#tg fic

[allforreading-fandomthings]

Hello TG fandom!

Maybe you can help me out? I'm looking for cute, fluffy, wholesome fics, either icemav or hangster.

I'm feeling kinda sad because I'm at a difficult and sad point in the fic I'm writing at the moment. I like writing it but it's just so sad at the moment... And I desperately need something to lift my mood.

And tomorrow's my birthday.. so any recs?

[icezansky]

a fic by Icezansky

chapter 1/?

rating: Explicit

summary: Nonsensically, as the Admiral steps up to the podium, the first thing that Maverick notices is that he’s wearing his wedding ring. The second thing he notices is that Tom’s looking at him, too. And, of course, he recognizes him. There’s a brief flash of panic in his gaze before he’s turning a wide, disarming smile on the group at large - his reaction to Maverick disappearing under a veneer of civility and professionalism in an instant.

A Sugar Daddy Iceman AU.

relationships: Tom "Iceman" Kazansky/Pete "Maverick" Mitchell, Nick "Goose" Bradshaw & Pete "Maverick" Mitchell, Sarah Kazansky & Tom "Iceman" Kazansky

tags: Sugar Daddy, Marriage of Convenience, Hook-Up, Hand Jobs, Blow Jobs, Anal Fingering, Anal Play, Making Out, Power Imbalance, Age Difference, Pete Mitchell fucks that old man, no bets we die like goose, Other Additional Tags to be Added

words: 9,286

[tngrace]

Prologue

And here we go finally! Part 1 of Maverick Chronicles. Will update on Fridays. Enjoy!

Tumbler: Masterlist: Main, Mav Chronicles ; A03

Even at five, Pete knew his world was changing. The men on the porch caught his mom when she went down, but he’s not sure he’ll ever forget her cries. She’d always been a little distant when his dad was away, but when his dad never came back, he lost his mom as well. She stayed in her room, only emerging to get another drink and restart the song. He hated that song. He’s not surprised when he comes home from school one day a year and half later to find officers at his house and his mom is gone. He doesn’t cry; he lost his mom a long time ago. 

None of his relatives wanted him; he was a young child who had already been through too much. He was already acting out at school, getting into trouble, but no one took the time to see that he just needed a little attention, a little love. When none of his aunts would take him, he was placed in the system; a system that wasn’t very kind to him. A system that reinforced his beliefs that no one would want him, that he was inherently bad, that he deserved all the pain and heartache he received. But what he didn’t know was that someone was fighting for him; someone, two someones, wanted him very much. 

When he was eight and a half, Mike and Carrie started to come visit. He vaguely remembers Mike working with his dad, but it takes a couple of visits before he warms up to them. The social worker is surprised with how well-behaved and nice Pete is when he is with Mike and Carrie. But they talk to him, they listen, they give him attention and they’re nice to him. He likes them, and he really likes when Mike tells him stories about his dad. He trusts them, and he’s always so sad when they leave. He doesn’t show it, showing his tears are a weakness in his current foster father’s eyes, but he always cries for a solid hour when Mike and Carrie leave. He’s always so surprised when they come back too. 

On their fifth visit they bring their daughters Catherine and Jamie with them. Cat’s three years older than him, but she plays with him on each visit, and she seems nice. Jamie is almost one, and she loves using Pete to pull up on. She grins at him every time she does it, and Pete can’t help but smile at her. After their tenth visit, his social worker asks if he’d like to go live with them. He doesn’t believe it, doesn’t believe they could want him full time, but he’s honest and says yes. A week later they’re in front of a judge, and he has to answer a bunch of questions honestly. When it’s over, Carrie pulls him into a hug that’s so tight, he’s sure he’s going to snap in half. “Want to go get your stuff kiddo?” Mike asks. 

“I’ve got it,” he says nodding to the backpack that’s beside him. 

He sees Mike and Carrie share a look, and he’s afraid he’s already messed up. 

“Tomorrow we’ll go shopping; or maybe when we’re back home.” 

“I’m fine,” Pete promises. He has all his important mementos and pictures in his backpack with two pairs of jeans and shirts. 

Mike gently squeezes his shoulder, but he agrees with Carrie. “Let’s get back to the room, get some food, and book the tickets home.” 

It’s a whirlwind after that, and before Pete knows it, he has his own room in a house on the beach in California. His room is between the girls, and they let him decorate it anyway he wants. It takes several months of being there, probably closer to a year if he’s being honest, before he relaxes into the fact that his room isn’t going anywhere. He starts putting his pictures out on the dresser. There’s the one of him and his dad with his dad’s plane in the background. Then there’s the one picture of the three of them where they were happy. When he comes home from school one day, he finds them in a frame next to his bed and he tries not to cry. He finds Carrie in the kitchen cooking; “Thank you,” he tells her quietly from the doorway. 

“For what sweetheart?” 

“Putting my pictures in a frame. I… I was always afraid they’d get ruined and I’d lose them.” 

Carrie kneels down for a hug, but she always waits for him to come to her. Pete runs into her arms, clinging tight. 

“You’ll never have to worry about losing them again Pete. We can even make some copies just in case, if you want.” 

Pete nods against her shoulder, as he buries his face in her neck. “Thank you mama,” he whispers. 

It’s the first time he has called her that, even though both she and Mike have told him they would be more than happy with whatever he called them, but that it was ok to think of them as mom and dad now. She hugs him tighter trying not to cry, and that is how Mike finds them after getting Cat started on her homework and getting some hugs from his two year old. 

“Everything ok?” he asks quietly, so as not to startle Pete. 

“Yea…. Yea. Everything is perfect,” Carrie gets out. Thankfully, Pete doesn’t notice the tears in her voice, but Mike does. He cocks his eyebrow at her, and she gives him a watery smile. 

Even though he’s almost ten now, Carrie picks him up and holds him. Mike walks closer and wraps his arms around them both. Pete lets out a shuddering breath as he clings to Carrie tighter. He feels safe; he feels loved, and he has for the last year. 

After a few minutes, Pete wiggles down, giving them a blinding smile before he’s off to do his own homework with Cat while Jamie runs around their feet. 

“What happened?” Mike asks once Pete is gone and Carrie falls into his arms letting the tears fall. 

“He thanked me for the picture frame and called me mama.” 

Mike’s arms tighten around her and he smiles. It took a little longer than they expected, but Pete was finally settled; he was home. 

It takes another year before he calls Mike “dad.” Pete had been sick, and Carrie couldn’t get out of work for the day. Even though it was generally frowned upon, Mike had brought him to base to rest in his office while he had class. He didn’t have any hops that day, so he figured it would be fine. When Mike comes back from class, Pete is curled on the couch in Mike’s sweatshirt, looking awful. 

“Alright kiddo, ready to go home?” Mike asks, brushing the hair off his forehead. 

Pete is burning up, so Mike gets him some more meds and then helps him up. It’s a struggle to get Pete to take them, but he finally manages to get them down, and he rests his head against Mike’s abdomen where he’s standing in front of Pete. His fingers are brushing through Pete’s hair in the way that always calms him, and Pete lets out a shuddering breath. “Don’t feel good, Dad,” he whines. 

Mike has to force himself not to react and freak Pete out, but he feels the lump in his throat all the same. “I know bud. Let’s get you home and into bed. How’s that sound?”

“Will you stay?” Pete whispers. 

“As long as you want,” Mike promises. He helps Pete up, and gives him his aviators to hide behind even though they’re way too big on the kid, and then leads him out of the office. Once home, Pete curls into his side in bed and promptly falls asleep. That’s how Carrie finds them once she gets home. 

At sixteen, Pete starts asking Mike questions about the Academy and joining the Navy. He wanted to be a pilot just like both his dads. Mike was more than pleased to answer any and all of Pete’s questions, and he snuck him on base over summer break more than he probably should’ve. But Pete had him wrapped around his little finger since the day he was born. Mike worked for those two years to get the mission he’d flown with Duke declassified so the truth could be revealed, but it was to no avail. He knew the rumors that swirled around the Navy, and he knew Pete was going to have a hard go at it, but he was still surprised when the rejection letter came. To say Pete was heartbroken was an understatement, and when he asked Mike why he thought he didn’t get in, Mike told him the truth as much as it killed him. Mike watched his carefree teenager transform before his eyes. It was the same stubbornness and determination he’d seen in his long deceased wingman that shown in his kids eyes now, and he knew nothing would stop Pete from finding a way. 

What did surprise him was Pete wanting to cut off all contact with them. Pete thought he was protecting Mike and explained it as such. Carrie was able to convince Pete that he was still able to write to her or the girls so they didn’t lose full contact with him, and Mike was relieved. He wasn’t ready to let his kid go just yet. Pete fast tracked through college, and before Mike knew it, his kid was in flight school. It was there that he met Nick and Carole, who took him into their little family like it was nothing. Mike was glad to see him gaining friends and support outside of them, and he hoped it would be a good thing for Pete. Nick and Pete seemed to click so well, and Mike wasn’t all that surprised when he’d heard they were a pilot/RIO pair. He even understood when Pete changed his emergency contacts to Nick and Carole, even if it broke Carrie’s heart just a bit.

