#and she forgets that most other people her age don’t have the kind of free reign she does

[thisismeracing]

Paddock Pass (Taylor's version) | CL16

⸺ there are many perks to being Charles Leclerc's girlfriend. You get free paddock passes, you're able to watch him chase his dreams while you work on yours from the garage, and of course, you get Charles. What you didn't know is that he would add a new thing to this list: your favorite singer in the garage (based on this request). ✓ mentions of food; friends to lovers; not proofread; fem!reader (she/her). 0.8k words

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Life has a funny way of making things happen. You knew it from an early age, and it was kind of funny looking back at it now, as Charles' girlfriend.

As a shy kid from Monaco, your childhood wasn't exactly the most social one - you were shy, wore glasses, and liked to keep things to yourself. That's how you ended up discovering Taylor's music and became friends with Charles at the early age of 7.

During the summer holidays, with not many friends to enjoy the time except for one girl from school who happened to be traveling, you ended up going with your mom to the hairdresser. The owner saw how uncomfortable you were with all the noise and people and showed you to the waiting area, a room with a big TV and a few toys. You were the only one there, and the echo of the TV caught your attention. It was playing a song you had never heard before, a blonde singer wearing glasses and pajamas sang with all her strength. You were entranced by the image, so much so that the door opening didn't catch your attention until someone poked at your shoulder. "Hi, I'm Charles," and just like Taylor was singing, he belonged with you.

Eighteen years later, you were in the Ferrari garage working on your computer while Charles got ready for quali. Since it was the Vegas GP, and you didn't like the rush and lights that much, you chose to stay in the deepest area of the home motor curled on a blanket waiting until it was time for the race to begin.

"Cherie, Kika is looking for you at the Alpine garage," Charles knocked on the door, and peeked his head inside, smiling fondly at you.

You adjusted your glasses, "Tell her to come here."

"She's having lunch there, told me she got your favorite snacks for dessert," he explained, and you bit your lips. "There are not as many people out there since it's qualy," Charles tried to reassure you and you nodded, grabbing your cardigan and lacing your fingers with his.

"I told her to wait for you. Hopefully, she did," he had this funny smile on his face, and if you weren't so tired from the flight the other day, you would nag him about it.

You walked hand in hand to the Alpine garage, Charles stopping here and there to take a few pictures, but nothing as crazy as Sundays usually are.

When you finally reached the pink and blue facility, things seemed different. You didn't know how to pinpoint what exactly it was, but you felt like the usual rush was slightly blessed, and from previous experience, you bet someone important was inside.

"I've been waiting forever to do this for you, I couldn't have done it sooner because of the whole world tour thing and you know how hectic it was for her, right?"

You furrowed your eyebrows, feeling your glass frames move in your face, "What are you talking about, Char?"

He shook his head, kissed your forehead, and entered the garage. The first thing you saw was a mass of a man, huge. Then you heard his laugh, and it sounded familiar. The second he turned around with a big smile on his face, you felt your knees weakened, not because of him but because of someone likely there along with him.

"THE Travis Kelce?" You whispered to Charles still holding his hand, and he beamed.

"Hey, Yn! Nice to meet you! Your boyfriend was just talking about you minutes ago," he took a few steps in your direction, offering you a handshake, and you took it.

"He said you were the biggest fan," you heard her voice before seeing her, and when she stepped around Travis, you almost fainted.

"Oh, sweet Jesus-," you screeched, and everyone laughed.

"Taylor! Oh my God! I've been listening to you since I was a kid," you whispered, trying to hold back the tears and the laughter of happiness bubbling inside.

"Careful now, or you'll make me feel old," she joked and opened her arms, motioning for you to get inside the hug. You glanced at Charles, silently thanking him, and crashed into your idol's arms. Her hug was warm and tight, and you felt like you could stay there for hours. Her hands caressed your back up and down feeling how emotional you got and trying to comfort you.

When you took a step back, you saw how her gaze softened, looking at the T pendant Charles got you when you were still little kids. She pointed to a nearby bench, "Everyone's trying to explain how this works, but I still don't get it. Can you enlighten me on the F1 world as someone who's been in it since childhood?" Your brows furrowed in a second, but you smiled brightly at her. She seemed to get your confusion, explaining, "Charles was updating us on how you were the biggest Swiftie since you were a kid."

"Yeah, I met him when I first listened to your song too," you observed, sitting down, and turning to her.

"What? Now you gotta tell me this! This paddock pass was so worth it. F1 rules can wait, I'm a sucker for a love story."

"That I know," you giggled looking from her to Travis who seemed to be in a deep conversation with Charles.

────── ⋆🪩 VOICEMAIL: Hi! I tried to follow all the details in the request, hope it's good enough <3 I hope you guys liked this! Make sure to like and reblog if you did *mwah*

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[satansapostle6]

Love The Sinner | Dexter Morgan

Dexter Morgan, a vigilante serial killer hiding in plain sight, loses sleep for the first time in his life when he’s met with the very last thing he expected: a kindred spirit.

Warnings: Violence. Mature language and themes. Sexual content.

Part One. Eyes of Darkness.

Most people, when they’re getting arrested, shit their pants with fear. Some scream, some cry. Some rage, and some try to run, and some just freeze. That’s what you usually see, when you’re in your parents’ living room, and your dad can’t wait to turn on the TV to the channel dickety-six news, of all things. But sometimes, people have other reactions when being handcuffed and shoved in the back of a squad car. Sometimes people enjoy it, for one reason or another. I smiled when Miami Metro put me in cuffs on the news. Laughed, even. You see my story is many things, but boring certainly isn’t one of them.

Let’s start simple. My name is Nicole Carvalho, and as of today, America knows me as ‘Murderous MILF’. You really can’t make these things up; I love this country. I keep reminding myself, if I ever go free, I need to clip that out of the newspapers. But see, right now, at this very moment, I’m sitting alone in an almost blindingly white interrogation room at the precinct, waiting for a cop to question me while they study me on the surveillance footage. I can’t lie, I’m sitting back right now in my chair, smirking. You see, I killed the men who violated and later took my baby girl’s life, and I’m currently very pleased with myself.

I don't think my grandfather pictured this when he left Brazil. This truly is the American dream; committing a crime and letting your own peers decide whether or not it was justified. In all honesty, a jury will be much kinder to me than ‘God’ has been. So, I figured I’d let myself have this one thing. I think I waited about a half an hour before they sent someone in; a female detective. They must’ve figured a matching vagina couldn’t hurt. The first thing I noticed about this detective was that she was strikingly young; close to my age. I’m thirty-six, so I would estimate her to be maybe a little younger.

But apart from her age, the next thing I noticed about this detective was that she was very robotic in how she interacted with me; she didn’t necessarily look like she wanted to be there. She barely looked up at me when she came in, holding my files and looking down at them like a teenager doing a presentation in high school.

“So. Nicole Carvalho. I’m Detective Morgan.”

She sits down across from me less like I’m a murder suspect and more like she’s interviewing me for a secretary job. I look at her, sitting forward as I join her in the conversation, still smug as ever. I think she was secretly hoping I’d say it, the four words that usually drove most cops insane that, for some reason, no one ever thinks to say in the movies.

“I want my lawyer.”

I smile as I say it. Detective Morgan also smiles, looking down at the table before getting up. I’ll never forget how pleased she sounded.

“Guess that means I can’t ask you anymore questions.”

She gets up and walks out, and that’s the end of it. In all honesty, I don’t think she was looking forward to questioning a woman about the murder of her daughter’s rapist. After the detective left me alone, I was allowed to call myself the lawyer that I had in mind. This, of course, was a friend of a friend, a perfectly shady guy named Johnny Bertelli, who was, in the nicest way possible, a fucking scum bag. You see, I work as a project manager at a marketing firm, so I’ve met my fair share of good lawyers, but Johnny was the fucking best.

He made Johnnie Cochran look like an idiot. He was the kind of lawyer who laughed at the prosecution in court, and I needed him. So there i was, in the Miami Metro precinct punching a number I’d gotten off Google into a wall phone. I looked around the precinct as I waited for someone to pick up, and suddenly it was like I felt a pair of eyes on me. I turned around, and I saw a pretty timid, mild-mannered looking guy who seemed as if he’d been standing there trying to figure out how to get my attention.

But the strange thing was, he didn’t seem to want my attention, at all, actually. If anything, he seemed perturbed by the fact that I was looking his way. I looked over at him, not knowing what the fuck his story could’ve been. Miami’s a weird place, because in this moment, I realized the guy wandering the precinct in a Polo and khakis could very well be an employee. I looked at the guy, not knowing what he could’ve wanted with me as I struggled with the phone. Funny enough, he actually just wanted to be helpful.

“You gotta press pound,” he says quietly, “For the call to go through,” and I almost laugh.

I appreciate the odd moment, just thanking him.“Thank you.”

He just nods, and says nothing as he quietly retreats to wherever it was he came from. I took his advice, and sure enough, the phone worked and patched me through to Johnny’s office. I wasn’t quite sure at the time, seeing as I was obviously a bit preoccupied, but I felt that strange man’s eyes linger on me for a moment. Even as I turned around, I could sense his surreal sort of presence that he had. Sure, I was used to having men’s leering eyes on me out in public; it was hardly unusual. But this was different.

Like he was less looking at my body and flesh, but more so imagining what was underneath it.

*****

The next couple years of my life were eventful, to say the fucking least. Johnny of course advised me to take my case to trial instead of taking a plea, for obvious reasons; there was no way any jury was going to give me the maximum sentence, or God forbid, the death penalty. I was a single mother who stabbed her twelve year-old daughter’s rapist seventeen times. In the eyes of the public, I was practically a fucking hero. Johnny’s confident that any jury would feel sympathetic to me, despite the brutality of what I’d done. As he says, the facts are still there.

My neighbor, a weasley little creep named George Randall got me, and my Isabelle, to trust him, and took advantage of her in the worst way. Then she killed herself, because of what he did, and I had to find out through a note left on her desk for me to find. So, I went to George’s with an empty baking dish of his, and once he let me in, I whipped out the knife I’d borrowed from him, the same knife I used to use to cook for my little girl, and I made his stomach burst like a water balloon. At this point, I’d already chosen to show little remorse for the crime I’d committed, feeling perfectly at peace with the possibility of prison, or the death penalty.

But Johnny said there was probably no need to be too fearful of either. He’d even told me there was a possibility I’d just get a few years, and then parole, or something, and I wasn’t sure that wasn’t bullshit, but I also liked his confidence. The reality of it was, Johnny had made much worse people look way better. To him, my case was already closed. All I had to do was play the part of the grieving mother, which took no effort on my part. I had to wait almost a year for my case to go to trial, which I of course did outside of a cell.

This gave me enough time to get all my affairs in order, or so to speak. My job was okay for the time being, and I knew I’d probably still have it so long as I wasn’t convicted of murder, given my ‘years of dedicated service’. Things were going to be relatively fine, eventually, but for now, I was stuck being paraded around like a jester on some twisted apology tour for avenging my daughter’s death. I’m a pretty good actor, but even my patience has its limits. And maybe wearing my white So Kate’s to court wasn’t necessarily the best judgement call.

But Johnny, being more than worth the money I pay him, made it work. I walked into the courtroom with him, humble and graceful, and didn’t let my eyes linger so as not to appear guilty. But even then, I caught a glimpse of him in the room. The guy who helped me with the phone. He was watching my trial, probably just as a police department employee. Probably.

“Will the defendant please rise?”

I complied with Judge Willis’s request, with my trusty guard dog by my side. I remained dignified, my head held high, but not too high, of course, as the proceedings began.

“Miss Carvalho. How do you plead?”

“Not guilty, your honor,” I told him.

The damage was done. My fate rested entirely in the hands of twelve strangers, and for some reason, there was a thirteenth who seemed oddly invested in the outcome.

-

Part Two.

[crazilust]

astrology observations pt. 5 (i believe)

remember, if this doesn’t resonate, leave it, scroll away and forget it. i wanted a summer theme, so i’ll do it on this post why not 💛

🐬🍋🌊🌅 🐬🍋🌊🌅 🐬🍋🌊🌅 🐬🍋🌊🌅

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🐬 I wish I could look a Sag sun in the eyes and tell them that no matter how little or big they achieve, they’re worth something. That they don’t have to chase the next big shiny thing, that they don’t have to be a millionaire by age 30, that they don’t have to « be someone » because they’re already someone.

🍋 We’re always talking about how lucky Jupiter natives are and how free spirited they are, but the truth is, Jupiter is also about expansion and sometimes I feel like that expansion translates in a pressure to be exceptional. And in this society, in this world, being exceptional is only valued at a material level. The number of Sag suns that I’ve met that felt like complete failures at like 20 years old is not normal. They’re so harsh on themselves. I wish I could give them all a big hug

🌊 The power of pisces mercury lies in their intuition. As virgo’s sister sign, it makes sense that Pisces mercuries don’t find their answers through logic and evidence-based facts but rather intuition and feelings. It can be hard for them to trust that gut feeling or to feel intelligent cause if someone asks them « well how do you know? » their answers most likely will be « Eh, just a hunch » But trust it, it’s one of your many gifts

🌅 I used to be so fascinated with people with Aries and Gemini in their birth chart cause I found them so comfortable with people, the life of a party type of people and so damn charming. As I grow older though and begin to see life in nuances of grey instead of straight black and white, I’m able to realize that those people often suffer from people-pleasing tendencies, a sense of self that is either broken or fragile and codependent behaviors. It’s like their sense of worth is tied to how much people like them.

🐬 Cancers are very loyal, I know it’s not a popular sign on mainstream medias and people love to shit on them, but the truth is, Cancers will have your back, no matter the placements. If you’re ever loved by a Cancer, make sure to treat them right !

🍋 People who are not that much into astrology will meet a Leo and be like “omg, you don’t act like a Leo at all, you’re not arrogant or an attention whore” When we look at Leos celebrities, it’s easier to see that arrogant, flashy, extra side. But irl, we rarely meet that “kind “of Leos, right? (Except at bars lol) The reason for it, I found, is that Leos, for the most part, have personas. First of all, they’re a lot more private than you’d think. I believe that most Leos loooove attention, but they also know when it’s appropriate to show it or not. Depending on their other placements, they’ll decide when to grab that spotlight and when to leave it to others.

🌊 I had this girl that I knew that was a Leo sun (and I’m sure a bunch of virgo placements) and everybody was shocked of her sun sign because she was introverted, quiet and observant. But she was still a theater girl, wanted to be the main character (preferred the villain), veryyyy assertive when it came to her boundaries or what she liked and didn’t liked, and very extra and colourful in her outfits. The reason why I don’t like mainstream astrology is because it’s a bit childish in the way it describes a sign. You can love attention but show it in a way other than screaming and dancing on tables. This girl, for example. To me, she was a Leo sun to a T.

🌅 Aquarius placements 🤝🏽 their desires to connect with someone through intellectual stimulation, but refusing to show and acknowledge their deep rooted fear of intimacy and vulnerability

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and that’s it from me, folks.

-B.

