#have a great rest of the year :> do what makes you happy!

[lidiasloca]

hi!! can you write Azriel x reader (established mates) where reader is worried Azriel only wants to be with her because they're mates but in reality he's been in love with her for centuries but thought he didn't deserve her or something like that. maybe angsty at first because she's kinda avoiding him but with happy ending please and thanks :')

is it love, or just the fear of loneliness?

azriel x reader

summary: Is Azriel’s love for you born from only the mating bond that he was always so desperate for—or was his love always there, hidden beneath the surface? As doubts rise, only he can reveal the truth.

You were on your second refill when you realized Rhys and Cassian had drunk the rest of the bottles themselves.

“I mean,” the High Lord started, already laughing at his story. “I mean—”

“What do you mean, Rhys?” Feyre asked, watching her mate stomach the influence of the wine.

“I mean,” he tried yet again, but his laughter kept interrupting.

Cassian was chuckling as he eyed him with half-closed eyes. “Finish the sentence, brother.”

“I’m trying,” he laughed, now looking at you. Then to Azriel at your side, whose face lay freely joyful.

“I mean, do you remember,” he asked Cassian, “how all Azriel could talk about was having a mate?”

You could feel through the bond the quiet embarrassment of your mate.

But they didn’t, so Cass continued. “Oh—yes. He was desperate.”

“I want a mate? When will I find a mate? Where is she?” Cassian imitated with a stupid voice.

Feyre’s little giggle wasn’t half of the hysterical roars of the Illyrians. However, Az, instead of laughing, gave you a quick shy glance.

Rhysand had a hand on his stomach as he continued laughing with no end. Feyre gave you and Azriel an apologetic look. “Rhys, you are very drunk, my love.”

But Rhys’s eyes widened with a thought. “Do you remember—do you remember when Azriel got drunk?”

Cassian's grin only grew. “Oh, gods. It got even worse.”

“I want a maaaaate,” Rhys drawled, his imitating voice even worse than Cass’s. “Where is sheeeee?”

You couldn’t help but snort, trying to catch Azriel’s eyes. When he didn’t let you meet his gaze, you shifted your attention to your ring, instinctively rolling it. 

“Alright, that’s enough for tonight,” Feyre said softly when Rhys tried to gulp down another glass of wine.

“What do you mean? We're just getting started,” Cass said, then turned to you. “Y/N, you don’t know how much we owe you.”

“Yeah,” Rhys nodded. “I don’t think I could’ve listened to one more hour of Azriel begging for a mate.”

At least now, Azriel was smiling faintly, as if remembering. As if grateful.

But something in your chest… pained.

You suddenly felt it difficult to get air into your lungs, as if you were falling from great heights. 

He was desperate for a mate.

You never let your mind linger there for too long, it always hurt too much. You were scared of what you might grow to believe if you looked at the puzzle pieces for too long.

Desperate.

“I think I’m going to sleep.” The words spilled out before you could muster a believable tone. “Good night,” you said as you rose, not daring to look back at your mate’s face as you headed to your room.

Trying to make no noise, you slowly closed the door of your room and leaned your back on it.

The questions in your head were far too swift for you to dodge them.

What if that was all you were to Azriel? His mate?

Did he only want you because of the bond?

Because he finally found what he was desperate to find? Not necessarily love—but a mate.

‘He was desperate.’

You and Azriel had known each other for many years, and Azriel had barely noticed your existence.

You even believed he avoided you.

He never spoke to you, never looked at you for too long… until the bond snapped for you both at the same time.

And then, and only then, had you found the bravery to get to know him, even asking him out yourself.

Then, and only then, had he started to grow interested in you.

Everything… everything was just because of the mating bond.

A light knock sounded, startling you enough to take a step away from the door.

“It’s me,” the voice said. Azriel’s voice.

Not now. Not now.

You quickly wiped the tears from your face and took a deep breath.

You found that worried look on your mate when you opened the door, and it made it an effort not to cry again.

“The party is over?” you asked, trying to sound somewhat calm.

“I… I’m here to see if you are alright.”

You made yourself breathe before you fainted. “I’m fine. Why wouldn’t I be?”

“You left,” he said as he came inside the room. “You seemed… sad.”

You closed the door and watched as he silently awaited your answer. It didn’t come.

Azriel took a step, leaving no safe space between you. One deep breath and your skin would brush his.

“Tell me, love. What is it?”

You shook your head.

“Is it… is it about what they said? About me?”

You didn’t say anything. But you didn’t shake your head either, so he took that as a yes.

There was something wary in his eyes as he asked, “About the mate thing?”

You felt dizzy, like you were falling from a cliff.

You had to hold on to somehting.

You tentatively took his index finger between your fingers, making him look down at where your hands joined. A faint smile bloomed on his worried face. “Are you mad at me about it?”

“No,” you murmured. “Not mad.”

“Then?” he urged, moving his other hand to cup your cheek. “You… you feel so quiet on the other side of the bond… I can almost not feel you at all.”

You met his eyes, saying sorry over and over through the sad colors on yours.

“I just,” you breathed. “I just thought about what they said, that you were desperate. And it made me think if maybe… if maybe you only wanted me because I am your mate. Not because—” You had to look away from his face. “You love me.”

Azriel’s long moment of silence was torture, but you couldn’t bring yourself to say anything else.

At last, he spoke. “Y/N, look at me. Please. Look at me, my love.”

You did, even when you felt another tear slipping down your cheek. He gently wiped it away.

“I love you. I need you to know that. I love you more than anything in this world. And I don’t love you because you are my mate.” More tears rolled down, yet these were not sad. “I’ve loved you long before I knew you were my mate.”

Your mouth opened partly at his confession, yet you didn’t know what to say.

He understood your confusion and further explained. “I did, Y/N. For so long, I loved you from a distance. From the moment I first met you, and you spoke—not to me, but… just hearing your sweet voice, I realized I was going to fall for you.”

“What?” you whispered low enough you weren’t sure he had even heard you.

But maybe he did, for he nodded, caressing your cheek with heartbreaking softness. “I thought you would never like me back.”

“But- I thought you disliked me, Azriel.”

His brows furrowed and his hand fell from your face. “Why would you ever think that?”

“Because,” you said. “You never spoke to me. You didn’t even look in my direction. And when you did speak to me, all you said was one word, nothing more.”

A sheepish smile appeared on his face. “Well, I was… shy around you. It wasn’t easy to talk to you, or to stare too long without making a fool of myself, so I tried to avoid both.”

You tried to take in his words, finding it very difficult to digest this new reality.

He had been in love with you… and you hadn’t even noticed.

“Y/N,” he spoke, seriousness lacing his words. “That ring,” he gestured with his chin, and you looked down at the golden band with a diamond on your finger. “I…”

“You what?”

“This is embarrassing,” he mumbled, scratching the back of his neck. “I bought that ring the very first day I met you.”

You were pinned in place, failing to even breathe or blink.

“What?” It seemed like the only word you knew.

“It’s both romantic and psychotic, I know,” he smiled.

You inhaled deeply, meeting his gaze. “You knew? You truly knew it was…”

“You?” he finished. “Yes.” 

You couldn’t help but smile at the sincerity in his words. Azriel pulled you gently into his arms as you let the warmth of him embrace you.

It was no more than a whisper, yet you heard him murmur against your temple, “From the very first moment, I knew, Y/N.”

You closed your eyes, finally accepting the fall.

-Charcaters by Sarah J Maas

azriel masterlist

a/n: what is this thing with your titles being a question, lidia? mmmm, 🤷‍♀️. anyway, hope you like this one, thanks for the request. and have a wonderfull 2025!!

[bigification]

New Years Resolutions

"Hey bud! I'm glad you could make it back home for the holidays. We haven't been able to see you much since you graduated college." Your dad says as he walks out of his garage to greet you.

His white tang top is stained with grease and sweat from working on his vintage car all day. His stench gets stronger as he gets closer, giving you a slightly disgusting reminder of your life before graduating. He smiles and pulls you in for a firm bear hug. Even though you were never the type to get your hands dirty, much to your father's dismay, you choose to hug the sweaty man back regardless.

"Wanna help me with the car?" He asks.

You go all red, not knowing how to say no.

"I'm just pulling your chain buddy!" He laughs loudly enough for the neighbors to hear as he slaps you on the shoulder.

You nervously chuckle before making your way to the front door.

"Oh, by the way. We've started a yearly tradition since you left. Every new years, we think of three things we want to change for the next year and write it down. Then we read em out the next year to see if we actually did anything." He calls out as you're walking away.

You just turn back and nod before continuing towards the front door. It seems like a surprisingly fun tradition, something you didn't think your dad was capable of.

You say hi to the rest of your family before running up to your old room. You pull out a piece of paper and pen, and get to thinking. What do you want to change over the next year. You're pretty happy with everything in your life right now, you've got a good job and a great husband. What more could you ask for. It makes you think of your dad, your relationship isn't bad by any means, but you wish he was more understanding and he wishes you were more handy. That's it, if you were more handy maybe it could bridge that gap between the two of you.

"Being more handy." You quickly write on the small piece of paper.

Almost instantly upon writing those words, something changes. You look down and see that the pen is no longer in your hand, there's a hammer. Your small delicate hand holding the massive hammer seems out of place, but it isn't for long. Each of your fingers grows and thickens as your hand becomes large and calloused, now wide enough to cover the entire grip of the hammer. The other hand quickly follows suit, now holding onto a plank of wood instead of the piece of paper you were holding moments ago.

Your forearms bulge with muscle as tattoos cover your skin. The sleeves of your loose fitting shirt tighten against your growing biceps. Your shoulders broaden and flat chest springs to life, becoming two solid pecs, further tightening your shirt. Your waist slims into a tight six pack, giving your upper body a jock like V shape to it. This is further accentuated by the way your shirt is tucked into shorts, I mean your jeans, with a thick leather belt. Fat floods into your ass, creating a shelf on your backside as a thick bulge forms in the front of your jeans. Though the bulge is covered by your new utility belt, handy for keeping all your tools.

Your thighs explode with muscle and fat, making your jeans look like stuffed sausages. And your small running shoes become massive steel toed boots as your feet grow 5 sizes.

You've nearly achieved your goal of becoming handy, but a handy man wouldn't have a feminine face like that. Your jaw suddenly widens, your nose grows larger, and your brow bone becomes more prominent. Your long curls shrink into a sharp buzz cut as your hairline begins to recede, but it's quickly covered by a ball cap. Thick stubble forms above your lip and on your chin as a five o'clock shadow spreads through the rest of your beard. The hair spreads down your smooth body, covering your chest, stomach, arms, and legs.

You finally take a moment to look at your surroundings, now in the backyard of your parents home working on their deck. Your dad raised you to be a good handy man so you could help him with his projects.

You get back to work, but soon remember your resolutions. You're supposed to write three dumbass, not just one. Some thick skilled moments like these make you regret dropping out of high school to work at the auto shop with your dad, but the regrets don't tend to last. You'd much rather be handy than smart. Back to the resolutions, you pull out the paper from your back pocket and place it on the plank of wood. Think... What do you want. You have everything you need, an honest job with your pops and a good man waiting for you back home. You suddenly think of your dad, you really look up to him and he's got massive muscles. You're no weak nerd by any means, but your dad is on a whole other level compared to you.

"I want to go to the gym more often." You write on the piece of paper.

You put the paper away and go to grab your hammer, but in its place is a weight. Why is there weight in the backyard? Theres no time for you to think about it, however, because your hands begins to change once again. They thicken to twice their original size, becoming large enough to grab even the largest of weights with just one hand. Your forearms grow to the size of your biceps and your biceps grow to the size of watermelons, with defined muscles and thick veins.

Each part of your body systematically swells to the size of a body builder, quickly ripping through your tiny clothes. Your chest grows two thick slabs of meat hanging above your eight pack and your back becomes a series of ripples formed by your muscles.

Your thighs grow so thick that they constantly rub together when you walk, leaving little room for your bull like testicles and pop can thick cock. The immense amount of testosterone pumping through your veins makes you horny all the time, leaving an ever present stain on the front of your pants. It also makes your beard grow fast enough that you constantly have a thick bushy beard, and it makes it so you're barely holding on to the hairs on your head. Good thing you have more than enough hair elsewhere to compensate.

You take a deep breath as you hang the weight back on the machine. Wait... what machine. You look around to see a plethora of workout machines in the basement of your parents home that you converted into a home gym.

You reach for a heavier weight when you remember the new years resolutions. How many did you write again? You count with your fingers that you have written down two resolutions, that's one less than you needed to. What should be your last resolution. You already have everything you need, you've got bigger muscles than your dad, bigger muscles than your scrawny husband, and you live at your pops house. What more could you want. Well you're not bigger than everyone...

"I want to be bigger." You scribble onto the small paper.

You need to be careful with your words when you're making new years resolutions, or you just might become a completely different person. You know this all too well, yet never learn from your mistakes.

You reach for a dumbbell, but are surprised by how light it is. You must just be getting so strong that your weights feel like nothing. But when you look over, you're shocked to see a cold glass of beer in your hand. You stopped drinking a while ago because it turns you into a fat ass like your drunk of an uncle, and your body only needs pure muscle. Though, something about this glass of beer is calling to you. Just one couldn't hurt, besides, you could just call it a bulk.

You take a sip of the ice cold beer. It tickles as it passes through your thick facial hair, and smoothly glides down your throat. It was the best thing you've ever tasted. You take another sip, feeling it fill your stomach, you want more. You chug, but the glass never seems to be empty. You instinctively reach to rub your stomach, feeling the ridges along your abs. Wait. Where are the ridges. You rub your hand back and forth across your stomach and it's... Soft. You look down in horror to see a small round belly covering your eight pack. But you're not strong enough to stop yourself from drinking. You take another sip and grunt as your gut trusts outward, making you look pregnant. Impossible to hide, even with the loosest of clothes. You take another sip and grunt as your gut thrust outward once again, jiggling as it settles into place. It's now undeniable, it's the first thing someone will notice when seeing you. But you need one last sip, this time with a deep moan as your gut explodes outwards, sagging under its own weight. You are now what people think of when they think of obesity.

That's not all, not all the fat goes just to your gut. Some of it has covered the muscles around your body. Your solid pecs have melted into a pair of soft man tits that press against every shirt you wear. Your thin waist is now replaced by thick love handles that burst out of your clothes. Your muscly arms and legs look deceptively small and soft under a thick layer of pudge. Your hands and feet are swollen, stuffed with fat, leaving you with massive man hands perfect for gripping a glass of beer. And your dick has been engulfed in a thick fat pad, but it's not like you can reach it on your own.

And if that wasn't enough for you, any hair you have left has fallen out, leaving you with a shiny bald head. Also your beard has begun to go grey and your skin is starting to wrinkle. It looks like you became big in more than one way.

You kick back in your soft recliner with your beer and turn on the football game, relaxing in your newly renovated basement where you watch the game everyday. It's not like you used the gym anyway.

[blackdykegirlblogger]

a/n: i'm so terribly sorry for what you're about to witness. happy 2025 whores! may this new year grant you love, light, and tons of great sex (manifesting this for myself too) <3

abby who loves loves loves fucking your lights out. you were always such a good girl for her, always using your head to think such big thoughts and ideas, always showing off your intelligence in every way you could.

and she loved that for you. trust me, she did. you never failed to make her so ridiculously proud of you.

but she also hated it. as delusional as it sounds, as disgusting as it sounds, she liked you best when you didn't have a single thought in your pretty head at all. when your skull was so empty that you could roll your eyes back and see absolutely nothing, think absolutely nothing. her cute lil housewife, pampered and adored and without a care in the fucking world. loose, pliable....just begging to take whatever she offered to give you. crying for it. drooling for it. pure, heartfelt devotion to the one who took such good care of you, who always made you feel so so good :(

she can't have you like that all the time, she's well aware, and has mostly accepted that her little...fantasy was going to have to remain just that. but while abby was never one to daydream, she still thinks about it a lot more than she'd ever like to admit. and it's times like these, like right fucking now, that makes her imagination run wild.

"feel good, pretty?"

she knew you were too dumb to give her an answer, and relished in that fact. she was holding up your thighs with her calloused hands, pushing your knees up to your chest as you reclined flat against hers. she had been pumping her cock in and out of your sopping hole for what felt like a millennium, the white ring around the base of her strap so thick that it dripped off the silicone and onto the mattress below you, adding to the already preexisting puddle. you senses left you several rounds ago, your knees locking and every part of your body going numb. you couldn't hear, couldn't think, hell you could barely even see through the tears clouding your vision. but that's alright. none of it mattered anyway.

truth be told, her stamina has always scared you, the countless hours she spent at the gym never failing to haunt you in bed. but this? this was just fucking cruel. you were ready to stop ages ago, cunt too achy and sensitive to keep going. but she had pleaded and pleaded with you, hitting you with the puppy dog eyes that always never worked as she circled your clit absentmindedly, knowing damn well it never took you long to get all worked up. "had such a long day, baby, was worked to the fucking bone. just one more round, yeah? for me?"

that was back when she still had you in missionary, legs wrapped around her waist as she took what she pleased on top of you. you had agreed because of course you did, but she didn't say jack-shit about having you in a full fucking nelson for hours at a time.

"thaaaattt's it. being such a perfect girl for me, huh? fucking amazing." her tip kissed your g-spot again and again, making streams of droll loll out of your mouth unconsciously as your eyelids fluttered. "good god, this pussy's amazing, doll." and in another life, maybe you would've responded to her praise, would've moaned or whined or did anything but babble mindlessly as her girth stretched you for all you were worth. but, that clearly wasn't now. suddenly, you felt her hands leave the undersides of your knees, instead choosing to wrap the rest of her bulky arms around them as she used her hands to push your head down. you were now forced to stare at the bump in your tummy (well, as much as you could cross-eyed), right underneath your belly button. shit, she was so deep.

she planted her feet firmly into the bed, her hips picking up speed once again as she abuses the drooling cunt between your legs. you couldn't run, you couldn't hide, you could do nothing but lay there all stupid and cockdrunk and take it. just like she wanted. her girl, greedy and grateful and helpless.

"well would you look at that? looks like mama's got herself her own little fleshlight."

[with-my-calamitous-love]

please don’t ever become a stranger (whose laugh i could recognize anywhere)

k. bakugou x reader

moments in the year where katsuki realized he’s in love with you. happy new years 🤍

inspired by new years day

february 14

he’s driving you home after a date, one hand on the steering wheel, the other intertwined with yours. city lights pass through the windows in a blur, the road long enough for you to tell it’ll be a long way home.

he’s stressed, a little. you can tell by how he grips your hand, and the way he seems not totally focused on anything in particular. you still feel safe- he’s a great driver- but his inner thoughts aren’t lost on you. normally, he’s the toast of the town, and you’re right there with him. he’s aware of his reputation, and the love he gets from fans. but with fame comes the public eye, and even he isn’t immune to it.

he’s been striking out more lately. his abrasive attitude that you love isn’t always loved by everyone. his slip ups and mistakes seem to make headlines more than his achievements. its grating on him, and he hopes you don’t notice.

but you do, because thats what you do for people you love.

1. 2. 3. you squeeze his hand three times. i love you, it spells out. i’ll love you when you’re at your best and worst. no matter what.

at first, he thinks you’re just playing with his hand, crimson eyes flickering over to you and then back to the road. exactly 2 seconds later, he gets what you really mean.

1. 2. 3. 4. he grips your hand back. i love you, too. he says, without actually saying anything. i will never not love you. you’re the only person who stays for me no matter what. and for that, i love you.

unspoken words you both know to be true that night.

april 20

he doesn’t really celebrate his birthday, but his friends and colleagues always insist on it. he snarls, scoffing, finding it all pompous and unnecessary, until he sees your starry eyes planning his special day. he can’t say no to you.

he wasn’t expecting much when he unlocked the door to his apartment. he had a feeling you’d throw him a surprise party, but he didn’t think you’d gather his old classmates in his home to celebrate with him.

he’s stunned for a moment, until his lips curve into a begrudging smile. a room full of people, on his birthday, and the first person he looks for is you.

“thanks, dumbass.” he murmurs, a few drinks in while his arm finds your waist. his smile is like sunshine, though you rarely see it when its genuine. you pretend not to notice the ‘ews’ and laughs from your peers when he presses a long kiss to your cheek.

he has work tomorrow morning. he’ll definitely regret drinking as much as he did. he decides he’ll take an advil and get it over with.

he knows how much he’s loved you from the moment he entered that party. he realizes it more when you call in for him the next day, his hangover palpable, with you by his side.

“you didn’t have to do that.” he groans, but he isn’t annoyed. its a little embarrassing being taken care of, but he isn’t complaining when its with you.

“its just one day, babe.” you hum, holding his hand, sitting on the edge of the bed next to him. “you deserved the break.”

“pro-heroes don’t get breaks.” he adds.

“okay… but i missed you.” you smile a little, trying to win him over.

you already have.

june 26

katsuki is used to criminal activity. when he hears about it, he keeps a level head and a resting bitch face, ready to deal with whatever comes his way. all that rationality is thrown out the window when he hears you had been caught up in it and injured.

he runs through every medic, frantically searching for you like his life depends on it. he’s imagining every worst case scenario, heart beating out of his chest and snapping at anyone who asks whats wrong.