Out of flight school, they had a brief station at Pensacola, and it was there that Pete met Tom Kazansky. He’d mostly kept his sexuality to himself as a teenager, but his older sister knew he tended to favor males. He had a suspicion that Mike and Carrie knew as well, but they’d never said anything, so he didn’t either. While it could get him a dishonorable discharge if anyone in the Navy found out, Pete made sure to always be discrete. Hence why Nick didn’t even know. But one look at Tom Kazansky, and Pete knew he had to have him. It took a couple of weeks and several, several, nights at a bar and nightclub, but Pete finally succeeded and got his man. It was one of the hottest and greatest nights of his life if he’s being honest, but the next day, he and Nick were restationed, leaving Tom behind. 

In between deployments, he would sometimes sneak home for a short visit; Carrie insisting on seeing him alive with her own eyes. It always felt great coming home, but he was always worried his connection to them would be discovered and he’d ruin Mike’s career. It was the last thing he wanted, knowing how hard his dad had worked for that top position at Top Gun, so he spent a lot of his leaves on his own or with Nick and Carole. They’d done three years of random length deployments, Mav making a name for himself in the Navy and trying to out fly Duke’s ghost, before they were sent to Top Gun. It felt odd knowing he’d actually been the second choice, and if it hadn’t been for Cougar turning in his wings, he’d still be waiting for his chance. But Mav was beyond ecstatic to be going home, and to finally be able to fly with his dad.

[duchesschameleon]

day one (a kazansky for america fic)

summary: day one in the oval office for the Kazansky Administration rating: G for everyone warnings: none read this fic on ao3

a long awaited third installment in the kazansky for america series, my top gun west wing au. thank you as always to @qvid-pro-qvo for the beta. enjoy!

“Well, this is certainly the grandest office we’ve moved into,” Carole says, head on a swivel as she looks around the west wing.

“Probably going to be the last one we move into,” Ice adds on, leading the way through the hallways and towards the Oval Office. He tries to ignore the historical significance of this office, of this position, and treat it like any other move-in day, but it’s difficult. Everywhere he looks, there’s a piece of history staring back at him.

“Oh, Mr. President, I’d like to see the day you actually retire from work. You’ll keep doing something and needing an office, even after this,” Carole retorts as they wind through to the outer Oval. “You’ll be doing something and Maverick and I will be right by your side, helping out however we can.”

Ice rolls his eyes but stays quiet. He knows Carole is right. “You know it’ll be Mav’s idea, whatever comes next.” Carole nods her head, conceding the point.

“Hey, how about we focus on getting in here and doing at least four years of work before we plan on what’s next?” a voice says, right behind him. Ice stiffens at the sudden closeness of another body, only relaxing when he recognizes his partner.  

“Hmm, but before we can do any work here, I believe we have some balls to attend,” Ice says, leaning back slightly into Mav, wanting to be close to him. He spares a moment of relief and wonder that this is his life. He still can’t believe he gets this, gets to have this incredible man by his side, and in this office with him.

Mav makes a face, looks at Ice apologetically. “Yeah, there’s actually a little work to be done before we party, Mr. President.”

Ice’s spine straightens instinctually at that, something about Mav saying it that triggers the reaction. It’s his title now, officially. Forever. A title that now refers to him, not a warning that someone’s coming he needs to impress and be on his best behavior for.

No, now he has to be on his best behavior and do the best job of his life. All eyes are on him.

“That’s gonna take some getting used to,” he mutters before shaking his head and meeting his partner’s gaze. His partner’s, his chief of staff’s, proud gaze. “Alright, then let’s get to work.”

The afternoon becomes a blur, senior staff coming in and out of the Oval, each of them pausing for a moment to look around and be a little awed by the room. If he wasn’t still adjusting to this being his office now, he would have laughed at them. Especially Bradley.

“Kinda crazy, isn’t it?” he says to his pseudo-nephew and deputy chief of staff once they’ve wrapped up their conversation.

“Kinda?” Bradley snorts. “It’s completely crazy. Can’t believe we’re finally here.” He pauses and looks around before meeting Ice’s gaze again. “Dad would have loved to see this. Woulda been telling us he told us so, that you would be here, and then have some ideas about decorating the place.”

Ice laughs, picturing Goose circling the room completely at ease. He could just imagine the suggestions he’d have to bring some relaxed, California flair to the Oval Office.

“We’d have palm fronds in here within a week, probably less if he got your mom in on it.”

Bradley chuckles, shaking his head. “Within a day. She’d never be able to say no to him.”

“You’re right, you’re right.” 

They stand there, soaking in the room and thinking about the family who isn’t with them today.

“Mr. President, you’ve got -“ Mav pauses, seeing Bradley. “Hey, kiddo. Everything good?”

Bradley nods. “We’re good, I just had to see the Oval and go over something. I’m leaving now though.” He turns back to Ice, “Thank you, Mr. President.”

Ice just nods, a little overwhelmed hearing Bradley address him so formally. They’d tried to be as professional as possible throughout the campaign, but late nights and exhaustion from being on the road would creep in and no one stopped them from being more familiar with each other. Now, there was a constant reminder of his title all around them, a stark reminder of the position he now held.

It’ll take some getting used to the formality of the office, he thought again.

“Mr. President, you good?” Mav asks, interrupting his thoughts.

“I’m good, Pete,” he says, turning and smiling at his husband. “Just adjusting to the office. The title.”

Pete huffs out a laugh. “That’s what the transition period was for, ease you into the title and the office. Make sure we’re all prepared.”

“Yeah, well, talking about it and actually being here in the Oval and having everyone - including you and Bradley - addressing me so formally, it’s different.”

“This whole thing is different, Tom,” Pete says, dropping the title to make Tom really look at him and pay attention to his words. “This is the first day of the last job you are ever going to have. You’re the President of the United States, the biggest job you could have. You’re the first gay man in the Oval Office, that adds pressure and importance.”

Tom knows it’s true, had remarked on it himself when he stepped through the door earlier that day. But to hear Pete say it, to put it so plainly and point out just how important this job and his win back in November is, and that they somehow made it to today, to inauguration day, makes him pause.

He’s the President of the United States of America. The first gay president, and he’s married by common law to his Chief of Staff.

“Holy shit, I’m the president,” he whispers. “Pete, I’m the president. I got sworn in today. We’re here. We’re really here.”

Pete smirks and moves next to Tom, wraps an arm around him. “We’re really here, babe.”

They stand together like that for a moment, taking it all in. Pete rests his head on Tom’s shoulder, shifts his eyes to check his watch and notes the time. They can take this moment, this minute to revel in what they’ve accomplished.

“Okay, we gotta get back to it, Mr. President,” Pete says quietly, presses a kiss to Tom’s shoulder. “There’s a few more reports and memos to go through before we can call it a night and head back to the residence and change for the ball.”

Tom let out a sigh and nodded. “Before we get back to work, just give me one kiss?”

Pete smiles and obliges him, leaning in to press a chaste kiss to his husband’s lips. “C’mon, back to work. It’s day one,” Pete says again, “there’ll be time for that over the next four years.”

“Okay, then. What’s next?”

[elmaxlys]

L, N, and P for the ask please? 💙

Oooh, interesting ones :3 thanks! :D

L - Say something genuinely nice about a character who isn’t one of your faves.

Akira is really cool and her character evolution feels quite fitting as the daughter of Kureo. I like the way she fights and the way she has such a strong grip on her feelings and how she learns to show these more a little at a time but still staying quite reserved.

N - Name three things you wish you saw more of in your main fandom (or a fandom of choice).

1- [Tenkuu Shinpan] I'd love to see more of literally anything that isn't Sniper. Yuri independantly of Nise, Nise independantly of Yuri, Kuon as a destructive force, RIKA AS A WHOLE, literally anyone else. It's not fair how everyone just looks at Sniper and ignores absolutely everything else about this series.

2- [Tokyo Ghoul] CLOWNS POSITIVITY. i'm including kanou in this. Still bitter they got excluded from the tgzine (if there are tg zines going on at twitter or whatever feel free to inform me any time btw)

3- arranged weddings and body swaps, not necessarily at once but they are things i love to see dealt with :3

P - Invent a random AU for any fandom (we always need more ideas).

Mmmm... Shirazu lives and gets more dads AU.. This got out of hands. Warning for long post bc I don't want to put it under a readmore

After Nutcracker and Hayashimura left all the rights to the quinque to him + after the haircut, Shirazu and Hayashimura become a bit closer, and like Mucchan training with Suzuya, Shiragin sometimes trains with Hayashimura. Hayashimura and Fura help him get over his thing with Nutcracker and so he trains better with the quinque and thanks to that (partially), he survives Noro (also like. Urie thinks to fucking feed him after he's injured. he thought to do that in literally the first arc. come on.).

And so after Rose, he ends up with the Noro quinque and he doesn't give Nut to Hayashimura but like. he lends it to him and stuff and idk he takes smoke breaks with Fura and Fura invite him to dinner with his family sometimes and Hayashimua also adopts him and Shirazu improves rapidly and becomes a great leader for the Quinx, even after Haise distances himself from them.

And Urie isn't, like, happy about all that but he accepts it somewhat because of how scared he got to lose Shirazu in the end. And Saiko begins to take things seriously. And Shirazu is the one to visit Hinami in prison and he starts advocating not to kill her because she's Sassan's little sister and he gets it, you know?

And Urie still got closer to Matsuri but in a, like, diminished measure since he isn't squad leader. Matsuri's still crushing on him and inviting him to dinner but he has to invite the rest of the Quinx with him because otherwise it's weird. And therefore the Quinx get closer to the Washuu Clan and Yoshitoki just loves Shiragin and he's glad his son's making some friends. Iyo and Saiko become friends too, Saiko teaches her to play Mario Kart or something.