[asouefanworkevent]

another fall is upon us! another woevember is coming!!

what is it?

woevember is an asoue fanwork event week, that will take place from november 10th through november 16th, 2024. every day of the week is dedicated to a different part of a series of unfortunate events or all the wrong questions for you to create something about! this year's theme is objects!

what do i do?

the prompts will be revealed now, so everyone has time to make something. between now and the week of november 10th, you’ll create fanworks about the prompts, and then post it on the corresponding day during november 10th - 16th! there will be the occasional countdown post between then and now too, so we all know how many days are left until posting begins.

don’t forget to tag this tumblr (asouefanworkevent) in the post so i can find it and reblog it, and tag the post with #woevember !

what do you mean by fanwork?

everything! fanfic and fanart are of course allowed, but woevember has always been meant to be an event that is as big or as little effort as you want! fanwork also means edits, gifs, analysis posts, headcanons!! your cosplay!! your photography!! your photosets!! your web weaving!! your moodboards!! your super short fics!! your sketchiest drawings!! your most ramble-y half-fic idea posts!! your wip scenes!! you merely saying ‘lemony snicket, though. am i right?????’ (and you are. you’re so right.) your loving macaroni art!! your embroidery!! your sculpture!! whatever you are moved to make from the prompts! i want people to be encouraged to and be able to create even something small that didn’t exist before for the snicketverse, and share it with other people!

are there any rules?

to keep the event open and comfortable for everyone, no explicit content. also, as always, sibling romance and age gaps will not be tolerated.

do i have to make something for every day?

only if you want to! feel free to just make something for one day if you want :) the point of having a different theme for each day is so some part of canon that you like comes up eventually, and you can at least make something for one of the days. or you get struck by an idea you might not have considered before! i want to get people thinking about all the intriguing things in asoue and atwq and the exciting, different ways we can interpret and create from the same idea.

what are the prompts?

the description under each prompt is just some ideas to get your brain going – feel free to take them in another direction too! whatever you want to come up with!!

november 10th - violet's inventions

the grappling hook! the toaster in the clock! the rock retrieval device! the bobblehead train stopper! even just lockpicking, and violet's ribbon, too! what else do you think violet has made, pre-canon or during canon? what does she make now? post-canon, does she have a job that relates to inventing? does she still invent in her spare time?

november 11th - the sugar bowl

the mysterious sugar bowl! lives have been lost in the quest to find it and it's important to both the snickets and the baudelaires, so says esme. where is it now? what was its importance? what was inside it? where was it during canon, before canon? who has had it before? did anyone have it before esme? what does it look like? how does it keep its contents safe? when was it first used? did it make it to the hotel denouement? is anyone still searching for it? what if it wasn't stolen?

november 12th - disguises

both the firestarters and the firefighters have used disguises --the same disguises, supplied by vfd. what other kinds of disguises have each side used, and for what ends? was a disguise ever seen through at the wrong time, or the right time? was a disguise ever NOT seen through when it should have been? even the disguises beatrice wore when she acted on stage, or the cow disguise worn by jacques snicket, or the denouement triplets pretending to be each other, what does it mean to wear a disguise and what do you do when you wear one? do the baudelaires, or the quagmires, ever wear disguises again? do frank and ernest ever pretend to be each other post-canon?

november 13th - the bombinating beast

our beloved statue the size of a milk bottle, valued upwards of a great deal of money! where do you think it is now? what did lemony do with it when he left stain'd-by-the-sea? who used it before canon? do the baudelaires ever encounter it? does it make its way back to stain'd-by-the-sea? and where is the bombinating beast itself now?

november 14th - books

lemony's a series of unfortunate events books do, after all, exist in asoue canon itself! what does vfd think of the books? who's read them? or books like the unauthorized autobiography, and the beatrice letters, and lemony's childrens books, what place might they have in canon? for all the wrong questions, who's read them? they were filed at vfd headquarters, after all. how many members of vfd know what lemony did during his apprenticeship? or books like caviar: salty jewel of the tasty sea, or stain'd myths, or lemony's pamphlets on the accordion, or even the classic children's lit books, like the ramona series by beverly cleary, and their place inside canon and especially vfd? or even beatrice and bertrand's a series of unfortunate events, the journal they contribute to on the island. who else has written in that journal?

november 15th - the duchess of winnipeg's ring

the ring that went from the duchess, to lemony, to beatrice, to back to lemony, to kit, to bertrand, to beatrice, to the box she kept it in, to widdershins as he searched the ruins of the baudelaire mansion, to ishmael when it washed up on the island, to violet, and to the second beatrice, who traded it to a shepherd for a yak ride. what other adventures has it been on? does the duchess ever get it back again? why did beatrice keep it in a box -- a box that kit's grandfather made the code for? what has the rest of the duchess' family done with it? what does it mean to them?

november 16th - free space!

do you have another object in mind? the spyglass, one of klaus's books, or sunny's meals, or the harpoon gun, or ellington's record player, or cleo's chemistry equipment, or something like the medusoid mycelium? the laudanum? all the things esme says are in or out? the baudelaire fortune? the quagmire sapphires? the fabled tito puente records? the ruins of the baudelaire mansion and what else might be there? all those objects mrs. bass had her students measure? jake hix's meals? cleo's car, or the bellerophon taxi? the vfd taxi? gustav's films, or the sebald code? violet's bread knife? kit's book raft? commonplace books? do you want to combine any of these objects with one of the previous days and create something with two objects for one of the previous days? so many options!! or do you care not for objects! use the free space to write about the item or character or relationship or thought or whatever of your choosing! feel free to pick a theme from a previous woevember event for the free space, if you'd like!

if you have any questions about anything, feel free to drop me an ask or a message!

happy creating, and i hope to see lots of you november 10th-16th!! ✨

[camillasgirl]

Queen Camilla's speech to mark Holocaust Memorial Day, 23.01.2025

Survivors of the Holocaust, Survivors of Genocide, Ladies and Gentlemen. As Patron of the Anne Frank Trust UK, it is an honour and a privilege to join you to remember the victims of the Shoah and of genocides since the end of the Second World War. It is also an opportunity to renew our commitment to two simple, but powerful, words: “Never Forget”.

This year we commemorate the 80th anniversary of the death of Anne Frank in Bergen Belsen, at the age of 15. Had she lived, she would be 95. Miraculously, her father, Otto, survived. He had been one of the 7,000 people freed on 27th January 1945, when the Soviet Army marched under the gates of Auschwitz that bore the sign, “Arbeit macht frei”, “Work makes one free”.

Words, as I said just now, have power. Those over the gates of Auschwitz represent one of history’s greatest, and most evil, lies. But Anne knew that they were always there to offer truth, comfort and hope. A year before she died, she wrote a promise in her diary: “I’ll make my voice heard, I’ll go out into the world and work for mankind!”. She was never to do so in person. However, over subsequent decades, and thanks to Otto’s tireless efforts, Anne’s diary has become the enduring embodiment of that promise. We can only guess at what she would have made of her legacy. Yet her story demonstrates that even the quietest, loneliest voice in the wilderness can change the world. That is the true power of words.

Anne’s life and death continue to inspire an anti-prejudice movement across the globe, including the Anne Frank Trust here in Britain. Last year, you reached 126,000 young people in this country alone, with your distinctive combination of Holocaust history, education about discrimination and youth empowerment. I am proud to be your Patron and grateful to all of you who support the Trust in its vital work – thank you.

Five years ago, I heard another survivor, Marian Turski, a Polish Jew, speak at a ceremony to mark the 75th anniversary of the liberation of Auschwitz. During his testimony, Marian said this:

I shall not be telling you about the very worst experience, the tragedy of being separated from my nearest loved ones and sensing what awaited them after the selection. I want to talk with the generation of my daughter and the generation of my grandchildren about themselves…. Don’t be complacent, whenever you see the past being misused for current political purposes. Don’t be complacent, whenever any kind of minority is discriminated against. Democracy itself lies in the fact that the rights of minorities must be protected. Don’t be complacent… Because if you become complacent, before you know it, some kind of Auschwitz will suddenly appear from nowhere and befall you and your descendants.'

Today, more than ever, with levels of antisemitism at their highest level for a generation; and disturbing rises in Islamophobia and other forms of racism and prejudice, we must heed this warning. The deadly seeds of the Holocaust were sown at first in small acts of exclusion, of aggression and of discrimination towards those who had previously been neighbours and friends. Over a terrifying short period of time, those seeds took root through the complacency of which we can all be guilty: of turning away from injustice, of ignoring that which we know to be wrong, of thinking that someone else will do what’s needed – and of remaining silent.

Let’s unite in our commitment to take action, to speak up and to ensure that the words “Never Forget” are a guiding light that charts a path towards a better, brighter, and more tolerant future for us all.

As Anne wrote in her diary on 7th May 1944:

"What is done cannot be undone, but at least one can prevent it from happening again."

Thank you.

[dragon-queen21]

Agere Tier list

I asked for people to send me in characters and then I would rank them. This was open fandom so half of the characters I didn't know and simply went off of vibes. If you agree, awesome! Disagree or have something to add, feel free to reblog and ramble. Just please don't get angry at me is anything is super off

Characters and short explanations below: (If I had one, I kinda gave up half way on some so forgive me if these aren't my best)

Stardew Valley~

-Harvey: Caregiver! Tired dad vibes for real, who always drinking too much coffee. Little one giving him puppy dog eyes is just like ‘oh, you want some too?’ <- terrible idea, he’ll never learn /lh

Pokemon~

-Prof. Sycamore: Caregiver or babysitter, just because I feel like he would be quite forgetful. Like unless his little one has obvious tells that they are regressed (ie. Using a pacifier, slurred speech, different comfy clothes, etc.) He’s going to just forget, or just overlook it. Ah I don’t know how to put that. Like he’s still sweet and caring just… a bit silly me thinks

-Kaiwe: Flip, big brother regressor/caregiver

Animal Crossing~

-Bones (animal crossing): Toss up between being a babysitter known for spoiling the littles he looks after with treat and cuddles, or a regressor… I’m leaning more towards babysitter personally. Also I think he would help his little one in the making of putting on a puppet show;

-Isabell: Flip, regressor leaning

-Tom Nook: Babysitter. In the sense that he is very aware of those who regress on the island and gives them little tasks to in exchange for stickers or treats

Star Trek~

-Bones/ Leonard McCoy: Well maybe I am biased but caregiver coded. He just ahs a very dad vibe about him you know? Plus being a doctor and with a knowledge of psychology I just know he’d be familiar with what age regression is

Lego Ninjago~

-Lloyd: Regressor/ pet regressor He would be a little dragon. I think I remember Cole being scared of dragons in the pilot episodes, so umm he definitely sneaks up on the other, roaring and trying to scare him

-Kai: Flip, caregiver leaning. Super sweet. The kind of caregiver who thinks that most problems can be solved with ice cream and cuddles

-Nya: Flip caregiver leaning. I feel like she's regressed with her brother before either because he wanted a playmate, or just to be like there's nothing to feel bad about. So maybe that would put her more as an age dreamer... hmmm welp, too late to redo the list now XD

-Cole: caregiver, going off of the wiki here but the fact that he seems to be very parental to those younger than him. Hates letting his little one down, so even over the smallest detail he's going to make sure everything goes smoothly to the best of his ability

Genshin~

-Ayato: I was going to say caregiver, but upon further consideration, puppy regressor. Wants to be little with his sister around but also, no talking, he’s delt enough with people all day if he wants interaction then he’ll initiate it himself. And being in puppy space no need to talk, just woofs. Also because of his role the idea of ‘age regressing’ in the typical sense leaves a bad taste in his mouth

-Ayaka: Caregiver coded. Looks after her brother a lot but also just enjoys being able to still take care of someone but just with less pressure to do everything perfect. Healing in it’s own way. I think maybe she would age dream from time to time, but never fully regress

-Aether: To no ones shock at all, regressor. I want to say that back with his sister he was a flip and they would take care of each other but without his other half and way to much put on his shoulders he’s solely just a little one now

-Wriothesley: Puppy regressor, specifically a german shepherd or Doberman, or any other dog breed with ‘scary dog privileges. Thinks he’s the scariest little guy. His caregiver’s see him as their adorable pup.

-Venti: Caregiver who's the best with baby regressor's. They're his little wisp and he plays lullaby's for them and is just the best at settling down fussy little ones.

-Kaeya: Caregiver. He has the best stories to tell his little ones and he definitely spoils them rotten. Regressor so much as looks at something twice and he'll get it for them

-Diluc: Flip caregiver leaning + pet regressor. Something something being a wolf regressor. He would probably chomp on his brother's arm just to annoy him, but also love noms. Also like I have said waaaay too many times on my blog, he would just have a soft spot for little ones trust me.

-Albedo: Regressor & pet regressor. Never really had a real childhood so age and pet regression kinda blur within one another. Snow leopard regressor or a husky regressor. He can spend an abnormal amount of time out in the cold and is quite content in doing so.

Overwatch~

-Mercy: Caregiver Oooh big sister caregiver. Going purely off of vibes but I mean. She just feels like she would be great with baby regressors. Just to be swaddled in soft blankets and fluffy wings to protect you. Also adding wanting to look after her little ones in a way that she was never taken care if as a child

Ace Attorny~

-Maya: Pet regressor. She’s has a kitten space that’s always getting her into mischief.

AOT~ We are going off of vibes here purely because I don’t know the first thing about this series

-Armin Arlert: Toddler regressor or baby space regressor, I can't quite come to a decision. Curious kiddo who is so easily distracted by everything

-Eren Jaeger: Middle regressor, usually older than Armin, though I could also see him being a toddler in his terrible twos. Lot of temper tantrums/meltdowns when little because of having so many emotions just bubbling over the surface.

-Mikasa Ackerman: Oh yeah 100% caregiver coded. I was going to label all three as littles, but I just think she needs to look after someone just to heal from her own childhood. Also because her friends are all she has left she wants to make sure they're as happy and comfortable as possible

[starlingsrps]

just forget the world.

alex has very easily become a part of manon’s life in a way that makes her realize exactly how lonely she was. adrien is gone nearly every night now, closing the store and taking off, usually only returning again when it’s time to fire the ovens. naturally, these activities are not for her to know of. as much as she would like to argue and pester because she is a resistance member too, the finality and firmness with his denials makes her think that it’s for a damn good reason. 

so she spends her nights with alex. he’s good at staying quiet and away from windows during the day and she’s not entirely sure what he does do all day, to be perfectly honest. but he’s someone to talk to and play cards with at the end of the day. it’s been so long since she was around people her own age that she’d forgotten what it was like to not be the child in the room. he can make her laugh, however rusty the sound. if it seems like he never stops talking, he at least has interesting things to say. they probably talk too much. like the other downed pilots they’ve harbored, he’ll be gone soon and she won’t know what happens to him next. getting attached is a terrible idea but she seems to have done it anyway without realizing.

“what do you miss most?” she asks one evening, trying to distract him while she checks his arm. he doesn’t have much of a pain tolerance and distracting him seems to help. frankly, he’s kind of a baby about it.

he shrugs his free shoulder. “i don’t know.” he pauses to think. “home or the base?”

“either, i suppose,” she says, probing the bone. it’s healing nicely, if she does say so herself.

“let me think about it.” he winces as she checks for signs of infection. “what do you miss? from before.”

she goes quiet, trying to think of anything. she was barely eighteen when the occupation started and anything before that feels like it belongs to a different person. the things that did bring her any joy were so slowly taken away from her that she never had a chance to replace them. she misses school of all things, feeling pretty without worrying about it catching the wrong eye. she used to like dressing up and fussing with her hair and makeup but the wolf whistles and predatory looks had taken any pleasure out of it. she dresses simply now, braiding her hair and keeping her eyes down.

she misses susanne like a limb but doesn’t know how to say it without it sounding dramatic. it’s the truth but it doesn’t feel like something she’s supposed to say. he doesn’t know what happened to her and she doesn’t feel able to explain it tonight.

“i don’t know either,” she says with a shake of her head, sweeping the rest away. “movies, i guess. we haven’t had anything new in ages.”

“we always got them,” he says. “back at base.”

she rolls her eyes and he seems to catch that she’s kidding because he laughs. “flyboys.”

“could die tomorrow: what if i missed the new gary cooper?”

 “perish the thought. i know you don’t miss new movies.”

“going outside,” he says promptly. “don’t get me wrong; you’ve both been great but…”

“you’re a little penned up.”

“and on my birthday.”

he says it like a little kid and it makes her laugh as she rewraps his bandage. “it is not.”

“it’s august twenty sixth, right?” she nods

and he looks triumphant. “it’s my birthday.”

“well , how old are you then?”

“twenty one. you want to see my papers?”

"you don't have them." she gives him a skeptical look but his face is as serious as she’s ever seen it so she supposes he’s not pulling her leg. she sighs, unfortunately sounding exactly like her mother, and he laughs under his breath. “fine. put on your shoes and follow me. if you tell adrien about this, i’ll kill you.”

he does as she says and they wind down the narrow stairs out of the flat and down to the alley. it’s dim and a little damp but at least doesn’t smell. there’s some light from the street lamp at one end and her bicycle propped against the wall. as a slice of paris, it’s far from the best she could offer but it’s not the same four walls he’s been seeing.

“voila,” she says with a flamboyant gesture. “paris.”

he takes a few steps forward and manon lunges forward to grab him by the collar. he stops, looks over his shoulder at her and grins. “not even on my birthday?”

“not even on your birthday,” she says gravely. adrien would kill her if he found out he was even in the alley and frankly she’s not sure if his smile or the fear or being caught that has her stomach in a knot. “get back to the step.”

he gives her a sharp salute with his free arm and edges around her to get back to the step. “yes ma’am.”

she glances at her watch and leans against the brick wall of the shoe shop next door. “five minutes of paris, only because it’s your birthday.”

“five whole minutes of paris,” he says, his voice a little dry. “incredible.”

“i could make it one.”

he laughs. “fine. so where are we?”

“in the city? the seventh arrondisment. the tower is that way, les invalides is that.” he cranes his neck at her words like he might be able to see over the buildings. “i’d take you to see them if i could.”

it’s quiet here at night once all of the shops close and people lock themselves indoors, quiet enough that the sound of approaching boot heels has them both freezing. immediately, manon feels like she should shove them both inside and never ever do anything this stupid again but knows that sudden movement is an easy way to get unwanted attention from a german on patrol. 

there’s nothing else for it but blind, foolish action. she grabs him by his shirt front and pulls him down to kiss him. he’s stiff with surprise for a split second but quickly turns enthusiastic. his hand brushes along her hip and her waist to rest at the back of her neck to hold her in place to kiss her deeply and thoroughly. she’s dimly aware of a flashlight beaming down the alley and something muttered in german before boot heels click in the opposite direction but a bomb could drop in the street and she wouldn’t be able to tear herself away.

alex breaks away first and manon realizes her fingers are still clutching his shirt. he nuzzles her neck, making her sigh. her heart is pounding and for once, not due to fear. she’d forgotten how that felt. he smiles against her neck and lifts his head. “god i wish i had two hands right now.”

manon laughs and relaxes her fingers. “you managed.”

that smile again, the only thing she can see, before he kisses her again. this time, it feels real. not a distraction, not a disguise: this belongs to them. it’s slower, easier. his hand slips to her waist, pulling her flush against him and she stretches up to wrap her arms around his neck. she notices things, tucks them away so she can remember the first good thing to happen to her in years when he’s gone - the sound he makes into her mouth when her fingers tug at the hair at the back of his neck to get him closer because it doesn’t feel like it will ever be enough, the safety she feels in his hand curled around her waist. his heart pounds against hers. she could stay like this forever but the church bells down the block start to chime the hour and it startles them both out of the reverie.