“katsuki!” you finally call out to him. he turns and is relieved to see you’ve only managed a broken arm. the sigh of relief that leaves his lips is a testament to how much he cares, arms wrapping around you, not giving a single fuck who sees.

“are you okay, idiot? are you hurt anywhere else?” his eyes scan you for injuries. you physically have to cup his face and bring his attention back to whats important: you’re okay. and so is he.

“i’m fine.” you almost laugh, savouring his rare moment of vulnerability. he has things to do, reporters to talk to and damage to control, but you’re the priority right now. you’re what he loves the most.

you never know how much you care until you think you’re going to lose it.

september 12

being a gruff, muscular, powerful hero, katsuki think’s he’s too strong for panic attacks. he’s also wrong.

he hopes you’re in a deep enough sleep not to notice his pacing. to him, the room is on fire, only the smoke is invisible and only he can feel the flame.

his breathing picks up, pains in his chest while the tremors set in. his heart races, nauseous and sweating while he tries to get his bearings. all of his heroes die all alone, just like he will.

“just breathe.”

he’s commanded by you, not even realizing you woke up. he feelings your touch on him, taking his hand and placing it overtop your chest. he wants to ask you when you woke up, or for how long you’ve been watching him, but he can’t seem to ground himself enough for that.

“its okay, kats.” you coo, pulling him into a hug, as if shielding him from his own anxiety. “just breathe. you’re safe here.”

he can save you from villains and threats, be your knight in shining armour, your hero. you, on the other hand, can save him from himself. and thats the moment he knows he’ll love you for as long as he breathes. even if you were to one day become a stranger to him- his heart would recognize you anywhere.

december 31st - 5 minutes to midnight

there’s glitter on the floor, polaroids tossed around lazily. kirishima’s annual new years party wouldn’t be complete without you and your boyfriend, katsuki, in attendance. people drink and blast music, reminiscing on this past year. in just 5 minutes, the world would begin again.

he could be with his friends, drunk on love, laughter, and booze. he could relish in the fame of his success and achievements. but all of that seems so small, so trivial, when he sees you out on the balcony, alone.

“idiot?” he peers out, seeing you leaning over the railing, looking out at the stars. “what’re you doing out here? everyone’s gonna start counting down.”

“hey.” you hum as he walks over to you. his arm so naturally finds its way around your waist, like it belongs there. loving you is like breathing for him.

“you know 5 years ago today, you just graduated.” you reminisce, watching his red eyes grow contemplative.

“yeah? so?” he utters, not getting your point.

“nothing, just… so many people spend new years focusing on whats ending. and thats good. i just… when i look at you, katsuki… i think of my future.”

his heart swells at that.

“damn it, idiot.” he huffs, forehead resting against yours, a dumb smile on his face. “my life has been better with you. everything has been better since you.”

you both hear the sounds of cheering, counting down to midnight. time ceases when katsuki looks at you, whole centuries passing when he holds your gaze. you melt his tough exterior and the ashes of his ambition. you become his dreams, his everything.

“10!”

“i never want you to be a stranger, ever.”

“9!”

“i wanna laugh with you for the rest of my life.”

“8!”

“i wanna hold on to every memory with you.”

“7!”

“this is so fucking corny.”

“6!”

“i know, i don’t care.”

“5!”

“i’d spend all my midnights with you.”

“4!”

“and all my new years days.”

“you hate cleaning up after parties, though.”

“i can’t hate anything when its with you. i love you, [y/n].”

“i love you too, katsuki.”

“3!”

“2!”

“1!”

january 1st

the truth is, he has always known he’s loved you. he’s never needed the reminder, like its the one sure thing in his life. for as long as he lives, he’ll be cleaning up bottles with you on new years day.

[respectthepetty]

12 Anticipated Thai BLs for 2025

As usual, I'm excited for ALL the GLs (Cranium, Only You, 3 Minutes 2 Love, Reverse with You, Buy My Boss, Let's Kick this Love, No Romeo, and so many more!), but I'm making my annual list of the BLs I'm excited for this year with brief reasons why I'm looking forward to them, and it includes some I've previously mentioned in my GMMTV 2025 Hot Tops. However, I must first look back at my 2024 list and see if those BLs were worth my anticipation:

The Next Prince - I still haven't gotten it, so 2025 better be the year!

Jack & Joker: U Steal My Heart - Great! Amazing! Loved it!

Spare Me Your Mercy - We don't talk about her.

Wandee Goodday - I have my issues, but it was a fun ride. *wink*

Choco Milk Shake 2 - The production team said it was never planned, you know, like a liar.

Time of Fever - Beautiful! Astounding! I NEED MORE!

My Doctor/Mr. Doctor - I'm probably never getting it. I need a moment to collect myself.

Live in Love - I was only showing up for the colors, and it delivered them plus a lot more crazy nonsense.

Red Peafowl - It was all a lie, and apparently we are never getting it.

Love Upon a Time - I don't want to talk about what happened, but I better get it this year!

Love Puzzle - Probably not getting it, and I'm not okay about it.

Peaceful Property - Fantastic! Divine! Best thing I watched this year!

Sunset x Vibes - I showed up for MosBank, and I got MosBank, so I was thrilled!

The Heart Killers - I'm having the time of my life!

Bonus: Your Dear Daddy - WHERE IS MY MAN FLUKE?! GIVE HIM TO ME RIGHT NOW!

Now time for this year's list!

Honorable Mention: MosBank & JoongDunk

I will show up every year excited about the same thing — my ships! I'm getting Joong and Dunk in Dare You to Death if they don't get divorced before then, and I'm getting Mos and Bank in Be My (Soul)Mate if they aren't busy planning a wedding by then. I know JoongDunk's piece is about murders and making out which are two of my favorite things, but I don't even know what the plot is for MosBank's series because all I know is it isn't Big Dragon 2, but it doesn't matter anyway since I'm always happy to see my favorites!

A Dog and a Plane

2024 came for my throat and my heart with some really heavy shows, and in comparison to the rest of this list, I'm banking on this show to be my one bright spot in 2025. I need at least one show to make me laugh while it's ripping out my heart, and I think this is the show for the job.

Goddess Bless You From Death

This show scares me, and it might give me nightmares, but it involves murders and making out, so I'm effing with los espookys for this one. Y'all can have Khemjira though. I ain't that brave.

My Sweetheart Jom

Saint, in a BL again. That's it. That's the reason.

Memoir of Rati

I expect only happy endings from GMMTV, but I'm worried about this one's ending, yet I must see what happens. It has history, politics, and class dynamics, so as much as I'm happy to see Great, Inn, Aou, and Boom in this, I'm also very nervous.

Love Carved in the Moonlight

It seemed like poly was a possibility, which I know is a lie, but also, this looked beautiful, and I'm not just referring to the men. It's another period piece, so I might just be in for a Thai history lesson in 2025.

I'm the Most Beautiful Count

People are upset that the pilot trailer seemed to make light of the source material, but I have faith this adaptation will do justice to the webtoon and give us a leading man worth fighting for.

Interminable

I sense a lengthy series brewing from Idol Factory for this one, so I think we might not see it until later this year or 2026, but I also think it will be worth the wait since there's no way Billy and Babe won't make me teary-eyed with a plot like this.

Ticket to Heaven

It involves Catholicism; therefore, it will hurt me. However, as a Catholic, the Church has instilled in me that if it isn't painful, then it isn't good for me, so if the show makes me cry every episode, I think the Church would approve.

Knock Out

It's Gym Bros BL adjacent meaning men will be in a gym, half-naked, and working out, which is good enough for me! Also, they're color coded, so who am I to deny small blessings?

The Wicked Game

We are getting two GLs and a BL about bodyguards falling in love with their clients, but just like all the vampire series we were supposed to get in 2024 yet only got two, I'm wondering who will be first and how they will turn out. I think all of them will be great, but I am especially looking forward to Daou getting bruised up for love.

Love of Silom

Up and Poom were a surprise for me in 2024 with My Stand-In, so from what I know about the plot dealing with a cop and a single dad, I think they will do just as great with their second series as they did with the first. I am patently waiting to be in my feels again because of them.

Me & Who

I need to watch Big kiss men like I need air. I need to watch Big gently place his hand on another man's neck like I need water. I need this show. Now.

Bonus: Mandate

Did anyone watch 2012's Political Animals with Sebastain Stan who played TJ Hammond, the bisexual son of the former President of the United States and the current Secretary of State, who had a secret affair with an older married and closeted US Senator?

Anyone? No?

Well, can I get something similar, Thailand? Is that too much to ask? I don't know, but I'm going to ask for it anyway! Let me have it! Give me what I deserve.

[syndrossi]

Any verse Rhaegar and Jon talking about the fact that he was Jon's biological father? If possible or Daemon seeing Restoration Jon with the twins for the first time Happy New Year

Opted to go for the latter, though it stops a little short of the reunion you were probably hoping for!

This is not necessarily how it will go in Restoration proper, but it's "a" possible reunion.

x~x~x

The yard was utterly silent as the dragon made its landing, the air still choked with smoke and the sickly sweet aroma of cooked pork that Jon knew was the scent of flesh cooked within melted armor. The surviving wagons of the king’s traveling party sat unmoving by the wall, and his father’s men stood at tense alert, but made no move to brandish their weapons at the man atop the dragon.

There was a girl with him near Jon’s age, with silver-blond hair that matched the man’s—and his brother Raymar’s. House Targaryen, he thought numbly. With their dragons of old.

What do they want? They had stopped after their overwhelming assault on the king’s company, and the man seemed to be waiting. Jon’s heart lurched in his chest as his father stepped forward, and the dragonrider’s gaze locked upon him.

“Where are my sons?” the man demanded, the rage in his voice accompanied by a low rumble from his great red dragon, powerful enough to make the ground shake.

His father’s head turned to Jon, and he squeezed his brothers’ hands reflexively. He means them.

The man’s gaze followed, rapidly shifting from Jon to his brothers and back with raw relief. “You will return them to me.”

It felt as though every stare in the yard was fixed upon them now. 

“First I would have the name of the man who slayed our king,” his father responded, with a calm in his eyes that told Jon he already knew.

“I am Daemon Targaryen,” the man said, his own eyes narrowing in challenge. “And such is the fate that awaits usurpers and all others who would call themselves enemies of House Targaryen. How declares the North?”

His father looked toward the charred remnants of the king’s convoy, where low moans could still be heard of men not yet finished dying. “Do you lay claim to the Iron Throne, then?”

“Claim?” Daemon Targaryen echoed, seeming to scoff at the suggestion. “It is mine by blood—and fire, if need be. Who else would the North call king?”

Joffrey Baratheon was cowering with the rest of King Robert’s children, while the queen stared at Daemon Targaryen with a wildness that verged on wonder. His father studied them, and Jon realized that he did not know what he would do. He had yet to comprehend what it even meant that his brothers might be the stolen children of a Targaryen prince, claimed by his father instead.

“What of the king’s family?” his father asked.

The dragon gave another low growl. “I will not have his wife raped and his children slaughtered,” Daemon Targaryen said, hand coming to rest upon the hilt of his sword. “Which is a mercy that was not afforded my own kin when Robert Baratheon stormed the Red Keep.”

His father’s mouth tightened, and then he bent his knee. “The North welcomes you, King Daemon.”

[prettieinpink]

HAPPY NEW YEAR!!!!!!!! GOODBYE 2024, WELCOME 2025!

As a christian, I see NY as a time to spread joy, hope and love as our saviour gave us. Another year that God has so graciously graced us with. So, I thought, why not give a few of my favourite girlbloggers some love ᡣ𐭩ྀིྀི

@honeytonedhottie - I love her so much like, she gives great tips and is an even greater person. Her authenticity is what really stands out to me, and its inspirational to me and many others. I hope everything that you wish for in 2025 comes true, and is so much more better than you ever could've imagined.

@mymelodymia - one of my most biggest supporters oh my gosh!! She would frequently check up on me and interact. Thank you so much for your overwhelming love, and I hope the love that you give to others is multiplied back to you 10x in 2025 :D

@missdollcouture - another one of my faves :D gives great tips and is a really great friend of mine! I wish 2025 is the year in which you become the better version of your best self 😚

@4theitgirls - if you need someone for inspiration.. this is your girl. All of her posts are always so inspirational to me, and i'm sure many other people are just as motivated as me when they see you on their feeds. In 2025, I hope you excel in everything that you do :))

@girljournal - I LOVE her posts. She makes cute little reminders every week, month and year that are great to screenshot and put on your visionboard- or just to reblog! you spread so much positivity on everyone's dash, so thank you for that. I hope all the positiviy that you put into others, comes back to you 20x!

@elicathebunny - unsure if you're still on hiatus, but regardless! It was so rewarding and motivating to see you grow SO MUCH in such little time. I absolutely loved seeing the evolution of your blog (@angelacademy) into something so great :) I hope in 2025, you grow to much greater heights!

@agirlwithglam @girlbloggen @lovelylau @huellitaa @joeymichaela @luvvlivia @coco-oats @bunnysdollette @bloomzone @navyhealthyglow @thefemigirl @glowettee @elprincess @sugarsprinklesoul @maespo @pinkwishlist @st4rg1rlz-m00n and to the rest of my mutuals, just know I love seeing each and every single one of you on my dash. I love seeing your wins in life, tips and advice, and anything that you share, I love!! Each and every one of your posts help everyone us evolve into a better person, and i'm sure the whole community is equally grateful and proud of you. I hope 2025 is the year in which all of you achieve personal growth, explore new opportunities, and make meaningful memories while striving to be ambitious.

and lastly, to my followers. Thank you for supporting me and this blog for so long. I appreciate every single like and reglog that I get, and i'm so grateful that I have the opportunity to help you guys, even if its just by a little bit. I know 2024 was a rough year for a lot of us, so I hope this year, we all continue to grow, learn and become better than we've ever imagined. Once again, I appreciate your support a lot, every single note or reply, or an ask that says how much they love my blog or how much I've helped them, gives me real, genuine joy.

[maxybabyy]

happy new year friends!

to celebrate the new year, i wanted to go through some of wonderful stories i read in 2024. going through the tags and my bookmarks, i have come to the realisation that I still suck at keeping track of my favourites, so these are just the one still stuck in my head.

five (+some) full length fics

sour and delicious, secret and unrepeatable by @officialmood (maxiel)

i know this was written for that trope you hate fest, but i absolutely loved every word of it. all the tiny details, the shoe tying scene that still lives in my head, daniel preferring adynamic sex, max thinking he cannot have both. all of it is just so fucking good. I think it is such an incredible fic and such a good way to explore the maxiel dynamic.

table in the back by @janinaduszejko (galex)

i think if i could take one fic with me into 2025, it would be this one. i am more of a peripheral galex enjoyer, but this just hits ALL the right notes for me. the angst and misunderstanding is just so perfect that i can still feel the hurt in my finger tips. 10/10, will read again to keep george in miserable company.

rosetta stone by @janinaduszejko (carcar)

unlike galex, carcar does have me in a chokehold. oscar learning spanish and being called out by Fernando, dropping hints that they should move in together, only for carlos to tell him he loves him first. it's so fucking great.

everything carcar by @testarossa is also so fucking perfect, but especially make a mess, lioness is so, so good.

the entire Yours verse by @loquarocoeur (lestappen)

i still remember reading the first chapter of yours and not knowing what to think, only for it to turn into the most wonderful series. i am such a sucker for close-to-canon fics and this just done so well. i don't even know what to say, it's just sooooo fucking good, and i am in love with the dynamic between max and charles.

four espressos (and a lifetime) by @ferrarisma is another wonderful lestappen fic. i love the 'they grew up together' trope and the identity porn is just so perfect!

Cad Dad, a Dad of cats by @33max (max-centric)

max-centric fics are such a weakness of mine. cat dad max bringing the cats to races so he can make sure sassy gets her medication is so, so lovely and wonderfully written.

i have also read the first two chapters of famiglia-familie by @lsunstreakerl and i am very intrigued! gp taking in kid max is such an interesting take on it, and I cannot wait to read the rest.

four scenarios for tumblr fics omega max has a very special place in my heart and both @officialmood (post) and @lost-in-fandoms (post) have made such wonderful posts about it. i love all the different ways omega verse can be used to explore the maxiel dynamic!

girl max (my beloved) is another trope that I love, and the winter warmers posts (day one, thirteen) by @thewindowatkirkland have just been absolutely perfect!!

daniel's partner dumping him for max is also such an incredible fic by @officialmood. it's such a fun take, and daniel is wonderful as the spiteful, insecure ex who kinda, maybe also wants to fuck max now?

also the absolute masterpiece by @boxboxlewis that is max dating ricardo from melbourne while daniel, you know, is totally cool with it.

three works of my own Writing this i realised i haven't written a lot this year, here or ao3. i really hope that will change this year, but i just wanted to highlight some of the works that i had a good time working on in 2024:

cameras in the traffic lights

this was my first big html coding project, and while it was such a pain in the end (and still not perfect even now!) the process of it all was so much fun. i really liked working with the format, and the writing process of the tweets, the timelines, and the planning of it was so different to the prep-work i usually do for fics. the response to the fic has also been very overwhelming, and i am so glad so many people seemed to enjoy it.

max run club

max run club is another pet project of mine. it's such a fun world to play in, figuring out how to characterise max when we only really see him during daniel's time on social media/work out apps, the whole scanielax aspect of it. i don't know if it will ever be a full length fic, but i am not done with the series.

toothbrush fic

it's getting late, and i don't really have that much to say about this. but this was also very fun to write, and i still think if you love someone, you should offer to brush their teeth once in a while.

[mothlau]

franco/alex 7

DISCLAIMER!!!!!! this is NOT an educational portrayal of hypnokink, do NOT take anything from this, the vibes here are lowkey foul and toxic and NOT what hypno is about!!!!! but anyway the vibes are rancid with this one but :3 it's fun :3 (kink meme here)

2362 words

Singapore is hot; every year it's getting worse and Alex finds it harder to go through with it. This year… This year it started out fine, great even! Until Franco decided to dive-bomb him out of nowhere.

Alex saw red, as soon as he realized what Franco was trying to do. That was until he saw the replays, watched his and Franco’s on-boards both. Alex knows that it was just hard racing, a bit desperate, drowned in a desire to prove himself, but that doesn’t make it easier to swallow. The man is still upset; they were working so well together, the taste of betrayal that much more sour in his mouth.

“Franco!” He calls out to the younger man, eyes like a hawk as the boy turns and smiles at him, as soon as he finds Alex in the crowd. He’s still in his suit, sweat clinging to his hair line. Had Alex been kinder, he may have allowed him to go change, shower and refresh after the race. But he just… he can’t. He needs to deal with this now.

His eyes are barely visible from how wide his grin is. Big and genuine, enough to almost make Alex feel bad. Except, he's on a mission and he's not about to feel bad when Franco was the one to ruin his race.

“Alex!” Franco greets him back, going in for the hug as soon as Alex is close enough. “We good, right? No hard feelings?”

Alex smiles, it’s hard not to when Franco is looking up at him, all wide eyes and flushed face. “Of course, mate. It’s just racing! I would’ve done the same!”

That seems to ease the younger, body visibly deflating in Alex’s arms. His forehead comes to rest on Alex’s shoulder, the pressure brief before he’s quickly pulling back and stepping away from him.

“I’m so glad,” he says, voice slightly hushed. “I really thought you would hate me when I was stepping out of the car.”

“No, Franco, I–” Alex sighs, closing his eyes to stop himself from rolling them. “I couldn’t hate you over that. Like I said, it was hard racing.”

Eyes still closed, he can’t see the smile that spreads across Franco’s face, but he can hear it in his voice. “I’m happy then. I will go change, then we can meet and talk. If you want!”

“Actually, Franco!” Alex rushes to stop the young man just before he can turn around and leave towards his driver room. It’s now or never. “You remember how we played last time?” Franco’s face turns red just at the mention. “We should do it again, yes? Tonight. To… strengthen our bond, yes?”

Franco is quick to agree, of course he is. He’s nodding so fast that for a moment Alex worries he will hurt himself. It pulls at his heart, but still Alex will not give in.

“Yes! I will come to your room! But first, a shower!”

The older watches him go, and then, after he gathers himself again, Alex turns to leave as well. He has things to get ready, after all, they’re in for a long night.

–

Alex has no reason to feel nervous, yet here he is: hands sweaty, foot bouncing up and down as he tries to relax on the hotel bed. It’s not working, it hasn’t worked for the past half hour, but still he tries.

He’s made the bed fluffy, just how Franco likes it; made sure to ask for more pillows and an extra blanket. He’s set the temperature higher, still for Franco to feel more comfortable, but Alex is starting to get nervous. He blames it on having cooled down, on not being as angry as he was after he DNF-ed. Perhaps he should’ve just taken Franco to his room right then, to make the boy regret his actions before the guilt could take root.

There’s a knock on his door, shy and slightly unsure.

It’s too late now.

Alex stands up, goes to open the door, lets Franco in without saying anything. The boy looks so young in his oversized hoodie, hood pulled to cover his hair, face mask covering his mouth and nose. When he pulls them off, Alex can’t help the way his breath catches in his throat.