And the Quinx begin to smell something weird about the Washuu thanks to their super senses, even if they're not really sure to identify it (think the way Hide hid from ghouls but the other way around?)

And Shirazu takes the Robed Giant case seriously and so they meet on Rushima after finding Mutsuki all messed up, and Saiko manages to get the rights to him because Shirazu's the leader and not traumatized Urie. And I guess Yoshitoki either dies (i don't want him to but. for plot) or manages to fake his death and flees with Marude.

Cue Koutarou in Cochlea when his dad finally got out :) Cue Saiko visiting Koutarou all the time, sometimes accompanied by Shirazu. And Shirazu just doesn't believe what he's told about Sasaki, and when Koutarou gets closer to Saiko (they were made to be besties fight me), he starts telling her stuff off the record and so she asks Hsiao, which never confirms or denies anything. So Saiko takes Shiragin and has Koutarou tell him all he told her.

And Shirazu who has felt icky about his job since Nutcracker becomes extremely wary of the CCG politics. But Matsuri, who was their sorta friend clearly needs support so they stay close to him and therefore he gets a bit better and poses a real problem in terms of succession. Iyo takes the destroying of the Washuu clan as an opportunity to ask for divorce. Matsuri takes the divorce as an opportunity to be a little honest with Urie (not about his crush but about him being gay and Urie's like #same.) and they get closer bc they both have unrequited feelings for some guy and dead daddy issues.

And then the Clowns Raid happens. And it's Shirazu with Urie when they get to Donato. And while Urie is crucified on the ceiling Shirazu manages to talk to him like wait aren't you Amon Koutarou's dad? A-Owl? Floppy? And idk how it leads to that but after a bit, the Quinx, like, desert the CCG and help Koutarou get out of Cochlea with Donato (shhhh this is pure self indulgence), and it doesn't go exactly well because the Clowns are awful and welp they can't really go with them, but Amon stays with the Quinx that he decided to adopt while Donato goes back to the background where people forget about him until the next strike like he does so well

AND Amon has connection to Hide so they go find him which means they also find Matsuri, who they thought died in the raid, and there they learn everything about the CCG and the Washuu and they get Haru treated after getting her out of the CCG hospitals bc they feared they'd let her die after the Quinx' defection.

This and that happen but in the end the Quinx end up becoming the bridge between ghouls and humans they were meant to be and therefore Souta's plan doesn't need to be implemented anymore and Shirazu goes to talk to Goat and stuff and Kaneki's being a bitch but Haise in his brain beats him up and ta-dah Goat returns to society and slowly ghouls become actually accepted and are furnished human flesh instead of disgusting fake meat and humans don't turn to ghouls out of nowhere and Tokyo isn't destroyed and Kaneki gets therapy and when he's all better and Touka got some classes on domestic violence, then and only then does she ask him to date her. And it doesn't work out anyway but they tried.

Kaneki and Hide talk a lot and start a friendship again. Kaneki apologizes to Shuu properly. And now that the death threats have subsided, Shuu realizes he can't forgive him after all, going back to his Rose arc mentality. Kaneki tries to make amends. Suzuya suggests that he stays with him with his squad or something and at first it doesn't work well but it ends up becoming a safe place where Kaneki can heal. Touka gets together with Nishikimi and it works out a lot better than it ever would have with Kaneki.

Eto is dead dead after Cochlea btw but all the remaining half-ghouls and quinx and half-humans stick together and become one big family and Amon's their dad and Takizawa is the weird uncle. And Kurona becomes besties with Urie because I said so. Mutsuki takes a while to heal. He has sparring matches with Takizawa and Suzuya and none of them feels pain so it gets very horrible very quickly but it works out for them. Urie gets over his crush on Mutsuki as he finds more and more people to care about and rely on. Mutsuki still obsess over Haise but in a more healthy way.

And Roma didn't die since Souta's plan didn't go through. She flees to find somewhere more fun. Shiko alternates with staying with Takizawa and staying with her. No one manages to follow him to find her. No one has heard about Souta or Donato but they're actually sticking pretty close to keep an eye on things (Souta on Rize, Donato on his son). They're good at staying stealthy and somehow never get found out even when they're not even really trying anymore. Souta dies at 30 of old age and only Donato, Roma and Nico are there for him in his last moments.

Yomo's taking care of Rize but after her last trip to V's labs she never quite heals. I want to talk about other characters but my head is drawing a blank so idk I think Tomoe would do something similar as what she does in 179, but through Takizawa she meets the Quinx and doesn't exactly forgive Amon but tolerates him. Saiko loves her to bits. Talking about Saiko, her brother left their mom too and lives with the Quinx as well. Yeah it's giving 2012 Avengers Tower vibes shush

And to end this, Matsuri and Urie get married and Shirazu gets also adopted by Marude and Iwaccho and now has *counting* well. a lot of dads.

I haven't reread this and made it up as i went so i hope it's at least slightly coherent.

------

Send me a letter

[whichcouldmeannothing]

songbird snippet. hopefully u guys get it on tgms 1st anniv <3

[lovieku]

MOTHERFUCKIN’ TRAIN WRECK! ⋆ 정국

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

୨ৎ from the grande series

pairing: fuckboy!jk x fem!reader

genre: fwb au

warnings: based on this ask, 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.”

[kryptonitejelly]

draco malfoy x reader (female)

the one where Blaise notices the Malfoy signet ring on your finger.

send draco requests.

-

The air smells like a combination of Draco and yourself, but mostly Draco - notes of citrus overlaid with the scent of tea and smoky wood. His sheets are cool against the surface of your skin, a sensation which lends a sharp contrast to the warmth of his bare chest against your cheek. You can feel one of his hands tracing patterns onto the skin of your back, as he other hand fiddles absently with your fingers which you have splayed out across his chest, a lazy post-coital haze surrounding you both.

“Who knew the Draco Malfoy would be one for cuddling,” you say teasingly your fingers tugging lightly on the long slender digits which are still tangled with yours. This isn’t the first time you’ve been here, your naked form flush against Draco’s in the same bed in which he had you legs hooked over his shoulder, his name a litany on your lips just mere moments ago.

“I’m not,” he scoffs with a roll of his eyes, as he manages to squeeze your fingers in his, a subtle battle for dominance among you both.

“Alright then,” you say both suddenly and with a calculated carelessness as you push your hands, fingers still tangled in his against his chest as you make a move to sit up. The covers slip easily down your skin with no clothes to act as friction. It exposes you, your nipples hardening upon contact with the cool air. You’e barely managed to get up when you feel the arm wrapped around you shift, fingers pressing more firmly into your hip to pull you back down.

“Where do you think you’re going,” Draco questions. He keeps his tone indifferent but the arm which has tightened around your body tells a different story.

“I’m sure Theo likes to cuddle,” you express matter of factly, keeping your expression innocent and it earns you an icy gaze from the blonde, cool grey boring in you. Draco observes you for almost a full minute before speaking.

“I’m sure he does not,” is what he finally says as a retort, his tone more disgruntled this time.

You open your mouth to disagree only to feel your back pressed flat into the mattress, Draco’s body now covering yours, his movements swift. You see the glint in his eyes as he lowers his head towards yours.

“Draco,” you breathe his name out. He doesn’t respond but presses his lips to yours. His hands find yours, fingers tangling together, pinning your hands above your head. You kiss him back, teeth nipping his lip lightly which earns your a low growl from the back of his throat. You can feel Draco hardening, his length pressed against your stomach. Your almost miss it with the competing sensations overtaking your body - lips, hands, skin, but your brain manages to register the feeling of Draco slipping cool metal from the signet ring on his last finger onto your index.

-

“Well, well, well - look who decided to join us,” Blaise calls out too cheerily, taking in the sight of you and Draco walking into the small sitting room in what had come to be Draco’s side of the Malfoy manor.

“It is surprising that I’m joining you in the sitting room of the Malfoy manor,” comes Draco’s reply which earns a good natured chortle from Theo and an eye roll from Pansy.

“Well, you can’t blame us for thinking that you two would be,” Blaise pauses for dramatic effect, “…otherwise occupied.” His unsaid words clear.

As with the rest, you and Draco had been childhood friends. However, years of tension that neither of you had acted upon had only cumulated more recently, and with Pansy’s blessing, into this, whatever it was. You both hadn’t yet spoken about it, the touching, sleepovers, sex, and there had been no outward proclamations to the world at large that either of you was anything other than single, and yet - it was no secret among anyone who knew either of you that you were both very unavailable.

“You mean book club?” You managed to keep a straight face as you question Blaise too innocently. It earns you a smirk from Draco and an amused chuckle from Pansy, your joke clear as you stop by the table facing the floor to ceiling windows which they are sitting by.

You reach across the table for a handful of blueberries from a bowl beside Theo’s elbow when you feel Blaise grab your wrist lightly, his fingers curling around, as he holds your wrist up in triumph, brandishing it around. You place your free hand flat down on the surface of the table, stabilising yourself as you lean forward into Blaise’s pull.

“I didn’t know book club members were all given the Malfoy signet ring,” he grins wildly at the discovery. The group’s gaze flickers to Draco’s hand, noticing the lack of the ring, usually a mainstay, on his the last finger of his left hand.

“If I join book club could I get one too?” Theo quips cheekily as you feel your cheeks start to heat both at your current plight as well as with recollection of what had been a subtle act of possessive on Draco’s part earlier.

