#I would like him to learn a lesson and then leave

[grapejuicebrat]

learning to love you right

harry styles x reader

genre: slow burn, angst, drama, emotional disorders

Inspired by: “All of the Girls You Loved Before” – Taylor Swift

Summary: Harry Styles has been in love before.

He’s written songs about them, lost sleep over them, learned hard lessons from them. And when he meets you, it all comes rushing back — not in the way you might expect, but in the quiet way new love shines light on all the places old love couldn’t reach.

You’re not intimidated by the past.

You’re curious.

You ask about it — not because you want to compare, but because you want to understand.

And Harry wants to tell you.

Each chapter peels back a different layer: the girls who made him soft, guarded, selfish, reckless, kind. The moments that broke him and the ones that helped him become someone capable of loving you the way you deserve.

It’s not a story about jealousy.

It’s a story about healing — and how every love before you taught him how to finally love someone right.

But when a familiar name from his past threatens to unravel the present you’ve built, the two of you must ask:

How much of someone’s history can you hold without losing yourself in it?

Learning to Love You Right — Chapter Titles

1. All the Quiet Things

(He meets you — and for the first time in a long time, nothing is loud.)

2. Ghosts With Lipstick Smudges

(He opens up about one of the women who taught him pain before growth.)

3. She Was a Storm, You Are a Shore

(You begin to see how you are not like the others — and he starts to feel safe.)

4. Taught By the Leaving

(He tells you about the one who left without warning — and how it broke something soft in him.)

5. Do You Still Believe in Forever?

(A quiet moment in the present forces both of you to ask what you really want.)

6. Her Name Was a Song I Never Released

(He confesses the truth behind one of his unreleased tracks — and who it was really about.)

7. The Memory Room

(You visit his childhood home. Old photos, family stories, and echoes of who he used to be.)

8. The One Who Almost Was

(The past comes back — literally — in the form of someone he almost married.)

9. I Want to Love You Out Loud

(After hiding and healing, he’s ready to love you in the open.)

10. All of the Girls I’ve Loved Before

(He tells you everything — and finally lets the past rest so he can begin with you.)

———

I don’t think I want this story to be built around smut and so on. I want to show Harry the way I see him and imagine him. If you would be interested in reading something like this, please write about it in the comments. I would be happy if someone appreciates it!

[artist-owl]

Top 10 Funniest Deaths of the Silmarillion

Because sometimes you have to laugh through the tears when you’re reading this book. Did reading about (most) of these deaths emotionally devastate me? Oh yeah. Doesn’t mean we can’t have a laugh about it.

10 - Maglor: didn’t fucking die, the coward! Like, given that Elves can die of depression, there’s realistically no way he lived past the Second Age, but we never get confirmation. Schrodinger’s Elf, if you will.

9 - Turgon: specifically in a fandom context it’s funny bc fanon Turgon is the boring as cardboard member of his entire generation and then he goes out refusing to leave his falling city and stands atop his tower as dragons bring it down in crumbling flames whilst yelling “great is the victory of the Noldor!” Cannot stress enough that he did not need to do this. He could have left and said no. Dumb as hell but I respect it.

8 - Argon: pour one out for my boy his death and whole existence didn’t even make it to the published Silm. Not to mention he survives the entire crossing of the Helcaraxë while his sister in law literally got friged, then dies like .5 seconds after setting foot in Beleriand. Tfw you’re so impetuous that you hew your way through the orcs without stopping to think that this means they can close ranks and surround you. Not his fault, he’d never fought before. Probably.

7 - Nienor: learns that she did a sibling incest and immediately yeets herself off a cliff. Like I can’t blame her but there’s a morbid humour in how fast she made that decision.

6 - Túrin: same as his sister, but his cursed sword suddenly reveals itself to be capable of speech, calls him out for killing his boyfriend, and then calls him a lil bitch before he kills himself with it. Also with the way his life was going this wasn’t even surprising.

5 - Sauron (death no. 3): you know he lived and died the same way: not knowing what the fuck a Hobbit is or why he should worry about them. Also this bitch dies three goddamn times because he can’t learn his damn lesson.