He’s about to ruin him.

“Come, sit on the bed,” he urges Franco, making sure the door is locked before he can pay attention to the young man. Franco is already perched on top of it, hoodie discarded on the floor, now only in his shirt and shorts. He looks so fucking cozy in his little pillow nest, eyes huge and wet as he looks at Alex.

God, he trusts Alex, trusts him to take care of him and make sure nothing bad will happen to him and now Alex is about to–

No, Franco should’ve known better.

“Did you eat?”

Franco nods, not bothering to hide his exasperated eye roll. “Yes, mom, now can we start? I want to… You know…”

Alex smiles down at the boy, predatory and mean. Right, he’s so innocent when he’s in Alex’s bed, nothing like how cocky Franco tries to be in front of the media. He’s all red pouty and Alex wants to see him cry.

“How can I give you what you want when you can’t even tell me what it is you need, Franco? You know I can’t read your mind.”

“Yes, but you can…” Franco swallows hard, smoothing the blanket under him. “You can make me… go under… please…”

It’s not the sort of begging Alex usually likes, but he knows he can’t expect anything better when Franco is still wound tight.

“Relax, baby. Close your eyes for me,” Alex murmurs, taking a seat on the bed, next to Franco’s legs. There’s goosebumps running up his skin and he hasn’t even touched him yet. Alex smiles at the sight. It’s going to be so easy to get him under. “First, you are currently laying on my bed, aren’t you?”

The younger nods, not showing any signs of wanting to verbally answer Alex’s truth. That won’t do, he taught him better than that. Alex sits and waits, until Franco realises his mistake and whimpers out a barely audible, yeah.

“Mm, that’s right, baby. You are in my bed,” Alex agrees, just to make it that more obvious, to make sure that Franco won’t forget where he is. “You are in my bed and you can feel how soft the blanket is under you. You can feel it on your skin, your arms and legs.” His fingers move along Franco’s legs, watching mesmerised as even more bumps form. He’s so sensitive, even to the smallest of touches.

It drives Alex crazy.

Franco whines, brows furrowed. “It’s soft…”

“Yes, it’s soft. I asked them to bring it just for you, baby.” Franco’s lip is pulled between his teeth, tugging at it to stop himself from reaching out. “What do you say? Since I did this for you?”

“Thank you, Alex,” he moans, lip red and bruised from a few seconds of attention. Alex can’t wait to pull it between his teeth until Franco is bleeding. He can already taste it on his tongue.

“Good. You are in my bed, you can feel the softness around you and your breathing is getting laboured every time I move my hand up your leg.” Alex slides his fingers until they reach the hem of the younger’s shorts. “Right?”

Franco doesn’t answer him, but he makes a little noise, a punched out breath, that Alex decides to take as an answer. Just this once. His eyes are focused to where Franco’s chest is rising and falling with each quickened inhale.

Soon.

“Now, you are starting to go into a trance.”

This time, Franco doesn’t answer him at all. It’s just his breathing, evened out, that lets Alex know his suggestion was understood.

He starts over, having taken a calming breath himself. Alex needs it just as much.

“My voice is beginning to sound more muffled.” A whine. “My hands are pulling your shorts and boxers down.” A little mewl. “Your little pussy is starting to get wet.” A moan that makes Alex’s cock twitch in his pants.

Franco still looks deep in, even as he’s squeezing his thighs together. He always gets like this, the more Alex pushes him. It doesn’t make him stop; if anything, it spurs him on.

Alex watches as Franco’s dick tries to chub, but something is stopping it. It looks even smaller like this, almost like a– Alex smirks to himself.

“Good, baby. You are so good for me.”

Again.

“You can feel how warm the room is.” A short nod. “I am stroking my hands down your thighs.” A shiver. “And your little clit is beginning to beg for my attention.” A broken whimper.

Franco’s eyes are screwed shut, body tense, like he's bracing himself. He probably is.

"When I tell you to, you will open your eyes and look down."

His breathing is shallow and his chest is flushing red. So beautiful.

"Open your eyes."

Alex doesn't wait for him to follow his order, instead he leans down and presses his tongue against the younger's poor excuse of a cock. It twitches under his tongue, making Alex chuckle.

"Look at you," he mocks, looking up at the other. Franco's eyes are watering already, his mouth opened on a silent moan, the tip of his tongue poking out between his lips. He looks desperate and ruined and all Alex did was give his tiny dick some attention. "Already a mess, huh?”

Franco nods, trying his best to look up, but his head falls back the second Alex's fingers press against the sensitive skin just under his balls.

"Alex, please," he begs, his hands clutching at the sheets, but not yet moving.

"Please what, baby? I need you to use your words."

A broken sob, his body writhing under Alex. He's trying to move his hips, to get his clit to rub against Alex's palm, but he doesn't let him. He holds Franco's hip down, his thumb digging in the sensitive flesh just enough to keep him grounded.

"Please, just–" Franco cuts himself off, whining loudly when Alex presses his nail against the side of his dick. It's a harsh movement, but the reaction he gets from the younger is enough to make him repeat it, over and over, until Franco's legs are shaking. "Fuck!"

Alex grins, licking a stripe up his dick, making sure his tongue is rough, almost like sandpaper.

"Do you think this little thing can come? I don't think it can."

Franco whines, a pitiful and broken sound. "Alex, no."

"No? Why not, baby? Is this thing not enough to satisfy you?" Alex taps his finger against the underside, laughing when the boy's hips lift from the bed.

"Alex, I'll do anything, please," he sobs, trying to close his legs, but Alex won't let him. He shoves his hands between them and parts them, keeping his knees pressed to the mattress.

"Apologize."

"What?" Franco sounds confused, like he doesn't understand the meaning behind the word.

"You heard me, baby, apologize. Apologize for fucking up my race and I'll make you come."

Alex is looking up at the younger, but he's not looking back, his eyes are still shut tightly. Good, Alex can take him by surprise.

Franco takes a shuddering breath, his lip between his teeth, his cheeks flushed. He's thinking, trying to figure out if his release is worth his apology. Alex can't blame him, not really, he's a proud man.

But, the sooner he gives in, the sooner Alex will take care of him.

"I'm sorry, mommy," he finally whispers, so softly that Alex almost doesn't hear him.

Almost.

Jesus, that’s… That’s new. He’s– Alex is– Jesus Christ, why didn’t he realize this sooner?

"Sorry for what, baby? What should– What should mommy forgive?”

Franco's breathing is picking up again, his fingers twisting the sheets. "I'm sorry for wrecking your race," he says, louder this time. He sounds wrecked and Alex hasn't even fucked him.

Yet.

"That's it, good boy. Now mommy's gonna fuck you until you're begging me to stop, okay, baby? And when you wake up, we will talk about what happens when you fuck with mommy's races."

"No, no, please," Franco sobs, shaking his head. His eyes are still closed.

"You can't come back from this, baby. Not after you ruined my race. You should've known better, but since you didn't, mommy will take care of you.”

Franco's chest is heaving, his body trembling as he tries to get away from Alex's fingers, which are now circling the younger's asshole. "Please, not there, please, Alex."

“You don’t want mommy to fuck your pussy?” Franco shakes his head, trying to push Alex away. The shove is weak, pathetic even. A poor excuse.

Alex ignores him, focusing on pressing his finger inside him, his mouth wrapped around his dick. He's not gentle, he doesn't have to be. “But your cunt is already so wet for me, see?” Franco is wet and loose, his body opening up to the intrusion. Fucking hell, there’s so much lube, he must’ve used at least half a bottle to prep himself before coming to Alex’s room.

It doesn't take long for him to start moaning again, the pain and fear mixing with the pleasure. Alex doesn't waste time, he doesn't want him to have the chance to come. Instead, he keeps him on the edge, sucking on his clit and adding a second finger.

"Mommy," Franco whines, his thighs shaking as he tries to press his knees together.

"Come, baby, mommy is right here," he says, his voice calm, almost loving. The effect is instantaneous, Franco's whole body tenses and then he's coming, his clit pulsing against Alex's tongue.

He licks him through it, waiting until Franco's breathing evens out, until he relaxes on the bed. When Alex is sure that the boy is deep in his headspace, he pushes his cock in.

The whine Franco lets out makes his horrible day worth it.

[tahbhie]

So you want to write a novel before 2025 runs out, huh?

10 actions you should include in your list to make that dream a reality.

1. Practice Time Blocking  

Trust me, you need it. Allocating specific blocks of time for writing can significantly boost your productivity and help you stay focused. Emphasis on ‘stay focused’.

2. Have an Idea Reservoir or Tank 

Create a dedicated space to store all your ideas during brainstorming sessions or whenever inspiration strikes. I recommend Google Docs and Notion to keep everything organized and easily accessible.

3. Watch More Movies and Read New Books 

There's no better way to expand your horizons than consuming diverse media. This is such a great way to spark fresh ideas and provide new perspectives for your writing.

4. Listen to Writing Podcasts and Join Helpful Newsletters  

Stay updated and inspired by listening to writing podcasts and subscribing to newsletters that offer tips, advice, and industry news. It changes everytime. Who says 2025 would be any different? It's best to be prepared. 

5. Create a Playlist 

Arrange your favorite tracks in a way that suits your writing mood. Music can be a powerful tool to set the tone and mood. It helps you feel relaxed and aid scene projections. It also enhances your creativity.

6. Join an Active Writer's Community 

Yes, it's that important. Whether it's an online forum or a local group, being part of a community provides valuable feedback and critique. Engaging with fellow writers also offer support and motivation.

7. Build Your Social Presence  

I feel this isn't addressed enough. If you want people to get invested in your work, start promoting your book and what you do even before it's finished. Share your journey and let people fall in love with your process and personality.

8. Write a List of Comfortable Spots  

Identify and list the places where you feel most comfortable and productive while writing. Having a go-to spot can help you get into the right mindset.

9. Research Writing Tools 

Explore various writing tools and find the ones that work best for you. Discard the rest to avoid clutter and distraction.

10. Invest in Writing Courses  

If you can, take courses that will help you improve your craft. Courses are now made into digestible sections, covering an important segment of writing in elucidating details, which saves you the hassle of paying high figures for a course.

Lastly, go easy on yourself 

Understand that some days will be unproductive, and others will exceed your expectations. This doesn't make you any less of a writer. Love yourself for what you do, appreciate your work for what it is, and value your effort no matter the outcome. You need to love your work first before others will.

♥♥♥♥♥♥

Happy new year fams 🥳🌹

[dsireland86]

🎂NEW YEARS DAY BIRTHDAY REQUEST🎂

My birthday is New Years Day (so there's still a few weeks until then) and I would love a birthday request with the group (Noah, Jolly, Folio, Nick, Matt) Maybe have each guy plan a special birthday date night for each night of the week leading up to the reader's birthday (Save Noah for the last night 😉) Lots of cute fluffy moments and definitely smut 😘

Happy Birthday and Happy New Years! @lacy1986 I hope you like the first part of your asked. I decided to break this story up into two parts. Here's Part 1 with Part 2 following later today.

The 12th Day Of Christmas:

A New Years Birthday Pt.1

Tag list: @philomenie @supersquirrel1996 @foliosgirl @angelmarie89 @fadingintothegrey @thisbicc @lma1986 @dominuslunae @shayzillaaaa @mrsnoahsebastian @flowery-mess @iloveyoutodeathbutimdrowning @stardustsirenmelody @romanreigns-supreme @anything-more-than-human @into-the-grey @rumoured-whispers @myownthoughts12 @sister-sebastian @nyxthedestroyerofworlds-deactiv @missduffsblog @bngurngheart  @somebodyllelse @xxkittenkissesxx @dizzylmwahh @Youlookforultraviolet @kenjipepsi1

"Your birthday is in six days, baby. Any idea of what you want to do? You are a New Years baby. There’s a lot of cool stuff we could do."

Matt looked over at Y/N as she ate up the last bit of her ice cream in the tub, looking sadder than usual. All the guys knew she was going through a tough moment due to her depression and that the past year hadn't been all that great for her. That's why Matt brought up her birthday. Normally, he wouldn't, but given the circumstances, he really wanted to do something for her that would help her overcome this moment. Y/N shook her head at Matt's question while putting the lid inside the empty container.

"I would be quite happy pretending my birthday doesn't exist. Let's just focus on New Years instead," she stated unenthusiastically. "Come on, baby. It's one day a year. It can't be that bad." "It is," she muttered beneath the hood of the hoodie. "Why?" "Because I hate the attention." "That's not surprising."

Y/N raised her head, scowling at Folio who did his best to hide his smile. "Someone's in the doghouse tonight," Noah teased. "Shut-up!" Folio shoved Noah hard, making him stumble backward. Y/N chuckled, shaking her head at their boyish antics.

"What I meant was," Folio continued, glaring at Noah, "it's not surprising you don't want the attention because that's not the kind of girl you are." Folio stood over top Y/N, caressing her cheek.

"And we love that about you," Nicholas replied. Y/N smiled over at him.

"But, just because you don't like the attention doesn't mean you're not worthy of celebrating you." Jolly's hand on her knee made the goosebumps appear over her skin that was covered up by Noah's hoodie.

"Hey! I have an idea," Noah suggested. "Why don't we do this... six days until your birthday, right? Starting tomorrow, what do you think about each of us having a date night with you and doing something nice? No big celebration, no piles of gifts or balloons, just a simple, one on one celebration. We'll even plan the day and surprise you since you hate making decisions like that."

Y/N lightly laughed, wiping away a stray tear.

"Sounds good?

Noah rubbed her thighs lovingly, hoping his words gave her some hope. Thankfully, Y/N nodded, taking Jolly's hand as he draped it around her shoulder. Noah looked around at the others.

"Are you all okay with the idea?" They nodded, some muttering quiet "yeses" and "yups". "Good. But I call your birthday," Noah grinned big at her as protests erupted around them. "It's only fair! I came up with the idea!"

"Fine. I call New Years Eve," Folio stated. All eyes shifted to him immediately. "Don't worry. We'll still celebrate together, but after that, she's mine again." He winked at Y/N, making her giggle.

"There's that pretty laugh," Nicholas cheered. "I'm taking tomorrow. I'll make sure you have that laugh to carry with you for the rest of the week."

"After that, he doesn't care what the fuck you do," Matt threw in, sarcastically, making Y/N laugh a little louder. "I'll take day two." Matt got up and kissed her on the cheek, taking her trash, and walking off into the kitchen.

"That means I get day two," Jolly squeezed her shoulder. He pulled her close, kissing the side of her head. "And you're getting a message and a foot rub," he whispered in her ear." Y/N squeezed her thighs together, unable to ignore the warm, tingling feeling that swept through her core.

The next few days were going to be interesting. It would be the first time Y/N had "celebrated" her birthday in a really long time, and to be honest, she was really excited about it.

Day 1: Nicholas

"Here you go," Nicholas chimed, setting her cappuccino down on the table and then taking a seat across from her. They sat in silence staring out the window of the old bookstore, watching the raindrops trickle down the window.

"You look happy." Y/N smiled at Nick. "I am happy. I haven't felt this good in days."

Nichols gave a small grin, reaching over and taking her hand. The soft touch of his thumb, as it made circles on her skin, calmed her, and when he began massaging her whole hand, her eyes closed, and she relaxed completely, making Nick chuckle.

They talked about her feelings and what was going on inside her head; Y/N feeling thankful she had Nick to confide in while leisurely drinking their coffees. Despite the gloominess of the day, Y/N really was starting to feel a lot better.

Later, they picked through old books, each finding one they wanted, the checked out and left. Hand in hand, they walked the street, with Nick stopping at a street vendor selling roses and getting Y/N one. It made her smile, and as Nicholas kissed her, bending her back into the rain, she squealed and laughed.

"Told you I was going to make that happen," Nick told her. She smiled and kissed him again, taking his hand as they continued their walk.

They got home and found out they were alone. Nicholas didn't hesitate one second longer, grabbing Y/N from behind as she stood at the counter drinking her water. He whispered sweet little nothings in her ear, making her laugh and smile, which was music to Nick's ears.

"I love hearing you laugh." Nick cooed, slipping his hand down the inside of her pants and into her panties. His warm finger had no trouble finding her clit, rubbing it quickly before sliding further down right inside her.

"Holy shit," she gasped, gripping the counter hard. "You like that, love? You like feeling me inside you?" "The real thing would feel so much better." Y/N bit her lip, knowing what she was asking for.

Nicholas pressed up against her, pulling her tightly against him, kissing her neck sweetly while slowly sliding two fingers at a time in and out of her. Her whimpers were making him harder by the second.

"Would it be wrong if I said I needed you, Nicky?" "Do you think that needing me somehow makes you weak or wrong?" "Doesn't it?" Nicholas thrusted his finger harder and faster inside her, taking her breath away each time. "No, love, it doesn't. It makes you beautiful, it makes you a woman; to need a man the way you're needing me right now. It's the whole purpose of what we're doing."

He trailed kisses down the side of her neck, pulling his fingers out from inside her and placing them over her breasts. He massaged them softly, grinding his hard length against her ass as she pushed back into him.

"Let's go upstairs where I can love you properly," he whispered against her ear.

Within minutes, Y/N was completely naked in her bed with Nick between her legs, while digging her nails into his shoulders as he gently made love to her. His hands were all over her body, running up and down and caressing every crevice. "Your skin feels like silk, so soft and smooth," Nicholas sighed. Flipping her over, he pressed her down into the mattress, raising her ass higher and fucked up into her hard yet gentle enough for Y/N to feel every inch of his cock against her walls.

"Nicky, I'm about to cum!" she cried, gripping the bed sheets. "Me too. Cum with me, baby," he encouraged, breathlessly. And they did. First Y/N, then Nicholas, both of them collapsing once they both reached their limit.

Curling up into him, Y/N fell asleep in Nick's arms, listening to the sound of his heartbeat. Today had been a good day despite the weather, making Y/N hopeful about the rest of the week and celebrating her birthday.

Day 2: Jolly

The following day busted all of that hope. Just about everything that could go wrong, did, making Y/N grow more frustrated by the minute. Jolly suggested they go out for a bit and take some time away from all the chaos, but even that didn't pan out well. By the time they got back home, Y/N eyes were damp.

"I'm over this day! It's stupid, stupid, stupid!" "Wow, okay, take it easy," Folio eased, rubbing her back as she dropped her bags in the living room. "What happened?" "What happened is stupid people making stupid choices." "I can't argue with that," Folio chuckled. "So, I'm assuming the trips to the art shop and winery were a bust?" Noah looked up at her from the couch. "Well, I didn't say that," she replied, looking down at her bags.

Jolly scratched his head, chuckling. He took Y/N by the shoulders, turning her to face him. "Alright, baby, look, why don't I pour you a glass of wine and start you a hot bath with lots of bubbles. Sounds good?" he suggested. Jolly slid both hands around her face, tilting her head up just enough for him to see into her eyes. He caressed them with his thumbs before leaning down and kissing her softly. Y/N hummed in approval, smiling shyly when they parted. "Sounds good," placing her hands on Jolly's hands, sliding them down to his wrists. "I'll meet you upstairs, then," Jolly grinned, kissing the tip of her nose.

The bathroom was so hot when he entered that Jolly could hardly breathe. Steam had taken over, making everything moist to the touch. Sitting on the edge of the tub, he handed Y/N her glass of wine. She took a long sip before handing it back to him. "Better?" "Better," she smiled, sitting back against the tub. "I'm sorry for how the day went, Jolly. I know this isn't what you had in mind."

Jolly swirled his finger in the hot water, making shapes through the bubble. "You don't have to apologize for anything, Älskling." The pet name made Y/N's heart flutter. "You couldn't control the things that happened any more than I can control the weather." "But I can control how I react to them." "You reacted to them just like any other person would. You're human."

His eyes shifted from the water up to her face. Y/N reached out from the water and placed her hand on his cheek. The warmth of the water rushed through Jolly's cool body, hitting right in his crotch. The sudden, hungry need to be inside her consumed his and thankful, Y/N could tell.

"Join me," she said, more as a command than as a statement. Jolly gave her a tight nod then began to undress. Y/N watched, the heat of the moment flickering in her eyes, as Jolly climbed into the water with her, seething quietly from the temperature of the water. She latched onto him immediately and kissed him as if she was starving.

"Is this better?" Jolly asked, grinning against her lips as he pushed her wet hair out of her face. "God, yes. So much better," Y/N muttered against the skin of his neck. "If we continue this, it's sure to lead into something else."

Y/N pulled back and looked at him. "It's my birthday week, Jolly, and it's your day. So as my gift, I want you to make love to me right here, right now."

A deep growl emerged from Jolly's chest. His hands slid into her hair, fisting the ends gently before slipping to the back of her neck and pulling her back into him. Y/N wrapped her legs tightly around him, shifting around until she could feel his cock against her entrance. Reaching down into the water, she touched Jolly, watching his eyes darken as she did and slid him inside her, moaning perfectly as she did. Jolly's grip around the back of her neck tightened as she began to ride him under the hot water, making him bite his lip to keep quiet.