“Zabini,” Draco says, tone still even as he reaches over, his hand curling around your forearm, tugging you out of Blaise’s grip, while ignoring Theo, “if she’s wearing the Malfoy signet ring don’t you think you should think twice before manhandling her?”

“Is she yours Draco,” Pansy adds to the chaos, an equally wide smirk on her face as Blaise lets your wrist slip out from his hold with ease while throwing you a wink.

“If you thought otherwise then you lot must be more dim than I thought ,” is all Draco says as he sits down. He lets you drop onto the chair beside him before reaching over to pull the piece of furniture and you closer to his side, the drag of it on the floor audible.

It earns him a whoop from Blaise, two hands thrown up in the air from Theo as he yells “finally”, and a laugh from Pansy who blows a kiss at you.

Draco slides his arm across the back of the chair, before looking at you brows lifted slightly, but his question is clear, you’ve never spoke about this and Draco wants to know - are you okay with this?

“I am,” you say as you lean forward to press your lips briefly against his. It only causes a louder ruckus at the table.

[fanartsandstuff]

I just love ao3 authors

We live in a beautiful era of people not giving a single fuck

[bloatedandalone04]

Just Us Three

Summary: Yours and Jake’s son gets in trouble at school, and then Jake gets in trouble at home when he tries to hide it from you. (part 2 of this fic).

Word Count: 3.3k

Warnings: fluff, swearing, dilf jake, smut, angst if you squint, mentions of bullying, unprotected sex, dirty talk, protective jake.

Jake was still in his khaki uniform as he expertly manoeuvred his way through the halls of the school his son attends, similar to the way he skillfully moves in the sky. As his boots hit the granite tiles, he gave a nod to the school janitor, and the man half nodded, half waved back as he mopped the floor outside the bathrooms. 

He didn’t blame the guy for the lack-luster greeting one bit. Jake couldn’t imagine the horrors the poor lad had seen just today, let alone this week. And it was only Wednesday. 

Jake looked down at his watch and saw that it was quarter after three, and he was supposed to be at work for another few hours, but here he was. He was lucky he had such an understanding, albeit fed up, boss. 

When he rounded the corner and entered the school’s office, he was met with the kind smile that belonged to Miss Sands, the usually nice lady who sits behind the front desk. But that smile faded pretty quickly once she realized who had just walked in. “He’s in there,” she told him, pointing at the door that was just behind the desk, and that was all she said. 

“Thank you,” Jake said like it was part of his routine at this point. He walked past the desk and stood in the doorway, and he was greeted by an almost comically unimpressed look from the school’s principal, Mr. Harris. Jake held back a laugh, because this really wasn’t a funny moment, and raised his hand in a wave. “Hey…Mr. Harris.”

The principal raised his brow and looked over at the chair that was in front of his desk. “Mr. Seresin,” he stated, his tone flat and just…completely unfriendly. “Care to explain to me as to why your son is once again sitting in front of me?” 

Jake looked over as well, his green eyes meeting his son’s matching ones. “Hey, bud,” he mumbled, his brows furrowing a bit at the embarrassed look JJ had on his face. Jake cleared his throat and crossed his arms, looking back at the principal. “I don’t know, Mr. Harris. You’re the one who called me while I was at work.”

Mr. Harris pressed his lips into a thin line. “This is the second time I’ve had to call you this week,”

Jake clenched his jaw as he leaned against the door frame. “I’m aware,” he muttered. “This is also the second time I’ve had to leave work early this week.”

“Well, you are on the top of JJ’s contact list,” Harris said, crossing his arms as well. “Would you prefer I call your wife instead next time?” 

Jake tensed up at that, and he shook his head. “No,” 

The last thing he wanted was for you to get called out of work, and he knew you’d make it a much bigger deal than he does. Honestly, Jake didn’t want you to know about the multitude of calls he’s gotten from JJ’s school this month, because he knew it was mainly his fault. 

JJ had been having problems with a couple other kids in his grade, and Jake, being the protective father he discovered he is, told his five year old to stand up for himself and to not be afraid to speak his mind. 

Well…it turns out that JJ’s mind can be pretty…colorful, for lack of better words, and it’s gotten him in trouble more than once. This was probably the fifth or sixth time this month, and although Jake knew he needed to set some better boundaries here, he was also kind of annoyed. What about the other kids’ parents? Why can’t they teach their kids to not pick on his? JJ was taking Jake’s advice every time he had a problem with the other boys, and it seemed to be more often than not, yet clearly nothing was being done about the other kids. 

“Just keep calling me,” Jake muttered, rubbing at his forehead before stepping further into the office so he could stand next to JJ’s chair. “Or better yet, save me a trip and call the other kids’ parents. I know JJ’s got a…big mouth sometimes, but I also know it’s not just him. It’s the other boys in his class as well.”

Mr. Harris sighed and placed his hands on the surface of his desk. “Mr. Seresin, I’m aware of the comments the other boys have been making, but your son used language we don’t tolerate here,” he said, looking up at Jake expectantly. “Something needs to be done.”

Jake scoffed and moved to stand behind his son now, bracing his hands on the back of his chair as he leaned over. “Really?” he drawled, “What did he say?” 

Harris sighed and looked at JJ, and Jake quickly covered the five year olds ears - as if he wasn’t about to have what he said repeated back to his father. “He said ‘leave me alone you stupid…pussy’ to another kid on the playground,” he informed Jake, an embarrassed grimace on his face. “That kind of language is unacceptable here at school, Mr. Seresin.”

Jake stayed completely still, his hands still covering JJ’s ears as he processed what was just said. His kid said that? Where did he even learn that word? Jake doesn’t even use that word unless he’s…oh. 

Unless he’s pounding you into the bed he’s shared with you for the last eight years.

Well, fuck. 

Jake nodded after that and dropped his hands to JJ’s shoulders, giving his son a gentle squeeze. “Okay. Understandable. I will have a talk with him tonight,” he said, gesturing for JJ to stand up. He took his school bag from him and guided him towards the door of the office, but paused before he left. “But you need to do something about the kids that are picking on him, otherwise we’re gonna keep having problems.” 

Harris had the audacity to look offended at that, but Jake didn’t care as he took JJ’s hand and led him out to the parking lot. After he helped him into the backseat, Jake braced one hand above the door frame as he tried to think of what to say to his usually sweet son. “Listen, bud,” he started, glancing around the parking lot as a sigh left his lips. “What you said today, you can’t say that…word, okay? You’re too little to use those kinds of words, alright?”

JJ shifted in his seat, similar to the way Jake writhes around whenever you and he get into arguments - the ones he had no chance at winning. “But you say it. Uncle Bradley says it too sometimes when he drives me to soccer practice,” he mumbled, his big green eyes so innocent looking as he gazed up at Jake. “And I hear you say it to mommy sometimes at night time.”

Jake’s face heated up as he rubbed at his eyes, and he knew he would yell at Bradley the next time he saw him at work. “Is this when you’re supposed to be in bed?” JJ didn’t answer, and Jake shook his head as he ruffled his son’s blond hair. “I say it because I’m an adult, bud. And you need to stop trying to spy on your mom and I, alright?” 

JJ nodded, his sweet mind still innocent and unsure. Jake nodded too, then looked down at the paper in his hand that explained why JJ had been called to the office today, and he winced when he imagined you reading it. 

“Speaking of mom,” he mumbled, looking back up from the paper. “She doesn’t find out about this. Okay?”

JJ smiled up at Jake and nodded excitedly, seemingly more than happy to have a secret that only he and his dad know, and that was good enough for Jake. 

Well, it would’ve been, but JJ seemed to have forgotten all about the deal as later that evening, at the dinner table no less, he said something that had Jake’s heart skipping a beat. “Mommy! Daddy was so cool when he picked me up from the office today,” he beamed, and you furrowed your brows as you set your fork down. 

“What are you talking about, babe?” you asked, and Jake reached for his glass of water as you glanced over at him. 

“At the principal’s office,” JJ explained, and Jake quickly shook his head. 

“J, let’s not talk about this now, okay? Mommy just made dinner and we’re-”

“But you were so cool!” JJ cut him off before turning back to you. “Daddy used his angry voice on Mr. Harris today, mommy.”

You raised a brow, your eyes flickering between Jake and Jake Junior as you leaned back in your chair. “Why were you in the principal’s office today?”

JJ deflated a bit at that as he reached for his fork. “I…said a bad word,”

Your eyes widened and you looked over at Jake quickly. “Honey-”

“Jake,” you cut him off just like JJ did as you sat up straight again. “Why didn’t you tell me that he got sent to the principal’s office today? And why didn’t they call me?”

“Because I’m first on his contact list,” Jake mumbled, “And he and I had decided that it wasn’t important enough for you to know.” he added, narrowing his eyes at JJ, who just gave him a cute smile. 

“Jake Seresin, you have our child hiding things from me?” you gasped, then quickly composed yourself. “What was the word?”

Jake shifted in his seat as he set the glass down and picked up his fork again, a damn near carbon copy of the way JJ became uneasy when he was in the hot seat in the truck earlier today. He really was his father’s son. “It’s not appropriate dinner talk. I’ll tell you after,”

-

“He said what?” you nearly yelled as Jake crossed his arms and leaned back against the counter. “Our son said that? How does he even know that word? We don’t say that unless we’re…”

Jake grinned at you as he slowly nodded, then he was dodging the dish towel you were using to clean the counter when you threw it at him. 

“He definitely picked it up from you,” you muttered as you walked past him to start clearing the table. Jake followed you of course, and wrapped his arms around you from behind, his chin resting on your shoulder. “You and your dirty mouth. You’ve had it since before we even got together.”