4 - Fëanor: Fingolfin got the death that Fëanor was destined for bc Morgoth didn’t have time to plan ahead for that fight and granted Fingolfin a badass last stand; with Fëanor he went “I’m not fighting that guy” like a lil bitch and straight up sent out a fuckton of Balrogs to fight him instead, and Fëanor survived this for long enough to curse him out again, make his sons re-swear the oath that would ruin their lives and countless others’, and then spontaneously combust out of sheer Big Mad. Other Elves have faded away from depression because the weariness and sorrow of their souls overcame their bodies; Fëanor literally invented a new way to die. Post cancelled I’ve circled back around to being impressed.

3 - Thingol: Stiffs the Dwarves on their payment and starts hurling insults and slurs at them while holding a necklace that was recently liberated from a dead dragon’s hoard that had been inset with a twice-stolen gem that lowkey curses everyone who covets it after his magic goddess wife told him that coveting it was a bad idea. Like, my guy, wtf did you think would happen.

2 - Sauron (death no. 1): the biggest L of his career. Just sitting in his temple in Atlantis Númenor, laughing maniacally, assured of his own victory, and not looking out the window behind him to see the massive wave that is approaching at mach fuck. Dies and jrrt specifically mentions that he’s never again able to have a body that men (specifically) find hot. This is more pathetic than the #1 spot but I want him to stay losing 😌

1 - Finrod: do I even need to say it? You’ve got this classy, friendly, noble Elven lord who, in short order: agrees to help a Man complete a suicide quest because he Swore An Oath, dressed up as an orc, said his name was Dungalef and his friend here was Nereb, lost a rap battle to a god bc the god brought up his ptsd triggers, got stripped naked, slipped his chains and fought a werewolf, naked, with his teeth, and won before dying of blood loss, but not before he gave a little lore drop to Beren about how Elven deaths work as his last words. The absolute legend.

Put your favorites and/or other nominations in the tags, I want to see if there's anyone I missed.

[reignpage]

“Nanami Kento had another encounter with the nameless mermaid. Many such, in fact. Some of these encounters are details in letters he sent letters to Professor Yaga. They detailed his recent discoveries and confirmation of months of his research building up to his posting in Gibraltar.

Excited, he told him everything, barring the budding romantic feelings he knew he should not have encouraged for fear that the respected professor would question his priorities and admonish him. While waiting for a reply, the student dedicated the remaining day since he recorded his first late-night meeting with the specimen to overcoming the issue to do with his incapability to swim.

In his rush, one can only assume, he made no record of what spell or device he had discovered and used, though there are many theories to be had. This remains a great tragedy.

Later in the day, he took to the sea in a rush and agreed with the mermaid to go somewhere secluded, where they would not be seen by another in broad daylight, and decided upon a nearby cave accessible only by boat or strong swimmers.

Part of the meeting was recorded by the student via Pluma Memoria and the transcripts were recovered some time later alongside contextual notes made by him.

As we all know, the Inter-dimensional Research Committee and St. Eden's Board of Administration's issued formal requests for the exiled student to relinquish all of his possessions related to his research, including information on how to enter the underwater kingdom, their weaponry, their political system, and just as importantly, the specimen.

These requests were denied.

It is unclear why.

In today's class, we still study the excerpt, focusing especially on the historical and cultural significance of Nanami Kento's rebellion and asking ourselves the question:

Did he regret it?”

Nameless Specimen: I've been watching you.

Kento: I thought you might have. Somehow, I felt you, I think. Something was encouraging me, urging me forward. It was odd but...comforting.

Nameless Specimen: I understand…I was not supposed to want you to find me. My pod have tasked me with ensuring people like you never find our home. And indeed, I worked tirelessly to lead others astray, leaving what they thought were clues so they would search in circles and grow frustrated. But just an afternoon spent following you revealed a truth I cannot verify: you are different. You are not like the others who have come before you.

Kento: I'm not?

Nameless Specimen: No…they were fuelled by greed, by a desire to reap all the wealth off our land. They trample over the wildlife, made no effort to connect with the villagers, choosing arrogance over community, and relied solely on their spells and potions. It was the kind of laziness and irreverence that confirmed the decision our ancestors made a long time ago — keep the gates to Atlantis closed.

Kento: And no one has ever been successful?

She held my hands and swam us around the jagged floor of the sea, tickling the bellies of fish as she went. I was growing more and more accustomed to her anatomy, to the point that the agility of her scaled tail did not surprise me anymore, though the captivating colour of them never waned in my eyes.