"Fuck, Älskling, your pussy feel so good in water like this." The water around them splashed, creating small waves around them. Some spilled out, but it didn't matter to either one of them. "It's so warm. You're like fire inside me, Jolly," she replied breathlessly. He groaned, plunging his tongue into her mouth with force, licking deep. Her tongue tangled with his, fighting for dominance as her fingers dug deep into the muscles in his back.

"Tell me when you're about to come, baby because I'm not going to last much longer." They kept complete eye contact, with Y/N breathlessly saying when she was about to cum, throwing her head back and moaning loud the moment she did. Jolly kept his grip on her neck, thrusting into her until he climaxed, pulling out of her and releasing his cum into the water.

"Well, I guess we'll have to shower now," Y/N laughed, pulling herself back into Jolly's lap. He smiled, nipping her neck with his teeth. "Yup, I guess so."

To Be Continued...

[dc418writes]

•A Simple Mistake•

✨Pairing✨: Francisco “Frankie” Moralesxblack!reader

Summary🪄: Frankie’s got some explaining to do

🚨: language, allusions to happy adult fun times (everyone please be safe!), mention of conning, stolen jewelry, ends in fluff🌸

A/N🎤: hello☺️! This is my submission to @beefrobeefcal ‘s Holiday Disaster Challenge (please everyone support the other submitted works!), and I hope yall enjoy what I came up with💕

*DISCLAIMER!: I DO NOT CLAIM OWNERSHIP of pictures used as they were all found via Pinterest. Also, although my writings are imagined with a black reader, everyone is welcomed to read and enjoy*

Prompt: Locked in a mall on Christmas

“Do you think I’m fucking stupid Frankie?!”

He cringes knowing you’d say that. He could practically hear it as he drove through the falling snow flurries as fast - yet carefully - as he could early this morning.

“Baby I know it sounds crazy-,”

“Then you bring a fruitcake as if that’ll magically erase everything?!”

He’ll admit that idea was a stretch. Shifting in his seat, he nervously chuckles raking his thick fingers through his coconut hair as he meets your heavily irritated eyes. “I know it’s your favorite so…”

A laugh burst from your lungs that’s everything but humorous as your hands briefly rest on the edge of the kitchen counter in front of you. Shaking your head, you can’t even look at him in fear of what your anger might make you do next. “I can’t believe you’re really trying to cute your way out of this.”

If only he’d gone to the mall at the beginning of the month - like his conscience told him - maybe none of this would’ve happened..

Walking through the busy mall, Frankie can’t help but bump into people with how packed it is. Every store nearly has a line flowing out the door filled with a mix of exhausted adults and wide eyed kids as Christmas music played overhead. Attempting to get their last requests in, kids lined up to see Santa with seemingly endless energy that even made him tired just watching as they bounced and giggled in line.

Frankie just hoped he could get your present quick to make it to your place in time. Your parents had just arrived in town the day before, and were waiting to meet the guy that had their daughter glowing and bubbly.

“I can’t wait for you guys to meet, everything’s gonna be great!,” you smiled sounding as excited as the kids in front of him.

For your sake, he hoped everything went well. Admittedly he didn’t have the best record with parents. Since he was a teen, there were a list of fathers that glared at him and mothers that, although sweet, were quick to try and point their daughter’s attention in a different direction. “He’s nice…but not for you sweetheart.”

“Everything’s gotta be perfect,” he thought to himself walking towards the kiosk he found online earlier. “Starting with this gift.

“Hey, could you uh fix this bracelet?,” he asks the bearded man in wire frames practically surrounded by glass cases. Different pieces of gold and silver jewelry shining under fluorescent lightbulbs as they sat on miniature white pillows.

“Hmm…looks like an easy fix,” he eventually replies after examining the vintage, gold piece encrusted in diamonds. It was your grandmother’s she personally passed down a couple years before her passing.

The night you finally decided to wear it - a date night with Frankie to a local lounge to be exact - the clasp broke preventing you from wearing it without it falling off.

“It’ll take about an hour or so. I can call you when it’s done.”

Frankie could do an hour. He’d have to go straight to the restaurant though not having any time to change, but at least he wouldn’t miss anything. “Yea sure that’s fine. Thanks for doing this man, I know it’s really last minute.”

The stranger just shrugs with a tilted smile, “Hey you need a service, I’m here.”

After giving his name and number, Frankie sought out somewhere less hectic than the nearby foodcourt where overly hyper kids could barely stay in their seats. All the massage chairs were out of the question being occupied by men - either sleeping or focused on their phones - waiting for their significant other.

That left the bathroom as his sanctuary.

Navy blue chair to match the peaceful lake scene framed on the sand colored wall, he let himself relax in the semi-private seating area with his legs crossed on the circular table in front of him and face hidden from the light by the black ball cap previously on his head of curls.

And maybe that was his true downfall of this whole ordeal seeing that he let himself get so relaxed that he fell asleep in that chair. It wasn’t until the next morning, Christmas morning, that he woke up to a security officer shaking his arm.

The man downstairs meant to help him gone and apparently never heard of whenever Frankie brought him up to the older officer.

Minutes later, after filling out an incident report, he was racing down the road with your four missed calls and 24 unread texts on his panicked mind. Not to mentioned your family heirloom stolen from right under his nose.

“Let me guess,” you begin crossing your arms against your chest with nostrils flared. One of the many tells of your anger he made sure to memorize. “Watching one of Ben’s fights with the boys, then out for drinks until you passed out at Pope’s and he gave you this insane story he was sure I’d believe.”

“You can call any of ‘em and they’ll tell you I wasn’t there,” he answers with brown eyes full of sorrow reminding you of a puppy in a window just wishing for a new home. Part of you desperately wants to believe him - that he didn’t stand up you and your parents out of malice - but the damage was already done and hurt set in too far.

“And them lying for you would never be a possibility right?”

He practically handed you the gasoline and lighter with that one. “Alright that happened once, but I swear on my mother’s grave-,”

“If you didn’t wanna meet my parents, all you had to do was say you weren’t ready,” you state. Your voice coming out shaky and eyes beginning to gloss unable to hold back your disappointment any further. “I get it. It’s stressful and comes with a lot of pressure trying to impress someone, but communicate that Frankie.”

Standing, he moves to your side carefully attempting to reach out for your arm but is unsurprised when you recoil moving a few steps away. “Baby I promise that wasn’t it.”

“Then what?!”

Before any of you can say more, a hard knock startles both you and your boyfriend. Both of your brown eyes looking towards the front door until a couple more knocks follow.

“Hold on!,” Frankie announces walking the short distance to the white door. Peeking through the peephole, he sees another officer waiting on the other side with hands on his hips.

“Who is it?,” you ask, but he holds up his hand signaling for you to wait.

“Morning officer, can we help you?” Admittedly, he was nervous one of your neighbors might’ve called because of the yelling.

“Morning and Merry Christmas,” he replies with a kind smile. “I’m officer Declan here for Francisco Morales..? I’m following up on an incident of a stolen bracelet.”

“Yea that’d be me,” he sighs. This definitely isn’t how he wanted you to find out.

“Bracelet?,” you ask striding to Frankie’s side with a confused tilt to your brows. “Frankie, what’s he talking about?”

“Looks like his is one of many cases in the area regarding the same man. He’s been conning people pretending as if he can fix jewelry. Tall, somewhat portly with a thick beard and blue eyes covered by wire glasses?”

Frankie nods. “You got him?”

“We did around six this morning.” That wasn’t too much earlier than when Frankie woke up in the mall. “He had a bit of an accident due to the ice on the road and tried running on foot. Many witnesses saw and were able to help him be captured along with some stolen jewelry.

Reaching in his pocket, he removes your bracelet in the same condition it was when he dropped it off much to his relief. “Is this yours?”

“Yes! Well hers actually, but yea,” he answers letting the officer drop it in his palm before turning it over to you. “Thank you so much.”

“Glad we could help! Oh, and we’ll get that loitering complaint with the mall sorted out too don’t worry Mr. Morales. And if you’d like to issue a counter-complaint with the mall-,”

“Wait…s-so you really got locked in the mall..,” you state now feeling like the bitchiest bitch to ever bitch. And on Christmas!

“Told you I knew it sounded crazy,” Frankie painfully smiles turning his attention back to the man at his front door. “Thanks again for all your help. You and the department both.”

“We’re always here to help. If you need anything else, just call the station and ask for me. You two have a great holiday.”

With a polite nod to both of you, Officer Declan was gone down the hall back to his squad car and you utterly guilty for your earlier outburst.

“So that’s why you were at the mall. To get my bracelet fixed…,” you quietly state following him back to the kitchen.

“Yea, and I fell asleep waiting for that ass to get done but then it was morning and he was long gone.”

“Aww my poor baby.” He softly chuckles as you cling to the front of him with arms tightly wrapped around his middle. “What kind of security doesn’t check in the bathroom at closing? And then to say you were loitering?!”

“It’s alright-,”

“No it’s not!,” you counter looking up at your too sweet of a boyfriend. “Wait till I get down there, they’ll regret even letting you in the mall when I’m done! Then you should sue!”

“Baby it’s really not that serious,” he chuckles pecking your heated forehead until that line in the middle disappeared. “I’m fine, made it home. Just a crazy story that hopefully your parents won’t try to kill me over.”

“They won’t because I won’t let them. I’m sorry I didn’t believe you.”

He shrugs soothingly rubbing along your back. “You believe me now though. That’s all that matters.”

“I still shouldn’t have yelled at you.”

“Wasn’t the first. Probably won’t be the last.” That makes you both laugh continuing to hold each other.

“And thank you for trying to get my bracelet fixed,” you speak after you’ve both calmed down. “You didn’t have to do that.”

“I wanted to. I hate I nearly lost it forever though.”

“But it was found! And to further show my appreciation and how sorry I am, I ask that you let me treat you for the day.” The way your voice turns more sultry and eyes hazy, he can read between the lines for what that means but he still likes to hear the exact words from your full lips.

“And how exactly would you do that?,” he asks tightening his grip on your hips as his voice deepens that way you like.

“However you want,” you whisper.

As promised, Frankie had the say of whatever he wanted, which led to you have to reschedule with your parents for tomorrow afternoon. And if he hadn’t before, by the end of the night while he held your sleeping and sated body close, Frankie believed in Christmas miracles.

[cal-daisies-and-briars]

Hi!

⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️

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⛅️⛅️⛅️⛅️⛅️⛅️⛅️⛅️⛅️⛅️⛅️⛅️⛅️⛅️⛅️⛅️⛅️ &

🐓🐓🐓🐓🐓🐓🐓🐓🐓🐓🐓🐓🐓🐓🐓🐓🐓

thank you!!

Hi!

I finished the last two but here are the rest :)

51 for ⚡️:

---

“I’m fine, really. Just some adjustments to make, going forward. But it came at a decent time.” 

“A decent time?” Eddie echoes. 

“We’re losing a Battalion Chief,” Bobby says. “He’s going on long term disability. I’ve been asked to replace him.”

“Wow,” Eddie says. “I mean, wow. Congratulations.”

“Thank you,” Bobby nods.

“Buck’s still going to have an aneurysm,” Eddie says. “But I’m glad it’s good news.”

“Well, he may have another thing to freak out about,” Bobby says. 

“What do you mean?” Eddie asks.

“I’d like you to come with me,” Bobby says. “To Emergency Operations.”

Eddie coughs. “What? I… To do what?”

Bobby smiles patiently. “One of the initiatives the brass is talking about is training more specialized Incident Commanders. People who have experience with specific levels of disaster. Especially with the rise in environmental emergencies. Your name has been brought up as someone to start in this new training program.”

“My name?” Eddie asks.

“Yes,” Bobby nods. “Captain Yardley is on the task force responsible for the project. He’s taken a liking to you. Asked me what I thought. I said I thought you were an excellent choice.”

Eddie doesn’t know how to feel about it. He doesn’t even know what it entails. But to be chosen for something new and big and helpful… That’s a very cool feeling. 

“I… Thank you,” Eddie says. “Thank you, Bobby.”

Bobby nods. “On top of that, I think it would be a good move for you, Eddie.”

“It’s a great career opportunity,” Eddie says, nodding.

“Not just that,” Bobby says. 

Eddie looks at him, waiting for whatever additional reasoning he has.

“You’re not happy here anymore,” Bobby says. 

Eddie winces. “Is it that obvious?”

Bobby nods. “Unfortunately, yes. But… But I think I was confused about why at first.”

---

51 for ⚖️:

---

“Eddie, uh, is that a good idea?” Buck asks.

“She’s been lying to me!"

“Okay, I know. I agree. But if Chris hears you…”

He stops, trailing off. He remembers the fight that he saw. The one Christopher will overhear. Oh. That’s this. That has to be this. Which means Buck can’t stop it. Which means he probably doesn’t want to stop it. Not if it’s part of Chris coming home. 

“Nevermind,” Buck says. “You’re right. You deserve the truth."

He feels sick, giving him advice he believes is wrong. Damaging even. But there’s an end goal to consider.  

⚖️

It’s bad. 

Buck knew it would be bad. Had seen it would be bad. But he’s still surprised at how bad it is. 

The thing is, if you ask Buck, Eddie is someone gentle and steady. Calm. Less prone to overreaction than himself. He forgets, sometimes, the way Eddie holds so much inside, that when he’s pushed to an edge, he explodes. And when Eddie accuses his mother of misleading him, only to have her hurl accusations back, everyone sort of explodes. 

Buck is no stranger to fighting with parents. And honestly? He’s not even a stranger to this style of it. Parents ganging up, lobbing insults, holding years and years of mistakes over their son’s head. Hmmm. The Buckleys and the Diazes are never allowed to meet. 

Honestly, Buck is even prepared to fight with Eddie. Ride or die. He knows how to piss parents off. He can stand beside Eddie and join the fray. 

Only, a few minutes into the shouting, and Buck notices what the others don’t. Because Buck has already seen it.  

Christopher, poking his head around the hallway corner, eavesdropping.

Well, is it really eavesdropping if everyone is being so loud? It’s just ensuring he hears clearly. 

No one, not even Eddie, seems to notice Buck stepping away from the argument to walk down the hall towards Christopher. Chris steps back around the wall, like he can pretend he wasn’t spying. But Buck isn’t going to get him in trouble.

[blonde-and-cat-suc]

WAH

[lovieku]

MOTHERFUCKIN’ TRAIN WRECK! ⋆ 정국

𐙚 if you were my boyfriend… and you were my girlfriend…

when renowned fuckboy jeon jeongguk catches feelings, he loses his mind. only when it comes to you, though.

based on this ask

from the grande series ୨ৎ

pairing: fuckboy!jk x fem!reader

genre: fwb au

warnings: small smutty moments (cunnilingus, fingering, tiny boob play), angst, fluffi maybe idk, whipped and jelly koo, ft. namjoon!!!, oblivious oc, deep down she feels it too but jk is simply too much of a simp so it doesn’t look like it at first, he’s also so petty and sassy, jokes about ending it if oc doesn’t give him a chance </3, he’s just a little shit, peep the lyrics from boyfriend hehe, oh btw happy ending!!!

word count: 18k

a/n: wowww i’m so sorry for this pile of nonsense, it’s so bad i vomited a little in my mouth. i hate every single thing about it but i didn’t wanna leave you guys starved. i love u sm and thank u for the support, but u’re allowed to leave hate asks for what u’re about to read rn ❤️ also i’m SO SORRY for being unable to write a jungkook who isn’t a simp

🏷️ perm taglist: @ceellliiinee @jaytheatiny @dolligguk @luvismenu @theyloveyams @stillwjk-channie-lixie @bookstoread199 @girlygguk @vieviela @myngiii @angelxkoo @nnybtitts08 @mpbrinkss @https-mei @lyywst @mhdelu @apobangpogirlyyy @khadeeeeej @awrkive

────୨ৎ────

Jeongguk was only supposed to clean you up. That’s what he calls it when his angelic face finds its place between your spread legs, sinful eyes locking with yours, paired with a smirk you can hardly ever survive.

After all, he’s a man of simple devices. Why bother fetching a towel when he can use his own mouth? When he can let his tongue lap at your juices, slurp every last trace, have an excuse to taste you again, and again, and again?

It’s barely even effective as a way to clean you up, of drying the slick mess that sticks to your inner thighs from cumming three times under his merciless doings— you both know that. Then, how does he expect you not to break a fourth when he runs his wet muscle so torturously along your slit, getting ever more soaked?

Jeongguk is not really trying to end the night. He’s drawing it out. He already had you unraveling in phases— first on his fingers, then all over his cupid lips, ending with you convulsating just another time around his thick length.

It was rough, left purplish marks of his harsh hold digging into your sides, a faint trace of a forbidden hickey just under your collarbones, where you can easily hide it.

In all fairness, he couldn’t help it.

It was you who provoked him. You always do, getting under his skin, teasing him about his skills, downgrading them with playful indifference and nothing more than a meh, as Jeongguk rasps in your ear, clearly affected by your session of foreplay when asking, “Does this make you feel good?”

You’ll be sent straight to hell for lying like that, with seemingly no remorse, but you’re unable to resist the dangerous game and the familiar thrill that comes from it. Nothing compares to the dark wave that takes over his hooded eyes, his motions ever more intentional, almost overwhelming.

He moves to prove something to you, to show you there’s no one quite like him, even with all the guys in your phone, on your lips, inside your sheets.

Jeongguk is your fuckbuddy, and your friend on top of the rest. So, when he first laid his lips on yours, the bottom line plumper than his cupid’s bow, it had taken a great amount of alcohol to flow through both of your veins and blur the lines, let instinct take over.

From there, it was like you couldn’t help yourselves; the physical attraction was undeniable, it’s what brought you here in between the mess of his bed. If you ignore the silly crush you had on him during the first year of college, this was perfect.

Your fuckbuddy contract (Jeongguk hates calling you that, he prefers my friend who makes me cum a lot) includes a heavy emphasis on a no-strings-attached relationship, that can be interrupted whenever one of the two feels uncomfortable, and that should not come before your friendship. On top of all, you both are not exclusive. No commitment, no jealousy. You’re perfectly free of meeting other people, fucking other people. Unless you’re going to date one of those, of course. Then, bye-bye friend who makes me cum a lot.

These rules were established almost a year ago, after your hands couldn’t help themselves from roaming hastily all over his body, pulling him impossibly closer. It was the second time you allowed yourself to feel him, following the night when he initiated things under the clouded lights of a club.

You couldn’t help it. You had been thinking of that moment for weeks now, and when you were left alone with him in his dorm room, pulse racing, it’s all your thoughts were reduced to. Kiss him, kiss him, fuck him.

You felt guilty. A friend shouldn’t be thinking of another friend like you were about Jeongguk. Especially after you promised yourself you wouldn’t let your buried crush resurface and ruin what you had built— even if the memory of that infatuation is honestly just laughable now (you would never think of dating him, pft).

But Jeongguk, ever the gentlest when it comes to you, assured you it was okay to feel as you did, because he felt it too. And was dying to touch you again. His words, not yours.

It’s only sexual. A casual, sexual relationship. Two friends who happen to find each other irresistible.

So when he reacts with a flash of competitiveness at the mere suggestion he might not be the best you’ve ever had, it’s… weird, the feeling that overcomes you. You acknowledge it for a split second, as if you’re searching to name that something inside you stirring, but before you can, it seems to make you fall apart immediately, your grip tighter, back arched, moans high-pitched.

He basks in his silent victory, in the factual demonstration that he in fact can’t be compared to all your other guys.

Except, there’s actually no other guys.

Back when this friends-with-benefits arrangement first started, you were occasionally fooling around with an older guy from campus named Mingyu. Jeongguk knew him, given that they’re in the same photography class. He was also aware of your casual fling with him. And yet, Jeongguk still kissed you. Actually, did so much more than just that.

Either way, the line has always been clear: he has no right to question who you spend time with and what you engage in, Jeongguk isn’t a saint either.

You love him, you truly do. With time, he has become one of your closest friends, and you honestly can’t see yourself getting through college without him.

But there’s no denying the fuckboy allegations, the ones that are constantly thrown at him all around campus. He is a fuckboy. It must be his easy charm, flirting as natural as breathing, tripping out his tongue with seemingly not much thought. At some point, the majority of the girls in your campus got to have their moment with Jeongguk, either because of mindless teasing or one night stands, occasionally turning into casual arrangements.

You have accepted it as part of who he is. You know his fuckboy habits haven’t magically changed when you two started fucking. He doesn’t really spend much time talking about it with you, occasionally mentioning his doings every now and then, but you don’t need to know; his friends and the people whispering in hallways and lecture halls fill in the blanks.

That is exactly why you’ve let Jeongguk believe that your sexual life is equally as busy, floods of boys from your inbox to your sheets, as if you aren’t too much of a hopeless romantic to even think of anything that isn’t exclusively monogamous.

But this isn’t the case. Jeongguk isn’t yours, you aren’t his. It’s just about sex, and you’ve accepted that. You don’t want anything more from him. You tell yourself the only reason you’re not seeing anyone else is that the idea of it makes you uneasy. That you’re more than satisfied with Jeongguk being your friend-turned-into-fuckbuddy, and you don’t need other ones.

Jeongguk is more than enough. Oh, he is.

“Fuck, Gguk. You’re gonna make me cum— Ah, shit— again.”