“i think it’s been more than five minutes,” he murmurs finally.

through heavily lidded eyes, she glances at her watch over his shoulder - it’s been more like twenty. immediately, the wariness that has been her companion since the occupation returns and she supposes she should be thankful that another patrol didn’t pass and hear them speaking english or adrien decided to call it an early night for once. “we should go inside.”

they do and once inside, she feels as awkward as she ever has in her entire life. she wants to kiss him again and he’s looking at her like he wants to kiss her again. she could. he could. 

she darts into her bedroom instead

[xlatrina]

Lemme see…

IMO, starting with Sen(? I forget her name 😅 EDIT: Indeed, her name is Sen! 😌), I would say:

1) Sen(?) -> Fierce, Determined.

Based on her gaze, I think she’s the kind of person who knows what she wants. She’s probably the “I know what I want, and I know what I get” kinda gal (props to anyone who recognizes that saying!). If she wants something from you, she’ll get it — I think she’s that kind of gal. It’s like she always knows how to twist someone’s arm just right (yes, even in the painful way if necessary!).

Persuasive as hell. A little too good at the art of persuasion… like, she’s not a conwoman or anything but… shit, she might as well be, lol.

I feel like she’s a tough cookie. Maybe even the “no nonsense” kind. You think you’re running circles around her, but nah, she’s running circles around YOU my guy lol. Nothing gets past her, can’t NOBODY get over on her!

I feel like a part of her’s kinda strait-laced, though, idky. From what little I recall of her story, this is likely not true because she’s trying to free herself of immortality no matter what, so… yeah, heheh. But I feel like other than her issues with immortality, maybe she’s very strait-laced in most any other situation. Idk.

Like the type who’d probably tell you to stop walking in the road when there’s a sidewalk available… and you’re just like: “but it’s nighttime, and people don’t drive in Eridia like that,” and she’s all, “Ok, go get hit then, see if I care.” Lol, yeah. Something like that maybe, idk. Just a headcanon.

I don’t know if she’d be a perfume girlie but like… I feel like she’s a perfume girlie. I mean she’s already so pretty, so she must care about maintaining her aesthetic to some degree (or maybe she just wakes up like that, idk 🤷🏾‍♀️). I feel like she’d either smell like something very sweet and floral since she makes me think of a pale rose, OR she’d wear something deep and resinous. Idk. I think the perfume thing could make sense if (as morbid as it would be) she’s immortal, sure, but still aging. Cause like… think about it. As we age, our bodies stop working like they used to. Cells don’t multiply as quickly and our bones continue to wear.

… What if she’s… rotting?

Shit, I’d be desperate to formally die too, if that were the case!

Anywho, I feel like she’s a tough love kind of woman. Like, she scolds you, but then she gives you a little pat on the back or something when you do really well. Maybe a bit like a mom —not motherly by any means, but sometimes does things like that, which can kind of feel like a mom-ish thing to do.

I feel like she’s a great fighter too, lol, her gaze is too fierce and warrior-like to not be.

2) Leander -> Calculating

—there’s more going on in his mind than swaying the MC’s heart!! Leander is a sweet guy (or so we think), but sweet don’t mean stupid!

But I also feel like there’s something admiring or just generally adoring in his gaze. It’s almost like soft, but I feel like the sketchiness of the art here might have something to do with that.

The tilt of his head makes the gaze feel almost longing. I feel like he’s the kind of guy who makes you feel so special when he looks at you lol.

But green can also be associated with envy, jealousy, and/or sickness or bad health. Idk man… I don’t think he’s gonna beat the yandere allegations any time soon, haha.

3) Mhin -> Perceptive

—sees through you. Intense; they’re staring too deeply into your soul to be simply looking at you 😭 Analytic. They’re taking notes about you and will probably be able to tell you things about yourself even YOU didn’t recognize.

Kinda like: (Sighs) “You have a terrible habit of glancing around a room like you’ve never seen four walls before. You’re too obvious!”

And you’d look (down) at them like:

“Huh? Do I??” And for some of us, we may not be able to keep ourselves from insisting, “Nuh-uh, I don’t do that! W-what are you talking about, what do you mean?? When have I ever done that??”

And Mhin will roll their eyes, or depending on your affection level (I’m assuming TS will use a point-based system since it’s a game with worse/best endings), Mhin will smirk at you and say, “You’ve done that multiple times.”

Depending on how much of a nerd they turn out to be, they’ll probably even tell you exactly how many times you’ve done it!

4) Vere -> Deceptive.

They have beautiful, sparkly eyes that make you wanna stare into them till you fall in, but you and Vere both know very well that should you give in, you’ll regret it. Then again… maybe you won’t??

Refusing to look you in the eye like that, Vere very much gives you the impression right off the bat that he’s not one to trust. Hell, he looks like he’s plotting a scheme (Swiper no Swiping!! Headass…)

He’s intriguing. Pink eyes are rare —beautiful! —but so, so rare. Where is he from, why is he here?? What does he want from you, what does he really want?? Does he even know what he wants?? Hell!

5) … Elyon -> Seductive.

Like Sen, I don’t know much about this character or anything, so I can only make little assumptions. But his eyes seem very enticing —like Vere’s, they draw you in, but unlike Vere, he (probably happily) stares deep into your soul.

Almost like Mhin, you can tell he’s picking you apart and putting you back together. But unlike Mhin, he’s not looking through you, per se. He’s looking at you, right at you. It’s the kind of gaze you can’t escape —if you were looking or walking away, I feel like his gaze would never waver, and you’d know it —cuz you’d just feel eyeballs on the side of your face or the back of your head, lol.

Idky but I lowkey feel like he’s the kind of person who probably likes eye contact. I don’t remember much about his character and background and stuff, but I think he’s someone with a prestigious background?? Idk I just remember his flower being associated with royalty, I believe. And so, if that’s correct, I feel like he has these mannerisms that people who come from a background of power usually have (at least where I’m from!).

As such, he probably really values eye contact and will literally follow your gaze. Every time your head and gaze starts to shift over to the side, he will literally tilt his own head just to maintain eye contact. If you’re bent over or looking down when he’s talking to you, he’ll probably bend over, too, or crouch a little to see your face and catch your eyes, haha.

(As an introvert, I kinda hate ppl like this, ngl 😂😅)

I feel like he’s also the kind of person to give really firm handshakes. The kind of man who, for better or worse, tends to show power over others —even if that’s not really his intention—because… yk… he’s from a posh background! He’s probably from Hightown!! So… yeah!

Kuras -> Comforting.

With his eye shape and golden gaze, it’s like staring into a pot of honey. His eyes being light, it makes me think of sunshine. I feel like Kuras is staring at us with an air of warmth, like a kind doctor, which is quite fitting of his character, actually!

Kuras’ eyes are expressive. I feel like he has a gaze where you can’t help staring into them to try and gauge his feelings. Like, he’s pretty stone-faced —he doesn’t always make himself easy to read —but his eyes… idk, I feel like his eyes can give you a good idea as to what’s going on in his mind. Not always, but I feel like once you get to know Kuras more, you’ll find yourself looking into his eyes, and you’ll begin to notice every little thing in his gaze.

He’ll stare at you as he explains the prescription he wrote, and when he casually slips a joke in between his explanation, you’ll see his eyes squint ever so slightly as his cheeks press up into his lower lids. Or when you and Kuras take a little walk together and see something quirky, he might look (down) at you and almost like… smize.

In fact, I feel like he does that a lot! Like, he may not smile per se, but whether he does or not, I feel like he’s the kind of person where most of his smile is in his eyes. He just tends to look at you and just… smize! He’s a smizer!

(I think that’s really cute tho, lol).

Ais -> Intimidating.

Ais’ eyes make you feel like you’re a burglar caught with your hand in his pocket. Like he’s sizing you up almost, tryna figure out if he’ll let you go because you seem so freakin’ weak or if he’ll beat your ass because like… bruh, come on 😭 you’re trying to rob AIS of all people bruh??! Like maybe Leander (… MAYBE) cause he’s sort of nice enough to probably just loan you a dollar or something —but AIS??

Anywho, his eyes give me… inquisitive vibes. If he’s not staring you down like prey, he’s definitely the type to stare at you just for your reaction. That’s what I feel like, at least, lol. His eyes just tell you that he’s annoying asf.

And he is��� lmao

Based on his gaze, I feel like he lowkey has a bit of a staring problem lol. He’s the type who just… stares at you. And you might get uncomfortable or agitated, and you’ll look at him and just be like: “What are you staring at me for?” And his annoying ass would probably be all like: (shrugs) “Didn’t think I needed a reason.” Like… BRUH.

Sometimes he stares as if he’s paying close attention, like, way too close attention. Like he’s just waiting for any sudden wrong move. That, or I feel like he’d stare at you and then begin to space off a little. Idk, he’s kinda giving… space cadet, lol.

Just a little, just a little.

——————

ANYWHO I GUESS I ACCIDENTALLY TURNED THIS INTO A HEADCANON POST SO… YEAH. Hope somebody enjoyed out there lol

Can’t wait til the game itself comes out and then I get to look back on this and laugh at how OOC it is 😭😅

What do you think each character’s eye design says about them? 👁️

[cleverhottubmiracle]

Over the past few years, Gen Z has earned a reputation as “Generation Stay-at-Home”, “Generation Boring”, or “Generation Sensible”. There’s no smoke without fire, and the number of young people who regularly meet up to socialise really has dropped sharply, with young men now spending more of their free time alone than any other age group. Further research published in 2023 found that people between the ages of 15 and 24 now spend 70 per cent less time in person with friends than those of the same age did in 2003. Relatedly, people in the 16 to 24 age group are three times more likely to say they feel lonely than those in the 65 to 74 age group. This decline in face-to-face socialising is palpably reflected in our culture. Social media is brimming with content which glamourises staying home in the name of self-care: one ‘6pm to 9pm evening routine’ video sees a young woman going home after work to light some candles and watch YouTube videos on her own. Perhaps it’s telling that Molly-Mae Hague is the UK’s most successful influencer, having built a wildly successful brand centred around an aspirational (yet relatable) kind of domesticity. “I’m not bothered about a social life, it’s not something I have been really interested in,” she told Steven Bartlett on the Diary of a CEO podcast back in 2021. More recently, in a vlog posted to her YouTube channel in December 2024, she put it more bluntly: “I don’t like having fun.” On the one hand, it’s cheering to see young people attempt to look after their mental and physical wellbeing by prioritising downtime. Nearly half of young people no longer drink alcohol, with many citing health concerns as their principal motivation for quitting. Given that excessive alcohol consumption can pose myriad health risks, we should be glad that young people are eschewing the binge drinking culture of the late 90s and early 00s. It’s also undoubtedly encouraging to see society become a little more tolerant of introversion – thank God it’s become socially acceptable to say no to plans simply because you need an evening to recharge your social battery.  Labour market economists have been obsessed with the question of whether technology will replace market demand for human labour.But my question is different: What if tech replaces NON-MARKET DEMAND.And that’s precisely what we see: surging solitude. pic.twitter.com/ipdShBZGQj— Alice Evans (@_alice_evans) January 28, 2025 But it seems increasingly likely that we’re in danger of forgetting it’s possible to take ‘protecting your peace’ too far. An introvert myself, I entirely understand the urge to spend a Friday night watching Netflix and mainlining herbal tea. But being an introvert simply means you expend energy in social situations – it doesn’t mean it’s healthy for you to forgo social situations entirely (the opposite is true: loneliness can be as damaging to health as smoking 15 cigarettes per day). And although many people who spend lots of time alone claim to love embracing ‘JOMO’, it’s worth pausing to ask whether we’re glamourising isolation and playing up to being introverted as a response to feeling unable to have a fulfilling social life in the first place. Because there are a number of barriers preventing people in their 20s and 30s from socialising as much as they’d like to. There’s the cost: the average price of a pint is currently £4.79, an increase of nearly 30 per cent since before the pandemic. Even if you don’t drink, a cup of coffee purchased in March 2024 is 19 per cent more expensive than two years previously, with some cafés in the capital charging upwards of £5 for a large flat white. There’s also a rapidly diminishing number of places to go: venues across the country are shuttering at an alarming rate, with the UK losing 37 per cent of its clubs over the last four years alone. Many also report lacking the time or energy to socialise. These are all real, valid reasons why young people – especially those in precarious work – might be socialising less. But we can’t just throw our hands up in the face of these statistics and give up. been thinking a lot lately about this sort of performative uncoolness and I think part of it is cope that ur life just isnt that interesting and the other part is a brag that youre so ~fulfilled~ bc u dont "need" those other things ppl need (like having fun w/ friends) https://t.co/ZCCYjzYwRC— rebecca jennings (@rebexxxxa) January 2, 2025 Being reluctant to socialise is not only detrimental to yourself, but also to those in your orbit. Even if you’re sceptical that going out less could be harming your own mental wellbeing, there’s no guarantee your friends feel the same. You might feel relieved to turn down your housemate’s suggestion of an impromptu pub trip, but they might be desperate to leave the house. You might think of yourself as ‘so over’ clubbing at the ripe old age of 25, but your newly single friend might be dying for one night of fun. None of this is to say that you should always put others’ needs before your own; but part of being a good friend is making an effort, showing up, and being there – physically! – even when you’re not in the mood. In our fast-paced world, I can see how so many people have been led to believe that carving out great big wedges of ‘me time’ is freeing or ‘empowering’ – but having a sense of obligation towards others isn’t a trap. If anything, having other people make demands on your time is liberating. Jemima Kirke was being flippant when she said “I think you guys might be thinking about yourselves too much,” but she hit on a very real tendency among young people to lean into solipsism.  We should strive for balance, and it’s likely ‘balance’ will look a little different for everyone (some of us might need just one or two nights a week of ‘alone time’, while others may need a little more). But if spending time with your nearest and dearest has inched closer and closer to the bottom of your priorities, eclipsed by gym sessions and ‘self-care evenings’, it’s likely time for you to reassess whether your current lifestyle is truly making you – or your friends – happy. !function (f, b, e, v, n, t, s) if (f.fbq) return; n = f.fbq = function () n.callMethod ? n.callMethod.apply(n, arguments) : n.queue.push(arguments) ; if (!f._fbq) f._fbq = n; n.push = n; n.loaded = !0; n.version = '2.0'; n.queue = []; t = b.createElement(e); t.async = !0; t.src = v; s = b.getElementsByTagName(e)[0]; s.parentNode.insertBefore(t, s) (window, document, 'script', ' fbq('init', '357833301087547'); fbq('track', "PageView"); Source link

[norajworld]