Nameless Specimen: Only once. Two men. Students just like you. One was closed off but polite, the other friendly but deceitful. My ancestors welcomed them in, nursed them back to health after their ship hit the rocks and capsized, and even shared our air so that they may tour our home. Back then, my people had not known the cruelty and gluttony of others. They were simply excited to learn about the outside world and to exchange wisdom.

I kept quiet. She was sharing knowledge I would have killed to hear just weeks ago. Now, I was grimacing, much too aware of man's potential for destruction. History lessons were not without constant warnings for the new generations to do better. To be better.

Nameless Specimen: The polite one, records say, was truly interested to learn, to be a part of our community. He was energetic and enthusiastic. It did not take very long for him to be seen as one of us…And the other…had his eyes on our gold, our pearls, and our scales. During their stay, people went missing. Even our young. It was a slow, eventual development. At least, that is how it is explained to us. I believe our Elders simply do not wish to confront the fact that our people were just naive. They knew the truth of that visitor from another land and chose to trust in the kindness of one another than aggrieve their guests with accusations...until it was too late.

Kento: ...what happened?

Nameless Specimen: He must have developed some sort of contraption. It is hard to say exactly what happened...the devastation was far and wide. To this day, we mourn our loss and feel the echoes of the tragedy. Whatever he had found or received caused death on a scale unfathomable to our young… The Elders do not like to talk about this part but whispers among my peers claim that one morning, our people awoke and could not see through the thick cloud of blood thickening the water.

I gasped. A deep pit formed in my stomach and it has not left since. I do not think it will ever. There was a sad smile on her lips, like she pitied her ancestors and resented the innocence of her people at the same time, though, ultimately, she could not blame them.

Nameless Specimen: That day…they released more bodies into the field of lights than they ever had prior. Generations lost. Bloodlines ended. Dignity stolen. The dead were stripped of their scales, fins, hearts and eyes. Sold, I can only imagine, to the highest bidder. The hardest part of it all was identifying who was who. There remains to this day a large section of the field housing the bodies of those who were never claimed.

I was speechless. No words could ever be uttered to begin to apologise for the crimes that were committed, for the injustice, for the murder of so many. I know them not, but I hold them in my heart. The sins of the past will be brought to life. I will be sure of it.

Kento: I am so sorry. That should never have happened. W-we have laws, regulations, a-an honour code to abide by. I'll tell my school, my professor. Everyone. We will advocate for reparations, a galaxy-wide apology—

Nameless Specimen: That is not necessary. We grieve in our own way. And in any case, we know not everyone is bad. That's why I'm here. Why the two of us can be together like this…We do not want to stay closed off forever. There is a whole world out there that my people deserve to see. We do not want to live in fear for eternity. There might even come a time where we must rely on the help of others for the future of our pod. It is therefore up to my generation to prepare for that. To change and innovate. We will soon welcome others like you…Never again will we be exploited like that. We have learnt. Adapted. Survived. That is the way of my people.

She swam around me, grazing her tail against my legs. Her lips brushed my cheek.

Nameless Specimen: In the meantime, I hope this is enough for you.

Kento: It is. You are.

She laughed, bubbles escaping.

Nameless Specimen: Thank you for listening. I have never shared this before. We don’t get visitors at all. There are not even others like us…as far as we know.

Kento: No, thank you for sharing. I learnt so much. For this, I will forever be indebted to you.

Nameless Specimen: I learnt much from you too. While I watched you fumble about on the surface, you spoke on and on about interesting facts about your world. Spells you were frustrated by. Potions you wanted to perfect. Professors you disliked and classes you missed. It was all so entertaining. You are an interesting man.

I was awestruck by her beauty and the tender warmth with which she spoke to me. The sound of her voice, the melodic bliss it elicits, the comfort…I feel as though I am still in the cave with her — weightless and free.

Kento: You're the first person to have ever said that to me…Most people find me annoying. Even my best friend. Though I rather think that is because I remind him of a lecturer, which he has naturally learnt to tune out automatically.

Nameless Specimen: That is unfortunate. A smart man like you must be heard, no? That is how we function in my pod; everything worth saying must be heard in an assembly. Every voice is equal to begin with, but the brighter minds deserve a special respect. You are one such.

Her revelation made me blush. It was embarrassing but she only smiled patiently. Of course, I have heard my fair share of compliments — winning as many awards as I have would warrant that. But, when those flatteries leave her lips, I felt inclined to shy away from such niceties.