Your head is thrown back in his pillow, legs weakly tightening around his head nestled so close to your core, and it’s clear his goal has completely shifted from getting you clean and neat when the tip of his tongue moves to flicker on your sensitive nub, relentlessly abusing it with casual kissing and sucking.

He opens his mouth to take more of you, his wet muscle tracing your slit and teasing your entrance for— sadly —the shortest second, and the way he hums approvingly against you brings you even closer to the breaking point.

You’re a fragile mess, overstimulated from the previous orgasms but desperate to chase yet another climax, his hands roaming up to find your breast only spurring you further.

Jeongguk knows you by now, and is aware of all the subtle gestures that make you come undone under him. He knows just what to do to push you over the edge, and when to do it exactly.

You’re a sucker for dirty talk and praise, and occasionally, when the ideal situation comes, you love being degraded. It’s a side of you that only ever arises during sex, mind hazed and irrational, the delirious need for release clouding all your usually composed senses.

At first, he teased you for it. Not because he’s not as much of a fan as you are of talking during sex, but because he never pictured you to be the loud type. And you truly are.

Jeongguk pinches your nipples in hopes of you getting the message and lowering your volume, but it only makes you whine higher, your moans surely not going unnoticed by the other students in the dorm.

It can only be worse when he decides to speak against you, his voice a low, almost unintelligible growl, “Pussy’s so fuckin’ good. All mine, fuck. Want to taste your cum once again, c’mon babe. Give it to me.”

And you, always obliging and well-behaved, let go for a fourth time, hips furiously rutting against his face, his words making your surroundings spin, the way his nose would brush your sensitive nub having your eyes roll to the back of your head.

Your gasp is strained when he retreats with one last wet stripe between your puffy lips, sealing the orgasm with a kiss on your clit, and when he finds your face again there’s a cockish grin spreading across his, chin coated with your juices.

He immediately meets your mouth then, sharing your own taste, and you both moan shamelessly at the action.

Jeongguk collapses next to you, his body warm and relaxed, pulling you closer by your waist and almost making you straddle him with the force of his hold. He sighs into your hair, kissing the root of it, “You did amazing for me, pretty girl.”

A pleasant shiver runs down your spine at the praise and the pet name rolling off his tongue with ease. It’s ridiculous.

With your cheek pressed against his chest, you glance up at him through your lashes and a lazy smile threatens to take over your face, but your playful pout is more prominent, almost convincing, “I’m never letting you do that trick on me again. Next time, I’m just going to take a shower like a normal person.”

The laugh he lets out is rich and unguarded, his chest rumbling under your ear, and it makes you pull away with a mock glare, brows knitted together as you swat at his toned stomach, “Don’t laugh. I hated that.”

His dark eyes soften as they dance with amusement, the corners crinkling, and he hums, going along with your blatant lie from the way your lips struggle to contain a grin, “Oh, absolutely. You were screaming in horror, couldn’t stand it.”

“Whatever,” you mutter incoherently, standing up to escape from the inevitable loss. The slick between your thighs reminds you of why you need that shower in the first place, causing you to awkwardly wobble your way to his bathroom.

Jeongguk watches you with a lopsided smirk, stretched out on the bed, his brown hair a messy halo on the pillow, and it completes the concept he goes perfectly with, the one of a devil dressed up as an angel, even more when his voice drips with faux desperation, “Hey, come back. I need my cuddles.”

“You’ll live,” you toss back before pulling the door shut behind you and stepping into the warm embrace of the shower. The hot water stings at first, then soothes you, sliding down your skin.

Jeongguk already knows the outcome of what he’s about to do isn’t going to turn in his favor, but he tries his luck regardless, standing up hastily and limply making his way to his bathroom door.

He only knocks twice, then puts on his best begging voice, talking loud enough to be heard over the shower, “Toots?”

“No!”

A scoff filters through the steamy air, followed by the unmistakable creak of the door handle as he steps inside. He’s relentless, voices his thoughts with the kind of logic only he would find convincing, “C’mon, we’ll save water!”

You stand with your back to him, his body wash traveling down your skin in soap bubbles, the scent filling the air, and you let your shoulders shrug. You don’t turn around. Number one, because you’ll give in. Number two, because you can hear the pout on his lips, and that’s the reason for number one.

You try your best to sound annoyed, “Jeongguk, just leave. You don’t even pay for it.”

“Our poor earth pays for it,” he quips, stepping further into the cramped space, body still bare, and that’s maybe a number three for you, “Because you wanna be so unfair to your best friend and leave him out in the cold.”

“You’re not my best friend.”

His gasp is dramatic, you even hear it echo through the tiny room, and you fight hard to contain the giggle locked inside you, but it escapes in the shape of a snort, which you quickly try to conceal by clearing your throat. You even further go with the lie, “You heard me.”

“Unbelievable. I’m kicking you out the second you’re done here,” he tries his best menacing tone, the threat barely harsh and effective, closing the door behind his back with an exaggerated thump, followed by unintelligible grumbling.

You take your sweet time in his now steamy bathroom. You shampoo twice, deliberately squeezing out a generous amount of his own fancy product in your palm, making sure the squeak of the bottle is heard through the door so he knows you’re helping yourself. His high-quality hair dryer blasts warm air over your damp hair until it’s only mildly wet. And you even rummage around his cabinet, indulging in his collection of expensive skincare creams. These little luxuries are exactly why you never pass a single occasion to shower over at his dorm room.

And the second you’re done in there, he doesn’t kick you out like he threatened. It takes a moment for him to move his attention from his phone to your figure, wrapped around in his fluffy robe, and he doesn’t even try to keep up the menacing act. Still spread on his ruined bed, his furrowed brows relax, and his lips break into a grin. He scans your face, then giggles, “You’ve got a massive pimple on your forehead.”

“Fuck you. I’m taking one of your hoodies.”

“It’s called borrowing,” even in the midst of checking out your freshly-washed naked body, now being stripped from his bathrobe, he’s still committed to the game of banter you two always play.

“It’s not if I’m not giving it back,” you counter, voice muffled by the fabric of one of his many black sweatshirts you’re already pulling over your head, quickly shuffling into your jeans, helping them up with some small hops that make him grin.

He doesn’t seem bothered by your comeback, too used to losing his own clothes to your closet; rather, he watches you move with what seems like hurry around his dimly lit room. He shifts higher, letting the sheets slip to reveal his still bare, and slightly sweaty torso, “Wanna hang out together at the party tomorrow?”

”Hmm, I’ll just see you there,” you don’t pay him much attention, using your phone camera as a mirror to wipe away any smudged mascara under your eyes. “I’ve already got a partner, actually.”

Jeongguk fully sits up now, vision a little blurry from the hasty and sudden movement, phone forgotten, “A partner?”

The way you casually let a smile tug at your lips while talking about a man is new, “Yeah. A guy from my English class asked me to go with him. He’s pretty cute.”

You’re too busy shoving your belongings in your bag and mentally cataloging every single item to notice the expression your best friend is currently sporting, his jaw tightening almost imperceptibly. Tank top, makeup, laptop… where the fuck is— oh, here. Lip balm. What else?

Jeongguk thinks you’re forgetting something deathly important. A fucking explanation, maybe? He’s known you to occasionally fool around with random guys, but he thought it was just that. Occasional and random. When did it get to having a partner? That sounds silly. Or maybe a little too formal, a little too real. What the fuck does having a partner even entail?

You’re blissfully unaware of the stubborn storm taking over Jeongguk’s thoughts, especially because you’re not exactly sparing him a second glance, moving with single-minded focus, hurrying to leave. Because apparently it’s so bad to want to spend the night with your best friend. Share a bed, watch a movie, talk gossip (it’s been so long since you’ve updated him the way only you can about the latest campus stories, ugh). Amazing, yes, that’s totally fine with Jeongguk.

And he does manage to sound unbothered, “What’s his name?”

“Namjoon.”

Jeongguk focuses on your slim fingers slipping your lip balm into the front pocket of your bag, syllabes leaving his lips in a slow mumble, “Ah, Namjoon. I know him. I guess.”

Fucking Kim Namjoon. Of course he knows him. 6 feet tall, polite, model student Kim Namjoon. Shit. Great choice. No, really, he’s the perfect catch.

“Hm? Well, I think he’s very nice. And hot as fuck.”

He grimaces, “Gross.”

“You’re one to talk,” pulling the hood over your head, you finally meet his eyes. You’re completely oblivious to the thoughts gnawing at him, so you think his disappointment is only caused by your next words, “I should get going now.”

“What? You’re not staying over for dinner?” The way he looks up at you with doe, puppy-dog eyes almost makes you trip on your own resolution, but you only ruffle his hair from your stance next to his bed, hoping the small action is enough to satisfy your hunger. Not for dinner.

“Nah, sorry Gguk. Gotta get up early for English class.”

He scoffs, moving stubbornly from your soothing touch, “Sure. English class with Joohyuk.”

“…Namjoon.”

“Right, that’s what I said. Namsun.”

You raise an eyebrow, half-laughing, “No, it’s Namjoon.”

“Namgi.”

“Namjoon.”

“Whatever, don’t care.” The words have barely any space to roll out through his pout, and along with his petty little slip-ups it’s the most childish act you’ve seen him pull so far. To be completely honest, he seems to break a new record every other day.

You fight the urge to roll your gaze at the ceiling, finding it impossible to deal with pouty, hungry and cuddle-starved Jeongguk. You sigh, muttering, “Insufferable.”

“Give me a kiss, brat.”

The teasing comes so naturally that for a second you don’t ponder on the demand being something a normal friend wouldn’t exactly ask. But it isn’t one you’ll deny.

You bend down to meet him as easily as he let the request out, muttering a playful Oh, I’m the brat now? before brushing his pushed lips with yours in a sweet, short kiss, enough to draw a soft sigh from both of you. You hum against it, voice warm with something that contradicts your words entirely, “I hate you.”

“You love me.”

“Sure,” rolling your eyes, you grant his cocky figure that little win, too tired to put up a fight, even if you almost rethink it when he confidently leans back against the pillows, smirking up at you. You decide to cut it short, it’s for the best, throwing your bag over your shoulder as well as one last look at him, before readying yourself for the walk of shame through his frat.

────୨ৎ────

Namjoon is, by all standards, the perfect guy. He’s genuine, smiles sweetly with his dimples showing and his eyes crinkling into crescents that make him seem both wise and youthful.

Careful, even protective over you, making sure you’re comfortable. With your drink, with your seat, with your conversation.

Almost too attentive, which should calm your nerves, but instead you feel yourself unable to fully let go. Open up to him like he’s doing with you, like you think you want to do.

You’re not sure. You can’t feel that mysterious spark everybody talks about. That spark Jeongguk admitted he’s never felt with anyone so far, no matter the number of girls he’s been with. The one he’s confessed he’s desperate to feel. The one you hope he can find.

Wait, why are you thinking about Jeongguk?

Said boy has yet to acknowledge you, standing across from you in the crowded living room of your mutual friend’s house. Each weekend, the same ritual brings you back here, whenever Taehyung’s parents head off for one of their rich-people, luxurious trips. The space is familiar, a backdrop to countless parties, all too often ending in someone’s drunken confessions and stolen kisses that’d become the talk of campus until the next party came around.

As tradition would want, with the clock ticking its way past midnight, you’d be drunk out of your mind already. Tonight, however, you’re not even sure you want to be here.

Namjoon is keeping close tabs on your drinks, monitoring each glass you reach for, and you know he means well; ordinarily, you’d find it sweet, endearing even. But it only seems to heighten your anxiety now. It just reminds you of how out of place this whole thing feels. You want to drown your awkwardness in a wave of liquid courage, and the irony isn’t lost on you: the very reason why you’re nervous is keeping you from numbing it.

Namjoon makes you way too aware of yourself. You wish your first proper hang out wasn’t at a filthy frat party, the blasting music causing you both to lean into each other to make conversation. The proximity makes your palms disgustingly clammy, and you hope he doesn’t reach for your hand.

You also think this isn’t the type of scenario that best suits Namjoon. You would have loved to be with him somewhere softer, with less noise and more light, talking over coffee instead of loud techno, his poetic speech lulling you into infatuation. Maybe then, this would have gone like you had imagined it might. Like you wanted it to go, just to prove something to yourself. You’re still not sure what exactly.

But this house — this party — is a natural habitat for people like Jeongguk. It’s a playground he navigates with ease, his charisma amplified by the darkened rooms and faint cigarette smoke that seems to follow him, just like everyone around him. They exist solely to orbit his mood.

It’s as he saunters back inside after yet another smoke break that you spot him again, his focus entirely on whatever girl is currently at his side. With Namjoon leaving to grab a drink for the two of you to share, you take the short moment to be a shameless creep and study your friend’s movements from the other side of the room.

You can’t help but feel a sting of irritation. Jeongguk is fully aware you’re here. You’d texted him earlier, just something casual to say you’d arrived, maybe even expecting him to meet you or give you a quick wave. Instead, there’d been no reply.

Just like the TikToks you’d sent last night, after you told him you wouldn’t be staying over at his, that also went ignored. You didn’t think too much of it, figured it was probably one of his petty acts. You aren’t any better: it’s not like you’ll go up to him to say hi, not after he ignored you. Those videos were funny, too. He’s the one missing out.

But now, your eyes squinted to try and get the best possible view on each detail of the scene in front of you, what you notice is nothing about him and everything about who he’s currently spending the time he could have used to acknowledge you with.

It’s not just whatever girl. It’s Haeun.

You haven’t seen them hanging out together in what feels like months, and frankly, you’re thrown. Maybe that’s also the reason why he suddenly had no time for you. You scoff.

You’re just confused, really. Jeongguk didn’t mention a thing about her, and it’s not like he’s ever kept his hookups or flings a secret. But Haeun was never just that. She was the one he seemed almost ready to get in his first serious relationship with, the one girl you thought could make him forget all about his usual habits.

When Jeongguk had first started hanging out with Haeun, he’d seemed uncharacteristically interested. You naturally found yourself rooting for him, hoping he’d take a leap and start something real after many failed attempts.

At that point, your casual arrangement with him had been going on for a while, but you knew it wasn’t built to last. You’d expected it to end sooner rather than later, and you were okay with that. You just wanted him to be happy with himself and his choices.

But on the night he was supposed to take Haeun out on a date, the one that could have changed everything, it’s like a magic vacuum turned on and sucked all his progress away. He’d shown up in front of your door instead. No explanations, no details about what had happened; he didn’t want to talk. He only wanted to be near you and sink into silence.

That night you laid next to him, his head on you, hair sprawled out on your stomach, and said absolutely nothing.

Since then, he hadn’t mentioned Haeun at all, and you’d assumed it was over. The right side of your brain was irrationally glad for that, greedily geeking at the prospect of still getting to keep Jeongguk close in ways that go over a simple friendship. In ways that have you thanking God for not taking your friend’s sex skills away from you; in ways that have your nose scrunching whenever he leaves small, delicate pecks on the side of your neck as you watch a movie cuddled in his embrace. If he had decided to go on that date, you would be denied all of this luxury.

The left side of your brain is a little less greedy, a little more rational. The half of your mind responsible for keeping some logic instilled in you even thought it could have been a good thing for Jeongguk to experience a different side of relationships.

You’ve always sensed there to be deeper reasons beneath Jeongguk’s carefree front. You’ve watched him jump from girl to girl, dip in and out of flings with seemingly no thought, as if he’s not trying to bury issues he should find a different answer for, to avoid whatever insecurities he’s run too far away from to face.

He’s never had to spell it out for you. You never pressed him on the topic either. And you think he’s grateful for it, for your silence that offers him the stability he won’t admit he needs, for simply staying and understanding. For allowing him to be vulnerable.

You wish you could give him more than that quiet comfort. Wonder if you should try your luck and push him to see that he does deserve something real— more than the distractions he uses to keep his fears at bay.

Jeongguk would make an incredible boyfriend. He always spots the small details, the slight changes in your mood, and he picks them up before you can even notice yourself, caring in a silent way that doesn't go unnoticed. Not by you.

It’s easy to imagine him being the kind of partner who’d cater to his girl’s needs effortlessly, even in quiet, even if hidden. You know he could be that person if he could just let anyone in beyond sex. When he’ll find the one, it’ll be clear it’s all he was made for.

Right now though, if anyone were to ask you that, you’d advise them to just go and look for another one, because he’s a little, lying piece of shit. You’re just a tad bit upset about it, if your crossed arms and furrowed brows are anything to go by.

You don’t understand why he’s now there, standing next to the girl he himself stood up, the one he looked ready to fix everything for, and then wasn’t. Leaning in close as if nothing had ever happened.

Why couldn’t he tell you, at least give you a heads-up if he was reconnecting with her? You know it shouldn’t bother you as much as it does, but the fact that he’s hiding it stings. Are you overthinking this?

When he lifts his head from her ear and scans the room, his eyes landing right on yours for a brief second just to look away, you don’t think you are. His attention shifts back to Haeun as if he hadn’t seen you at all. What the fuck?

You question what’s the point of having eyes to see when you are now forced to witness Jeongguk leaving the room with Haeun hanging her draggy weight on his arm, his smile cockish as he helps her up by her waist, fingers digging dangerously close to the curve of her perfectly shaped peach.

Their chemistry is undeniable, hands finding skin with unpracticed ease. It must be the way Jeongguk can effortlessly work his charm with any girl he deems attractive enough to fuck, his smirk and the way he lets his nose scrunch almost timidly, as if you can’t see right through him, making women potty in his sculpted hands.

The prospect of your best friend getting laid by the girl he was almost ready to change it all for should make you happy. Smile, at least.

Instead, you frown, mindlessly taking long sips from the straw in your glass and letting it stir your too watered-down cocktail that lacks any real flavor. You don’t even try to find answers as to how another drink landed right on the counter you rest your back on, but you’re glad for it.

You’re more upset at the fact that he decided not to tell you anything. You would have helped him through it, supported him, advised him on what to do, how to move in such a situation. But even if he didn’t need any of this, you would have appreciated just knowing. From him.

The ways in which the two of you are intertwined right at this moment don’t exactly allow him to completely leave you unaware of his actions. It’s not fair.

But then, are you even supposed to feel like this in the first place? Is only sex supposed to have this impact on you? Is even the smallest cell in his brain producing a thought that might take him back to you, and could it compare to a third of what you think and feel?

Does he not get that tingly sensation with you, ‘cause he’s used to it? ‘Cause you’re nothing too different nor special from all the choice he has laid at his feet, nothing out of the usual routine?

A gentle hand on your arm jolts you out of your thoughts. The touch is delicate, but the way it pulls you from your spiral is rough, making you stumble on the already wobbly stool you’re sitting on. When you look to your side, Namjoon meets you with a warm smile.

You hadn’t even noticed him being back next to you, and you figure that’s probably how that drink found its way in your hands. You’re a deer caught in headlights as you look at him, then down at the almost empty glass, then back at the boy. Your eyes widen impossibly more, and you struggle with finding a louder volume to your voice, almost fading with the music, “Sorry, I didn’t mean to finish this all by myself.”

You remember him saying he’d get a drink for the two of you to share before leaving you with your haunting thoughts. He just laughs in a way that should soothe your nerves, but it doesn’t, “It’s okay. You look like you needed it. I’m getting another one for me and catching up with some of my friends over there. I’ll be back in a bit, alright?”

“Yeah, totally. No problem,” your words roll out your tongue in a slurred hurry, face already turning to the opposite side of the room, and you’re not even sure what you’re agreeing on. You just feel Namjoon slip away from the seat next to yours again.

The brief interaction was enough for Jeongguk to have time to completely disappear from your strict observing, and just like the boy who should have had your undivided attention tonight, he equally slips away. From your vision, from the party. And from you. He’s with Haeun now, after all. And you’re alone.

Being truthful, Jeongguk is once again slipping away from his problems only. He doesn’t know how he ended up with Haeun by his side, but when he found your big, confused eyes in the midst of what should have been his escape for the night, he thinks he could name a few reasons.

It’s suffocating, the grip you have on him. He can almost feel one of your slim, delicate hands around his throat. He’s a dirty little sadist, of course he enjoys the pain. But he shouldn’t, so he runs from it until his back hits the wall, and the hold only gets tighter.

There’s nothing to do but face the truth. And you’re in front of him, eyes lost and inviting him to tell you. What should be easy for him to say, what he owes you. But the words get stuck in his throat, right where you’re pressing, and he feels like he might stop breathing.

He could die like this, with your narrowed orbs pitying him, and he badly wishes you would call him a coward. The hold is just enough to hurt him, not to make him lose his senses; if anything, it only makes his head spin around the one thought he wants to avoid. You.

With the quickest distraction he could get his hands on, he keeps adding to it: Haeun clinging to his side, he steps out the packed room to light the nth cigarette, the smoke clouding his vision and making the image of you fade from behind his eyelids. You release your hand from him and disappear. He almost whines. He misses you already. But the faint ache is a reminder.

Instead, in front of him is the only girl he should have truly avoided. Haeun is another reminder. Not because she looks similar to you, you’re way prettier. You’re beautiful.

No, it’s just because he remembers Haeun being his first victim, using her to bury something stronger growing inside him. But it didn’t work then, and it doesn’t work now.