Over the past few years, Gen Z has earned a reputation as “Generation Stay-at-Home”, “Generation Boring”, or “Generation Sensible”. There’s no smoke without fire, and the number of young people who regularly meet up to socialise really has dropped sharply, with young men now spending more of their free time alone than any other age group. Further research published in 2023 found that people between the ages of 15 and 24 now spend 70 per cent less time in person with friends than those of the same age did in 2003. Relatedly, people in the 16 to 24 age group are three times more likely to say they feel lonely than those in the 65 to 74 age group. This decline in face-to-face socialising is palpably reflected in our culture. Social media is brimming with content which glamourises staying home in the name of self-care: one ‘6pm to 9pm evening routine’ video sees a young woman going home after work to light some candles and watch YouTube videos on her own. Perhaps it’s telling that Molly-Mae Hague is the UK’s most successful influencer, having built a wildly successful brand centred around an aspirational (yet relatable) kind of domesticity. “I’m not bothered about a social life, it’s not something I have been really interested in,” she told Steven Bartlett on the Diary of a CEO podcast back in 2021. More recently, in a vlog posted to her YouTube channel in December 2024, she put it more bluntly: “I don’t like having fun.” On the one hand, it’s cheering to see young people attempt to look after their mental and physical wellbeing by prioritising downtime. Nearly half of young people no longer drink alcohol, with many citing health concerns as their principal motivation for quitting. Given that excessive alcohol consumption can pose myriad health risks, we should be glad that young people are eschewing the binge drinking culture of the late 90s and early 00s. It’s also undoubtedly encouraging to see society become a little more tolerant of introversion – thank God it’s become socially acceptable to say no to plans simply because you need an evening to recharge your social battery.  Labour market economists have been obsessed with the question of whether technology will replace market demand for human labour.But my question is different: What if tech replaces NON-MARKET DEMAND.And that’s precisely what we see: surging solitude. pic.twitter.com/ipdShBZGQj— Alice Evans (@_alice_evans) January 28, 2025 But it seems increasingly likely that we’re in danger of forgetting it’s possible to take ‘protecting your peace’ too far. An introvert myself, I entirely understand the urge to spend a Friday night watching Netflix and mainlining herbal tea. But being an introvert simply means you expend energy in social situations – it doesn’t mean it’s healthy for you to forgo social situations entirely (the opposite is true: loneliness can be as damaging to health as smoking 15 cigarettes per day). And although many people who spend lots of time alone claim to love embracing ‘JOMO’, it’s worth pausing to ask whether we’re glamourising isolation and playing up to being introverted as a response to feeling unable to have a fulfilling social life in the first place. Because there are a number of barriers preventing people in their 20s and 30s from socialising as much as they’d like to. There’s the cost: the average price of a pint is currently £4.79, an increase of nearly 30 per cent since before the pandemic. Even if you don’t drink, a cup of coffee purchased in March 2024 is 19 per cent more expensive than two years previously, with some cafés in the capital charging upwards of £5 for a large flat white. There’s also a rapidly diminishing number of places to go: venues across the country are shuttering at an alarming rate, with the UK losing 37 per cent of its clubs over the last four years alone. Many also report lacking the time or energy to socialise. These are all real, valid reasons why young people – especially those in precarious work – might be socialising less. But we can’t just throw our hands up in the face of these statistics and give up. been thinking a lot lately about this sort of performative uncoolness and I think part of it is cope that ur life just isnt that interesting and the other part is a brag that youre so ~fulfilled~ bc u dont "need" those other things ppl need (like having fun w/ friends) https://t.co/ZCCYjzYwRC— rebecca jennings (@rebexxxxa) January 2, 2025 Being reluctant to socialise is not only detrimental to yourself, but also to those in your orbit. Even if you’re sceptical that going out less could be harming your own mental wellbeing, there’s no guarantee your friends feel the same. You might feel relieved to turn down your housemate’s suggestion of an impromptu pub trip, but they might be desperate to leave the house. You might think of yourself as ‘so over’ clubbing at the ripe old age of 25, but your newly single friend might be dying for one night of fun. None of this is to say that you should always put others’ needs before your own; but part of being a good friend is making an effort, showing up, and being there – physically! – even when you’re not in the mood. In our fast-paced world, I can see how so many people have been led to believe that carving out great big wedges of ‘me time’ is freeing or ‘empowering’ – but having a sense of obligation towards others isn’t a trap. If anything, having other people make demands on your time is liberating. Jemima Kirke was being flippant when she said “I think you guys might be thinking about yourselves too much,” but she hit on a very real tendency among young people to lean into solipsism.  We should strive for balance, and it’s likely ‘balance’ will look a little different for everyone (some of us might need just one or two nights a week of ‘alone time’, while others may need a little more). But if spending time with your nearest and dearest has inched closer and closer to the bottom of your priorities, eclipsed by gym sessions and ‘self-care evenings’, it’s likely time for you to reassess whether your current lifestyle is truly making you – or your friends – happy. !function (f, b, e, v, n, t, s) if (f.fbq) return; n = f.fbq = function () n.callMethod ? n.callMethod.apply(n, arguments) : n.queue.push(arguments) ; if (!f._fbq) f._fbq = n; n.push = n; n.loaded = !0; n.version = '2.0'; n.queue = []; t = b.createElement(e); t.async = !0; t.src = v; s = b.getElementsByTagName(e)[0]; s.parentNode.insertBefore(t, s) (window, document, 'script', ' fbq('init', '357833301087547'); fbq('track', "PageView"); Source link

[chilimili212]

Over the past few years, Gen Z has earned a reputation as “Generation Stay-at-Home”, “Generation Boring”, or “Generation Sensible”. There’s no smoke without fire, and the number of young people who regularly meet up to socialise really has dropped sharply, with young men now spending more of their free time alone than any other age group. Further research published in 2023 found that people between the ages of 15 and 24 now spend 70 per cent less time in person with friends than those of the same age did in 2003. Relatedly, people in the 16 to 24 age group are three times more likely to say they feel lonely than those in the 65 to 74 age group. This decline in face-to-face socialising is palpably reflected in our culture. Social media is brimming with content which glamourises staying home in the name of self-care: one ‘6pm to 9pm evening routine’ video sees a young woman going home after work to light some candles and watch YouTube videos on her own. Perhaps it’s telling that Molly-Mae Hague is the UK’s most successful influencer, having built a wildly successful brand centred around an aspirational (yet relatable) kind of domesticity. “I’m not bothered about a social life, it’s not something I have been really interested in,” she told Steven Bartlett on the Diary of a CEO podcast back in 2021. More recently, in a vlog posted to her YouTube channel in December 2024, she put it more bluntly: “I don’t like having fun.” On the one hand, it’s cheering to see young people attempt to look after their mental and physical wellbeing by prioritising downtime. Nearly half of young people no longer drink alcohol, with many citing health concerns as their principal motivation for quitting. Given that excessive alcohol consumption can pose myriad health risks, we should be glad that young people are eschewing the binge drinking culture of the late 90s and early 00s. It’s also undoubtedly encouraging to see society become a little more tolerant of introversion – thank God it’s become socially acceptable to say no to plans simply because you need an evening to recharge your social battery.  Labour market economists have been obsessed with the question of whether technology will replace market demand for human labour.But my question is different: What if tech replaces NON-MARKET DEMAND.And that’s precisely what we see: surging solitude. pic.twitter.com/ipdShBZGQj— Alice Evans (@_alice_evans) January 28, 2025 But it seems increasingly likely that we’re in danger of forgetting it’s possible to take ‘protecting your peace’ too far. An introvert myself, I entirely understand the urge to spend a Friday night watching Netflix and mainlining herbal tea. But being an introvert simply means you expend energy in social situations – it doesn’t mean it’s healthy for you to forgo social situations entirely (the opposite is true: loneliness can be as damaging to health as smoking 15 cigarettes per day). And although many people who spend lots of time alone claim to love embracing ‘JOMO’, it’s worth pausing to ask whether we’re glamourising isolation and playing up to being introverted as a response to feeling unable to have a fulfilling social life in the first place. Because there are a number of barriers preventing people in their 20s and 30s from socialising as much as they’d like to. There’s the cost: the average price of a pint is currently £4.79, an increase of nearly 30 per cent since before the pandemic. Even if you don’t drink, a cup of coffee purchased in March 2024 is 19 per cent more expensive than two years previously, with some cafés in the capital charging upwards of £5 for a large flat white. There’s also a rapidly diminishing number of places to go: venues across the country are shuttering at an alarming rate, with the UK losing 37 per cent of its clubs over the last four years alone. Many also report lacking the time or energy to socialise. These are all real, valid reasons why young people – especially those in precarious work – might be socialising less. But we can’t just throw our hands up in the face of these statistics and give up. been thinking a lot lately about this sort of performative uncoolness and I think part of it is cope that ur life just isnt that interesting and the other part is a brag that youre so ~fulfilled~ bc u dont "need" those other things ppl need (like having fun w/ friends) https://t.co/ZCCYjzYwRC— rebecca jennings (@rebexxxxa) January 2, 2025 Being reluctant to socialise is not only detrimental to yourself, but also to those in your orbit. Even if you’re sceptical that going out less could be harming your own mental wellbeing, there’s no guarantee your friends feel the same. You might feel relieved to turn down your housemate’s suggestion of an impromptu pub trip, but they might be desperate to leave the house. You might think of yourself as ‘so over’ clubbing at the ripe old age of 25, but your newly single friend might be dying for one night of fun. None of this is to say that you should always put others’ needs before your own; but part of being a good friend is making an effort, showing up, and being there – physically! – even when you’re not in the mood. In our fast-paced world, I can see how so many people have been led to believe that carving out great big wedges of ‘me time’ is freeing or ‘empowering’ – but having a sense of obligation towards others isn’t a trap. If anything, having other people make demands on your time is liberating. Jemima Kirke was being flippant when she said “I think you guys might be thinking about yourselves too much,” but she hit on a very real tendency among young people to lean into solipsism.  We should strive for balance, and it’s likely ‘balance’ will look a little different for everyone (some of us might need just one or two nights a week of ‘alone time’, while others may need a little more). But if spending time with your nearest and dearest has inched closer and closer to the bottom of your priorities, eclipsed by gym sessions and ‘self-care evenings’, it’s likely time for you to reassess whether your current lifestyle is truly making you – or your friends – happy. !function (f, b, e, v, n, t, s) if (f.fbq) return; n = f.fbq = function () n.callMethod ? n.callMethod.apply(n, arguments) : n.queue.push(arguments) ; if (!f._fbq) f._fbq = n; n.push = n; n.loaded = !0; n.version = '2.0'; n.queue = []; t = b.createElement(e); t.async = !0; t.src = v; s = b.getElementsByTagName(e)[0]; s.parentNode.insertBefore(t, s) (window, document, 'script', ' fbq('init', '357833301087547'); fbq('track', "PageView"); Source link

[halcyon-digest]

2006

Art Klaudt: Visiting North Connell and listening to Massive Attack's "Collected"

Anonymous 2: unknown

ava: my certainty of time is getting fuzzy but maybe reading nancy drew books on the balcony of the hotel room overlooking the beach, eating chocolate chip pancakes and fighting the breeze to turn pages. or was that the next summer

kate: This year sucked. Being 13 sucks the most, of all ages. I was a star student and my grades were dipping and I could tell my dad was disappointed. He was also embarrassing me by doing things like emailing my science teacher to say I found the classes understimulating, something I had never said, and certainly didn't want my science teacher to think I had said. I got an 81 on a report card and was crying in the car about it and my mom told me, I forget what spurred it, that my dad had said (about me) "maybe she's not as smart as I thought she was." I was really mad at him for years for that and kind of still am. But I'm also mad at her for telling me.

Anonymous 2: being brought by a friend's parents to see a concert they had box seats to. i dont remember much of the concert itself because when it started up a bunch of his dad's adult friends showed up and being surrounded by unfamiliar adults while loud music played overwhelmed me quite a bit and i hid behind the couch for most of it. i do remember there being free food though

Lucas: None

Anonymous 3: I was 15 in 2006. I have a memory of being in my schoolroom and looking at the people I hung out with who I named "my friends" and feeling how profoundly I didn't care about them. The tables were arranged in a square horseshoe. The carpet was blue and so was the upholstery of the chairs. I can remember a great number of the other people in my class who were in the room at the time, the spatial arrangements of the windows, door, whiteboard, teacher's desk, fire escape, and recall the colour of the trees outside (summer green). I remember feeling my life was stalled in that moment and I was somehow trapped for all eternity in that place with those people.

Anonymous 4: Splitting open my chin and getting stitches, and it looked like I had a mini beard for a week

superswag: N/a

v0w0v: I moved during my first year of kindergarten and got to have two halloweens because of this. My first day at the new school was the day that all of the kindergarteners put on their costumes and paraded around. It made me feel special.

Anonymous 6: My first Hanukkah

Anonymous 7: pretending that my stomach was rumbling in my grandparents very antipodean backyard (limestone brick walls, corrugated fence, one of those stained glass tables, etc.) i'm not sure why i did that; i think it was a sort of early development social signalling. or whatever.

binnie: Parents divorce, my dad moves out.

Anonymous 8: Don't remember

April M. Mildew: My ancient memory of being dressed up as a dragon for Halloween must be from this year. Is that a memory or a photo I saw? Maybe this is also the year where I sat in an inflatable chair, black with a flame pattern, at my new dad's house.

[queencvbra]

thinking about how there are so many normal teenage things Tory doesn’t understand because she’s been basically living unrestricted since she was 13, even more so after her mom’s sickness got worse and there was no way she could enforce any kind of parenting on Tory

[winetae]

⇨ set myself on fire (m).

ex bf!yoongi. college au. 3355 words. slight age gap, slight angst. hand holding. dirty talk, possessiveness.

With him, you were always trying. Trying to be more, trying to be less. Bending, shrinking, expanding. 

.

.

Break-ups, you eventually learn, are not a good look for you.

Self-doubt keeps you awake at night more than caffeine ever has. The lack of proper sleep has disastrous consequences on your school life and your general appearance.

Even the most skilled makeup artists would consider you a lost cause. All their professional training and years of experience would not be enough to breathe new life into your dull and haggard appearance, not when your exhaustion is still so visibly apparent through the layers of concealer you regularly apply under your eyes. When you stare at yourself in the mirror you see a ghost, a creature from the past anchored in the wrong reality.

This goes on for a week, then two. You probably would have hit the third week mark if your friends hadn’t staged an emergency intervention.

“Your first big split can be hard, I get it.” Mari pats your shoulder. “That’s why you gotta listen to us. This can't go on any longer than it already has.”

Liz is a little less sympathetic. She’s always hated your ex-boyfriend and has no reservations reminding you of what an asshole he is.

You don't agree with her snide remarks but know it's useless to argue. Any objection has her rolling her eyes.

"You think being nice is ignoring your calls for a week?"

"It wasn't a week-"

"Do the details matter?" she crosses her arms and raises an eyebrow. "If he really respected you, he'd let you know he was gonna be busy instead of letting you waste your time and energy worrying about him."

Maybe she's right. Maybe you need to stop finding excuses for his every action.

Thanks to your friends' gentle but firm guidance you learn that there’s a code of conduct one must follow post break-up. Detailed steps one must take to numb the side effects of heartbreak.

It’s challenging to keep track of every little thing you’re supposed to be doing - and not doing - but you’re determined to become a functioning member of society once more.

RULE 1. BLOCK THAT MF. Your friends collectively warn you to lose your ex’s number. Delete it, block it, forget it. It makes moving on easier, they insist.

RULE 2. STAY OFF SOCIAL MEDIA. Don’t keep tabs on him. Seeing him be happy without you will make you swim in misery (and wine).

RULE 3. KEEP BUSY. Meet with friends, talk to family. Study, work out - whatever keeps your mind occupied.

The list goes on, some rules making less sense than others, but you’re so desperate to move on at this point that you’re willing to try just about anything.

It works - for the most part. You’ve never been more social in your life and the constant human to human interactions take up most of your free time and energy.

You try your best. Really, you do. It’s not enough, but it helps. So far you’ve successfully avoided any major meltdowns.

RULE 13 : NO LISTENING TO SAD SONGS/WATCHING SAD MOVIES in particular has kept you from recreating the typical kdrama scene where the lead wallows in her own sadness, a tub of ice cream in one hand and a bottle of wine in the other, before a nicer, smarter, more handsome love interest sweeps her off her feet.

It’s week six, almost week seven, when your friends decide that you’re ready to take the next step.

“What you need is a distraction,” Mari says, wagging her eyebrows, the implication of her words evident.

“She’s not that kind of girl.”

“What do you mean?” Except you know exactly what she means. You just want to make her say it. 

“Well, aren’t you the relationship type?” it’s defensive, like she knows she’s said the wrong thing. 

“Sometimes.” You say, but the answer is distracted, your mind elsewhere.

You’re thinking about lists and rules, adding this one to the ever growing manual you’ve sworn to follow. RULE 26. DATE OTHER PEOPLE. THERE ARE OTHER FISH AT SEA.

“You don’t need to find the love of your life right now. Just - like go out, have fun. It doesn't have to be a big thing."

"Why don't we go clubbing!" Mari proposes, excitement building in her tone. "Even if no one catches your eyes, I think it’ll do you some good to go out. We haven’t been out together in forever!”

You think about the alternative. Going home, watering your plants, microwaving the leftover lasagna, feeling bad for yourself. Reluctantly, you nod.

“That settles it then!” Liz cheers, already making her way to her closet to dig up the perfect outfit. “We’ll help you find a hot rebound. Nothing is better than good dick to help you realize there are plenty of great options!”

Next to you, Mari nods sagely. “It’ll help you - make you realize that there are other guys out there. Your world is much bigger than one single person, no matter how great you thought they were.”

Her words of advice settle into your bones, haunting. You want to believe her but if there's anything these past weeks have taught you, it's that your heart is stubborn. It cares little about what's better or nicer or kinder.

When you return her smile, you know deep down that you're only setting yourself up for disappointment.

.

.

.

.

Rule 26 is tiresome work, requiring more effort than advertised. But like every rule before this one, you give it your best shot.

It doesn’t take long for your eyes to zero in on tonight’s target.

The guy in front of you is handsome. Objectively. Prominent features with long lashes and pouty lips. Slicked back hair, well dressed, and clearly on the lookout for a one night stand. He ticks all of your boxes - if you had any to begin with. 

Somewhere over his shoulder you see Mari shoot you a thumbs up, grinning like a proud mom, and the sight helps steel your resolve. You can do this.

It doesn’t take long for the both of you to shift to the dance floor, chests pressing against one another.

His hands on your waist are warm. The way he’s moving his body - the slow grind of his hips against yours - it should be enticing.

But you feel - detached. Your brain registers everything that’s happening to you in an almost clinical way. Two hands, a set of lips, the rub of stubble against your cheek. Your body is responding in a rehearsed fashion, like it’s following a set of pre-set instructions, and all the while your mind is elsewhere. 

You’re not distracted, you realize. You’re bored. The space between your ribs and beating heart is just as hollow as it was before. Briefly you wonder if the emptiness will ever fill itself back up again, or if you’re supposed to live the rest of your life searching for the missing pieces that used to make you whole.