Kento: You barely know me…

Shaking her head, she pulled herself closer to me until we were flushed together. To that, I did not shy away from. Not when it felt right.

Nameless Specimen: I feel as though I have lived a lifetime with you.

Kento: I do too...I feel as if I...loved you in a past life. And in the next.

She smiled again and placed a hand on my cheek. I was surprised to find the flexibility in her joints, webbed as they are. Her thumb adjusted my glasses which were threatening to float away from me.

Nameless Specimen: It is odd, is it not? For two souls to have just collided and feel this way...it seems as if we have been veering off course, heading straight for each other.

I don't know what expression I held. But something about it made her eyes soften, not in pity but something akin to sadness. For herself and for me. Like she thought it a universe's worth of regret to have met so late. Like she knew, since having met her, I've realised that all my life I have only ever known loneliness. Like she felt the same way.

Then, she reached out and met my lips.

I feel no shame in admitting much of the time we spent together is dedicated to talking about things which held no special importance, and to kissing. There was much more to be learned from her lips and her body than words, I believe. It is because of her that I became privy to the secrets of the universe and beyond all while tethered to the only home I felt bound to.

Her kisses spoke of promises. They breathed life into me. Urged me to desire for more than shallow trophies and meaningless discoveries.

We joined together like we've done it many times before.

These moments filled me with a new sense of purpose.

They were moments to protect, to cultivate, to watch grow.

They were moments I would cherish till my last breath...

[thisapplepielife]

Written for @steddiesongfics.

Lonesome is a State of Mind

June Prompt: Summer Songs | Song: Drunk on a Plane by Dierks Bentley (Bonus: Lonesome is a State of Mind by Djo lyrics for the Djo June challenge) | Word Count: 2500 | Rating: T | CW: Bare Feet in Public, Recreational Alcohol Use | Tags: Modern AU, Bisexual Steve Harrington, Little Angst, Lotta Silly Fluff, Meet Cute, Steve Had to Kiss Some Frogs to Get His Happy Ending, Robin Unfortunately Had to Bear Witness

Also on ao3.

It's stifling in the apartment, the summer air heavy and thick, even as the sun is just rising. It's making every movement seem ten times harder. Even through the closed windows, Steve can hear everything going on down below, the sounds of the city, the street, busy with activity. 

His future is not what he thought, and here he is again, having thought something wrong. He should be used to that by now, but he's not. He's afraid he'll never be. He's too optimistic that things will work out. You'd think he'd learn his lesson by now. He's not a kid anymore. No, he's twenty-nine and misaligned.

Going from two to one has been harder than he thought it would be these past six months. From a house full of sounds of life, to this. Stifling silence. 

She was the one. Wasn't she? He's not even sure now. 

Five years this time. Five. 

Two before that. What's he doing wrong? He wanted to commit, but it turns out two years wasn't enough time for someone to know if they wanted to do the same. Fine. With the next relationship he was more cautious, more patient. Went slow. Didn't rush.

Made sure they were really in love. 

But five years wasn't long enough either, turns out. And now he has two engagement rings hanging around his neck like albatrosses and two non-refundable tickets for a honeymoon that was supposed to start today, just with no wife.

She's at his house, with his dog, but he lives somewhere else, somewhere separate.

What the fuck is so wrong with him that things just fall apart as soon as he tries to offer someone his love?

Nancy didn't want it in high school, either. Now he's convinced he's more than bullshit. There's a pattern, and he's the common denominator.

He jumps when the buzzer for the downstairs door sounds. Robin. He presses the button to unlock the front door for her, and works on schooling his face so she doesn't see how close to a nervous breakdown he really is today.

He was supposed to get married yesterday. He didn't. 

"I never liked her anyway," Robin says, "She's an asshole. You're not gonna try to get back with her, right? I can say that?"

"You can say that," Steve answers. He knows it's not true. He wouldn't have made it five years with anybody that Robin didn't like. And he especially wouldn't have planned to marry them. Robin's just taking his side, unconditionally. Best friend privileges. He appreciates it.

"Glad to hear it. Flight leaves in two hours," she states, picking up his sunglasses, tossing them at him, "Wayfarers on, Harrington. Grab your bags. We're going to the beach. That all-inclusive resort is calling my name."

Steve groans. He doesn't want to go to the beach. 

"Steve! Now!" Robin demands, and he knows better than to argue. And it'd be stupid to waste these tickets, this whole vacation. He went through the trouble switching the ticket to Robin's name, after all.