She’s the only girl he tried his luck with to avoid his now unavoidable feelings for you. Then, he physically couldn’t touch another woman beside you. So he started flirting with more cigarettes and alcohol. Maybe some joints then and there.

Jeongguk would love to know why he prefers destroying himself rather than just be the confident man he lets everyone else think he is, go up to you and be honest, like you make it so easy for him to be. The fact that it almost slipped out of him more than a couple times scares him.

It shouldn’t. He wants to fall into that soothing caress, but could he even handle the possibility of you simply, and rightfully if you deemed it the correct choice, rejecting him?

The answer is no. He can’t afford losing your touch on him, your lashes fluttering when you look up at him, your fingers tracing secret maps on his back. He wonders if you’re outlining the safest ways for him to escape from the maze he himself created, of which he forgot the exit to.

With Haeun pressing herself to his side, he thinks he’d rather stay trapped there at this point. A maze built by lies, letting you believe he’s fucking other girls on the side when he feels sickened just by the thought of it, his hand now coming up to push the girl back to a safe distance. Built by insecurities, preferring having you think that you’re simply one of the many he has when he firmly believes you’re the only one that the universe has especially assigned him to.

It’s making him lose his mind, while you live unaware, free from the truth. He’s sure in the stretch that went from yesterday, when you told him about your fucking partner, and tonight, seeing you so close to said partner’s face, your dress custom-made by the hands of every angel populating heaven, Jeongguk developed some kind of clinical illness. The flame of jealousy in his toned tummy has eaten him whole.

And he feels slightly ashamed of himself knowing this is how he found himself circling back to his first poor attempt at running away from you, in the form of a short girl, her eyes now questioning him just like yours had done earlier. Haeun furrows her brows, “Are you seriously doing this again?”

Jeongguk sighs, glancing away to take a long drag from his cigarette that fills his lungs and almost aches. He avoids the eye contact that would be needed for a conversation like the one he’s forced to have — one that wouldn’t have occured in the first place if he could just be a normal person — instead he looks back to the room through the glass doors, “I’m sorry, Hae. I— I can’t do this—“

“Yo, Gguk. You need to come with me now. ___ is throwing up in the bathroom.”

It’s Taehyung sliding the glass door open with more force than what he usually puts, and right now nobody would tell he’s the same one always advising his friends to be delicate with it. The look on his face is panicked and it quickly reflects in Jeongguk’s eyes, flickering between his friend and Haeun.

Next, his reflexes are quicker. He steps inside the house, skipping past Taehyung and the flood of college students dancing their Friday away to Usher and seemingly not caring about the urgency written all over his expression.

He makes it to the bathroom where people have started to crowd around as if lining up to an unmissable show, and he doesn’t care if his pushes are too rough as he makes his way through.

You’re quite literally hugging the toilet, your face one with the lid as a few girls try and help you with your hair. The moment they see Jeongguk, it’s like they know he’s the one that you need, that he’s finally here and you’re in good hands. He shoots them a quick nod as they step aside and then, he’s immediately crouching next to you, gently gathering your long locks into his fist.

He moves some stray strands behind your ears while you keep letting it all out, and as much as his broad back is enough to hide you from watchful eyes, he can still hear murmurs from onlookers.

It’s as Jeongguk is debating whether he should cuss them out or keep his attention on you that Taehyung comes to promptly clear the crowd, closing the bathroom door behind him only after making sure his friend doesn’t need any more help.

Jeongguk appreciates the gesture, knowing how overwhelmed you can get in these scenarios with too many people around. Although, no matter how calm he appears for your sake, his heart races even as you seem to settle and sit on the tiled floor, your back resting against the cool wall.

You gulp down a few times, squeezing your eyes to try and ground yourself, the way you can feel Jeongguk’s hand hold the side of your leg, his thumb delicately brushing the inside of your thigh, definitely helping.

“Toots,” he whispers, face close to your own, “Hey, doll. You’re okay now, hm? What happened?” His voice is low, slow, almost scared of flowing past his lips.

When you open your eyes he’s directly in front of you, squatting down to stay on your level, and his brows are drawn high in worry.

You sniff, your voice still rough from the scratching on your throat, “Fucking— Jimin. I met him in the kitchen and we mixed too much shit together—“

“Weren’t you with Kim Namjoon?” Jeongguk interrupts you, both his tone and the way his eyebrows now dip inquisitive.

You shrug, looking down at your fingers fidgeting, “Dunno. Why the fuck am I still not sober,” the way you tone the question doesn’t make it sound like one, and you end up giggling at yourself, hiccuping in the process.

Jeongguk sighs, unconsciously tightening his hold around your leg, his fingers digging and making you whimper subtly. He notices, soothing the skin only to take both his hands to scoop you up by your armpits, lifting both your bodies on your feet.

You yelp, throwing your weight on him with another one of your senseless chuckles, looking up at his bothered face through your lashes. He straightens your posture with wide palms on your waist, throwing one of your arms around his shoulders and causing you to step out of the small room on your tiptoes. He grumbles, “I’m taking you back to the dorm now. And we’ll talk about this tomorrow.”

“Talk about what?”

“Namjoon.”

You stay quiet as the both of you, your body snug against his, walk through the party and out the house to reach Jeongguk’s car. Your thoughts are sluggish, failing to grasp why he’d even want to talk about Namjoon. Isn’t he just a nice guy? You’re more concerned with Jeongguk’s seemingly irked tone and the distressed way his tongue pokes the inside of his cheek.

A soft, involuntary whine escapes you when you think you might be the reason for that, shuffling yourself closer into his warmth, but the contact is brief as he gently settles you into the passenger seat and clicks the belt, then he closes your door and circles the car to the driver’s side.

Awkward. The only sound that can be heard is the soft hum of the engine, beside the fuzzy buzz in your ears. You feel laughter bubbling up in your chest but you hold it there, turning to study Jeongguk’s side profile. Inhaling, you start, “Can you— can I put on—”

“No.”

Your smile falters, “What? C’mon, give me the aux.”

“The last thing I want right now is to listen to those songs.”

Any previous tipsy instinct that made you want to laugh at the situation fade with his words and the way his grip on the steering wheel says more than what he’s letting on. You’re hazy, but his clenched jaw and laser focus on the road make you sit up straighter, adjusting your slouched posture and the skirt of your dress with it, pulling it further down your thighs.

The tension coming off him feels so heavy that it leads to irrational, childish tears pricking your eyes, and you sound defeated when you whisper, “Are you mad at me?”

He brakes a little too hard at the red light, and you both lurch slightly forward. Jeongguk seems to realize just now that he’s unfairly taking his anger out on you, and the way you let out the question in the smallest voice makes his heart speed up, turning to you with apprehension, “No, toots. No, why would I be? I’m mad at that fucker.”

“He was just talking with some of his—”

“He left you alone. He was supposed to take care of you. Not let you get fucking wasted.”

Jeongguk sounds final, his tone allowing no more condoning nor excuses for the tall guy now left behind you, back at the party. But you don’t seem to focus too much on the meaning of his words, rather you bask in the consequences of them. He’s not upset with you!

That spurs you to contradict him further, this time on the accusation he threw at you, but it’s less than credible when you say it through a sheepish smile that unconsciously made its way on your lips at the protective edge to his tone, “I’m not fucking wasted.”

Jeongguk only sighs, but you can see him visibly relax, shoulders going down and leaning against the back of his seat, right hand coming to pat your bare knee with a small smile on his pierced lips.

You share a look that fully sobers you up only to get you high all over again off his doe eyes, the artificial lights dotting a universe of their own in those orbs, undiscovered galaxies and planets inviting you to move there, even with no water, no oxygen, no way of surviving.

When the soft hue of the red light reflecting on the side of your face morphs to green, he moves his attention back on the road, taking his hand with it to shift gears. Then, he concedes, “Put on the playlist.”

You blink, a little taken aback by his sudden shift in mood, but just as quickly you recover. Your brain seems to be able to focus on one thing at a time either way, so you don’t ponder on your insides collectively moving at the way he looked at you and instead reach for the aux cord, fingers tapping on your phone screen absentmindedly, with a conscience of their own.

Music interrupts the quiet, and you can’t help but join, “The night we met I knew I, needed you so. And if I had the chance I’d, never let you go. Sing with me!”

Jeongguk breaks into a grin, no matter how much he fights it, “You’re so fucking wasted.”

“So won’t you say you love me? I’ll make you so proud of me. We’ll make ‘em turn their heads every place we go, so won’t you please,” Be My Baby by The Ronettes fills the previous silent tension, which you seemingly already forgot everything about, using Jeongguk’s free hand as your own personal microphone, folding it in a fist between your palms.

Jeongguk would never say it out loud, especially now, after he only pretended he had to be begged to put it on, that he’s actually grown attached to this playlist. Started as a little mishap and turned into something that got under his skin, much like you have.

Its creation came about from a comically embarrassing moment that gave you ammunition to tease him for weeks. Although, he’s glad for it when he reflects deep enough: the whole episode helped shape the bond between you two, adding to its foundation.

He still doesn’t know how you managed to slip so sneakily into his dorm that evening, but what’s sure is that he wasn’t expecting you, taking the time of his life in his bathroom, fresh out of the shower. Simply following his usual routine, one that you wouldn’t have exactly considered usual since you only ever knew him as an avid Drake listener, he hummed along to Elvis Presley’s Can’t Help Falling in Love flowing softly from his phone speaker.

It wasn’t just that, of course, because then he started styling his wet hair in an exaggerated pompadour and fully got into character, strutting dramatic poses in front of the mirror and even practicing Elvis’s iconic curl of the lip. If his soul was by any chance watching over the scene, you’d hoped he’d agree with you that Jeongguk was truly giving Austin Butler a run for his money.

The private show sadly ended when he caught sight of you in the foggy glass, your lips sealed shut to try and hold your delighted laughter, but it got ripped out of you in the form of an obnoxious snort the moment his eyes went wide in horror and his face crimson in shame.

It was hell for a few weeks after that. You didn’t let him off so easily, teasing him for being a secret softie with a love for old-school romance under all the layers of his tough fuckboy image that only ever seemed to handle trappy beats.

When you jokingly suggested he might as well get fully into the act and start calling you toots or something, he didn’t back down from the tease, scoffing at you with narrowed eyes. Somewhere along the way, the dry, sardonic tone with which he first used that pet name on you stuck, and it became less of a joke, more of an endearing way to refer to you, and only you.

Before either of you could second-guess it, the playlist was born. You two crafted it together in fits of laughter and late-night texts, with Jeongguk suggesting songs from his secret stash and you contributing the ones you grew up on.

It quickly became the soundtrack to many of your aimless car rides, something that neither of you acknowledged outright but silently cherished. Sometimes, you’d get so carried away and slip into the roles of a ‘60s couple, playfully reciting cheesy lines back and forth.

No matter how much Jeongguk pretends he hates it to save what’s left of his bad boy reputation, he really doesn’t. Not even a little bit. Even the way he rolls his eyes and groans isn’t enough to hide the spark in his eyes when you sing along.

He feels worse than a pubescent teenager when he lets his guard slip to hear you hum words he can only imagine are just for him, meant in the way he wants. You swing side by side and smile up at him with dimples digging long slits into your cheeks, and he has to act as if it makes him feel completely normal and not like he’s going to crash his car any second.

Each lyric that spills from your mouth feels like it’s tying him down, even with your sweet voice a little unsteady, thanks to whatever is still left from the night’s drinks. You’re so not aware of what it does to him.

Your eyes are on the road, but Jeongguk’s linger on you, his fingers unconsciously tapping the steering wheel to the tune.

“I’d save every day like a treasure, and then, again, I would spend them with you.”

Jeongguk purposefully veers off onto streets he doesn’t need to take, buying himself a few extra minutes with you, but you don’t notice and he pretends to not know either. Would never admit it’s because he wants to hear you sing a little more, and that this ongoing joke between the two of you might be his favorite thing in the whole world.

“But there never seems to be enough time to do the things you want to do once you find them. Hold on, this one’s a little lower. I’ll find my note, wait,” you’re mostly talking to yourself, cheek pressed to the cool glass of the window, but you glance at Jeongguk as if seeking for approval, clearing your throat, “I’ve looked around enough to know that you’re the one I want to go through time with.”

Just as Time in a Bottle by Jim Croce fades out, Jeongguk pulls into the campus parking lot, turning the engine off and cutting the music with it. None of you move right away, accepting the stillness in the car.

You don’t accept the silence, though, letting your mind speak a thought that has been nagging at you, “Can you fuck me here? Right now?”

The way you voice the request would make anybody who didn’t understand English think you’d just asked for something as mundane as a glass of water, your eyes unfaltering, a small smile on your waiting lips, voice barely slicing through the quiet. It’s almost as if you don’t know it’s the kind of thing that could derail Jeongguk’s entire thought process.

Jeongguk lightly chokes on his own breath, giving a few coughs before turning to you, his tattooed hand messing his hair further, “Jesus Christ, ___. You know I can’t.”

You tilt your head, considering him, as if this is a serious debate rather than drunken rambling, “Why not?”

Jeongguk can only sigh. He takes in your disheveled state and notices the way your exposed skin prickles with the cold, reaching for the leather jacket he carelessly threw on the backseats before heading to the party, having had no idea you’d be the one wearing it by the end of the night.

He wraps it gently around your shoulders, moving sticky, stray strands of hair from your face, “You’re so drunk. Look at you.”

“I told you I’m not,” you protest weakly, but your confidence falters when his fingers ghost over your face.

“There’s vomit in your hair,” he shuts you bluntly, tone softer than the honest words.

“Oh,” your stubbornness doesn’t work this time, and you’re mortified as you glance down at your lap, where his fingers fall to mindlessly play with the zip of his bomber jacket, brushing your tummy in the process. Your voice doesn’t sound so sure now, especially when each subtle graze sends small shocks through you, “That’s disgusting.”

The soft chuckle he lets out has you stealing a look upward, and when you catch his expression your slowed down brain can only come to the conclusion that maybe he doesn’t find you all that disgusting: he sports a rare, wide curve of his bunny smile, eyes crinkling when that same fondness finds its way onto your lips. You can’t help what they do next, a mind of their own as you rest them on his own mouth, the tip of his nose tickling your cheek.

It’s the faintest of kisses, and it’s delicate, fleeting, over far too soon, but you’re the one to pull back first no matter how much longer you need it to be, “That was probably disgusting too.”

As you rest your back on the seat again, his eyes are still closed, and they flutter open as slowly as a smile stretches on his mouth when he meets you. You’re giving him a look he doesn’t deserve, one he shouldn’t lean into.

His voice is a whisper, and it fans over your face, still close to his, “Not at all.”

Gleaming eyes scan every angle of you, as if trying to find anything that’ll hold him back from what he really wants to do. But, of course, his need only grows when he lets his gaze wander down, then up again.

He glances to the side with a gulp, moving his body back to reach for the car door handle, “You think you can walk or should I carry you?”

“Carry me, please,” you mumble, not even pondering on the first option, and the moment the sound leaves your lips he’s out and reaching for your side, opening your door and scooping you up like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

The walk to his dorm is a blur, with you dozing off in his warmth and being lulled by the hums escaping him and reverberating through his chest, melodies of the earlier songs playing against your ear.

You regain awareness when a splash of warm water cascades over your now naked body, the sensation startling enough to make your lashes flutter against your damp cheeks. The water runs over your face, washing away the remnants of the night, the drowsy yet oddly light sensation taking over you causing a giggle to echo against the walls.

You’re still too disoriented to process the tenderness with which Jeongguk’s hand moves, brushing through your soaked strands of hair and moving them from where they flattened on your face, combing through the sticky locks.

With half-open eyes, you’re met with the sight of him in front of you, standing close enough without needing to step into the small space with you, his brows furrowed as he works the shampoo through your hair. It’s a soothing, slow motion, the one he massages your scalp with, and it only melts you further into sweet slumber.

If it weren’t for one of his hands resting tightly on your hip, grounding you as the scent of the shampoo mingles with the steam curling around you, you would have gladly swayed into his palm, letting your weak body fall into his strong one.

You sniff, leaning into his care, voice small and oddly sincere, “I’m sorry for,” hiccup, “taking you away from Haeun. You two seem close again.”

Jeongguk stills for a moment, his fingers pausing in your hair before resuming their soft motions. He pretends he didn’t hear, and you pretend you never talked in the first place when he guides you to steady yourself as your knees wobble, “Hey, stand still. You’ll get shampoo in your eyes. Close them.”

You obey, letting your eyelids drop shut as you feel his hand gently tilt your head under the spray, his touch as tender as the words he isn’t saying.

If you weren’t a victim of both sleepiness and alcohol at this very moment, your thoughts would be racing each other like eager contenders in the Overthinker Marathon, each one fighting tooth and nail for the gold medal. They’d be dissecting every little detail of the night— the way Jeongguk had ignored you, his lingering hand on Haeun’s waist, only to be there the second you needed him, the girl from earlier not even worth mentioning.

Instead, your every thinking cell has taken a rare vacation, lounging together on an imaginary green field, clinking glasses filled with leftover cocktails from earlier, lazily watching clouds drift by.

Although there’s one cell in particular, too tipsy to sit still. It hops around gleefully, urging your lips to move before the Thinking Cell General can intervene. The way it jumps up and down, up and down, makes you giggle as you blurt out, “I don’t know if it’s the water, but I’m very wet.”

The silence that follows is thick, punctuated only by the sound of water cascading down your back. Jeongguk freezes as if the words have physically reached out and yanked him into stunned stillness. He can only let his throat bob in a visible swallow and look away, warning you in a strained mutter, “___. This is your last warning. Stop teasing me.”

You whine, pathetically wiggling your weak and pliant body in his hold to seek for some kind of reaction, but he doesn’t budge. He’s uncharacteristically focused on his tasks, ensuring every trace of shampoo rinses from your hair, rather than your hardened nipples bouncing with your stubborn movements.

But you recognise the way his jaw clenches so tight it must hurt, how he refuses to let his gaze wander lower where the steam of water outlines your form. His restraint is razor-thin, yet he holds it tightly, breathing only slightly uneven.

You’re not deterred by his warning; you never are. It’s the tiny tracks in his resolve that keep you pressing forward, voice laced with a vulnerability that makes his hand twitch against your scalp, “Just… I just need your fingers. Please.”

Jeongguk exhales sharply through his nose, but he doesn’t answer. Instead, he angles the spray to wash the last suds away, hyper-focused on the practical task as though it’s a lifeline to his dwindling self-control.

But you’re persistent. You reach behind you, fingers messily finding the knob to twist the water off, and with the spray halting you’re left only with the hum of the bathroom fan and the faint drip of water.

Your other hand finds his, guiding his wide palm to rest on your lower stomach, just above where your want is written in every inch of your body. You whisper, plead clear in your tone, ”You know I want this. Won’t ever regret it. I’m conscious enough to be sure of that.”

Jeongguk huffs, his chest rising and falling as he stares down at you, fingers flexing slightly against your skin. He closes his eyes for a moment, inhaling deeply as if accepting defeat. He can’t win this battle.

The brown-haired boy steps into the shower, the small space shrinking even further with the addition of his broader frame, forcing you to back up against the wall. Fully dressed, water clings to his fabric, and the contrast of his damp clothes against your bare, exposed skin makes you irrationally wetter.

Jeongguk keeps silent, and at this point you don’t care how desperate you look, pushing yourself against him and getting his clothes wetter in the process. It pushes him to initiate a torturous path along your skin, using his middle finger to trace a journey from your chest, savoring the way your breath hitches, down to your warm core.

The droplets of water he collects on the way are used to spread your puffy lips and press right on your sensitive nub, making you gasp. You’re a trembling mess from the simple motion, and he has to use his free hand to steady you against the wall.

Your breasts aren’t left without being taken care of, because the moment he begins circling motions on your clit that have you seeing stars, he lowers his head to envelop one of your tits in his ravenous mouth, teeth teasing it punitively, all while looking up at you with sliced, sinful eyes.

He’s greedy, and you can’t believe he managed to hide it so well until now. But his resolve crumbles the more he revels in the way you fall apart for him, and he loses control on your chest. The sensation is sharp, delicious, and the contrast between the harshness of his bite and the softness of his tongue has you whimpering.

You’re ashamedly aware of how close you already are, his digits picking a fast speed that urges you to let go and coat him in your juices. He knows, simply from the way you let your mouth fall agape and release loud moans in the steamy air, pushing your nipples further in his swollen lips.

When he inserts one finger in your warm hole, you jolt in his secure hold, eyebrows shot upwards in the shock of your sudden orgasm, one that hits you all too harshly. It drags on deliciously, Jeongguk never wanting it to end, the slurping sound of his sucking on your tits making your surrounding spin, along with his thumb accompanying the way his single digits thrusts into you.

He only stops when you unconsciously run from his doings, slim hand wrapping weakly around his wrist, and he retreats with one last wet stripe along the curve of your boob, promptly collecting your taste from his fingers, and he thoroughly hums around them, eyes closed and cheeks hollowed.

You think you could come again from the sight alone. Panting, you smile through your ragged breaths, “Fuck. Thanks.”