“Gotta go to the bathroom.” You squirm out of his grasp. There’s no point in playing this game anymore, not when the promised prize is this lackluster.

“Oh yeah. Sure.”

He nods, smiling, but his eyes are already flitting around the crowded room, on the lookout for your replacement. You wander off, weaving through the crowd of swaying bodies, and take a left instead of right, heading for the backdoor instead of the bathroom. 

The midnight air is cool against your skin and you breathe it in greedy gulps.

Your mind clears and suddenly fatigue seeps in. Here, hidden in the shadows, you allow your mask to slip. You’re tired of pretending that everything is okay, that this endless list of do's and don’ts you’ve been following is the only way to achieve happiness.

And maybe this is the universe’s way of telling you that you should stop running away from your feelings. That no matter how much you pretend, the truth is always there, sitting under the scabs you’ve covered up with makeshift bandages.

There’s a pull, a magnetism you’re weak to. Your eyes land on his familiar figure like you knew he was there to begin with and your world comes to standstill. A feeling you can’t name threatens to burst from your chest.

The gravity must be a two-way street, one of two planets circling around each other, for his gaze somehow lifts and your eyes meet for the first time in months.

The moment he spots you, a three second beat passes with him frozen in place, like his body doesn’t know whether to flee or disappear into the ground. Then, after a small eternity, he relaxes back into his signature slouch, resigning himself to whatever twisted plan fate has schemed against him.

When he doesn’t budge from his position, you decide to approach him, well aware this is going against RULE 4 : AVOID YOUR EX AT ALL COSTS. ANYWHERE HE IS LIKELY TO SHOW UP, DO NOT GO. With every step you take all of your hard work goes down the drain but -

But.

For the first time tonight, your chest thrums with nervous anticipation. You feel alive again - not a shell of the person you used to be or a puppet imitating who you wished you could become.

“It’s been a while," you start off, hoping it comes off casual. It doesn’t. 

He sneaks a glance in your direction before looking back down at the cigarette plucked between two lips. He lights it and takes a long drag before looking back at you. 

“You’ve been doing well.” 

The phrasing throws you off. It’s not a question so you don’t know how to answer. You also don’t know why he thinks that, if it’s the fact you’re out right now instead of sleeping through the pain of a broken heart, or if he’s asked one of your friends how you’ve been doing. Maybe he’s seen your life through pictures, drawn up conclusions that only reinforce his decision.

“… I’m trying to.” 

Trying. With him, you were always trying. Trying to be more, trying to be less. Bending, shrinking, expanding. 

Something in his face softens at that. Maybe he realizes it, too. 

“You will be.” He says it with a note of finality, of certitude. Like the few years he has more than you grants him knowledge you’re not privy to.

“Well, what if I won’t?” You huff, wrapping your arms around yourself. “What if - what if I feel like this forever?”

It’s a childish question, one that probably cements his view of you. In the past you’d always crafted your sentences with care, trying to match his maturity in words but the break-up has made you realize he’d always seen through your act.

A smile plays at his lips, not reaching his eyes. “Forever is a myth. You’ll see - you’ll find a guy who actually deserves you, and everything I said will start to make sense.”

It’s infuriating - the way he decides these things for you without your consent. Like your feelings don’t matter when faced with logic and facts.

“I love you. Doesn’t that count for anything?” 

“You don’t want love,” corrects Yoongi, albeit gently, like he knows his words might shatter you if he isn’t careful. “You just want me.”

You swallow, mulling his words over. Trying to understand the unsaid.

“I’m no good for you.” He repeats his words from the break-up.  

“But-” You look down, frowning. “What does that matter? I’ve always been happier with you. Now I’m just - I’m…I don’t know anymore. I don’t know.”

Your voice tapers off. You just feel so stupid. Young, stupid. Sifting through the ashes of your relationship, desperate to salvage the bits that hadn’t burned to dust. 

Unshed tears blur your vision. You clench your jaw, determined to not break down completely. Yoongi's features twist, his heart weakened by your pathetic appearance, and for a fleeting moment you can see past his unyielding veneer.

“Kitten,” it’s spoken softly, so softly you can pretend it’s a term meant solely for you. 

You can see he regrets saying it as soon as the word tumbles out, unbidden. A slip of the tongue. Yet, you latch onto the sliver of comfort offered before he can take it back.

As soon as you step into his personal space, your world shifts on its axis and adjusts. You feel all the floaty parts of yourself slot into place as they were meant to be. 

“Yoongi, I miss you.” 

When he stares into your eyes, you don’t look away, hoping he’ll see the truth for what it is. How those three words fail to sum up the extent of your never-ending yearning. 

“It’s for the best,” he says. Still, he allows you to take his free hand in between your own. It’s cold to the touch, like his skin is carved from marble, but it only makes you squeeze tighter, hoping your warmth will be enough for the both of you.

“Maybe.”

If life was a chess board, with set rules and clear winners, maybe you’d relent and accept that there was a better fit for you somewhere out there. Someone who was emotionally available, who made time for you, and gave you the validation you needed.

You didn’t start dating Yoongi expecting these things, though.

“But what relationship is perfect?” You demand hotly, fire in your veins. “I’ve never wanted that from you. I don’t care about that. You said I didn’t want love. That’s not true. I don’t believe what you gave me wasn’t love.”

Yoongi listens, patient as always. He takes another drag from his cigarette and silence hangs in the air, heavy with want and regret.

“It’s not fair to you.” He looks away, weak. “I feel like I can do anything and get away with it. I don’t want to have that kind of power over you.”

Your mind races as it processes his confession. It’s the first time he’s phrased it in other terms than ‘you should’, ‘you deserve’, you, you, you.

“I don’t…can’t we work out this out together? Is it easier for you to shut people out than fix things? Was it… was it that easy breaking up with me?”

“It’s not easy.” He wets his lips. “It hasn’t been easy. I only - I’ve only wanted what was the best for you. What I thought would be the best for you. I don’t want you to get hurt.”

“I was hurt, though.”

Yoongi squeezes your hand back. The touch is everything you remember - secure, comforting, reassuring.

“I’m sorry. I’ve never wanted that.”

“I know.”

A pause and then, whispered in the night for only you to hear, “I’m afraid I’ll keep hurting you.”

“Whatever you’ve done in the past… It hurts more now, when we’re apart.”

He swallows audibly but his eyes never leave yours. In them, you see your emotions reflected. Logic and facts are meaningless now. The love you'd tried to smother out blazes into a wildfire, so untameable and overwhelming Yoongi can only get caught in it.

When you stand on your toes and lean in to press your lips against his, he doesn't move to stop you. What remains of his cigarette falls to the floor by his feet, forgotten.

.

.

.

It’s disgustingly easy falling back into bed with Yoongi. You’re partly to blame, though, for having built your world around him, for programming your body to only respond to him. When he kisses you and your knees go weak, you can’t imagine anyone else getting you this keyed up. His hands play you with as much skill as a virtuoso masters his instrument, plucking sigh after sigh of pleasure from your lips.

“These are cute.”

His thumb plays with the small bow adorning the front of your brand new pair of underwear. A self-care gift to yourself. They'd looked nice when you'd tried them on but now they look slightly out of place - the ruffled, pale pink fabric a stark contrast against his black bed sheets.

“Yeah…” You lift your hips, trying to entice him without needing to voice out your needs. “Wanted to get laid tonight.”

“Yeah?” Yoongi smiles but there’s an edge to it. He laughs as he snaps the band of your lace underwear against your hipbone. “You planned on bringing any old guy home tonight?”

Yoongi doesn't get jealous. But - sometimes - he gets weirdly possessive, intent on reminding you how only he affects you. It's silly, this need for validation, especially because you've never shied away from telling him how much you want him. You suppose that's just another difference between the two of you - you speak love in words, him through actions.

“Uh-huh. Wanted to forget.”

“Hmm.”

His hands continue to map out your body. He's lazy about it, like time isn't important - even though the both of you have to be up by seven to catch your morning lectures.

“Found someone but - wasn’t fun. Only thought about - ah - you.”

“He would’ve been so lucky, though. Look at you.” His hands travel up your thighs, opening up your legs further so that you’re exposed shamelessly. “So fuckin' pretty.”

Your mind flickers back to the guy you'd danced with earlier. You can't even remember what he looks like, let alone his name. All you know is that no one in that club you could have gone home with tonight could ever measure up to this.

“You still get so wet, kitten.” Yoongi kisses down your neck while deft fingers slide under the band of your underwear. He swipes through the small puddle of arousal, his fingers ice cold against your heat.

A moan escapes your lips, your hips pushing down against his hand in search for more friction. He lets you do as you please for a few drawn out seconds before pinning your hips in place, growling against your ear in warning.

“Tell me,” He forces you to hold his stare. “Would you have let him play with your pussy, hm?”

You bite your lips, hesitant. “N-no.”

“Liar.” Yoongi kisses you, tongue pressing against your own, until you can’t think straight. “You think he would’ve gotten you this wet? Sopping like this?”

His fingers thrust harder to prove his point, loud squelches ringing in your ears. It’s so fucking embarrassing to hear the proof of your desire but Yoongi smirks, amused by your discomfort.

“No, no.” You moan, pussy clamping to keep him buried deep. “Only y-you. I’m yours.”

“That’s right, kitten. I trained your pussy to take cock, get it this fuckin’ wet.” He yanks off your new - now sodden - pair of underwear and stares between your legs, famished. A shiver runs down your spine, each filthy word going straight to your core. "Gonna make you squirt all over my tongue. Remind you who this pussy belongs to."

"Fuck." You squeeze your eyes shut, afraid that the image of Yoongi's head between your thighs will be enough material to push you over.

"Look at me." Yoongi slaps your thigh, his expression unforgiving. "You're gonna watch me while I eat this pussy."

You nod, already half delirious. You know you're no match for his tongue - a fact he loves reminding you the best way he knows how. Before meeting Yoongi, you'd always been wary of the idea of oral sex. What if you smelled weird? Looked weird? You'd never imagined a guy could actually get off eating you out but Yoongi literally thrives off the sounds you make when his lips are attached to your throbbing clit. He wants you loud, neighbors be damned.

"Cum whenever you want," he instructs, lowering his head so that he's eye level your soaked cunt. Hunger is set deep on every line of his face, the muscles in his jaw tense from having to hold himself back.

You blink, not believing him for a second.

"Cum," he challenges, his pupils dark with arousal. "But I'm not gonna stop until you're begging for my cock."

[silv3rswirls]

Comforting their s/o when they cry (Ateez)

Note: Some of the members came out short than others based on the scenarios I picked for them

Tike taken: about 30 minutes/unedited

♡Seonghwa♡

Crying over an argument

You and Seonghwa were busy people. You worked part-time and went to school, while Seonghwa could often get caught up with KQ and Ateez. So, spending time together could be hard to find at times. But you made it work, mainly by trying to plan things the best you could around Seonghwa’s schedules. Most of the time it worked out, but lately, it hasn't. You just couldn’t cancel and reschedule all the important events coming up and unfortunately, your dates with Seonghwa had suffered.

That’s why both of you were standing around in the dorm bickering at the moment. Seonghwa wanted to go out with you tomorrow afternoon, but you were swamped. “Can’t you reschedule it?” He asked again, “I want to take you out.”

“I can’t” you pressed, “I really can’t miss this, I’m sorry.”

“But you keep saying that, we haven’t spent time together in weeks.” He frowned, frustration building in his voice. “Can’t you cancel? Do you just not want to spend time with him?”

“I always cancel!” You snapped, “I always reschedule so we can be together, so don’t say I don’t want to spend time with you!”

A thick silence fell between the two of you and you hadn’t even noticed your tears until Seonghwa came to brush them away. “I try really hard to accommodate you, and I don’t mind, but sometimes I just can’t, okay?”

Seonghwa wore a guilty expression as he took in your glassy eyes and stressed demeanor. “I’m sorry...do you really plan everything around me?”

You nodded, “I want nothing more than to go out with you all the time, but sometimes things are just too much, okay? I’m sorry I can’t go tomorrow-”

He hushed you, “don’t apologize, I shouldn’t be so persistent in your rescheduling.” He rubbed comforting circles on your hand as he held it, “just forget about tomorrow, let’s just enjoy the time we have together right now.”

♡Hongjoong♡

He's late for a date

Seeing you slowly descend into tears as he tried to explain why he was late hurt. He hadn’t meant to get caught up at work, but he had and your evening date had momentarily slipped his mind. Hence why he was nearly thirty minutes late. He had found you, bored on your phone as you kept up the waiting. He had swopped in with apologies and excuses, but hearing them only made you sadder than you already were. It wasn’t the first time he had forgotten, in fact, you almost expected it. It didn’t make things sting any less, so as you listened to him explain how he had gotten so caught up in work you felt the sting of tears building in your eyes, unable to hold them in as you choked back a sob.

“Don’t cry!” Hongjoong had pressed himself closer to you. It truly took him off guard, seeing as you were also so understanding of these kinds of things. “Don’t cry, I’m sorry.” It tore him up to see you crying because of him, but his heart broke when he heard you mutter than it was to be expected of him as you tried to wiggle free. His hold on you grew lax as he looked back on all the times he had done this. With a pang of guilt in his chest, he realized that he had come to expect you to accept his apologies and excuses, accidentally taking advantage of your usual kind and supportive energy.

He waits until the two of you are outside, following you to your car. “Just go home, I don’t feel like doing anything anymore.” You sniffled, fishing your keys from your bag.

He nodded but went in for another hug, wrapping his arms tight around your body and pressing his face into your shoulder. “I’ll do better” he mutters, “I promise, I’m so sorry for tonight.” Tentatively he rubs away whatever tears are left in your eyes and kisses your forehead, “text me when you get home, okay?”

You nod with a small smile, sharing one more hug before heading off.

♡Yunho♡

Crying of frustration

Yunho immediately brought you in for a hug when he noticed your frustration spilling into tears. You had been working on your schoolwork the past few hours, studying and preparing for your exams while he watched a movie beside you. You had been turning your mind over and over trying to understand the material in front of you, but every time you tried to work it out you found yourself either wrong or too lost to keep going. Frustration set in early as you tried to keep going, but as you did so your eyes clouded with tears and they escaped right as Yunho came back with a snack for the of you.

“Awe, baby don’t cry” he cooed, arms tight around you as he pulled you away from your work. He could understand being so overwhelmed and frustrated, but seeing your break down into tears over it tugged his heartstrings harder. “It’s okay, just take a break.” He squeezes you tight, almost like he was trying to squeeze your frustration away. He made you take a long break, have some water, and a snack to relax. In the end, he sat by your side and helped you through it, a bit lost as well but eager to help you. He keeps his arm around you the whole time.

♡Yeosang♡

A pet passes away

Yeosang had no idea what to do when you tearfully explained how your beloved family pet had passed away the previous day. You had come to him with teary eyes but as you explained the situation further you broke down to full sobs. His eyes grew wide as you broke down, understandably so. “I’m sorry” he spoke softly, taking your hand gently and guiding you to sit down. Losing a pet could be so painful, he just wanted to take all your pain away.

He knew he couldn’t just make it disappear, so he let you get it all out on his shoulder. Rubbing your back and handing you tissues. Yeosang wants to be there for you all he can, despite being a little jumbled and awkward with his actions at times. He makes sure you cuddle up close with him, petting through your hair and reminding you of all the good memories with your pet. He wants you to smile back on all the good things.

♡San♡

Watching a sad movie

With a storm raining outside, you and San had chosen to settle down for the evening with a movie. Cuddled under a blanket with snacks and light conversations as the movie San picked at random ran through its time. You had liked the movie at first, a kind of coming-of-age film as it slowly went through the main character’s life with her friends and family.

It was towards the end where you found your face heating up with tears. The main character was reminiscing in her old age of her youth and all the people that impacted her life, focusing heavily on one of her childhood friends that she had a falling out with. They had never spoken again, going separate ways in life seemingly not missing the other. It ripped at your heartstrings a bit too personally as you were only reminded of an old friend you had drifted from. As the credits rolled and you sat with old memories you could feel your shoulders shaking with silent sobs.

“Baby?” San was caught off guard to find you crying. You explained how close to home it had hit you, and San scrambled to change it to something happier to take your mind off of it. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have picked a sad one.” He frowned, holding on to your tightly. Even long after your tears stopped he keeps you in his arms, cuddling and talking sweetly with you for the rest of the night.

♡Mingi♡

Overwhelmed

Mingi’s go-to had been to scoop you up in a bear hug. He knew with just how hard you had begun to break down that it wasn’t just over breaking a glass. He listened to you desperately try to explain how it was so much more than the glass, how hard you had been trying to hold everything in the past month or so. He clings to you for the rest of the day, encouraging you to let everything out and cry as long and hard as you need to. He’ll be there for you through it all.

“Come to me whenever you need.” He assures you that it’s okay, he wants to hear about all your worries and frustrations. The both of you lay down, cuddling as you recount how emotionally blocked you had been. Talking away all the big worries on your mind as Mingi listened to every word. He keeps his arms tight around you.