He puts on his neon green swim trunks, and a bright pink tank top. Slides on a pair of flip flops. It's gaudy. Loud and in your face. Maybe if he embarrasses her now, she won't make him go.

Robin says nothing.

He stands there staring at her.

"Bags?" she asks.

He shrugs. Maybe he'll travel light for once. See what that's like.

She just pushes past him, into his bedroom, and stuffs random clothes of his into his suitcase. While she's busy doing that, he makes himself a travel mug of orange juice. And vodka. That's the important part. 

Piling into the waiting cab downstairs, he sucks on the whirly straw, and off they go. 

One honeymoon, two platonic soulmates.

Finally at cruising altitude, Robin is staring at him.

"What?"

"What are you wearing?" Robin asks, finger snagging the chain around his neck, pulling. 

"My bad luck charms, duh," he says, twisting off the top of another little bottle of Jack. Pouring it into his thimble of Coke. "It wards off—"

"—women, men, humankind in general?"

"Sure," he says, thumbing at the two diamond rings hanging from the gold chain. 

"You're being a dramatic dingus."

"Cheers, have a drink with me," he says, tapping his plastic cup against hers.

"It's ten in the morning," she says, still judging him for conning the flight attendant out of more liquor. He's already rocking a nice buzz, and he'd like to keep building on it, thank you very much.

"You can't drink all day if you don't start in the morning," he retorts, stretching out in his seat, putting his bare foot up on the armrest of the aisle seat guy in the row in front of him.

"Steve," Robin hisses, pressing on his knee, trying to get him to put his foot down. Then she leans towards the row in front of theirs, "I'm so sorry, he's not usually this feral."

She can't budge him, despite her best efforts. He refuses to move. That is, until the guy whose seat he's encroaching on runs his fingers up the sole of Steve's foot. That's enough to make Steve jerk his leg back reflectively, ticklish, unable to stop himself. He hears the pleased laughter floating back to their row, and Steve leans forward, poking his head around the seat.

"Foot fetish, huh?" 

"You're the one that offered it up to me," the guy says.

Steve laughs, the liquor making him brazen, "I mean, I'm not into that. But if you are, I'd be happy to open negotiations."

"Well, isn't that a thought," the guy laughs, and Steve can't tell if he's flirting with him, or just making fun. Maybe a little of both. It honestly doesn't really matter. Steve doesn't mind either option.

It's already made his morning better. 

Steve leans his shoulder into the back of the guy's seat, jostling him. "My fiancée dumped me. This was my honeymoon."

The guy turns and nods towards Robin, "Her? Was it because you're trying to get strange men to touch your feet?"

"Ew," Robin says, "No. I'm Robin. The embarrassed best friend. That's Steve. Again, I'm sorry. He isn't putting his best foot forward. He decided to start early this morning."

Steve laughs, and so does the guy. It's a great laugh. Steve wants to hear more of it, wants more of his attention.

"I'm Eddie," the guy says, "and your foot forward seemed fine to me. But if you've got a better one, let me have it."

Steve, not about to back down from a challenge, wedges his left foot between the seats. 

The guy next to Eddie whips his head around, "If your nasty foot so much as grazes me, I swear to god I'll shove drumsticks up both your asses."

"That's a very specific promise," Steve says, pointing his foot towards Eddie the best he can. "At least buy me a drink first."

The guy huffs, annoyed.

"Steve Harrington, leave these men alone. You're gonna get us kicked off this flight. Banned from this airline. Banned from all future air travel forever, maybe. We'll be on the no-fly list. We might get left in Cancun."

The grumpy guy in the middle turns around, looking at Robin, "This is at least fifty percent Eddie's fault at this point. He feeds on chaos, makes things worse, and encouraging what's happening right now is a dream come true for him. Trust me."

"It's true," Eddie pipes up, "I'm a freak. Being interesting will always beat conformity. Put your feet on people if you want. Be real. Be weird. Be real weird."

Steve grins, looking at Robin, "See?"

"No," she says, shaking her head. 

Steve retracts his foot, and Eddie turns in his seat, looking right in Steve's eyes, "Stay weird, Steve Harrington."

Then, he hands Steve two additional mini bottles of liquor, and Steve grins, relaxing back into his seat.

Steve tries to mind his own business. It works for a while.

"What are you headed to Cancun for?" Steve asks, peeking at Eddie from between the seats.