Jake was instantly brought back to all the times he flirted shamelessly with you in an attempt to get you to go out with him, only for it to all be thrown back at him because you were not one of those girls who caved easily to guys like him. That’s what made him clean up his act and ask you out in more nicer ways, which then eventually led to him taking you out on the most perfect date both of you had ever been on, and now he’s married to you. 

“Well, Bradley’s been saying it too. You know how bad his road rage is, he has no filter, even when he takes J to his soccer games. And I can’t help the filthy things that come out of my mouth whenever I get you alone,” he defended himself, pressing his cheek against yours as he held you snugly against his body. “You’re just too damn sexy, baby.”

You rolled your eyes but didn’t stop him from cuddling you from behind, which Jake was happy about. Ever since you and he got together, he’s become obsessed with touching you in any way he could and holding you whenever he can. He just loved how perfectly you fit against his body, and he knew you loved it too, even if you complained about it sometimes. “Bradley is his uncle, he’s not with him all the time, so he has an excuse. You, my love, do not,” 

He leaned down and pressed a soft kiss to your cheek, then trailed his nose along the shell of your ear. “You can’t be mad at me for this, honey. It’s not my fault the kid’s got big ears,” 

You laughed, picking up the plates before turning your head to look up at him. “I think it is your fault, dumbo,” you mumbled, and Jake gaped at you. 

“Be nice to me,” he whined, following after you like a lost puppy as you returned to the kitchen and began loading the dishwasher. “I’m so nice to you.”

Another laugh left your mouth. “You’re teaching our son to keep secrets from me,”

“Okay, that’s not fair,” he groaned, walking back out to the table so he could gather the glasses, JJ’s Spider-Man cup, and the cutlery. “I only told him that you didn’t need to know about it, not that I’d never tell you about it. I would’ve, just…a couple years from now.”

“Jake,” you scoffed, moving aside when he loaded the items into the dishwasher. “I’m his mother, I’m supposed to know these things too.” 

He turned to look at you, propping his hands on his hips once he closed the dishwasher. “And you would’ve known about this,”

You crossed your arms and raised one of your brows. “In a couple years from now?”

Jake grinned, “See, I knew you’d understand,” 

“Uh huh,” you mumbled, dodging his hand when he reached out and tried to pull you into his arms. “I’m going to go get him in the bath. Then you and I are going to talk more once he’s in bed.”

You sounded serious, and you looked serious, but Jake’s smile only grew, because he knew he’d be able to change the topic real quick once you and he retired to your room for the night. Easily. 

-

“Oh yeah,” he murmured as he kissed all along your shoulders, his fingers quickly unbuttoning your jeans and sliding the zipper down. “You and I are really talking a lot.”

You groaned, trailing your fingers through his hair gently before giving it a firm tug, making him moan against your skin. “You are so annoying,” you muttered, but your words weren’t hostile at all. 

Jake grinned against your skin as he pulled the denim off your legs. His heart was beating fast in his chest, because even after eight years with you, you still made him feel so fucking giddy and he was so in love with you. And he always will be. 

Nothing had changed, with the exception and addition of JJ. You were still the sarcastic yet sweet girl he fell head over heels for, and you were all his. “You love me,” Jake mumbled against your neck as he slid his hand inside your panties, his fingers instantly finding your clit. “You married me…you’re stuck with me.”

“Oh, the horror,” you said back, then moaned next to his ear when he slid his index and middle fingers inside you, and the sound went directly to his cock. “Fuck. Jake.”

He hummed as he lifted his head, his green eyes staring into yours as he leaned in and pressed his forehead against your own. “Mm, I love you,” he mumbled, sliding his fingers in and out of you. “I love you so much.”

You whimpered, tangling your hands in his hair as you guided his lips to yours in a deep kiss. “I love you too,” you mumbled against his mouth as he pulled his fingers out of you. He sat back on his knees and brought his hand up to his lips to taste you as he watched you kick off your panties, his eyes raking up and down your body as he moaned around his fingers.

“Fuck, you’re so hot,” he grunted, unzipping his uniform pants and shoving them down his legs, along with his boxers. He was out of his shirt before you were, and he took it upon himself to rid you of both your tank top and bra, leaving you bare beneath him and only further proving his words. 

You grinned up at him, shifting on the bed as you beckoned him closer with a curl of your finger. “You’re sexy,” you say back, wrapping your legs around his waist when he crawls back on top of you. “Even when I’m still mad at you for trying to get our son to hide something from me.”

Jake groaned, burying his face in your neck as he guided the tip of his cock through your folds. “Don’t hold that against me, honey, I was just trying to protect you, that’s all. I don’t want you to stress out over nothing,” he mumbled, then groaned again when he slid inside of you. “Fuck, baby, you feel so good. Such a tight-”

You reached up and placed your hand over his mouth, your eyes boring into his as he stilled. “Until you can figure out how to soundproof our room, you need to keep your dirty words to yourself, baby,” you said, and Jake grunted against your palm. 

You wanted him to be quiet while he is fucking you? Did you not know how good you felt and how damn near impossible it was for him to not tell you that? Yours and his sex life was full of dirty talk, and it always had been, how was he supposed to just…stop?

He was going to have to figure it out, because the alternative was sex in the truck or no sex at all, and the latter was something he was not about to agree to. 

“I’ll be quiet,” he muttered when you pulled your hand away, and his own gripped your hips as he started to slowly pull out of you. “But that means you need to be quiet too, which will probably be a lot harder for you to do.”

You narrowed your eyes. “Harder for me? Please, Jake, I can be quiet too-” but a loud gasp left your mouth as soon as he buried himself back inside of you, and Jake just smirked down at the dirty look you gave him. “Fair enough.”

“Uh huh,” he mumbled then leaned down to kiss you as he started to thrust in and out of your additive body. He swallowed your sweet moans he loved hearing, each one sounding more and more desperate as Jake fucked you slow and deep, just like how he knew you liked it. 

When he felt you tighten around him, he pulled away from your lips and buried his face against the side of your neck, his left hand coming up to cover your mouth as he rutted into you. “I love you,” he groaned against your neck when he felt you cum around him, and a few seconds later, he was there too. 

You wrapped your arms around his shoulders when he stilled his body and eased himself gently on top of you, cradling you in his arms as he pressed soft kisses against your neck. “I love you too,” you said back, running your fingers through his messy hair. “I love both my boys so much. And I want to know when he’s being picked on or having trouble in class, okay? We’re a team, you know that, right? You, me and J.”

“I know, baby,” he murmured, lifting his head and pressing a gentle kiss to your temple. “I know we are. We’re the perfect team. I promise, I’ll tell you about it the next time he gets in trouble at school, okay?”

You raise your brow as you pull back to look up at him. “You make it sound like he gets into trouble all the time,” 

Jake grinned down at you, “Come on, babe. He is my kid after all. Trouble is in his blood,” he said back and then cut off your laugh when he leaned in and kissed you again.

[allforreading-fandomthings]

I Think We're Alone Now - Chapter 17

I'm finally back with a new chapter for this fic!! I'm so happy to share it with you today!

Summary: After their grand declaration of mutual wingmanship, Ice and Mav are constantly drawn to each other and it's really only a matter of time until they become more than friends. It's a venturous enterprise - being a gay couple in the Navy. They are determined to make it work but life is putting more than enough obstacles in their way.

Or

Icemav’s first year as a couple.

In this chapter: smut, a bit of domesticity and a small, big step in their relationship.

Read here!

[icezansky]

Pontiac Blues

a fic by icezansky

Chapter 4/4

summary: When Tom’s car breaks down outside of a small town on Christmas Eve, Maverick and Goose Auto Repair is the only shop to pick up the phone.

A Hallmark Holiday Movie AU.

relationships: Tom “Iceman” Kazansky/Pete “Maverick” Mitchell, Carole Bradshaw/Nick “Goose” Bradshaw

tags: inspired by Hallmark Christmas Movies, Mechanic!Maverick, Mechanic!Goose, Rich!Iceman, Mentions of Cancer, Alcohol, Bradshaw Family, no betas we die like Goose, Tom drives a Pontiac Firebird, Frottage, Blowjobs, Handjobs, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Financial Issues

words: 45.164

[tngrace]

Chapter 3

Hope 31..... nough said 🤭 😭 This one hurts... but man did I have fun writing this chapter and the next. I also figured out how I'm going to write the last chapter this week so hopefully in the next two weeks I'll get it written. and then it'll be on to part two. Hope yall enjoy and Happy Easter weekend.

A03 ; Tumblr Masterlists: Main, Mav Chronicles

The weekend is fun and relaxing and just what they needed. Watching Pete with Bradley is a true treat and makes Tom wish for things he knows will probably never be. They head into Monday morning refreshed and ready to go, none of them realizing what’s to come.

The second hop of the day is intense, Mav and Ice going up against each other, essentially sealing the winner of the trophy. Though neither of them really care at this point, would be happy for the other, they’re both still very competitive and determined to win. They go back and forth for the kill, their voices getting more intense and annoyed the longer it goes, more argumentative and impatient. But neither expected the jet wash or the flat spin. 

“Mayday! Mayday! Mav’s in trouble. He’s in a flat spin. He’s heading out to sea!” His voice is calm and controlled but there’s a slight tremor there as he watches. 

He and Slider see the two parachutes, but they know something’s wrong. He circles over head, refusing to leave, even when Jester orders them back. 