♡Wooyoung♡

Not knowing why

Wooyoung had come home excited to see you after a long day. He had many things stored away to tell you about, questions about your day, about your next date, anything that had come to mind during the day. Eagerly he found you in bed, the big smile on his face slowly fading as he noticed your quiet crying. He tones his energy down and sits beside you. Carefully he runs a hand over your back, catching your attention as you turn over to face him. “What happened?”

You shake your head, “I don’t know...I just needed to cry I guess.” You seem upset, unable to figure out exactly why or what you were crying over. Seeing your boyfriend’s brow knit in confusion and a small pout taking his lips only made you cry more. You had buried your face into his thigh, but Wooyoung wasted no time crawling under the covers with you. “It’s okay” he soothes, an arm around your waist as the other rubs away your tears, poking and pinching at your cheek in an attempt to get you to smile. “Sometimes we just need to cry, it’s okay.”

♡Jungho♡

Stress

“Everything’s fine, I’m here.”

Jongho had been with you when you began to break down. He was sitting on the sofa of your place as you pace around, on the phone with work as major changes were taking place. Watching you frantically scribble down dates and notes, anyone could easily tell how stressed you were getting.

When you finally hung up, standing over the table quietly and playing with your pen he got up to check on things. He found you rereading everything you hastily scribbled down, chewing your lip as you tried not to start crying. Between school and work, you were feeling nothing but stress and worry over how things would turn out in the coming days.

“I-I’m sorry” you hiccuped, rubbing your eyes. Jongho hadn’t known what to do at first, but he’s quick to let you wrap your arms around him and try to compose yourself. He strokes your hair, again muttering that it was okay to cry on his shoulder like this. “We’ll figure it out together, okay?” He keeps an eye on you even when you break away and takes a few deep breaths.

[junghelioseok]

heart-on.

↳ your one-night stand definitely isn’t relationship material, but maybe—just maybe—your manager’s son is.

◇ hoseok x reader ◇ smut | strangers to lovers!au ◇ 10.1k [1/1]

❛❛ my boss is always telling me how perfect her son would be for me and she promises he’s coming to the next holiday party and don’t worry he’s heard all about me too and ALSO there’s this dude i slept with once a couple of months ago and sometimes he still sends me dick pics when i ask him to at 3 in the morning cause seriously dude’s got a good dick ❜❜

notes: welcome to the first installment of the serendipity series! we’re starting with hoseok, because, well, have you met me? 🤣 be warned, however, that this isn’t anywhere near as edited as i’d like so i’ll probably give it another read/edit tomorrow but for now!!! here it is!!!

⇢ series masterlist. | inspired by this post.

warnings: dirty talk bc hoseok’s got a bit of a mouth on him, unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it, kids!), sexting. dick pics, obvi. brief mention of a dead pet goldfish :(

You’re refilling your mug when you hear it. Voices filter out from the kitchen, floating past the coffee station where you’re pouring yourself another drink and hanging in the open air of the hallway that leads back to the rest of the office. They’re familiar voices, too—voices that belong to the resident gossips of your workplace. Lottie’s pitchy, nasal tone melds with Hyejin’s higher one, their conversation interrupted every so often by an exaggerated exclamation or gasp from Sandra, the third and final member of their trio.

“Haven’t you heard? Carolyn’s divorce was finalized over the weekend, the poor thing.”

“I can’t even begin to imagine how she’s feeling. I mean, getting back into dating at her age? Goodness!”

“And now she’ll be all alone at the holiday party, too. How sad is that?”

“It’s tragic. Poor thing.”

Rolling your eyes, you grab a packet of sugar and tear it open, upending it over your mug and watching the crystalline granules fall into the dark liquid within. You know for a fact that Sandra and her husband can’t even stand to be in the same room for an extended period of time, considering how they’d spent most of last year’s holiday party talking to entirely different groups of people. You’d sat two tables away from them during dinner, and they hadn’t even made eye contact once. And as for Lottie and Hyejin, well, you’re certain that their relationships aren’t much better. All three of them are miserable people as far as you’re concerned, and you make a mental note to check in on Carolyn—a sweet woman in her thirties who always keeps chocolate bars in her purse—on your way back to your desk.

“Sheesh. Vultures, the lot of them. Don’t you think?”

You whirl at the sound of your manager’s voice. Kyunghee Jung is a dark-haired woman in her late fifties, and she laughs when she sees your startled expression, her eyes crinkling at the corners. “Easy! You’ll spill your coffee if you’re not careful.”

“I’ll probably have a heart attack first,” you reply, pressing a hand to your chest. “What was your job before this? Some kind of intelligence operative? Are you a super spy?”

Kyunghee laughs again and joins you at the counter. “Nothing even remotely as exciting as that,” she answers, plopping her mug down beside yours. It’s decorated with what looks like every color of the rainbow, a massive smiling sunflower taking up the majority of the surface, and the only remnant of the ceramic’s original color is on the very edge of the handle where there’s a lopsided little patch of white. The piece is clearly handmade, and a stark contrast to the simple mint green cup that houses your coffee. Looking at it, it’s impossible not to smile.

“I love that,” you remark, inclining your head at her mug. “Was it a present from one of your kids?”

“Hoseok,” she confirms, running a fingertip along the imperfect handle fondly. “I’ve told you about him before—he’s right around your age.”

You chuckle. “Right, I remember. That’s why he’s the perfect match for me, right?”

“Come now, there’s more to it than that,” Kyunghee defends, waving a hand. “But yes, to answer your question. He gave it to me as a birthday present when he was eight.”

“Well, you never told me he was an artist,” you tease. “Does he have an Etsy? Can I buy one of these off him? Does he do custom orders, maybe?”

Normally, your manager is more than happy to play along with your jokes, but today Kyunghee fixes you with an uncharacteristically serious look. “Why don’t you ask him yourself?” she asks. “He’s coming to the holiday party, after all. I figured you could finally meet.”

You blink. Kyunghee has been making offhand remarks about how well you would get on with her son, Hoseok, for over a year now, but you’ve never even come close to broaching the topic of meeting him. You don’t even know anything about the man beyond the fact that his name is Hoseok and that he works somewhere downtown. He also favors tall socks and yellow suspenders if the framed photograph on Kyunghee’s desk is any indication—or at least, he certainly did when he was still in diapers. Whether he still does, is anyone’s guess.

“Wow, I had no idea he was even interested in coming,” you manage when you’ve recovered from your surprise. “Did you bribe him?”

If Kyunghee notices that your voice is a few pitches higher than usual, she doesn’t remark on it. “Oh, you know. I just told him that this would be his last chance to score free booze on the company’s dime.” She laughs. “Three more months and it’s going to be all beaches and sunshine for me. I might even become a cruise person in my retirement.”

You gasp and slap a hand to your heart. “Kyunghee! Think of the environmental impact!”

“I said I might!” she retorts immediately. “Sheesh. Even in my old age, it’s hard to conveniently forget how shitty and unsustainable those damn boats are.”

You pick up your mug and raise it in a salute. “Well, the oceans thank you.”

“My husband doesn’t,” she answers with a sigh. “He’s been dying to book one of those trips that stop all along the Mediterrannean coastline, and I can’t exactly blame him.”

“That is tempting,” you admit. “You’ll have to send photos, if you do end up going.”

“You’ll be sick of me and my photos before the first day is even up,” she promises. Then she pauses, her eyes darting toward the kitchen where silence has fallen in the last few minutes. “Speaking of being sick—you think the vultures are still hovering around in there? I haven’t had lunch yet, and I need the microwave.”

Obligingly, you edge a little closer to the kitchen doorway and poke your head around the frame, scanning for Lottie and her sidekicks. “Coast is clear. Enjoy your lunch, Kyunghee.”

She nods and raises her mug at you, returning your salute. “I always do.”

///

As soon as the work day ends, you fall into your usual routine. Your commute home is easily walkable on nicer days, and though the winter weather is brisker than you’d like, you decide to walk for the sake of stopping at the convenience store on the corner of the block.

Once you arrive back at your apartment, you change into your comfiest sweats and a loose tee. You turn on some music while you throw together some dinner, and settle onto the couch half an hour later with a full plate and Netflix. Television is a welcome distraction from the events of the workday, and you manage to get through three full episodes of your current show before your pesky brain decides to revisit the events of today, replaying the conversations that you’d both had and overheard.

There’s no denying that you’ve been single for quite some time now, and for the most part, it’s been by choice. Ever since graduating from university, you’ve chosen to focus more on your career, and it’s paid off both in terms of the important position you hold in your company and your above average salary. And yet, you can’t help but think back to the gossip you’d overheard earlier—about the supposed tragedy of being single and attending the upcoming holiday party alone. Your mind wanders to Kyunghee’s son, Hoseok, and how he’ll be in attendance this year. You wonder what he’s like, and whether he really is perfect for you, as Kyunghee seems to be so fond of mentioning.

And then your mind goes to Jay.

You met Jay two months ago, on a well-deserved night out after a hellish workweek. The bar was crowded, and the music coming from the neon dancefloor in the back was just loud enough to drown out your inhibitions. That, combined with the alcohol swimming through your system, made you bold. You sashayed your way across the dancefloor, dodging inebriated bodies and swaying limbs as you fixed your attention on the head of pale lavender hair and deliciously broad shoulders that awaits you just behind the bar counter. The bartender is nothing short of gorgeous, and you’ve thrown all caution to the wind. Sure, several other women are eyeing him like he’s their next meal—several men are, too—but you need another drink. And while he prepares it, you plan to flirt.

A lot.

The bar counter is sticky with spilled liquor, but you don’t pay that any mind as you lean across it, the wood digging into the narrow strip of exposed skin left by your cropped top. “Hi!” you call, and the bartender looks up from where he’s just finished pouring a round of shots for a group of raucous young men.

“Hi yourself,” he says, his pillowy lips stretching into an easy smile. “What can I get you?”

You pretend not to notice the way his eyes flicker down to the dip of your cleavage and instead put on the sultriest smile you are capable of mustering. “Vodka soda,” you tell him, injecting a bit of purr into your voice. “A bit of lemon too, if you have it.”

“Trust me, I have it,” he assures, his smile growing as he reaches for a clean glass and a clear bottle. “Name’s Jin, by the way. I’m here all night, if you need anything e—”

A loud clatter and the sound of breaking glass interrupts the rest of his sentence, and all eyes at the bar go to the source of the disturbance. Conversations stutter to a halt, and even the thumping bass of the music seems to dull. Jin darts to the other end of the bar, where you can see that one of several barstools has fallen to the ground. There’s a man on the ground as well, surrounded by shattered glass and spilled dark liquor, and your eyes widen when you realize that you know him.

And arguably, a little too well.

“Fuck,” you mutter under your breath. People are starting to lose interest in the spectacle, turning back to their own conversations and continuing on as if nothing had happened at all. The man is beginning to clamber to his feet, and a few people lend a helping hand as Jin begins barking out orders for everyone to step back so he can sweep up the broken glass. You seize upon the opportunity, latching on to the nearest arm and pulling them close so you can hide behind them. Vaguely, you’re aware of them sputtering in surprise, but you only have eyes for the man who had fallen off his stool, watching him carefully as he brushes himself off and tries to play it cool despite the sizable patch of whiskey soaking his white shirt.

“Hey, uh…” Your human shield is speaking. “Are you okay? You’re squeezing me pretty tight.”

That draws you out of your daze. Abashed, you loosen your grip on his arm and look up into his face, your throat going dry when you realize how handsome he is. His black hair is parted over his forehead, a stray strand falling into warm brown eyes set above a straight nose and an inviting mouth. There’s a freckle above his top lip, just shy of the center, and your inebriated brain wonders just what it would be like to kiss it.

“I, um—” You clear your throat and try again. “Sorry about that. I just didn’t want him to see me.”

Your newfound companion raises an eyebrow and glances over his shoulder at the drunk man, who is now being ushered out of the bar by his buddies. “You know that guy?”

You nod, cringing. “Yeah, his name’s Trent. I… may or may not have dated him for a few months last year.”

The man laughs out loud. “You dated a Trent?”

“What, like you’ve never made a questionable life choice?” you challenge. “Besides, you shouldn’t judge someone based on the sins of their parents. It’s not his fault they gave him a terrible name.”

“Sure, but it is on him for going along with it,” he replies with a shrug. “I would’ve changed my name as soon as I could if my parents had named me Trent. But hey, that’s just one man’s opinion.”

You laugh. “Okay then, Not-Trent.” Relinquishing your grip on his arm, you let your fingers graze his hand before pulling away entirely. “What do you say we continue this conversation over a drink?”

The man, whose name is decidedly not Trent, catches your fingers in his and gives them a gentle squeeze. “Happily.”

One drink turns into two, and then three. By the end of the hour, you are feeling pleasantly warm, the alcohol spreading through your veins like molasses and turning your surroundings into a hazy blur. The music has grown even louder, pounding against your eardrums, and you grab onto Not-Trent’s wrist as he sets his now-empty glass back down onto the counter.

“Do you wanna get out of here?” you ask, raising your voice to be heard over the thumping bassline. “I can’t even hear myself think.”

“The parking lot’s out back,” he suggests. “Why don’t we get some air?”

You nod and stand up on wobbly legs, cursing your decision to wear heels when you stumble into your companion. He steadies you with a gentle but firm hand, and you don’t miss the way his touch lingers on your lower back, his palm warm through the material of your blouse.

Together, the two of you pick your way through the throng of swaying bodies on the dancefloor. The bassline thuds in your ears, dark and hypnotic, and you can feel the reverberations thrumming across the slats of your ribs and echoing in the cavern of your chest like a second heartbeat.

It’s almost a relief, then, when you step out into the cool night air. Your ears continue to ring for a few seconds, but it soon fades and leaves behind only the muted hum of traffic from the street and the faint sound of music from inside. At your side, Not-Trent releases a long breath and leans against the brick wall of the building, and you turn to take in the steep slopes of his side profile as he tilts his head up toward the velvety night sky.

He’s handsome. Dressed in ripped jeans and black leather, he’s a sight to behold, and you’d be lying if you said you hadn’t been craving a bit of intimacy for quite some time now. The alcohol swimming through your system makes you bolder than you normally would be, and you reach out to lay a hand on his arm. He turns toward you with a silent question glimmering in his irises, but you simply step closer, until you’re pinning him against the wall with your body and you’re breathing the same air.

“Hey,” you say, your voice an airy whisper. His eyes are near obsidian in the dimness of the parking lot, illuminated only by the orange glow of the streetlamps on either end, and your gaze flickers down to his mouth before roving to the freckle that sits upon his top lip. “Kiss me?”

Your companion’s eyes widen. His lips part, but no words come out, and you’re about to repeat your question when he finally finds his voice again.

“That’s really… that’s not a good idea.” Awkwardly, he clears his throat, but the hoarseness of his voice and the harsh bob of his Adam’s apple give away his true desires. “Look, you’ve been drinking. We both have, and—”

You cut him off, pushing up to your tiptoes and planting a messy kiss to the soft dip just beneath his bottom lip. “Don’t care,” you mumble against his skin. “I want you.”

Your companion laughs weakly. His hands find their way to your waist and pause there, as if he can’t decide whether to push you away or pull you closer. “You don’t even know me,” he murmurs.

“I don’t have to know you,” you reply. Your fingers drag down his chest, trailing along the delicate silver necklace that rests against the black of his shirt. From the chain hangs a round pendant, the surface engraved with the letter J. Slowly, you trace it with a fingertip, the metal shining even in the dim light, and satisfaction blooms in your heart when your companion’s throat bobs again. “I want you,” you breathe, soft but insistent. “Isn’t that enough?”

“I—” He clears his throat and tries again, and you wonder if he realizes that his hands have slid down to your hips, or that there’s a growing hardness against your lower stomach that’s becoming increasingly harder to ignore. “Look, I’m flattered—really, I am. And you’re… I mean, fuck, you’re gorgeous. But I don’t think we should do anything when you’re clearly not in the right frame of mind to be making this kind of decision, and—”

“And, nothing.” You wind your arms around his neck, pressing close and grinding subtly against the bulge in his pants. You smirk when he releases a low hiss from between his teeth, and hide it by laying a trail of kisses along the stretch of bare skin exposed by the dip of his collar. “Stop being such a gentleman,” you whisper. Your fingers trail down his chest, past the silver of his pendant and down to the faded denim of his jeans, teasing at the cool metal of his belt buckle. “I want this. But if you’re not interested, I can always go back in there and—”

The rest of your sentence dies in your throat. Your companion has tugged you flush against him in one smooth motion, and your gasp is cut off by the firm press of his mouth against yours. Immediately, you melt into the kiss, and a moan tears from your lips when he spins you around and pins you against the brick wall of the building.

“You’re a spoiled little thing, huh?” His breath fans hot against your cheeks, and you shiver when you meet his eyes and see the dark promise reflected there. “Used to getting what you want, huh, princess?”

Your breath hitches at the endearment—something your companion doesn’t miss. “Oh, you like that?” He chuckles hoarsely, and when he speaks again it’s in a rasp that sends heat straight to your core. “What else do you like, hmm? You want me to be rough with you, princess? Or should I be gentle and treat you like a queen?”