Five minutes later, no one would bet you’re the same girl that begged him for his fingers and came in record time around them. Now, you sit serenely on the toilet lid, wrapped up in Jeongguk’s warmest hoodie. The oversized fabric swallows your frame, knees tucked under it as you hug them close to your chest. You look as innocent as ever.

Jeongguk stands in front of you, meticulously brushing through your damp hair with practiced gentleness, each stroke of the comb a soothing lullaby. You rest your chin lazily on your folded arms, eyes closed, the edges of sleep blurring your thoughts.

You let out a contented sigh before murmuring, words unfiltered, “You’d make the perfect boyfriend. You always take care of me. And kiss me when I need it.”

The motions of the brush stop for a fraction of a second before resuming, and what you hear next is Jeongguk’s throat clearing, his voice low and almost shaky, “That sounds so very wrong, toots.”

“What do you mean?” You don’t open your eyes as you ask the question, the warmth of his presence and the excuse of the last traces of alcohol still flowing in your tired body making you bolder than usual.

“You want me to be your boyfriend?”

“In another life, maybe. Yes,” you don’t waste time replying, words carrying a dreamy quality, “I mean, would be cool.”

“Cool?” He chuckles, but it’s the kind that’s half-exasperation and half-something else entirely, voice strained with an edge of desperation too, “God, I don’t even know why I’m still putting up with you.”

You only nuzzle closer into the borrowed hoodie, giving voice to your next thought, your thinking cells now hosting a 60s themed party, “Be my, be my baby. My one and only baby.”

The sound of your singing fades under the whirring roar of the hairdryer, and Jeongguk is quietly thankful for the way it drowns your sweet hums completely, fearing if he hears another one of those tipsy love confessions leaving your lips he might drop to his knees, undone by something he knows he can’t claim.

You rest your head against his stomach, full weight leaning on his standing figure, his long digits pulling through your strands. If you’d look up at your best friend for even one fleeting second, you’d probably laugh at the concentration on his expression, his only goal drying your hair enough to not have you waking up with a headache the following day.

You sniffle and snuggle impossibly closer to him, the heat radiating from his tummy and the white noise lulling you further into drowsiness, every careful motion of his hand coaxing you closer to sleep.

When your phone pings from the bathroom counter, the sudden buzz makes you jolt slightly. You lift your head sluggishly and gesture toward the phone, mouthing up to Jeongguk, “Pass it.”

He hands it to you without turning off the hairdryer, keeping an eye on your sleepy movements. You blink at the bright light for a moment before your expression shifts, eyes widening.

You’re completely jolted awake at the only notification on your home screen: it's Namjoon.

You tap Jeongguk’s stomach with the heel of your hand— softly at first, then with increasing urgency. The repeated motion forces him to stop the device and place it on the counter as he looks down at you, trying to peek at the screen, “What?”

You hiccup and sniff before blurting out, “Namjoon. He texted me”

The boy that was just now carefully drying your hair scoffs, arms crossed over his chest, “What does that asshole want?”

The response to the rhetorical question doesn’t come, either because you decide to ignore it purposefully or unconsciously: you look totally engulfed by the words on your otherwise empty chat with Namjoon, and Jeongguk can’t help but subtly lean his body lower to read the same texts you’re going through.

Kim Namjoon [4:26 a.m.]: Hey. Sorry for texting late, I heard from someone you threw up back at the party. I’m so sorry. I completely lost sight of you in that mess. Are you feeling any better? Very sorry again.

Kim Namjoon [4:27 a.m.]: It’s totally okay if you don’t want to hear from me again. But I wouldn’t forgive myself if I didn’t at least try to make it up to you.

Kim Namjoon [4:27 a.m.]: I’d really like to take you out on a date. Would you let me?

Jeongguk kisses his teeth irkedly, “Why the fuck does he text like Prince William? Fucking English major,” and he truly tried his best to sound unaffected, but the words leave his mouth before he even knows he’s thinking of them.

Luckily, you don’t seem to notice, reading the message aloud like you can’t quite believe it yourself, “He said he’d like to go on a date with me. Like, he asked me on a date. And said he would like it. To go on a date—”

“Yes, we got it.”

“He doesn’t hate me, Gguk!” Once again, his petty comments go unnoticed as your face lights up, eyes crinkling with joy as you practically beam up at him.

Jeongguk wants to be annoyed, but he simply can’t when he’s met with all the stars in the universe right in your glossy, tired eyes. He swallows hard and forces a soft chuckle, “No, he doesn’t, toots. Anyone would be crazy to hate you.”

The grin on your lips only widens, nose scrunching adorably as you let your cheek sheepishly brush against your shoulder, “Oh my god, Gguk. I’m going on a date with him! Heh.”

“That’s nice,” he says, picking up the hairdryer again before your words can settle too heavily in the space between you. “I’m not finished with your hair, though. Stay still.”

The device roars to life once more, its noise filling the room and covering your excited giggles. Jeongguk keeps brushing through your hair with steady motions, his face impassive, but he feels something tighten, heavy and unyielding in his chest.

He tells himself the noise is a blessing, a shield from the silence he wouldn’t know how else to fill—or from the sound of his own voice, betraying him in ways he can’t afford.

────୨ৎ────

“I’ll miss the sex when Namjoon will ask me to be his girlfriend.”

In the quiet of the library, your sudden whisper startles Jeongguk. The chair screeches under him and it gains the both of you a few annoyed looks. He nods in apology at their way, moving closer to the table again, and he has to blink a few times before he can even meet your eyes. The scattered pens all over the white surface looked more interesting either way.

“When he— his— what?” He feels pathetic for being unable to even form a senseful sentence, but there’s no absolute way he blames his brain for that. It’s his heart, stuttering along with the barely intelligible question.

It cracks at the middle the more your grin splits your face in half, nose scrunching adorably, and he may be a horrible friend but he can’t bring himself to return your irony, nor the masked excitement under it.

If he were handed pen and paper and asked to write about how he feels right at this moment, he wouldn’t put down a single thing. Not because there isn’t anything to say. He fears your innocent teasing has done something catastrophic, snapping that one damned string that connected his brain to his heart, and the two aren’t communicating. Jeongguk is in the middle of two angered parents, fighting and on the brink of divorce. That’s what he gets for being a total pussy.

You shrug, frowning slightly when all you’re faced with is his blank expression, eyes unresponsive and detachedly looking elsewhere, but you keep yours on him, studying even the small movements, “I mean, he’s a nice guy. I think he’s serious about getting to know me.”

The word serious causes an involuntary twitch of his head, tilting almost imperceptibly to the side, and he sounds way too defensive, “And are you?”

Furrowing your eyebrows at his unexpected reaction, you return to your previous mindless doodling, keeping your voice low, “Well, he’s cute. Let’s see where this thing goes.”

“What about me?”

The question catches the both of you off guard. Your pencil halts as you glance at him through the corner of your eye, and even if you can’t see him clearly, the way his dark orbs widen is almost comical that you would laugh in any other situation. But now, the air is oddly tense and it makes your nose scrunch in awkwardness.

He breaks it with a chuckle, a subtle tremor in it that luckily goes unnoticed by you but that will probably keep him up at night for the next five years, and he lightly shoves your shoulder in an effort at feigning ease, “You really wanna pass on this dick?”

“God, you’re gross,” the annoyed roll of your eyes has Jeongguk releasing a breath he didn’t realize he was holding; it’s odd, but that’s just who he is.

The second you return to weightless banter, he’s back in his element. He can smirk, tease and deflect— these are tools he’s mastered over the months. But the thought of stripping naked for your eyes to see, and not in the sexual way you two engage in almost every night, terrifies him.

The waters are safe for what seems a fraction of a second before you pull him down in the deep, dark seas again, this dynamic between you foreign. While it is a simple, innocent question, your deceptive tone triggers unfamiliarity within him, “Besides, how’s it going with you and Haeun?”

“Huh? Oh. Haeun, yes,” his attempt at buying himself extra time is laughable, especially when Mr. Brain is now yelling at Ms. Heart for always wanting to get in the way of things he can handle alone, “Wonderfully. We— She— Huh, kissed me.”

Ms. Heart is furious. She has no other choice but to reach in her purse and slap the divorce papers on the dinner table, the glasses clinking against the plates, and Jeongguk flinches. Brain is speechless, clueless on how to react.

You only seem slightly taken aback, eyebrows raising in mild surprise, “Really? That’s nice.”

Jeongguk is equally clueless, subtly squeezing his eyes shut as if hoping to wake up somewhere else entirely, maybe in an ideal world where Kim Namjoon doesn’t exist and Mr. Brain and Ms. Heart are happily married.

Instead, he’s still in the library, and you’re still sitting next to him, scribbling on your English textbook. He frowns, getting pitiably lost in the view of your side profile, “Yeah, nice. Huh, when’s your date?”

When you glance up at him, you seem to be realizing just how odd it is for the two of you to spend this much time talking about your respective hook ups, and you cringe slightly at the unusual formality, wishing Jeongguk would just tease you like he usually does when you tell him about your untruthful and made up sexual adventures.

You purse your lips in thought, “Tomorrow, actually.”

“Oh. He’s going fast.”

“I like that.”

“I know you do.”

No matter the effort you put into trying to hide your amusement, a snort escapes you, and you quickly look away to recover from the childish grin spreading on your lips. You shake your head, closing the book in front of you, “You’re fucking disgusting.”

Jeongguk only smirks in an oddly proud way, nodding at your flustered state when he realizes he successfully managed yet again to shift the conversation from topics he doesn’t want to hear or talk about. He shrugs, “You just said that.”

“And I’ll say it again.”

“Whatever,” a small chuckle follows the dismissal, his hand coming to brush through his fluffy hair, getting too long for his liking, “I really wanted to see you tomorrow.”

Once again, Jeongguk is way too honest, way too easily. Ms. Heart is marching hastily with Mr. Brain walking close behind, trying to make sense of the situation and pushing her to reconsider her actions, but it’s no use: she’s tired, and sick of being walked over, again and again.

He doesn’t like the underlying meaning behind that, and wishes Mr. Brain would grow a pair and just swoon her back into love again. Jeongguk doesn’t like the genuine surprise etched across your face either, or, well, he doesn’t like the effect it has on him: it’s almost unbearable to accept that the blush dusting your cheeks, the one you’re probably unaware of, is caused by his unfiltered honesty. Because sincere bluntness isn’t exactly something he tries to show. Then, why does it spill out of him uncontrollably? Why— why do you look so beautiful like this?

“Hm,” your smile is small, but your dimple betrays it, Jeongguk’s whole resolve cracking with the way you sound dangerously decisive, “Too bad. You’re late.”

Jeongguk shouldn’t overthink this. You’re simply engaging in the usual dynamic, teasing him like always, no reason for his palms to sweat. He shouldn’t panic over the way nothing about what you said feels simple, nor usual, and your tone carries more than what you both want the words to mean.

He doesn’t know if it’s a warning or a test—or worse, the truth. Maybe he’s imagining it. Maybe Brain just misinterpreted the comment, too distracted by its constant squabble with Heart, both of them ignoring Jeongguk, who is still sitting at the cluttered kitchen table with his plate half-full, surrounded by a mess of inky emotions he doesn’t have the courage to clean up.

The sound of forks clinking against plates grates against his ears, drowning out the hurried excuses spilling from your mouth, the ones you’re babbling and making up along the way of gathering your things and standing up from the round table, shouldering your bag in the same hurry you left his room with before the next time he saw you was nose to nose with Namjoon.

You huff, giving a small, tight lipped smile that should be meaningless, but to Jeongguk it isn’t, “I’ll go now. See you around?”

“Huh, sure. Let me know how it goes with Namsun.”

You roll your eyes at the playful attempt, his grin just as empty, “Right. Bye Gguk.”

You’re off the hallway before he can add anything else. Not that he would have been able to. Your bag swings with your big steps, slim hands coming to absently tug your plaid skirt lower, and Jeongguk thinks and thinks.

He realizes he really doesn’t want to know how your little date goes. Would rather shoot himself rather than hearing you talk about another guy taking you out to dinner, stealing you from him and sealing the end to whatever the two of you have.

His options are narrowed. He either commits in front of you and forever changes the trajectory of your life or does something about Namjoon. But why does the option of ending his life sound much easier than stepping up to big, buff Namjoon, infatuated with the same girl he likes?

Oh.

The admission jolts him. It’s a physical reaction that causes his chair to shriek again under his movements, but this time he’s not polite enough to apologize for it. He must look crazy, wide eyes burning holes into his hands planted steadily on the table in front of him.

The girl he likes. You’re the girl he likes.

And every signal is there. The spark he sought for now lights a nervous feeling in his stomach, its fireworks interrupting Brain and Heart’s incessant arguing.

Does he look stupid not doing anything for the girl he likes? Not fighting for the girl he’s been falling for all this time?

────୨ৎ────

It should be easy. It is easy.

Jeongguk can’t let the sleepless night spent reciting lines to his ceiling go to waste. He’s sure not even theater kids could match his determination. And as he marches across campus toward the gym, where the squeak of sneakers and the echo of grunts will lead him to the person needed to put the plan into action, he reviews step by step what he’s told himself to do. It’s a well-rehearsed script, each word, every calculated expression—he’s gone over it a hundred times, accounting for every reaction.

Step one, be casual. Friendly, even. Approach Namjoon like there’s nothing calculated about this interaction—no ulterior motives, no scheme brewing beneath the surface. Just a casual catch-up between two guys.

“What’s up, Kim,” when Jeongguk spots the slightly taller boy exercising at a steady walking pace on the treadmill, he immediately hops onto the free one beside him.

Namjoon startles slightly, then smiles with those stupid, charming dimples of his, and it’s one that Jeongguk would probably only give if forced, “Hey, Jeongguk. Long time no see.”

The brown-haired boy nods, setting the speed and quickly catching up to Namjoon. He keeps his tone deliberately cool, even borderline disinterested, “You been good?”

On his left, your almost-boyfriend shrugs, jogging along, “Yeah, just studying, man. What about you?”

“Pretty much the same,” he hasn’t cracked open a book in weeks, and that study session from yesterday was just an excuse to be with you. But he can’t afford to let his thoughts linger on you too long or he’ll lose focus. He needs focus. “You catch that last game?”

Step two, pretend to care about what Namjoon is saying and then proceed with the acting skills only to suddenly remember something totally random he wanted to mention.

“Fuck, don’t remind me. I was so sure we would win,” the sweating man sounds way too affected by the recent football match, and Jeongguk fears if he asks one more question for the sake of pretending he’ll never get to the actual point.

So, he goes straight to it, “Yeah, it was rough. Oh, by the way. You know ___, right?”

The simple mention of your name causes a small stutter in Namjoon’s step, but he recovers with the stupid smile from earlier, only this time it’s wider, “Of course I know her. Why do you ask?”

Step three, just be honest. He just has to lay it all out. Be straightforward. Tell him the truth about how he’s felt for so long and what this whole thing with you is doing to him. It’s not a confrontation—it’s a conversation. Jeongguk will politely explain that he’s liked you for a while now, that he’s been in your life long before Namjoon, and, as a courtesy, he’d appreciate it if he would step back from pursuing you.

Civil. Calm. Totally chill. There’s absolutely nothing to get worked up over.

"You really don't know? Have no idea?" Jeongguk asks, his voice dropping, tone more pointed than he intended.

Namjoon slows his treadmill slightly, glancing over with furrowed brows and a faintly amused smile. “No, man. Enlighten me.”

“She’s my fucking girlfriend.”

What. The. Fuck.

That wasn’t the plan. Not even close to the plan.

────୨ৎ────

You feel stupid.

Wrapped around in your warmest coat, you still shiver. It could be the way your legs are exposed under your wool dress, high black boots reaching just beneath your knees. But there’s something else to the chill, making you shake in fading jitters. The excitement of the evening you told yourself you were looking forward to morphs into anxiety, and the passing looks of people mean more than they should as minutes tick and tick; they seem to glance at you for too long, their looks heavy with what you can only imagine is judgment.

A young girl swaddled in small but striking details from head to toe — delicate earrings that catch the light, a scarf knotted perfectly at the neck, polished nails clutching the strap of an expensive-looking bag, hair done up in a neat slicked bun — glancing nervously at her surroundings can only mean one thing: she’s been stood up.

Namjoon was supposed to meet you in front of the cozy cafè just outside the campus, its warm tones and surely even warmer ambience so very inviting. Maybe you’d go in, order a steaming hot chocolate for yourself, and chalk this up as a lesson learned. But instead, you chose to wait outside, shifting on your tiptoes every so often, scanning the crowd for a glimpse of the first man to ask you out in what felt like ages.

You feel as though you’ll be forever destined to wait more when thirty minutes go by and Namjoon is nowhere to be seen.

You frown, swaying on your heels. What you feel is not disappointment— not at first. But that only causes you to feel worse about yourself when you realize you’re almost relieved the tall man hasn’t shown up, and he’s not here to turn fears into even scarier realities. The date would have given a concrete meaning to your actions, and the thought stirs something not exactly pleasant within you.

The scratch at the back of your mind grows harder to ignore, and no matter how much you try to shake it off, your subconscious finds ways back to it when your hand instinctively dives into the depths of the expensive purse you had specially chosen for this occasion. A purse meant to complement your carefully selected dark ensemble— an effort that now feels entirely wasted. You spent so much time getting ready for something you’re not ready for at all.

Pulling out your phone, your thumb scrolls to Jeongguk’s number with a natural automatism, typing before you even register why he’s the first person you feel the need to tell.

You [9:39 p.m.]: hi

You [9:39 p.m.]: namjoon stood me up lol

The typing bubbles appear faster than you anticipated, and as you watch them dance across the screen, you burrow deeper into the fragile warmth of your jacket, the tip of your nose numb from the cold.

sassy queen 💁🏻 [9:40 p.m.]: Whattttttt????

sassy queen 💁🏻 [9:40 p.m.]: He’s such an asshooooooole

Your first instinct is to snort at his reaction, a childish grin tugging at your lips, but it turns into a scowl when the more you reread the text, the more it sounds weird. He usually never texts like a six-year-old using his mom’s iPad.

You [9:40 p.m.]: yes he is

You [9:40 p.m.]: why are u textin so weird btw lol

sassy queen 💁🏻 [9:41 p.m.]: Wym weirddd

sassy queen 💁🏻 [9:41 p.m.]: I’m totally normal

You [9:41 p.m.]: wtv

You [9:42 p.m.]: u still wanna hang out?

sassy queen 💁🏻 [9:42 p.m.]: Yes please

sassy queen 💁🏻 [9:42 p.m.]: Want me to pick u up

sassy queen 💁🏻 [9:42 p.m.]: Where are u rn

The head tilt is unconscious, but you feel it click in place. You’ve mentioned how Jeongguk is caring, how he can read your needs like no one else and caters to them quietly, but he’s never this pliant, this malleable. You like him because it’s hard to get him to bend (and you’d rather die than let Jeongguk know about this).

You [9:43 p.m.]: is ok

You [9:43 p.m.]: i’ll just walk

You [9:43 p.m.]: be there in 10

The walk usually takes you less than 10 minutes, but before meeting him, you decide to head back to your dorm and change out of these stupid fancy clothes you picked out for the date.

You keep your head low as you walk through the hallways, the full glam you put on impossible to miss as it sparkles under the fluorescent lights, just as your boots' heels echo through the corridors.

Taking off the dress and heels feels like peeling away the embarrassment of rejection, the weight of disappointment settling in as you realize you couldn’t prove to yourself that you could do it, that you can do it, take the leap and let something serious into your life.

You question whether you're even cut out for it when the guy who seemed perfect ended up proving the opposite.

Now, back in more comfortable clothes — Jeongguk's black hoodie from the other day and baggy sweatpants — you feel a little more like yourself. Scared of emotions, scared of commitment, no matter how many hours of your day are spent daydreaming about it.

The second you click the door of your room open, it’s like you can smell a weird shift in the air. And you do, literally sniff, scanning your surroundings for any hint of something burning or out of place.

But it’s not about the dorm in its physical state, no— it’s the odd silence that you’re met with, the people you’re used to sharing the space with now uncharacteristically careful with their volume.

“Oh my god, ___,” that is probably why you’re visibly startled by the sudden voice coming from your side, Iseul looking like containing excitement is the hardest task she’s ever been asked to deal with, just like the few other girls behind her, all practically vibrating, “You’re finally here.”

You furrow your brows, chuckling confusedly at the unusuality of it all— well, it’s not like you don’t get along with these people. It’s just that you’ve never gone over meaningless jokes and talks about the state of the dorm, plus you’ve never exactly been the center of attention like this. It feels off, and it reflects in your uncertain tone, “I am?”

“I’m so happy for you,” Binna chimes in next, grabbing your shoulders with way more enthusiasm than the level of your relationship with her would normally allow, and the way all of their heads nod along that it feels like a coordinated performance is starting to scare you.

“You’re… happy for—”

“I’ve always known you and Jeongguk were perfect for each other,” the affection dripping from Binna’s voice sickens you, maybe even more than the words she’s speaking.

Huh?

You swear you feel your heart skip a long beat before you mask it with an obnoxious, nervous laugh, only growing more when none of them crack a smile or react, “Me and— okay, is this a fucking joke?”

