wanna love you, but I don’t know how, know how.

You feel a presence stand next to you. You don’t look up though. You already know it’s him, and it’s raining far too hard for you to bend your head upwards just to confirm your suspicions.

“You shouldn’t be out here,” he says to you.

“If I shouldn’t be here then why are you,” snippiness enters your voice as you continue to stare ahead of you rather than at him.

“Let’s go back in before you catch a cold. Baby you’re soaking wet,” he places a hand on your shoulder and you roll it away from him. His touch is unwanted and the pet name just makes you angry again.

“Don’t pretend to care now just because of your guilty conscience,”.

“(y/n),” he sighs, “I’m not pretending to care. I do care for you please come back inside,”.

“But do you love me?”

“What?”

“You care for me but do you love me Hongjoong?”

“Baby-”

“Don’t call me that. Just answer the question. Do you love me?”

He stays silent, and that’s enough of an answer for you. You stand from your place in the sand, feeling the way it keeps itself attached to your clothes. You don’t even put your shoes on as you make your way back to the house, Hongjoong following right at your heel.

The heat hits you the second you make your way through the door, and a shiver settles into your bones, your mind finally realizing how cold you really are. For what it’s worth he rushes to get you a towel, wrapping it around your body as he steps in front of you. You don’t want to look at him still, but this is a conversation that you know needs to be had.

“Why would you ask me if I love you?” You can see the pain in his eyes, the regret is written clearly in his features and it makes you want to cry. He can sit there and lie to himself all he wants but you know the truth.

“We both know you don’t,”.

You watch him swallow the lump in his throat, tears beginning to gather at his waterline. You’ve rarely seen him cry, in fact you’re sure that Seonghwa has seen him cry more than you have. The thought makes you feel bitter.

“Don’t say that… Don’t pretend to know how I feel,”.

“Don’t lie to me as if I haven’t known you for years, loved you for years,”.

“So what? Do you not love me anymore?” his voice cracks towards the end of his sentence and it tugs at your heart, making you feel more terrible than you already do.

I’m only honest when it rains. If I time it right, the thunder breaks. When I open my mouth, I wanna tell you, but I don’t know how, know how. I’m only honest when it rains, an open book with a torn out page and my ink’s run out. I wanna love you, but I don’t know how.

You do love him. You can’t really stand here and convince yourself that you don’t because you do. You’ve spent so much of your time loving him, and in the beginning you loved the way that he loved you. But you can’t just keep holding on to the hope that he’ll love you the way that he used to. You’ve given so much of yourself to him, all for it to be taken for granted. So even though you do love him, you love yourself more.

“No,” you say with a shaky breath and a broken heart. You follow the way a tear slips out of his eye and down his cheek.

“I think we’ve grown complacent, don’t you?”

His response is to look away from you, hand wiping at his face haphazardly as the tears continue to run. You’re thankful you got all your tears out on the beach because you already feel so exhausted from the crying.

“Is this really just because of the work issue? Is that what needs to change?” there’s a bit of desperation in his tone.

“It’s more than that, but that is part of it, yeah,”.

He doesn't speak again, just letting the tears fall silently as you continue to watch him. You can see the gears in his mind turning, and you wonder if he’ll try to bargain with you, try to beg you to stay. You have to admit that a part of you would very heavily consider it if he pulled aside his pride and did so, but the longer you both stand there the more you know that he won’t do it. You’re sure Hongjoong is trying to convince himself that letting you go is what’s most beneficial to him, and you have to agree. Maybe he would be better off without you, and you’re tired of fighting for something dead.

“Is this it?” he asks you, voice coming out in a whisper. He barely sounds like himself, and it could just be because you find yourself trying to disassociate yourself from the painfulness of it all.

“I think it has to be,”. There’s a pit in your stomach that wasn’t there before, the finality of your words making your body react negatively.

“Okay,” he says, nodding sadly as he looks away from you and around the house in which you were supposed to spend the next six days together. So much for that vacation, huh?

“Now what?” he sighs.

“You can go back in the morning, pack everything up and head out on the first flight tomorrow if you’d like. We can deal with the rest once I come home,” you’re proud of yourself for not having a single voice crack.

He nods at you and heads off towards the room, presumably to pack his things and get his trip planned back home. You’re still shivering in the same spot, a wet puddle lays at your feet that you know you’ll have to clean later. You’ll have to do a lot of things later. For now though you’ll shower, and then sleep on the couch while Hongjoong leaves.

There’s an ache in your chest, a feeling of deep regret, but you know that you deserve to be happy. Hongjoong wasn’t your happiness, he hadn’t been for a very long while and you’ll have to learn to live with that. You’ll have to learn to be okay without him.

I don’t know how. I don’t know how. I don’t know how. I wanna love you, but I don’t know how. I don’t know how. I wanna love you, but I don’t know how. I wanna love you, but I don’t know how. I wanna love you.

More A/N: Alright yes I know that was pretty sad, if you’d like to read a Hongjoong fic that has a happy ending then look at this fic here (or if you just love pain then feel free to read this one instead). But, if those don’t appeal to you then feel free to peruse my masterlist here instead. I do have a tag list so if you’d like to be added onto that then let me know. Okay cool bye!!!!