You reach up, raking your fingers through his hair and skimming across the soft strands of his undercut before finding purchase at his nape. “You talk too much,” you whisper.

And then you’re crushing your mouth back against his, whining when he immediately takes back control of the kiss. His grip slides downward, his fingertips digging into the skin just above the curve of your ass, and you squeak when he grabs the back of your thigh and hooks your leg around his waist.

“You feel that?” he rasps into your ear, nipping at the delicate shell and chortling when you keen. Your skirt has ridden up dangerously high on your spread thighs, and you let out a soft whimper when he grinds harshly against your center. The lace of your panties and the denim of his jeans are the last barricades between you, and you wonder, vaguely, whether your companion has a bit of an exhibitionist streak when he slides one of your sleeves down your shoulder and begins kissing a trail down to the swell of your cleavage. “You feel how hard you’ve gotten me?”

You lean down, kissing the soft spot where his jaw meets his ear before letting your teeth graze against his skin. “Why don’t you do something about it then?”

He hisses out a sharp breath, his hands tightening their hold on your hips. “You’ve got quite the mouth on you, huh? I can’t wait to make you eat your words.”

Any retort you may have had is interrupted by a sudden swell of music and the sound of a slamming door. Whirling to face the source of the noise, you immediately spot a familiar head of lavender hair atop broad shoulders encapsulated in the black uniform of the bar. Jin hasn’t noticed the two of you yet, his attention fixated on his cell phone screen, but he looks up when you let out a little squeak of surprise and shove your companion’s chest in an attempt to create some distance between you.

“Hey.” Jin raises a hand in greeting, a knowing smirk curling his lips. “This phone call shouldn’t be too long, so please. Don’t stop the party on my behalf.”

Heat floods to your cheeks. There isn’t much use protesting against his insinuation, considering the rather compromising position you’re in. Much to your relief, though, your companion simply huffs out a chuckle and waves Jin off. “Thanks, man, but we’ll get out of your hair.” Lowering his voice, he turns back to you. “Coming, princess?”

You nod. He offers you his hand, and you take it gratefully, adjusting your skirt so that it drapes properly over your hips and thighs again.

“Have a good night!” Jin calls after you, amusement lacing every word. You can’t work up the nerve to respond, and luckily, you don’t have to. Your companion leads you around the corner of the building, where several rows of cars are parked beneath an orange streetlamp. On this side, the exterior brick wall is painted with a mural, and you admire the colorful galaxies and nebulae swirling amidst silvery white stars and the word serendipity spray-painted in pale blue.

The last car in the row is parked just beneath the letter Y, and it’s here that your companion stops. The sleek black vehicle has an almost vintage feel to it, and you glance up when you hear the jingle of metal.

“I’m guessing this is yours?”

He nods, pulling a set of keys from the pocket of his leather jacket and inserting one into the lock. “Yeah. You like it?”

“It’s beautiful,” you tell him, tracing the edge of the passenger window “Makes my car look like a total piece of shit by comparison.”

Your companion chuckles, pulling open the driver’s side door, and you catch a glimpse of your reflection in the window as he presses a button to unlock the rest of the doors. Your hair’s a bit of a mess and your mascara has smudged beneath your right eye, and you hurriedly swipe at it as your companion turns his attention back to you.

“So,” he says. “Now what? I can give you a ride home, if you want.”

Deliberately, you let your gaze drop down to his crotch, where his bulge—albeit waning—is still visible. “Seriously? I thought you were going to… what was it again? Make me eat my words?”

And just like that, it’s as if a switch has flipped. His eyes darken to obsidian, his lips settling into a stern line, and you barely have time to draw in a breath before he’s caging you against the side of his car and molding his mouth to yours. Your lips part beneath the onslaught, and he wastes no time in dipping inside to explore, licking into you until you’re both breathless.

“Inside,” he breathes once you’ve broken apart, and you instantly obey. You wrench the door open and all but tumble into the backseat, and he isn’t far behind as he slots himself between your spread thighs. Your hands fly to his shoulders where you help him shuck off his leather jacket, tossing it carelessly to the front where it lands in a heap on the dashboard before focusing your attention on the hem of his black t-shirt. Your companion obliges you as you push it upward to expose his toned abdomen, grabbing it by the collar and pulling it off the rest of the way when your reach falls a little short in the cramped interior of the backseat.

“Your turn,” he whispers when you try to reach for his belt, his hands settling around your wrists. “It’s only fair, princess.”

Pouting, you let your hands fall limp in his grasp, and he chuckles as he leans down to pacify you with a kiss. Deft fingers find the hem of your blouse, pushing it up until you can twist out of the material. You throw it aside with no regard for where it lands on the ground, and lay back as your companion drinks you in, his dark gaze raking across the lacy black lingerie that decorates your curves and skims you like a second skin. “Fuck,” he breathes, his voice hoarse with a combination of amazement and disbelief. “You’re stunning.”

You smile, trailing a fingertip from the dip of his collarbone down to the silver necklace that sits prettily against his bare chest. “You’re not so bad yourself,” you tell him, tracing the letter engraved into his pendant. “Jay.”

Your companion—newly dubbed Jay—smiles back. “You’re something else, princess,” he murmurs, before leaning down to kiss you again. He explores your mouth thoroughly—languidly—before moving down to nip at your neck, and already, you can feel the beginnings of marks beginning to form, blossoming across your skin as irrefutable proof of your tryst.

It isn’t long before Jay frees you from your bra, watching with carnal fascination as your breasts spill out of the lacy material. You whine when he reaches out to cup one, his palm hot against your bare skin, and he smirks crookedly when a pinch to your nipple makes your back arch off the leather of the seat. “So pretty,” he rasps. “I can’t wait to see how you look stretched around my cock.”

“Stop waiting, then,” you tell him, trying again for his belt buckle. This time, he lets you fumble it open, leaning back to watch you work with hooded eyes and a lazy little smile. Emboldened, you push aside the denim of his jeans and free his cock from the confines of his underwear. He’s hard and hot and heavy in your palm, and your tongue darts out instinctively at the sight of the pearlescent precum beading the tip.

“Jay,” you murmur, thumbing across the head of his erection and smirking when he hisses in pleasure. “Fuck me.”

Jay seems to consider your demand, mischief flitting across his features before he manages to school his expression into something more neutral. “Where are your manners, princess?” he asks, pushing your hand away and giving himself a few long, slow strokes. “Say please, if you want it so bad.”

For a moment, you consider refusing. Jay seems to be the type of man who enjoys a good game, but between the state of his cock and the earlier interruption, you’re pretty sure he’s nearing his limit. And even if he isn’t, you are. And so, you shelve your pride for the time being, and trail a hand down the length of your bared body as you bat your lashes up at him. “Fuck me, Jay,” you repeat. “Please. Want your cock so bad.”

His answering smile is equal parts amusement and satisfaction, and altogether sinful. “That’s my girl,” he rasps, before shoving your panties aside. Lining the head of his cock up, he enters you in one smooth thrust, and you moan as your walls stretch to accommodate his girth. You’re more than wet enough to take him in his entirety, your eyes fluttering shut when he bottoms out, and he groans hoarsely as he takes a second to relish the feeling of your walls gripping him so tightly.

“Fuck. You’re so wet, princess.” Jay dips a thumb into your slick, spreading it across your clit and rubbing a few experimental circles around the sensitive nub. He groans when you clench around him, his hips stuttering, and you squeeze around him again just to hear him grit out another curse. “Shit. I’m not going to last long at this rate.”

“Don’t care,” you murmur, rocking against him and sighing when the motion sends him a little deeper into your core. “Just fuck me, Jay. Please.”

Jay leans in, a dark lock of hair falling across his forehead as he plants an indulgent kiss on your waiting mouth. “Anything for you, princess,” he breathes. Slowly, he pulls back until only the tip of his cock remains inside you. Then he’s slamming forward, and you can’t even find it in yourself to care about the obscene sound of skin slapping against skin or the way the car rocks. Jay’s thumbing across your clit in tight circles that he times perfectly with the rock of his hips, and you wonder whether the rapidly building pleasure in your belly is due to your dry spell or if he’s just that good. You can feel every inch of him as he fills you up repeatedly, his brows furrowed in concentration and his dark hair flopping as he drives deeper in search of the spot that will have you seeing stars.

You know he’s found it when the pleasure in your belly spikes, your back arching off the backseat. Your skin is sticky against the dark leather and you’re certain the sweat gathering at your temples has destroyed the last of your makeup, but Jay alleviates your concerns with a particularly well-timed thrust and a harsh nip to the soft spot at your clavicle. You keen out something unintelligible, and his lips stretch into a smirk against your skin.

“That’s it,” he encourages. “Cum for me, princess.”

That’s all it takes for the mounting pressure to snap. Your body collapses into a searing orgasm, the pleasure flaring out like a supernova and spreading through your veins like wildfire. “F-fuck, Jay—” you gasp, your fingers scrabbling at his back for purchase and no doubt leaving scratches in their wake. “Fuck, you feel so—”

The remainder of your words trail off into garbled nonsense, and Jay huffs out a strained chuckle as he begins chasing after his own orgasm, rutting against you in a way that both prolongs your pleasure and sustains his own. “Shit,” he groans, his eyes fluttering shut. “Fuck, that’s it. Look at you—taking my cock so well. So pretty and perfect and—”

Whatever he was going to say dissolves into a groan as he gives a few more erratic thrusts before his release overwhelms him. Creamy warmth floods through you, and you rub his back tiredly as his head drops onto your shoulder, his breath flaring hot against your skin as he rides out his orgasm.

It takes several long seconds for the pleasure to recede. Your legs are still shaky when Jay pulls away, straightening up and tucking himself back into his jeans. There’s an empty ache in your core now that you are no longer stuffed full of his cock, and already, you are missing the feeling. Still, you push that aside as you sit up, adjusting your panties and wincing at the wetness that soaks the material and sticks to your skin.

“So,” Jay says after a moment’s silence, and you glance over at him when he huffs out a short chuckle. “That was fun.”

“Not bad at all,” you agree weakly, an irrepressible smile tugging at your lips.

Jay grins. It’s a bright, infectious grin—and it’s one that you’ve already grown rather fond of in the short period of time you’ve known him. It’s a grin that showcases his perfect teeth and crinkles his eyes into crescents, and one that all but forces you to grin back.

“Here, give me your phone,” he says, and you watch as he punches in his number once you hand it over. “Just in case you ever wanna do this again,” he tells you, handing it back. “Don’t be a stranger, princess.”

You glance down at his contact information, saved under the moniker you’d given him and affixed with a short string of emojis. “I won’t,” you tell him, chuckling. “In fact, I just might take you up on the offer.”

-

The screen of your laptop has long since gone dark, and you stretch your arms overhead before waking it again. Rolling your shoulders, you navigate back to the main Netflix menu, hovering over the resume button and watching the trailer loop in the background.

You’d be lying if you said you didn’t think about Jay often. You’ve texted each other quite often since that night in his car—usually when you’re bored and alone and have had a few too many glasses of wine in the evenings. You’ve found yourself tapping on his name instinctively during those odd, ambiguous hours—when late night and early morning meld together and you’re aching for a bit of relief.

And as if he knows you’re thinking about him, your phone buzzes against the coffee table, the screen lighting up with a familiar name.

[11:22pm] Jay 😘🍆💦: thinkin about u, pretty girl 😘

It’s followed by an image, and your heart rate picks up, thudding loudly against your ribs as you open it.

Fuck.

Your memories of Jay’s face—made all the more hazy by the alcohol and the amount of time elapsed since your first and only meeting—truly don’t do him justice. Though the photograph cuts off just above his nose, you can still admire the sharp angle of his jaw and the fullness of his puckered lips. His skin is golden against the white of his t-shirt, and you lick your lips before thumbing across your screen to respond.

[11:23pm] You: yeah? what else are you thinking about, hmm?

His response is instantaneous.

[11:23pm] Jay 😘🍆💦: thinking about that pretty little pussy of yours

[11:23pm] Jay 😘🍆💦: how good it looked in that pic u sent me tuesday 👅

You barely even notice the way your hand begins trailing down your body, pushing aside the elastic waistband of your sweats. It’s as if you’re on autopilot, as your fingers find their way to the damp spot growing on your panties.

Yeah? you write back with your free hand, already teasing at your clothed folds with the other. Tell me more.

///

It’s an uncharacteristically warm Friday morning when you find yourself in the elevator with Jimin, a good friend of yours who works on one of the lower levels of your office building. “Morning,” he says as he steps in, a large iced coffee in hand despite the fact that it’s still very much the middle of winter. Then he squints, leaning a little closer. “Oh my god. You got laid!”

“Oh my god, not so loud!” you hiss, whacking him on the shoulder and jabbing the button to close the elevator doors. “And no, not exactly. I’ve just been texting Jay.”

“Texting, sure.” Jimin mimes air quotes around the word and rolls his eyes. “You’re sexting him, and we all know it. How many pictures of his dick do you have saved on your phone now?”

“Oh my—” You sigh, trailing off. “Can we not talk about this right now?”

“Right, of course.” Jimin takes a sip of his coffee and pretends to check his watch. “When would you like to talk about it then? Do you need to check your calendar? Can I book an appointment for later this afternoon?”

You stick your tongue out at him. “Shut up.”

Jimin just grins, his lips puckered around his straw. “So, how’s Jay? Have you asked for his real name yet?”

You shrug. “What’s the point? It’s not like we’re friends or anything. We’ve literally only met the one time.”

“Yeah, but that’s just because you’re a coward,” Jimin points out. “What’s stopping you from meeting up with him again? You have his number. You have at least one photo of his dick. Ask him out already!”

“It’s not that easy, though,” you sigh. The elevator doors open to let a few more people in, and you move to the side and lower your voice so that only Jimin can hear. “Jay—he’s not exactly boyfriend material. I mean, we fucked in his car the first night we met.”

“So?” Jimin frowns and takes another sip of his iced coffee. “You talk about things besides sex, don’t you? You definitely told him about your goldfish dying, at least. I mean, you told him before you even told me!”

“Yes I did, and he was appropriately sympathetic about Mustache’s passing, unlike some people,” you sniff. “Get over it already, won’t you?”

“Never,” Jimin replies, ignoring your pointed jab. “I’m sure you only told him because you knew you could get a sympathy sext out of it. How many dick pics did you get out of that night, anyway?”

“You’re gross,” you tell him, punching him in the arm. “Not to mention that’s exactly why Jay’s not boyfriend material. He’s perfectly happy with—whatever it is we’re doing. I can’t just ruin that by asking him to get dinner.” You frown, gnawing on your bottom lip. “I don’t want to make this into something that it’s not.”

Jimin hesitates. “Fine, okay. I guess I can understand that.”

“Yeah.”

There’s a pause, as the elevator makes a few more stops. You watch the numbers crawl higher, and know that you’ll soon have to part ways with your friend..

“Hey.” You nudge Jimin with your shoulder, just as the elevator doors close and you begin the ascent to his floor. “Wanna know something interesting?”

Jimin looks up from his phone, where he’s scrolling through Twitter. “Always.”

“My boss’ son is coming to the party tomorrow.”

Jimin’s eyebrows disappear into his ashy blond hair at your revelation. “Kyunghee’s son? Hoseok, or whatever?”

You chuckle. “The one and only. She’s found about a million ways to bring him up in conversation this past week. She thinks we’re a match made in heaven.”

“Wow.” Jimin releases a long breath. “I wonder what he’s like, then.”

You shrug, adjusting the strap of your work tote over your shoulder. “I guess we’ll find out, won’t we?”

///

The morning of the party, you wake up to an empty refrigerator. Half stale cereal and the last dregs of milk from the carton become your breakfast, and you munch on that as you mull over the contents of your closet. You’re still in your pajamas, but you pull out your comfiest jeans and a sweater to change into after you finish eating. Then you turn to your collection of dresses, rifling through them and mentally debating the merits of each material and color.

You could go in one of two directions tonight. On the one hand, this is still a work party, and as such your attire should probably maintain a certain level of decorum. But on the other, you’re meeting Hoseok Jung for the first time tonight. You aren’t necessarily looking to start anything with the man, of course, but you do want to look good. With that in mind, you eventually settle on a deep red number that you pull out of the very back of your closet, made of a silky material that skims your curves and accentuates your best assets. Laying it on the bed, you begin your hunt for a pair of matching shoes. Twenty minutes of searching and another five of agonizing later, you step into the bathroom, intent on showering and getting on with the rest of your day.

Upon exiting the bathroom, you decide that tackling the state of your refrigerator takes top priority over your other weekend errands. Sitting down at the dining table, you take stock of what you have in your pantry, planning out your meals for the upcoming week and making a list of what you need to purchase in order to make them a reality. It’s just after one in the afternoon when you exit your apartment with a completed grocery list and your purse stuffed full of reusable canvas bags. The store is a short walk from where you live, and you decide to put in your earbuds as your feet navigate the familiar route. The temperature is surprisingly mild for winter, and the sun shines bright from its perch in the cloudless blue sky. It’s perfect weather for a walk, and the fresh air clears your mind and eases your heart.