“Ice,” Slider says after ten minutes of circling, watching Mav and Goose in the water. 

“I’m not leaving. We don’t know how long search and rescue will take to get here. They’ll need the coordinates as Mav floats.” 

Slider doesn’t push. They both had seen how Goose had hit the canopy, how his body floated listlessly down, how Mav had pulled him into his arms and Goose still didn’t move. Ice keeps circling, and ever so often it looks like Mav looks up at them, but they can’t be sure. 

“Ice, Slider, back to base. SAR is two minutes out.” Viper’s voice is firm over their radio, and finally Ice acknowledges and turns them towards base. He doesn’t say a word on the return flight, leaving Slider worried. 

Mike's heart is in his throat when he hears the mayday call come in. He dispatches search and rescue immediately and grips his hands in tight fists as he waits. He hears Jester order Ice and Slider back to base, but he still doesn't move. He wants to be a dad in this moment but he can't. He has to be a Commander and it's killing him. 

He sees Jester’s plane land, and he takes a deep breath, and then another one. He dials Carrie; "Metcalf's," she answers. 

"I'm going to be late." He doesn't know what else to say without breaking down, but he has to tell her. 

"Mike? What's wrong?" 

"There…." He cuts off, choking back a sob. He breathes deep before he continues. "There was an accident during training. I'll be at the base hospital most of the night." 

"Is everyone ok?"

"I don't know yet. I just…. Waiting on SAR right now. I…"

"Mike?"

"It was Pete," he breathes. He hears her breath catch and he'd love nothing more than to hug her. "I…. I can't go there as…. And you can't…"

"Mike. You call me the minute you lay eyes on him! You hear me? I have to know…" He can hear the hysteria in her voice and he’d love to let her come check on Pete for herself, but he knows they can’t. 

"I will… I will… I just… I have to be detached and I just…"

"I know. Just breathe. You can do this. But you let me know our boy's ok."

He takes another ten deep breaths after hanging up. When he sees that Ice and Slider still haven’t landed, he orders them back to base as well. He’s not sure what is going on with Tom and Pete, but he knows it’s something. Once he sees their plane heading for the landing strip, he pulls himself together and heads to the hangar where he knows the class will have gathered. “You’re dismissed for the day. SAR will take them straight to the base hospital and we’ll let you know when there’s an update.” 

“Can we wait there?” Wolf asks.

“Of course. But you might be waiting a while.” He takes in all their faces and knows he’ll be seeing them all at the hospital. “Dismissed.” 

They scatter, and Mike rakes his hand through his hair. He’d kill for one of Rick’s cigarettes at that moment, but he knows the hospital won’t allow him to have it inside anyways. He makes the trek over, bracing for the worst while hoping for the best. He’s not sure what he’ll do if something happened to his own kid under his watch. 

A nurse greets him as soon as he enters; “Sir.” He gives her a nod to continue because he’s not sure if he can speak right now. “Lieutenant Mitchell is going to be fine. He has some severe bruising, mild concussion and is currently in shock, but overall he will make a full recovery.” 

Mike blows out the breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding. “And Bradshaw?” 

The nurse stops their trek down the hall and Mike tenses once more. “I’m sorry Sir. Lieutenant Bradshaw didn’t make it. His neck was broken and likely died upon impact, we assume he hit the canopy. Lieutenant Mitchell hasn’t offered up any details on what happened as of yet, so the doctor is just making assumptions.” 

“Has Bradshaw’s wife been informed?” 

“Not yet, no. We were waiting to see who you wanted to designate to do that.” 

“I’ll handle it,” Mike decides. “Can I see Mitchell?” 

“Of course. Right this way.” She shows him to Pete’s room, and Mike pauses, gathering the strength to push the door open. When he does, he feels the breath knocked out of him once more. Pete looks so small in the bed, eyes closed, but Mike knows he’s not asleep. 

The nurse leaves him with it, and Mike quietly closes the door behind him. Pete’s eyes snap open at the sound of the door closing, and when they meet Mike’s, he quickly turns his head the other way. 

He pulls up a chair beside the bed, and tentatively reaches out for Pete’s hand that has an IV in it. He can see where Pete has picked at the tape around it, and it brings a small smile to his face as he smooths it back out. Some things with his kid will never change, he thinks. “Pete?” 

Pete turns his head back towards him, tears shining in his eyes, but he keeps them from falling. 

“I’m not going to ask you if you’re ok because I know you’re not.” He pauses as he watches Pete just staring at him. “I told mom. She’d be here if she could, you know.” 

“I know,” he croaks in a whisper. 

Mike squeezes his hand tighter once more. “You’re not ok right now, but you will be…. You will be.” 

Pete turns away again and Mike sighs. “We have to be even more careful now, so this is the only time I can offer you any form of comfort kiddo. There’s going to be an inquiry; they’ll let me know the date tomorrow.” Pete still won’t meet his eyes and Mike feels like they’re back at day one when they brought home a scared nine year old that didn’t trust them. “Pete? You know I love you son. But I need you to know that right now and for the next however long it takes to get the brass off our backs, I can’t be ‘dad’. No matter how bad I want to be.” 

Pete gives him a tentative nod, and Mike can’t resist any longer. He leans over and pulls Pete into his arms, into his chest. He resists at first, but the first hint of Mike’s cologne and Pete breaks. The sobs break Mike’s heart even more, and he just holds him. He murmurs soft innate words of comfort as his son breaks in his arms. It takes several, several long minutes before Pete starts settling, his sobs turning to quiet sniffles, before he eventually just goes silent. 

Mike softly strokes his back as he keeps holding him. “I’ll try to sneak mom in after hours ok?” 

He knows Carrie isn’t going to rest with just his reassurance that Pete is ok, and he knows Pete really needs her at this moment. Pete gives a small nod before his whispered words destroy what is left of his broken heart. “Just don’t get in trouble for me.” 

Mike pulls Pete’s head off his chest and stares into Pete’s eyes. “We’d do anything for you and you know it kiddo. If it comes down to a choice between you and the Navy…” Pete tries to interrupt him, but Mike just keeps talking. “If it does, I’m choosing you every time kiddo. Every. Single. Time.” 

“Mike…” 

“I mean it Pete. You are my son, my kid, and if the Navy doesn’t like it, they can go fuck themselves. You matter Pete. I love you son.” 

“Love you too dad,” he whispers as he falls back into Mike’s chest. 

Mike lets out a deep breath at that. Pete isn’t ok, but he’ll make sure he is, no matter what he has to do. 

After several minutes of letting Pete resettle he has the horrible task of making Pete recount what happened. It’s the most detached he’s ever heard his kid, and it strengthens his resolve to sneak Carrie in to see him later. Once he’s sure he has everything Pete can recall, he squeezes his hand once more. “Try to get some rest. I can keep the others out if you want?” 

“Na. It’s fine. I’m sure they need to see with their eyes I’m fine. Especially Ice and Slider.” 

“Alright. I’ll let them know.” He leans close in case anyone can hear; “I’ll get mom in here later. That’s a promise.” 

Pete gives him a weak nod. They both know what a risk it is, but he’d do it over and over for Pete. He gives him a nod and then heads for the door, with one glance back at his son. 

Mike’s not surprised to find the six aviators waiting in the waiting room. They all jump up as soon as they see him, and Mike pulls himself together. “Mitchell is going to be fine. Some bruises that will heal in time and a mild concussion. He’ll be discharged tomorrow.” 

He sees a small relief flow through the group, and he knows what he says next will cause it to vanish. 

“Bradshaw on the other hand, is… dead. Broke his neck on the canopy as soon as he hit. I’m going to inform his wife now.” 

The six aviators before him are deathly quiet, grief written across all their faces. 

“Can we see Mav?” Wolfe finally breaks the silence. 

Mike gives them a nod. “He’s pretty detached, still in shock. He’s resting, but he said it would be fine for all of you to visit. Probably do him some good to not be alone right now. Classes are dismissed for the rest of the week. When arrangements have been made, you’ll be the first to know.” He gives them a nod of dismissal and takes his leave. 

The six aviators scurry down the hall to Mav’s room. Wolf and Wood are through the door first, just barely squeezing in before Chipper and Sunny. Ice stands at the door for a long moment just breathing, trying to prepare, and Slider waits with him squeezing his shoulder. Tom wants nothing more than to race in and scoop Pete into his arms, but he knows he can’t. Once he lays eyes on his boyfriend, who’s barely engaging with the other four, he leans in the corner just watching. He can see Pete’s eyes trail over to him ever so often, and he finally sees when Slider realizes they need to go. Tom gives him a nod of thanks, and promises to get back to their base housing later, before Ron turns and ushers everyone out. 

Once he’s sure they’re gone, he walks over and settles on the side of Pete’s bed. His hand ghosts over Pete’s forehead, brushing the hair back. “Hey,” he whispers. 

Pete can’t speak, too choked up holding back tears. 

“Come here,” Tom whispers, easing down and helping Pete sit up some and lean into his arms. He holds him as tight as he dares, knowing under the gown Pete will be covered in bruises too painful to be held too tight. “I’m so sorry,” Tom whispers over and over as Pete sobs in his arms. He finally exhausts himself even more, and Tom can feel him drift off. He eases Pete back to the bed and covers him up. He sits and watches him sleep, knowing the coming days, weeks, and months are going to be hell, and wonders if Pete will blame him, wonders if this will be the end of them. Once Pete is deep asleep, Tom takes his leave, knowing he can’t stay any longer without them being found out. 