#hongjoong #hongjoong x reader #hongjoong x y/n #hongjoong x you #Kim Hongjoong x reader #Kim hongjoong x you #Kim hongjoong x y/n #hong joong x reader #hong joong x y/n #hong joong x you #kim hong joong x reader #kim hong joong x you #kim hong joong x y/n #Hongjoong angst #kim hongjoong angst #hong joong angst #kim hong joong angst #I’m so fucking tired of tagging shit #ateez smut #ateez fluff #ateez angst #ateez #kim hongjoong #kim hong joong

[394hq]

event ; beach birthday

what: Tony's 40th birthday where: Stark Industries resort and private beach who: all characters are invited to attend

ooc; we'll begin this event today and run it through next Thursday, June 1st. No new threads should be made after that date, but you can continue current ones for as long as you'd like. there will be a bonfire, live music, and fireworks display. party goers are welcome to camp out on the beach after the party. this isn't a plot event and is optional. the starter for this event is 394.t40. please only tag initial open starters with that tag. all event edits should go under 394.40edit. we'll post an official meme for the event, so please don't post any memes while the event is going. if you have any questions, let us know!

#394.event #394.mod #mcu roleplay #mcu rp #dcu roleplay

[circular-time]

Dangit I was dreaming the intro of what looked like a promising Thirteen & Yaz video game, but I woke up just as the action started. You'd think my dream editor wasn't up to writing a plot. (It usually isn't; but every now and then it comes through.)

There was a whole planet to explore in the starting menu (mostly tropical, heavily forested settings, obviously bits of my memories of the Hawaiian islands combined with MYST/RIVEN and Final Fantasy XIII, X, and a little of Avatar). I click the thumbnail that shows just their faces nose to nose in an indoor-lit location with the loading screen suggesting some "not a bad date, am I?" UST although I know it won't be because the game was made before Flux aired.

They turn out to be standing in a Mos Eisley style bar if it were a beach town more like one of the resort areas in Thailand. There's varnished wooden beams, honey-colored lanterns, a circular bar around the middle of the main room and posts holding up a sort of cabana roof that opens onto decks and jungle patios.

There's a murmur of conversation, but it's not too crowded. Yaz and Thirteen are standing pnext to the bar, looking tall and accidentally attractive in that dorky-trenchcoat-and-butch-jacket-by-gaslamp manner they have. They seem to be having A Moment where they've both just turned to speak to one another, only to find themselves looking in each other's eyes. But then somebody who seems to be a friend hails the Doctor from behind, and she lights up, turns and runs off to the right.

As I pan the controller around (because yes, it's a 3D rendered game, if a rather cinematic one), I spot a couple sus characters in cartoonish black cloaks skulking away to the left crouched halfway to the floor. I really want to go with the Doctor, but that's a dangling plot thread/clue I can't ignore. So I have Yaz follow them outside in the opposite direction from the Doctor.

It's this warm lighting that can't decide if it's tropical sunlight or golden moonlight; maybe the sun's dimmer. Yaz follows the two skulking figures that have spy vs spy heads (think plague doctor, but more muppet-like) around the island on a steep slope with weird pot-shaped stubby trees or rocks. Eventually the sus pair — who start hiding too, as if they know they're being followed— creep towards a huge stone gateway sunken into the mountain that looks like the entrance to D'ni or a Final Fantasy castle before it went overboard with ornamentation.

While Yaz is hiding among the rocks/trees spying, an authoritative woman's voice declares: "Oh, she knows we know she's there." Explosive shells start raining down around Yaz's hiding place. Oops.

Yaz (ie the player) needs to figure out how to save herself quickly; this may be one of those choose-your-own-adventure games with Game Overs. I briefly entertain the thought the Doctor will put in a sassy appearance to distract the baddies, but I know she won't, because Yaz should be able to save herself.

And just as I'm scanning around the area looking for new hiding places or clues, I wake up.

Bugger.

#just a drean #shoulda followed the doc

[aliferous-ly]

last night I was playing Stardew valley and I didn't realize you had to be at 8 hearts to date, I thought it was 6-8, so at 7 hearts I gave Alex a bouquet and got rejected.

I was devastated. but thought hey, it's raining in-game, I'm gonna write a fic about this, SO to make it even more dramatic I had my character run all the way to the beach to sulk.

Sebastian shows up. I was doing smth irl and didn't realize my character was standing in the way, so I get the little ? above seb's head. I move, then talk to him bc why not and he says some RUDE ASS SHIT.

I am at 8 hearts with Sebastian and this man says something like, "what do you want? I dont want to talk to you right now" and I'm like ok I'm DEFINITELY writing something for this now what the fuck?

today, I spent like 2 hours trying to find the dialogue that Sebastian said. I didn't screenshot it, so I wanted to find the exact dialogue, and it's NOWHERE. Not on the wiki, not on ancient reddit threads. My last resort was opening the game data but I'd have to convert .xnb files and don't want to spend another three hours figuring it out without fucking up my game so now I'm >:[ AND I don't know exactly what that bitch said. but I do have 2k written

#and i want to play sdv but i have hw and im going boating pffbthrbfbej bc instead of doing any of those things i instead tried to find #elusive dialogue #good lord