At the grocery store, you forego the stack of baskets and instead grab a shopping cart. Weaving your way up and down the aisles, you check items off the list on your phone one by one. Eventually, you find yourself in the cereal section, grabbing a box of granola before turning to where your favorite cereal normally sits. It isn’t there, and you turn in a full circle, confused, until your gaze finally lands on the familiar box on the top shelf.

Great.

Sighing, you push up to your tiptoes, stretching your arm as far as it can reach. Your fingertips graze the shelf, but you can’t quite get a grip on the box itself. Glancing down, you scan the bottommost shelf and wonder if you can step on it to give yourself a boost.

“Need a hand?”

The voice comes from behind you, and a vague sense of familiarity sparks in your brain. Slowly, you turn around, and your entire body freezes when your gaze slides up to the speaker’s face.

“Jay.” The syllable escapes you in a near whisper. “H-hi.”

“Hey.”

Jay stands before you, looking like sin incarnate in a faded denim jacket, black sweatpants slung low on his hips, and not much else. At his throat, his silver necklace sparkles, the silver J pendant glinting beneath the fluorescent lights of the store, and you’re suddenly beyond grateful that you decided to put on a decent sweater before leaving.

“Here,” he says, stepping forward until he’s close enough that you can smell his cologne—sandalwood tinged with sweet citrus. “Let me help you with that.”

The sudden proximity has your breath hitching in your throat. Your heart thuds erratically against your ribs as he reaches around you, the denim flaps of his jacket gaping in a way that exposes even more of his bare chest. By the time he pulls back with your cereal box in hand, you feel almost faint, belatedly realizing that you’d been holding your breath.

“You wanted this, right?” Jay asks, and you aren’t sure if you’re imagining the innuendo underlying his words or the teasing inflection of the syllables.

“Y-yeah, that’s the one,” you manage, fighting to quell the uneven tempo of your heartbeat as you accept the box. “Thanks.”

“Happy to help,” he replies. Then he leans in, close enough that you can feel his warm breath fanning your cheek as he murmurs his next sentence into your ear. “Anything for you, princess. You know that.”

Heat floods across your cheeks. Your heart skips two full beats before taking off into a sprint, and it’s impossible to ignore the way your core begins to thrum, as if anticipating a repeat of that night you first met all those weeks ago. Almost instinctively, your eyes dart up to the ceiling where the security cameras are, and Jay follows the trajectory of your gaze with a low chuckle and a soft brush of your cheek with the pad of his thumb.

“Sorry, princess. As much as I’d love to get my hands on you, I’m kind of on a time crunch today.”

You can’t stop the wave of disappointment that washes over you, even if you’re in the exact same boat. “Rain check, then?”

“Rain check,” he agrees. Slowly, you reach up to touch the engraved silver pendant resting against his chest, rubbing it between your fingertips before tracing the curve of the J, and he catches your wandering fingers between his and presses a gentle kiss to your knuckles.

“You know how to reach me,” he murmurs with a mischievous wink. His gaze lingers even after he’s released your hand, and you clear your throat awkwardly before turning to deposit your cereal box into your shopping cart.

The two of you go your separate ways then, exchanging goodbyes. You finish the rest of your grocery shopping in a daze, idly going through the motions at checkout and letting muscle memory guide you back home. Your arms are aching by the time you step past the threshold of your apartment, and you heave your shopping bags up onto the kitchen counter with a relieved sigh before returning to the entryway to toe off your shoes. You throw together a sandwich as you unpack your groceries, taking a big bite as you walk back to your bedroom to look at the dress you’ve picked out. Pacing over to the closet, you double-check your shoe choice. Briefly, you debate whether or not to wear flats instead of heels.

There are still a few hours left before you have to start getting ready, so you take the last of your sandwich back to the kitchen and whip up a smoothie to go with it. You scroll through your phone as you eat, browsing through the latest news headlines and scrolling through your social media accounts. Just before six o’clock, as the sun starts setting beyond the horizon and casting long shadows across your living room, you start getting changed. You snap a photo in the mirror once you’re dressed, pulling up Jimin’s name in your phone and sending it to him.

[6:13pm] You: last chance to come tonight

Your phone buzzes with a response almost immediately.

[6:14pm] Jimin: nah. i’d hate to step on hoseok’s toes.

You laugh. Not so fast, you text back. We don’t even know anything about the guy yet. What if he’s boring? Or sexist?

[6:15pm] Jimin: if u think kyunghee raised a sexist you’re seriously deranged

[6:16pm] Jimin: now stop taking selfies and get your ass out the door! you’re gonna be late!!!!

///

Each year, the holiday party tends to be a little over the top, and this year is no exception. The company has bought out the entirety of a restaurant for the evening, and you glance around in amazement at the twinkling lights and lush evergreen boughs decorating the walls and strung up along the ceiling. An assortment of sparkling ornaments hangs from the massive tree in the far corner, interspersed between silver tinsel and more lights. Grabbing a champagne flute off a passing server’s tray, you head farther into the restaurant, skirting around tables draped in creamy linen and greeting your colleagues and friends.

“Is she alone?”

“Figures.”

The voices come from the direction of the open bar, and somehow, you just know that they’re talking about you. Lottie, Hyejin, and Sandra are clustered in the corner with glasses of wine in hand, casting glances around the restaurant and gossiping about anything and everything with a pulse. You’re sorely tempted to grab the nearest pitcher of water off a table and pour it over their heads, but you suppress the urge and instead head over with a saccharine smile. “So lovely to see you, {Name},” Lottie says as you approach.

“I love your dress,” Sandra adds. “Very slimming.”

“Thanks,” you reply, putting on your brightest, fakest smile. “Yours is great too. How are you and your husband enjoying the party so far?”

Sandra’s face sours, and you hide your smirk in your champagne flute. Maybe it’s petty to bring up her rocky relationship, but you’ve been subject to snide comments from Sandra and her friends for years now and it’s become increasingly hard for you to bite your tongue. A few tables away, you spot Sandra’s husband, Rodney, take an enormous gulp of his whiskey and wince as it burns down his throat.

“We’re all having a wonderful time, aren’t we, ladies?” Lottie cuts in when Sandra takes too long to answer. “Hyejin’s date is over there with Rodney, and my boyfriend is fetching himself a drink. You remember Dev, don’t you?”

You nod, even though it’s a lie. “Sure. Say hi to him for me.”

Lottie’s lips curve up into a smile, her head tilting to the side, and you’re suddenly reminded of a snake rearing its head back for the kill. “So, what about you? Have you brought someone tonight, or—?”

“Hi ladies!” Kyunghee materializes at your side, her lips painted a festive red shade to match her dress. She’s wearing the disingenuous smile that she reserves for the resident gossips of your office, and you try not to let your relief show on your face when Lottie’s attention refocuses on your manager.

“So good to see you, Kyunghee,” she simpers. “Have you been here long?”

“Not as long as you,” your manager replies, nodding at the near-empty wineglass in her hand. “I see we’re already making a dent in the wine supply, and you’re falling behind, {Name}. Why don’t we go remedy that, hmm?”

She doesn’t give you a chance to respond, grabbing your arm and leading you away. Kyunghee is surprisingly spry for a woman her age, and you follow after her with some difficulty as she marches through the throngs of conversing people, all the way to the line at the open bar.

“I’d like you to meet someone,” she says, gesturing at the man standing at the end of the line with his back to you. “{Name}, this is my son, Hoseok.”

The man turns around at the sound of his name, a warm, affable smile stretched across his face. “Hi, I’m H—” he begins, but he’s cut off by your sharp intake of breath. His eyes go wide, his smile fading as his mouth falls open, and you’re certain you’re wearing an even more dumbfounded expression. “It’s you,” he says, his voice hoarse.

“Wh-what… how…” You trail off, speechless. The words flounder and die in your throat as your brain struggles to process this development, and you practically feel the way the gears in your head churn to a stuttering halt.

Because this man standing before you, the one that Kyunghee has just introduced as her son, is none other than Jay. He looks completely and utterly devastating in a navy waistcoat and matching slacks, a green tie shaped like a Christmas tree knotted loosely around the white collar of his shirt. His dark hair is parted, his undercut exposed, and you can’t tear your gaze away from the loose strand that has fallen across his forehead.

“H-hi.”

Jay—Hoseok—swallows. “Hi.”

Kyunghee glances between the two of you, her brows furrowing. “I take it you two already know each other?”

Hoseok’s ears begin taking on a scarlet tinge, the color spreading to his cheeks as he struggles to find his vocabulary again. “I—yeah. Yeah, we’ve met.”

“Right. Do I even want to know how?” she asks dubiously, before shaking her head and huffing out a sigh. “No, forget I asked. I don’t want to know. I’ll just leave you two to… catch up.”

Waving goodbye, Kyunghee disappears back into the crowd of partygoers milling around. Hoseok turns back to you, sucking in a deep breath, and you fight the urge to stare down at your toes as his gaze roves across your face.

“I can’t believe this,” he says, breaking the silence that’s fallen between you at last. “My mom’s been talking about you for months, but I never imagined that it’d be you.”

“You’re telling me,” you reply, finally having recovered your voice. “Kyunghee brings you up all the time, but I never thought… I mean, we didn’t even know each other’s names, and now…” You shrug. “Here we both are.”

“It’s a pretty crazy coincidence, huh?”

“Definitely.”

A beat passes, and then two. You’re fully aware that you’re staring, but you don’t dare blink, afraid that he’ll disappear if you close your eyes. Of all the things that you thought might happen tonight, this particular meeting wasn’t even close to making the list. Never would you have thought that the man you only knew as Jay would turn out to be Kyunghee’s son. Never would you have connected Jay to the photographed little boy in yellow suspenders on Kyunghee’s desk, or realized that they were one and the same.

From behind you, someone loudly clears their throat. Another voice calls for you to get a move on, already, and both you and Hoseok belatedly realize that you are still standing in line for the open bar. Hoseok’s eyes go wide again, and you nearly tread on his toes when you both try to move forward. “After you,” he says with a chuckle, gesturing for you to go in front of him, and that’s enough to break the tension. You step ahead of him with a laugh, catching up to the line, and Hoseok doesn’t stray far as he follows your lead.

“So, what are you drinking?” he asks, a smile playing at the corner of his lips. “Vodka soda with a twist?”

“Actually, I think I’m going to stick with wine tonight,” you reply, peering at the bottles lined up on the counter. “What about you?”

“Hmm. Jack and coke, I think. Nothing else is really calling my name right now.”

Grabbing your drinks, the two of you begin searching for a place to sit. You spot Kyunghee at a table near the front, and she smiles knowingly and offers you a thumbs-up when she catches your eye. Eventually, you settle on a table near the Christmas tree, the lights glimmering off the glasses and reflecting off your knife as you pick it up to butter a slice of crusty bread from the basket in the center. Hoseok follows your lead, grabbing a piece for himself, and the two of you munch in silence for a few seconds before Hoseok breaks it.

“You know, my mom says you’re the perfect girl for me” he says with a dry little chuckle. “Think she’s right?”

“I don’t know,” you answer. “It’s funny, though—Kyunghee’s been telling me the same thing. She sings your praises all the time.”

Hoseok laughs and scratches the back of his neck. “Oh, jeez, that’s kind of embarrassing. I’m glad she’s saying good things, at least.”

“You don’t have to worry about that,” you tell him, grinning. “She’s only shown us one photo album from your childhood.”

His face crumples. “Was it the Disneyland one?”

You nod, fighting back laughter, and watch as Hoseok groans and lets his forehead meet the linen-covered tabletop with a dull thunk.

“I don’t like rollercoasters,” he mumbles into the tablecloth, his voice muffled by the material. “They make me queasy.”

“Even now?” you ask, and he nods.

“Yep.”

The clinking of a fork against a wineglass—amplified and broadcast through an array of invisible speakers built into the restaurant’s walls—interrupts any further conversation. You twist in your seat to watch your company’s leadership give their opening remarks, listening as they congratulate everyone for a great year and wish you a happy holiday season. The servers begin going out with plates of food, and you thank them as they set yours down. Hoseok does the same before raising his glass in your direction, clearing his throat and offering you a crooked little smile.

“Here’s to second meetings.”

“Third, if you count the store earlier,” you correct, and he chuckles and nods in agreement before clinking his drink against yours.

You spend the entirety of dinner chatting with Hoseok, getting to know him beyond the few facts Kyunghee has mentioned and what little you’ve gleaned from texting him the last two months. He tells you all about his dance studio, Hope World, where he teaches both contemporary dance and the occasional Pilates class. You find out that in addition to rollercoasters, he also dislikes sour foods and raisins, but he loves mint chocolate and sweet and sour pork. He also has a very low tolerance for alcohol—something he tells you as he tilts the rest of his drink into his mouth. “Should I be worried?” you ask as he sets his glass back down, and he chuckles and shakes his head, sending the loose tendril of hair flopping across his forehead.

Dessert is served, and subsequently eaten. The music is turned up, and people slowly begin finding their way to the open space that serves as an impromptu dancefloor. Hoseok rises to his feet and extends a hand toward you, and you only hesitate for the briefest of seconds before accepting it. He leads you out amongst the other swaying couples, his hand finding its way to the curve of your waist, and you rest your hand on his shoulder as he begins guiding you in a slow, simple waltz.

“So?” Hoseok’s voice is a low murmur, soft and gentle against the shell of your ear. “What’s the verdict?”

You blink. “The verdict?”

Even without looking, you can tell that he’s smiling. You can hear it in the lilt of his voice, and imagine it in the curve of his lips. “About me,” he clarifies, carefully pulling back so you can spin in a circle beneath his outstretched arm. “About us. My mom will never let me hear the end of it if she turns out to be right, but I still wanna know. So what are you thinking?”

“Are you asking if I think we’re perfect for each other?” you ask, giggling. “I don’t know if I believe in all that, to be quite honest. Destiny and soulmates—I mean, doesn’t it seem a little too good to be true?”

Hoseok hums. “Maybe. But considering all that’s happened to us in the last couple of months, don’t you think there’s a chance that it's all more than simple coincidence?”

“Maybe,” you concede. “Still, I don’t know if I can give you a verdict just yet. We haven’t even gone on a date.”

“We did do things a little backwards,” Hoseok admits, tugging you close and winding his arm around your waist. “Let me make it up to you, then. Are you free tomorrow?”

“What if I am?” you challenge.

“Then, I’d like to take you out for breakfast,” he replies without missing a beat.

The prospect of a proper meal with Hoseok Jung does something funny to your insides. Still, something makes you hesitate, and you avert your gaze as you search for your next words. “I wasn’t expecting to end tonight with a date,” you admit slowly. “I honestly didn’t even think you were interested in… well, anything beyond sex, to be honest.”

Hoseok’s face creases into a frown, and you look up again when he murmurs your name. “I understand why you would think that,” he says. “Really, I do. But honestly? I had every intention of texting you and asking you out properly. I was going to play it cool and wait a few days, which was stupid in retrospect. And then you texted me first.”

“I texted y—” You trail off. “Oh, god.”

“It seemed like you’d been drinking,” Hoseok says with a shrug, and you press a finger to his lips before he can say anything more. You remember the night in question, and you remember the bottle of wine you’d consumed. And you definitely remember the photographs you’d sent of yourself, and the ones Hoseok had been kind enough to send in return.

“Wait, so you were going to ask me out? And then I… I sexted you?”

Hoseok nods, and you groan and bury your face into his chest.

“I can’t believe this,” you mutter, and you feel laughter rumble through his chest before a hand comes up to stroke along your back.

“Believe me, I’m not complaining,” he assures you. “But I’d still really like to take you out, so what do you say?”

His gaze doesn’t leave yours for a second as he awaits your answer, and your heart skips a beat when you look up to see the earnestness in his eyes and the hesitant smile playing at the corners of his mouth. “Breakfast sounds wonderful,” you whisper, and the smile that blossoms on your companion’s face is nothing short of radiant.

“Good,” he says. “Great. Breakfast tomorrow, then. Now, can I kiss you?”

You’re already pushing up to your tiptoes, your fingers fisting in the soft hair at his nape. “God, yes.”

///

“Hey, you made it!”

You beam. “Hi.”

You and Hoseok are about to commence your first date, having just sat down at a cozy little café for breakfast. Hoseok has pulled your chair out in true gentlemanly fashion, and you can’t help but smile over your menu at the few lingering snowflakes that have yet to melt into his dark hair.

“So, here we are,” you remark. “Our fourth meeting.”

Hoseok’s lips stretch into his signature grin, breathtakingly bright and infectious. “And hopefully many more.”

You grin at him. “Yeah? Too bad this is breakfast, because I’d drink to that.”

He leans forward, his grin widening. “Next time,” he says as his hand finds its way around yours, his fingers slotting comfortably into the spaces between your own. “We can do dinner, maybe. Or I can cook for you. But for now, I’m just happy that we’re finally doing this.”

You give his hand a soft squeeze. “Me too.”

“Just promise me one thing?”

The sudden seriousness of his tone has your brow furrowing in concern. “Sure, of course,” you reassure. “What is it?”

He winces. “Please don’t tell my mom about all the dick pics.”