"Bachelor party," Eddie says, looking back at him.

Steve sticks out his bottom lip, "Yours?"

Eddie laughs, shaking his head, nodding towards his seatmate, "No. Mr. Drumsticks Uptheass, here."

Steve grabs the back of the guy's seat and shakes him, "Don't do it, man. She'll break your heart. Put a ring on it and suddenly she can't stomach the thought of spending her whole life with you. Trust me. It's happened to me. Twice." 

"Shut up, you don't know me or my life. I can see why nobody would want to marry you," middle-seat snaps. 

"Gareth," Eddie warns.

Steve shoves the back of Gareth's seat, launching himself back into own. Arms crossed, pouting. 

He's a fucking catch. 

What kind of name is Gareth, anyway? 

"He didn't mean that," Robin says, leaning forward, trying to smooth this over, "I'm sure your wife-to-be is lovely and would never call off your wedding." 

Gareth just glares over his shoulder, then leans forward, looking across the aisle, eyes laser focused on the man sitting there, minding his own business. "Goods. Goodie. Hey. Switch seats with me."

The guy across the aisle ignores him. 

"Goodie!" 

What kind of name is Goodie?

"I don't know you, any of you," the alleged Goodie says, pulling his hoodie strings, cinching it down over his face. Ending the conversation. 

"Jesus Christ," Gareth Uptheass says, forcing himself out of his seat, climbing over Eddie's knees, and out into the aisle.

Then, he looms over Steve. Well, he tries. He's not very tall. "Get up. We're trading seats. If you want to flirt with Eddie so fucking bad, you can do it without involving me. I'm sitting next to her now." 

Steve looks at Robin, "Oh, she's a lesbian." 

"Great, and she's wearing shoes. The exact kind of woman I'm interested in right now. Get. Up." 

"I need to put on my shoes," Steve says. 

"Really? Why start now?" 

Steve gets up, and squeezes into the middle seat next to Eddie. There's another guy in the window seat.

"I'm Steve," Steve says, since they haven't been introduced. 

"So I've heard," he answers, "I'm Jeff. Keep your hands and feet to yourself and we'll be good."

"Jeff's a normal name," Steve declares. He's glad someone else has a normal name around here.

"Thanks," Jeff says.

They talk and talk until Eddie gets up to go to the bathroom. Steve waits a respectable minute and a half to follow. 

Tapping on the locked door, he gets no answer.

Knocking again, "Eddie."

The door across the hall opens, "Over here."

Whoops. Wrong bathroom. Steve slides into the cramped lavatory with Eddie, trying to balance himself on the flimsy sink, hoping like fuck it will hold him. 

Steve wraps his legs around Eddie's waist, pressing himself up against Eddie.

"Do you really have a foot fetish?" Steve asks.

Eddie laughs, "Not in the slightest."

"Good, that's good," Steve answers, playing with the hairs at the nape of Eddie's neck. "You gonna give me a little in-flight entertainment?" 

Eddie cups his cheek. It's tender, and nobody's touched Steve like this in a while. He leans into it.

"How about we just make it off this plane without being put in handcuffs?" Eddie suggests.

Steve huffs, but will allow it. 

"What if I want you to put me in handcuffs?" 

Eddie laughs, "Then, sweetheart, like you said earlier: I'd be happy to open negotiations."

Back in their seats, Steve falls asleep on Eddie's shoulder.

Then, they land and go their separate ways. 

The next morning, Steve regrets everything from the day before. His head is pounding, like elves are trying to chisel his skull in two. He's mortified. He got drunk, took off his shoes, and followed a stranger to the plane bathroom.

Robin's never gonna let him live this down, not even with the goodwill of it being his sad non-honeymoon. She won't feel sorry for him forever.

The mimosa isn't working as hair of the dog that bit him, nor is the greasy breakfast, and he closes his eyes behind his sunglasses. 

He hears Robin pull out her chair, and groans. 

"I'm dying. Put me out of my misery." 

He hears a deep chuckle, familiar now, and feels his cheeks flush. Eddie. Of all the resorts, Eddie from the plane is here? It's absurd. 

Steve's eyes snap open. It's too bright.

"You're staying here?" Steve asks. He's so fucking embarrassed. What are the odds of that?

Eddie shakes his head, smiling wide.