After talking with Carole, he finally makes it home; it’s late enough he knows he’ll just be leaving as soon as he’s through the door though. Carrie is waiting on him at the door just as he suspected, and he pulls her into his arms. “He’s going to be ok. Just some bruising and a mild concussion. He was still in shock earlier. I…” He feels her squeeze him tighter and he lets out a soft sigh. “I promised to sneak you in. He needs you.” 

“Do we tell the girls?” 

“Not yet. Sneaking you in is going to be hard enough. I don’t need Catherine leaving Cynthia and banging down the hospital door or Jamie freaking out.” 

Carrie gives him a soft huff of a laugh. “Alright. Let me get my purse and we can go.” 

Once at the hospital, Mike nods to the night nurses, but doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t see any of the class in the waiting room, and assuming they’re not still with Pete, they should be at home. He stops right outside Pete’s room and tries to listen for any voices, but doesn’t hear any. He pushes the door open just a hair, and sees it empty, Pete just lying in the bed staring off into space. 

He turns back and gives Carrie a nod, before pushing the door open further for her to slip past him. He closes the door behind them, but stays near it, so he can run interference if anyone comes to it. As soon as she’s by his side, she sits on the side of the bed and pulls Pete into her arms. 

“Mom,” he cries as he clings to her, and it breaks Mike’s heart even more. Carrie just hugs him tight, her hand running up and down his back and into his hair. 

When Pete has finally exhausted himself of tears, he whispers “I killed him,” effectively tearing both his parents’ hearts out. 

Mike moves across the room at that statement, joining Carrie on the side of the bed. He eases Pete back from her hold and cradles his face. “Look at me son.” 

Pete slowly meets his eyes, unable to ignore the firm demand in Mike’s voice. “You did not kill Nick. You did not kill him. You hear me?” 

“I did though. He was my RIO, my responsibility.” 

“Pete…” 

Carrie cuts him off though, knowing that Pete isn’t going to believe a word of any argument at the moment. She cradles Pete’s cheek and kisses his forehead. “You need to get some sleep sweetheart.” 

“Don’t think I can,” he sighs. He knows he’d fallen asleep on Tom, but it doesn’t feel like he slept long at all before a nightmare gripped him. When he’d woken and been alone, he laid there staring off into space, knowing sleep would be hard to come by. 

“Try. We’ll stay til you’re asleep,” she promises. 

She gets him to ease back against the bed, and softly runs her fingers through his hair. It’s the fastest way to settle Pete; they'd learned the first time the kid hadn’t gotten sick after coming to live with them. She keeps it up until his eyes drift, and even after until he’s deep asleep. 

“He’s going to be ok,” Mike reassures her as they watch him sleep for a few more minutes. They don’t linger long though, despite Carrie wanting to stay.

The next morning, the inquiry information is waiting on Mike the minute he steps on base. He goes through Mav’s file one more time to make sure nothing of their connection is hidden in there, even though he knows the file like the back of his hand. When he’s sure everything is good, he makes the trek over to the base hospital to deliver the news about the inquiry. From here on he knows everything has to be above board until the brass is done sniffing around. 

When he walks into Pete’s room, he’s surprised to see him not there. He has a moment of panic before one of the nurses points him towards the bathroom down the hall. He gives her a nod and heads in. Mav is leaning heavily on the sink, but he somehow managed to shave. Mike catalogs the bruising along his chest and shoulders from his harness that he wasn’t able to see yesterday because of the gown. He knows there’s probably some along his thighs as well, he just can’t see them. He wants so badly to pull his kid into his arms and never let go, but they also have more eyes on them now more than ever. He just has to be careful, not show emotion or favoritism, he keeps reminding himself, and they’ll get through this. He calls on all his years in the service to keep it together as he meets his kids' eyes. He doesn’t like what he sees; Pete’s eyes have always been alive and full of mischief. They always shine and sparkle so bright. But right now, they are dead, lifeless, emotionless, same as yesterday.”How you doing?” he manages to ask.

“I’m alright.” It’s rough and so much quieter than Pete normally talks it throws Mike for a minute. He spins and meets Pete’s eyes in the mirror trying to portray that he has to be a Commander at the moment. 

“Goose is dead.” Internally he winces at how straightforward and harsh he has to be, and he knows the minute Carrie finds out, she is going to be livid. But they all knew when Pete joined up, that a time like this might come, and Pete told him then, as a bright eyed eighteen year old, that he’d never hold it against him. 

“I know.” His eyes drop back to the sink, hand splashing more water onto his face, and Mike can see he’s barely holding it together. He wants to tell him to come home with him, let Carrie mother him to death, but he bites it all back. Seeing her last night is going to have to be enough for now. Pete runs another hand over his face, and takes some deep breaths. Mike recalls words one of his former COs told him after Duke died. At the time he hated it, and he knows Pete is going to hate being told the same thing, but he needs to say it. “You fly jets long enough, something like this happens.” 

“He was my RIO, my responsibility!” It’s an echo of his statement last night and Mike knows the guilt is eating him alive. He knows he’s going to have to work hard to get Pete to let it go, if that will even be possible. He knows Goose was like a brother to him; that Carole and Goose both welcomed Pete into their family. But he can’t see his kid drown in grief, not if he can help it. 

“In my squadron in Vietnam, we lost eight of eighteen aircraft. Ten men. First one dies, you die too. But there will be others. You can count on it. You gotta let him go.” His hand touches his side, draws across his back, offering as much comforting touch as he can in that moment. “You gotta let him go.”  He knows it's harsh, hates the words coming out of his own mouth, but as a Commander, it’s what you’re supposed to say. 

Pete’s eyes are hard as they stare at him despite being red rimmed, but Mike does his best to let it roll off his back. “Your inquiry hearing is scheduled for two days from now at 0800. Jester and I will be there. I don’t see any reasons why you won’t be cleared and can return to finish the program before graduation.” 

Pete doesn’t say anything and won’t meet his eyes again. He walks away even though it kills him too. He passes Tom in the parking lot and he knows he was right about something going on between the two. He gives the Lieutenant a nod, wants to pull him to the side and threaten him if he so much as dares to break Pete in any way. But he knows he can’t, so he keeps walking and just hopes Tom will be able to get through to his kid. 

Tom finds Pete back in his room, trying to dress. “Can I help?” he asks from the doorway. 

Pete gives him a nod and Tom comes over, helping him pull his shirt down. The bruising looks worse today, and his body is stiff and achy. He’s refused anymore pain pills though and just wants to leave. “I saw Viper leaving.” 

“Mmm yea. Stopped by to give me the information for the inquiry hearing.” 

“It wasn’t your fault Pete.” 

“Let’s not. I don’t… I just want to get out of here.” 

Tom bites back all his retorts that Pete needs to talk about this and just gives him a nod. “Carole and Bradley are at the base housing. I can take you there.” 

Pete gives him another nod, and follows Tom out the door. Once in the car, the silence is almost unbearable. “Pete…” Tom starts when they’re in front of the housing, but stops when Pete cuts his eyes at him.  

“Might be best if we just had some space right now. You don’t need messed up in this hearing too.” 

“I have to be there because I was in the air with you.” 

“Better to be safe than sorry.” 

Tom wants to argue, wants to push that Pete doesn’t need to do this or push everyone away, but his own guilt is eating him alive. Thus, he’d do anything Pete asks. “If that’s what you want.”

“It is.” 

Pete won’t meet his eyes so Tom knows he’s lying. “I just want him back,” Pete says softly before he gets out. He closes the door and doesn’t look back. 

Tom watches him go, his heart breaking, but knowing he will give Pete anything. He watches until Pete is inside the door before driving off. 

[duchesschameleon]

birthday surprise

fandom: top gun maverick

pairing: jake seresin/natasha trace/bradley bradhsaw

warnings: none! fluffy fluff fluff over here

summary: Jake Seresin doesn’t like surprises. Jake Seresin doesn’t celebrate his birthday. He doesn’t want, doesn’t need much for it. Bradley Bradshaw and Natasha Trace are inclined to disagree.

authors note: for @qvid-pro-qvo. I’m so sorry this took so long to complete, it kinda ran away from me!

read this fic on ao3

Jake Seresin doesn’t like surprises. Jake Seresin doesn’t like to celebrate his birthday.

A few beers, a round of darts with Javy, maybe some pool and he’s good. He doesn’t want , doesn’t need, anything else.

Natasha Trace and Bradley Bradshaw are inclined to disagree.

Ever since the three of them had worked out their shit in the aftermath of the dagger squad mission, Nat and Bradley have learned a lot about Jake. Namely, that Jake’s birthday doesn’t hold the best memories for him. That Jake’s arrogant, asshole-ish personality is a carefully crafted shield hiding scars from a not-so-perfect life.

So the two of them had vowed to help make better memories for Jake, to prove that they love him and he is deserving of their love.

And it starts with his birthday.

“Nat, where are you taking me?”

“Out,” she replies, eyes focused on the road ahead of her.

“Out where?”

“Out.”

“Really, Trace?”

“Oh c’mon Jake, it’s your birthday. Let me take my man out for a little surprise.”

Jake rolls his eyes in the passenger seat, but the blush spreading across his cheeks reveals his pride at being called her man.

“You know I don’t like surprises, right?”

“Good thing this isn’t a surprise then. We’re going to the beach for some brunch, a little food, a little coffee, some good sea air and sunshine. Sound alright to you?”

Jake sighs, pretending to be put out, and nods.