“C’mon, ___,” Iseul says, her sweet voice doing nothing to calm your tension, and if anything it only heightens it, “You don’t need to hide anymore, Jeongguk told Namjoon that you’re his girlfriend.”

Oh. So this must be a fucking joke.

And you can’t stand it.

You barely manage to shake off their relentless curiosity, the entire dorm suddenly buzzing with an interest in you after years of peaceful and civil indifference, and it only overwhelms you to the brim.

Fury boils in your chest as you step out of the building, the cold air failing to cool the anger that flares up within you. With every step, your frustration grows, and you hastily type on your phone as you make your way toward the one person that’s responsible for your temper.

You [10:07 p.m.]: what the actual fuck jeongguk

The response comes so quickly, almost as if he were waiting for you to type it, and you scoff in disbelief. In that moment, you feel a twisted sense of understanding with serial killers. It makes you question how much control you actually have over yourself.

sassy queen 💁🏻 [10:07 p.m.]: What’s up?

You [10:07 p.m.]: why’s the whole dorm asking me how's it like to be your gf?

sassy queen 💁🏻 [10:08 p.m.]: Eeehhhh???

sassy queen 💁🏻 [10:08 p.m.]: That’s so weird

You’re actually gonna fuck this man up.

You [10:09 p.m.]: jeon jeongguk.

You [10:09 p.m.]: they’re saying you told namjoon i’m your girlfriend.

sassy queen 💁🏻 [10:09 p.m.]: Don’t use my full name and the period please 🥺

You [10:10 p.m.]: i’ll fucking kill you.

sassy queen 💁🏻 [10:10 p.m.]: You’re so hot when you’re like this

You [10:10 p.m.]: shut the hell up.

The banging on his door comes shortly after, and Jeongguk doesn’t even flinch. He knows it’s you, and frankly he was even expecting your arrival to be louder, hit him a little harder than it does. And when he lets you in, you storm in his space with no room for oxygen, door closing behind you but unable to contain the volume of your rage private.

“Can you explain why the whole campus thinks we’re dating? ‘Cause you’re not my boyfriend, and I’m not your girlfriend, and this is not fucking funny.”

But Jeongguk evidently does find it funny, chuckling under his hand coming to cover his mouth while the other one lifts to show you the bright screen of his cracked phone, “Really? The uni Instagram page is shipping us.”

“Shipping us?” You snatch the device from his hands, eyes widening as you scroll through the amount of stories posted in the last hour, everyone and their mother feeling entitled to weigh in on your nonexistent relationship. You whine, a hand resting at your forehead in disbelief, “Oh my god, this is ridiculous.”

“What, are you ashamed of me?” Jeongguk asks casually, walking back and sitting on the bed with a soft thud, his whole demeanor relaxed with a nonchalance that makes your left eye twitch.

You scoff, unwilling to grasp how this is even an actual thing happening to you, tossing the phone back at him, “A little bit, yeah. You think this is a fucking joke, huh? I’m now apparently dating the uni’s most popular fuckboy.”

The damned boy in front of you leans on his forearms, pouting just for show, “Hey, that’s mean. I’m no fuckboy.”

Bag thrown to the ground with a violence that it does not deserve, you start pacing back and forth in his room, letting out a borderline insane laugh, not knowing whether to scream or cry, “Yes, you are. You went through every single girl in this building.”

“Do you really think of me like that?”

The sudden sincerity that you think you spot in his tone makes you halt your steps, body turning to him as he sits straight again, his head tilting slightly.

You sigh, frustration mounting, and you throw your head back at the ceiling for any signal from the universe that this is indeed a joke, a bad, huge joke on you, “Jeongguk. Please.”

Silence fills the room next, but it doesn’t make it any easier to think nor does it quite register in your brain, mind racing with jumbled and chaotic thoughts, barely coming through as coherent words, getting intertwined with one another.

But the more you walk from one side of the room to the other, the more you’re almost able to untangle the mess, just enough to start processing what’s happening.

Then, a nuclear bomb wipes it all out, Jeongguk’s words the missile, his quiet tone the explosion, “I don’t want you to see nobody else.”

“What the fuck?”

The aftermath of the destruction is not only loud, ears ringing with a shrieking alarm going off, your figure stiff with shock, but you feel its heat burning your whole body in consuming flames that threaten to swallow you whole if you don’t let them take over, rise, flood every nerve until all you can feel is the rage boiling in your veins when you practically scream at him, ”What the hell does that even mean? You're being selfish!”

“Am I?” Jeongguk asks calm, calculated, gaze locked on yours as if daring you to challenge him further. His tone is maddeningly measured even as he pushes himself off the bed and closes the distance between you.

It’s like he’s planned this— attack after attack designed to destabilize you completely. Not only did he thrust you into the spotlight without warning, claiming you for the whole campus to see as if you’re worth nothing more than a stupid prank and a few laughs.

But now he talks with a grace that belies the chaos he’s stirred, as if his words are just another fact, something as simple as the weather, “I haven’t been seeing anybody since this summer. Since we started using no condom.”

Your pupils tremble with something far more complex than just anger, though you refuse to give it a name. He’s practically towering over you, his stance purposeful, making you feel small; as if the intensity of his gaze is not enough that it makes you falter, as if the humiliation he’s putting you through isn’t either. Head shaking, your voice does too, “That’s— not true. You’re a fucking liar. You— What about Haeun?

“Nothing even happened with her.”

The speed of his denial sets you off, an incredulous scoff breaking free as you roll your tongue against the inside of your cheek—a habit you’d picked up from witnessing his easy tempers, “Then why did you tell me you kissed?”

“Because—” Jeongguk hesitates, and the pause is so out of character that it almost gives you whiplash. The boy who always has something to say suddenly seems unsure. His hand flexes at his side, a nervous tick you hadn’t noticed before, and he exhales as if the words are fighting their way out of him, “‘Cause— I was jealous.”

“Jealous?” Your voice cracks on the word, a laugh bubbling out of you that’s sharp and fractured, borderline unhinged. It cuts through the room like broken glass, and his expression tightens, jaw clenching. But he doesn’t interrupt.

“Jealous,” you repeat, louder this time, your incredulous tone thick with rage. “You’re telling me you made up that bullshit because you were jealous?”

He doesn’t respond, and it pushes you closer to your limit, on the verge of exploding. You don’t know how you find it within you, but with a long exhale and a quick prayer up at the ceiling, you meet his gaze in an almost patronizing manner, “Jeongguk, we are not exclusive. I thought that was well implied. You don’t get to act like this. You don’t get to be jealous.”

Nodding along to your words, Jeongguk’s brows draw together, his expression somewhere between anxious and defensive. There’s something in his eyes, something close to fear, but fear of what, you can’t quite place.

When he speaks, his voice is softer than yours, as though he’s trying to keep it from breaking, “I know. We both agreed to that, yes. We’re both allowed to see other people.”

The words feel rehearsed, like he’s repeated them to himself a hundred times. But with the silence stretching, it’s clear he’s struggling to say more. His lips press together briefly, and his gaze flicks to yours, searching. It’s as though he’s waiting — no, hoping — you’ll interject, offer something to fill the space.

You don’t. You hold firm, tilting your head slightly, your confusion evident. Your wide, questioning eyes, so big, so honest, pull the truth from him in a way you don’t intend, and he exhales like it’s been forced out of him.

“But I don’t want you to.”

The sheer audacity of his words hits you like a slap, the kind that stings more because of its unexpectedness. You snort, although there’s nothing particularly amusing about your heart cracking at the middle, but you manage to keep it from resounding in your words, "That’s so fucking mean. Do you even hear yourself? You get to fuck whoever you want, and I’m kept hostage? And now—now everybody thinks we’re dating!"

"That’s good," he says, simple, unflinching.

You blink, disbelief coursing through you as your lips part in a strangled gasp. "What?" The word is half a whisper, half a shout, and it escapes before you can temper it, "You’re so selfish. I fucking hate you.”

The emotion is foreign from what you’re used to showing him, softness in quiet ways, affection in silent gestures. But now, it’s all loud rage, the opposite of love spilling out of you in volatile waves. Your hands curl into fists at your sides, itching for release, something, anything to make him feel the way you’re being forced to feel, to cut through the weight of his seemingly impassive expression showing only the barest twitch in his brows, a crack too small to satisfy your anger.

It isn’t enough. You need more.

Your palms find his chest, shoving him with the force of every burning feeling inside you. “You’re stupid,” you spit, watching him take the push without exactly budging, like he’s made of stone. It only stokes your frustration further, your hands pushing again, harder this time. “And dumb.”

Jeongguk doesn’t step back, doesn’t fight you. He stands there, his chest steady, absorbing your hits without a word. His lack of resistance only makes the storm inside you rage harder, and the tears you’ve been holding back threaten to spill over.

You scramble for more, anything to turn the reality of what you truly feel into the illusion of anger, “And— and— Why the fuck are you silent! Say something!” You aim another punch at his chest, but it’s impossibly weaker, the exhaustion showing in your useless attempts at getting at him.

You sniff, and you know you lost against his indifference, your voice wavering feeling like a confession you didn’t mean to make. “Asshole. You’re being so mean. You’re making me cry.”

That’s what finally breaks him. Only the tears slipping rapidly from your eyes get his resolve to crumble. His hands are on you instantly, gripping your shoulders gently but firmly, refusing to let you squirm away. You slap at them weakly, but his touch is steady, his fingers brushing strands of hair from your face, cupping your chin to tilt it up toward him.

“Toots, no. Hey, hey,” he whispers, his tone soft in a way that disarms you completely. His thumb swipes at a stray tear, but your face turns away, evading him like it’s your only line of defense. He doesn’t back down, “Stop crying. Hey, look at me. Will you?”

“Stop calling me that!” You finally snap, jerking your face away again. The tears are spilling faster now, no matter how much you want to fight them, no matter how much you want to cling to the fury. “I hate you. You’re fucking all the girls in this college, and I’m only fucking you, because— because—”

“God,” Jeongguk groans, exasperation dripping from his tone. You’re about to hurl another half-formed insult or maybe even take a swing at him again, aiming low, but his next words stop you cold.

“Do I have to spell it out for you?” His tone is quieter now, more deliberate, the vulnerability in it cutting sharper than anything else he’s said. “I like you. I broke the rule.”

You’re sure your heart will fail you today. It misses at least four beats, and it steals the oxygen from your lungs, along with the color from your face.

You stammer, eyes widening as your pulse picks up again and pounds in your ears. “Don’t—don’t say shit like that. I swear to God, I’ll actually fuck you up. Stop—lying to me.”

“What the fuck, ___? I’m not lying to you,” Jeongguk’s voice attempts to be steady but it can’t hide the desperation, as if he’s holding on by a thread. “Why would I?”

The question is simple.

Why would Jeongguk lie to you? Does he have a reason to fake this?

The world seems to tilt, the ground beneath you shifting in some irreparable way.

You should feel scared. You should feel repulsed at the thought of commitment, the weight of his words pressing against you like a cage. But you don’t.

Instead, your eyes dart between his, searching for cracks in his sincerity, like a frantic spectator watching a tennis match, every glance like a volley in the game of something bigger than either of you. The matchpoint sends a thrill through your chest, something overwhelming and terrifying but not unwelcome.

Jeongguk watches you closely, feeling the weight of the silence between you stretch on longer than he can handle. He knows he’s the one that should break it, knows the truth he’s holding inside has to be spoken now.

It’s now or never. He can’t keep pretending—this isn’t just some casual thing to him, and he’s not ready to let it slip away without a fight. You’ve become everything he didn’t know he needed, and yet here he is, paralyzed by the fear of rejection, of being vulnerable, of watching the one thing he wants most slip right through his fingers.

But that’s the thing, isn’t it? If he doesn’t speak up now, he’ll lose everything. His fear has no place in this moment anymore.

It’s a long exhale before his voice drops in soft honey, shaking with the weight of the truth, “Look. I know it’s hard to trust me. You’ve seen me fuck up multiple times over this stuff. But I want to stop this cycle. I want to allow myself something good,” his eyes search for any signal that he should stop talking, but in yours he finds every reason for him not to, “And you’re everything good that life will ever concede me. I can't… I can't let you go. I can't lose you.”

"Jeongguk…" His name slips from your lips like a prayer you've been too afraid to speak aloud until now. But you see it— he’s ready to find every solution, even if it means confronting the fear that has held him back for so long.

“I like you so much it’s killing me,” he admits, voice low and raw, every syllable cracking with vulnerability.

It’s a slow realization, like a tide that comes in quietly, softly. You’ve felt its caress for so long, and now that it embraces you wholly, you feel your heart expand, filling with the same warmth, the same longing.

The words you wish you could say are caught in your throat. You look up at him, eyes wide, trying to comprehend, to take in what he’s offering. You’re almost afraid to ask, as if the answer will shatter something you’ve worked so hard to protect, “You like me?”

“I lose my fucking mind when it comes to you.” His confession is a rush of honesty that sweeps through you, his eyes not leaving yours, like he’s afraid you’ll disappear if he blinks.

The world feels like it’s slowing down. There’s so much you’ve been holding back, but you don’t know how to make the words fit, how to make them sound right.

Jeongguk takes a small step back, his voice quieter but still heavy with emotion. “It’s okay if you wanna end it here,” he murmurs, his words barely above a whisper, like he’s bracing for the worst. “At least it wasn’t because you got with some other stupid guy.”

You shake your head, the thought of losing him too painful to bear. “Stop—” You let out a frustrated sigh, hands curling into fists at your sides. “God, you’re so dumb. This could have been so much easier if you’d told me sooner.”

He looks at you, confusion flickering across his face. “What do you mean?”

You feel your chest tighten, the truth slipping out before you can stop it. “I like you too,” you admit, the words finally leaving your lips hastly, like they were just waiting for the right moment. “I agreed to the date because I thought you were still… fucking around.”

His face softens, and there’s a flash of relief in his eyes. “I wasn’t. Haven’t been in so long.”

“...No Haeun?”

“Hell no. I don’t want no kiss if it isn’t from you.”

You laugh, a low sound that fills the air between you. “Cheesy fucker,” you tease, but there’s a warmth in your chest now, a feeling you can’t ignore. “Well, if you want to know, I wasn’t seeing anybody either. Namjoon asked me out randomly, but I haven’t been with anyone else since… this started.”

His eyes widen slightly, and for a moment, everything is quiet. He looks at you like he’s just heard something he never expected to hear. “Oh,” he says softly.

“Yeah.”

Jeongguk steps closer to you, his hands reaching for you, voice thick, “I’m so sorry, baby. I never meant to make you cry. It’s breaking my heart.” His thumb brushes across your cheek, gently wiping away the remnants of the tears you hadn’t even realized had fallen. “I’m so sorry.”

You shake your head, your heart swelling with both regret and tenderness. “It’s okay,” you say softly. “I’m sorry for yelling all that stuff at you. I don’t hate you. I…”

Before you can finish, his lips crash against yours, and all the confusion, all the fears, prove themselves to be worth this moment.

They dissolve into something real, the kiss trying to make up for lost time, for all the things left unsaid.

When you pull away, your foreheads resting together, Jeongguk’s voice is quiet but determined. “Come here, baby. You’re mine.”

“Prove it.”

[infiniteglitterfall]

know someone who enjoys horror stories? share this one! it's true!

hahahahahahahahahaha aarrggghhhhhhhhhh 3,000,000 deaths due to COVID-19 last year. Globally. Three million. Case rates higher than 90% of the rest of the pandemic. The reason people are still worried about COVID is because it has a way of quietly fucking up your body. And the risk is cumulative.

I'm going to say that again: the risk is cumulative.

It's not just that a lot of people get bad long-term effects from it. One in seven or so? Enough that it's kind of the Russian Roulette of diseases. It's also that the more times you get it, the higher that risk becomes. Like if each time you survived Russian Roulette, the empty chamber was removed from the gun entirely. The worst part is that, psychologically, we have the absolute opposite reaction. If we survive something with no ill effects, we assume it's pretty safe. It is really, really hard to override that sense of, "Ok, well, I got it and now I probably have a lot of immunity and also it wasn't that bad." It is not a respiratory disease. Airborne, yes. Respiratory disease, no: not a cold, not a flu, not RSV.

Like measles (or maybe chickenpox?), it starts with respiratory symptoms. And then it moves to other parts of your body. It seems to target the lungs, the digestive system, the heart, and the brain the most.

It also hits the immune system really hard - a lot of people are suddenly more susceptible to completely unrelated viruses. People get brain fog, migraines, forget things they used to know.

(I really, really hate that it can cross the blood-brain barrier. NOTHING SHOULD EVER CROSS THE BLOOD-BRAIN BARRIER IT IS THERE FOR A REASON.) Anecdotal examples of this shit are horrifying. I've seen people talk about coworkers who've had COVID five or more times, and now their work... just often doesn't make sense? They send emails that say things like, "Sorry, I didn't mean Los Angeles, I meant Los Angeles."

Or they insist they've never heard of some project that they were actually in charge of a year or two before.

Or their work is just kind of falling apart, and they don't seem to be aware of it.

People talk about how they don't want to get the person in trouble, so their team just works around it. Or they describe neighbors and relatives who had COVID repeatedly, were nearly hospitalized, talked about how incredibly sick they felt at the time... and now swear they've only had it once and it wasn't bad, they barely even noticed it.

(As someone who lived with severe dissociation for most of my life, this is a genuinely terrifying idea to me. I've already spent my whole life being like, "but what if I told them that already? but what if I did do that? what if that did happen to me and I just don't remember?") One of its known effects in the brain is to increase impulsivity and risk-taking, which is real fucking convenient honestly. What a fantastic fucking mutation. So happy for it on that one. Yes, please make it seem less important to wear a mask and get vaccinated. I'm not screaming internally at all now.

I saw a tweet from someone last year whose family hadn't had COVID yet, who were still masking in public, including school.

She said that her son was no kind of an athlete. Solidly bottom middle of the pack in gym.

And suddenly, this year, he was absolutely blowing past all the other kids who had to run the mile. He wasn't running any faster. His times weren't fantastic or anything. It's just that the rest of the kids were worse than him now. For some reason. I think about that a lot. (Like my incredibly active six-year-old getting a cold, and suddenly developing post-viral asthma that looked like pneumonia.

He went back to school the day before yesterday, after being home for a month and using preventative inhalers for almost week.

He told me that it was GREAT - except that he couldn't run as much at recess, because he immediately got really tired. Like how I went outside with him to do some yard work and felt like my body couldn't figure out how to increase breathing and heart rate.

I wasn't physically out of breath, but I felt like I was out of breath. That COVID feeling people describe, of "I'm not getting enough air." Except that I didn't have that problem when I had COVID.) Some people don't observe any long (or medium) term side effects after they have it.

But researchers have found viral reservoirs of COVID-19 in everyone they've studied who had it.

It just seems to hang out, dormant, for... well, longer than we've had an opportunity to observe it, so far.

(I definitely watched that literal horror movie. I think that's an entire genre. The alien dormant under ice in the Arctic.)

(oh hey I don't like that either!!!!!!!!!) All of which is to explain why we should still care about avoiding it, and how it manages to still cause excess deaths. Measuring excess deaths has been a standard tool in public health for a long time.

We know how many people usually die from all different causes, every year. So we can tell if, for example, deaths from heart disease have gone way up in the past three years, and look for reasons. Those are excess deaths: deaths that, four years ago, would not have happened. During the pandemic, excess death rates have been a really important tool. For all sorts of reasons. Like, sometimes people die from COVID without ever getting tested, and the official cause is listed as something else because nobody knows they had COVID. But also, people are dying from cardiovascular illness much younger now.

People are having strokes and heart attacks younger, and more often, than they did before the pandemic started. COVID causes a lot of problems. And some of those problems kill people. And some of them make it easier for other things to kill us. Lung damage from COVID leading to lungs collapsing, or to pneumonia, or to a pulmonary embolism, for example. The Economist built a machine-learning model with a 95% confidence interval that gauges excess death statistics around the world, to tell them what the true toll of the ongoing COVID pandemic has been so far.

Total excess deaths globally in 2023: Three million.

3,000,000.

Official COVID-19 deaths globally so far: Seven million. 7,000,000. Total excess deaths during COVID so far: Thirty-five point two million. 35,200,000.

Five times as many.

That's bad. I don't like that at all. I'm glad last year was less than a tenth of that. I'm not particularly confident about that continuing, though, because last year we started a period of really high COVID transmission. Case rates higher than 90% of the rest of the pandemic. Here's their data, and charts you can play with, and links to detailed information on how they did all of this:

Here's a non-paywalled link to it:

https://archive.vn/2024.01.26-012536/https://www.economist.com/graphic-detail/coronavirus-excess-deaths-estimates

Oh: here's a link to where you can buy comfy, effective N95 masks in all sizes:

Those ones are about a buck each after shipping - about $30 for a box of 30. They also have sample packs for a dollar, so you can try a couple of different sizes and styles.

You can wear an N95 mask for about 40 total hours before the effectiveness really drops, so that's like a dollar for a week of wear.

They're also family-owned and have cat-shaped masks and I really love them. These ones are cuter and in a much wider range of colors, prints, and styles, but they're also more expensive; they range from $1.80 to $3 for a mask. ($18-$30 for a box of ten.)