They don’t drive for long before Nat’s whipping the truck into a parking spot across from Mav’s favorite cafe, the one he’d introduced them to after the mission. Jake feels himself relax more, looks around the street to see if a familiar Bronco is hiding out somewhere, Bradley possibly beating them to the cafe.

“Rooster inside already?” he asks Nat as she pockets the keys.

“No…he’s got something else going on. We’ll see him later,” she says, dodging his eyes as they cross the street.

Jake doesn’t ask anymore questions, just files it away and tries to enjoy the time with Nat, their breakfast together.

He lets the conversation flow between them, as if it were any other day and Nat seems content to do the same.

Until the check comes and she deftly wrestles it away from him to pay. “Birthday boys do not pay for brunch, that supersedes any southern manners you’re gonna try to throw at me, Seresin.”

“Fine, fine,” he gives in, hands up in surrender. “But that’s all I better be getting. You know I don’t like a big fuss.”

“Uh huh. Sure,” Nat replies, not meeting his eyes, scanning the check with more scrutiny than normal, not letting on that Bradley is currently at their home with Payback, Fanboy, Bob, and Coyote putting together a big fuss. A big, surprise fuss for Jake that they’ve painstakingly planned and kept secret for weeks.

“Convincing, Trace.”

“Oh shut it, Seresin,” she throws back. “Let the people who love you celebrate you, okay?”

And Jake backs off at that, knows that Nat means it and that he’s powerless against her when she mentions she loves him. That both her and Bradley love him. Its not been the easiest thing to accept for him, but he’s working on it and they’re constantly reminding him how true it is.

—

At that same moment, Bradley Bradshaw is at their shared apartment thinking he must really love Jake Seresin to be going through this much trouble to set up a birthday party.

He’s shepherding Javy in the door, the other man weighed down by bags of food, while Fanboy and Payback are supposedly working together to put up streamers and a birthday banner. Bradley hasn’t seen a birthday party like this since his own when he was a young boy, when Mav and his mom would decorate the house and invite their friends and his, trying to fill the day with so much joy to distract them from the presence of the one person who couldn’t be there.

But today’s not about him, it’s about Jake. About making good birthday memories for Jake and celebrating him. It’s the first birthday they’ve been together for, him, Jake, and Nat. He wants it to be special, to make sure Jake knows he’s loved, immensely.

So he’s shepherding their friends and hosting them while Nat distracts Jake, keeps him out of the apartment until the afternoon when everyone will be here and hiding amongst the furniture and decorations, when there’ll be enough food to feed a fleet of pilots and enough alcohol to drown them. It’s probably too much food and drink, but Bradley doesn’t care. It’s for Jake. So they’ll have some of everything and let loose.

“Hey, Rooster,” he hears Javy call out, “where should I put the ice? The freezer’s full man!”

“We’ve got a cooler on the porch, stick it there!” Bradley says, moving towards the kitchen to help out, direct traffic, and relatively reign in the chaos.

It’s Jake’s birthday after all, there’s bound to be more than a little chaos.

—

“Okay Nat, you’ve dragged me all along the pier, can we please just go home? I’ve had about every free birthday treat you can get.”

She checks her watch, then her phone. Bradley hasn’t texted that everything’s ready yet, but it’s closing in on four, when they’d told everyone they’d be pulling off the surprise.

“Nat, you good?”

“Yup!” She whips her head up and plasters on a smile. “I’m great, everything’s great.”

Jake arches an eyebrow, clocking the tightness at the edge of her smile. “Sure about that?”

“Mhmm,” she says, tapping on her phone. “I’m just…making sure Bradley’s done with his errand. I don’t want us to go home and he’s not there. Would be weird, right?”

“Yeah, I guess,” Jake responds slowly. “What errand did he have to run today?”

“Uh,” Nat stalls, eyes wide, “I don’t think he told me.” It comes out more like a question. Jake’s eyes narrow, catching the lie.

“Nat, cmon, what’s really going on?”

“Bradley’s at the apartment but I don’t know if he’s ready for us to come home.” A half truth is better than nothing, the surprise party is still a surprise, she can make it through this.

“Uh uh,” Jake drawls.

And before she can say anything else, before she has to come up with another lie or half truth, her phone chimes and it’s Bradley texting her the all clear. She lets out a breath and looks up at Jake, smile bright and absent of any tightness.

“He’s all done, so let’s hop-to birthday boy.”

Jake just follows her, a little confused but willing to roll with it. He knows there’s probably something for him at the apartment, something Bradley’s been working on since he and Nat left five hours ago, but he’s willing to play along for his partners.

The drive back isn’t too long, thankfully. It doesn’t leave Jake with enough time to overthink what he’ll be walking into, what Bradley could have been up to for all this time.

Before he can get too lost in thought, Nat is parking the truck in the complex’s parking lot, which doesn’t look any more full than usual.

“Stop looking for hints, Jake,” Nat says as they get out. “There’s nothing going on.”

“Fine, fine,” Jake concedes, closing his door and following her to the steps up to their apartment. “There’s nothing going on, just Rooster waiting for us at home.”

“Exactly. Just Rooster, and some food. Nothing special or fussy for the birthday boy.”

And then she opens the door to a dark apartment and Jake frowns as he crowds into the doorway behind her. “I thought you said Rooster was-”

“SURPRISE!”

The shout and lights suddenly flicking on do not startle a scream out of Jake Seresin, absolutely not.

“Happy birthday, Jake,” Nat says, smiling at him.

“Happy birthday, baby,” another familiar voice says, pulling Jake’s attention to Bradley, right by the doorway, camera in hand, wide smile spread across his face. “Hope you like your surprise.”

Jake looks around the room, sees familiar faces smiling at him, all their friends and coworkers, this strange little family they’ve cobbled together, and they’re all here for him. Javy’s smiling at him, beer already in hand, and Jake just shakes his head.

“Running an errand? Fixing something in the apartment? Really, Nat?”

“Hey, it’s not easy lying to you or pulling this off! You are notoriously not fussy about your birthday and we just wanted to-”

She’s cut off as Jake grabs her for a kiss, pressing his lips firmly against hers. As the surprise wears off, she wraps her arms around his neck, lets him take her weight.

“Thank you,” he says, pulling back. “Thank both of you.” He looks over her head and she can tell from the heat at her back that Bradley’s behind her. Jake leans in to kiss him, trapping her inbetween them.

“Happy birthday, Jake. Hope it’s a good one.”

“It’s a great one.”

“Then it was worth it, wrangling these idiots we call friends.”

That sets off a round of laughter, squawks of protest, as everyone approaches them to argue Bradley’s point and wish Jake a happy birthday. And they take it all in stride, smiles on their faces.

[elmaxlys]

A day in a prison. And a meeting between the young and the old - the Daughter and the Priest.

[stervrucht]

“Rough night?”

Steve jumps for the second time in far too short of a timeframe. He gasps in surprise and clutches at his chest. He didn’t hear any guests enter.

“Fu– I mean, you startled me.” Steve manages to sputter. Cursing in front of guests is definitely not appreciated.

Steve takes a deep breath before looking up, and when he does he is face to face with a guy roughly his age. 

Except this guy is nothing like Steve at all. All long hair, leather, and tattoos. His eyes do not leave Steve as he puts down a guitar case. It is littered with stickers, but one stands out in particular: ‘Corroded Coffin’.

Steve makes a mental note.

“Welcome to the Indianapolis Sweetwater Hotel. How can I assist you tonight?” The words are familiar on Steve’s tongue — he has said this exact line a hundred times before.

“Edward Munson, I booked for three nights.” The guy leans on his arm against the desk, leans close while he watches Steve’s hands move with a smile playing on his lips.

Steve opens the register. His hands feel clumsy under Munson’s close watch as he flips to the current date. 

“Mr. Munson, I have you right here. One moment.” 

Steve turns around to gather the key and he feels the guy’s eyes burn into his back. It makes the hairs on the back of his neck stand up, almost like static.

“There you go,” Steve says as he puts the key on the desk and gently pushes it in Munson’s direction. Before he can pull his hand away, however, Munson grabs him by the wrist. It’s so forceful it pulls Steve forward and they now are face to face — so close he can feel Munson’s breath on his lips. 

Munson looks at him, eyes so dark they are nearly black, so intense it’s like they're cutting straight through him. Munson’s eyes dart downward to Steve’s lips, then to his chest — his name tag — lingering there for a second. 

“Steve,” he says, dragging his name like he’s tasting it.

And then he looks up again, holds Steve’s gaze for another second before letting go of his wrist. He grabs the key off the desk, throws it, and catches it overhand with a practiced ease. 

“You workin’ tomorrow?” Munson asks, studying him like a predator.

Steve is still a little dazed by what just happened. Assaulted, he thinks, but his boss would probably not take it seriously. “Eh, yeah, I am.”

“Good.” Munson smiles at him, toothy. Dangerous. Steve feels like a piece of meat under his gaze. “Enjoy the night.” 

With a careless wave, Munson leaves for the elevators and Steve realizes he forwent a lot of his duties just now. It doesn’t matter, apparently, because Munson seems to know his way around. Perhaps he is a regular — or maybe all hotels are quite the same.

Steve’s wrist is red where Munson held it and there are two indentations where he dug his nails into Steve’s flesh. He rubs at it, looking back at his crossword puzzle.

'9. Creature of the night.'

Vampire, Steve writes down.

---

Chapter one is out now! ● Part 1 ● AO3 ●

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