"Nope. But Gareth asked Robin where you guys were staying. He knows me well enough to know I'd want that information. He's a good best friend, even if he was a little testy yesterday."

"Uh, I think he had a reason. I was being, well, unreasonable. Sorry about the feet. And the bathroom. And everything else."

"No reason to apologize. I'm here, aren't I?" Eddie asks with a smile. 

He is. Steve smiles. Eddie found him. Eddie went out of his way to come see him again.

Nobody goes out of their way for him, except Robin, and she definitely doesn't count.

"So, you wanna spend the day with me, Steve Harrington?"

Steve does, and he pushes his sunglasses up onto his head, and leans forward. Lips barely brushing Eddie's, "Oh yeah. I'm ready to open negotiations."

Later

It's loud, and Steve's getting shoved around in the pit. He doesn't mind. He could stand backstage, but he wants to be right here, front and center. Eddie can see him all night this way.

Corroded Coffin is doing their thing, and Steve's along for the ride. They aren't super famous, not a bit mainstream, but they fill ballrooms and small venues, the crowds stoked to see them. 

Steve's thrilled to see them, thrilled to see Eddie, always. Third time was the charm. Steve finally met his match. Finally got a yes before the question had even left his throat. Eddie married him as fast as he could. Steve knows it's because Eddie didn't want Steve to stress that another engagement might fizzle out.

Steve was all in, and so was Eddie.

Eddie flips his hair off his shoulders, running his fingers under the neck of his t-shirt, fishing out a chain. Two diamond engagement rings clink together as they flop onto his chest. Steve leans against the barricade, grinning.

Steve considered them bad juju. Albatrosses. But Eddie started wearing them around his own neck. A talisman, he says. Good luck. 

A point being made, Steve's sure.

Oh, you didn't want him? Well, good. He's fucking mine.

He's unhinged. 

Steve loves him. 

Loves that he took that flight, loves that he got drunk and rude and weird. Loves that Eddie rolled with it. Loves that of all the people in the world that could have been sitting in front of him, that it was Eddie Munson. 

The one who would wholeheartedly love him back.

If you want to write your own, or see more entries for this challenge, pop on over to @steddiesongfics to follow along with the love! 🎵

[frownyalfred]

Hii, I love your fics!! I think you are truly so talented showing the emotions and I love how, or like, thw way, in which you get into Bruce's head !

Do you usually think about a scene you want to write and use the other scenes to build it up, or do you start with a specific scenario and try to explain how would Bruce react and go from there?

Sorry if the question isn't really clear, I'm not sure how to better phrase it :c

Thank you so much! Yeah, usually when I'm writing out of the blue ideas, I usually get really zoned into one conversation or scene and try to build around that as naturally as possible. However, if I try to write that scene out of order, I can really screw myself up since I change a lot of details as I go. I've learned that lesson the hard way. So I tend to outline the scene I do know, but I don't actually write it out until I've reached it chronologically, if that makes any sense.

Sometimes it's really fun to play "how do we get there" and sometimes it's a nightmare. For example, my latest outsider POV where the guy stumbles across Batman and Robin locked in a closet - literally the only thing I had in mind before I started to write was 1) the guy finds Batman fighting like crazy defending a door and 2) that guy was surprised until he realized that Robin was behind that door. So I went into it hoping that something would crop up as I was writing, and it did! Luckily.

Process >>> "How do we get there?" Well, maybe there's something going on in the building. Okay, why is our POV character in the building? He lives there. No, he's the Super. Okay, why would he stick around in the building if something is wrong? He's a good guy, or maybe it's his job to keep the building safe. Okay, let's say he feels obligated. Who else is in the building? What exactly is the threat? Can he avoid it while still managing to stumble across it? Okay, let's say there's two waves of attacks and he accidentally stumbles upon Batman between them. What happens now? He's a nice guy but he's not that dumb, if it's safe at that point he'd probably leave, but what about Robin? How does he even know Robin is there, Batman won't tell him. Okay, the second wave is coming so he has to stay. Batman will put him behind the same door as Robin and that's how he figures out why Batman is defending this door. Etc etc.

[gojosprisonrealm]

a stsg playlist for you!

hi everyone! my brain is constantly full of stsg brainrot, and likewise, i hear lyrics and immediately have it stained in my mind as a stsg quote. so, here are some song recs/ songs that are just canonically stsg for you along with my highlighted lines from the song that made me align it with them! just bc i’m so brainrotted! -xo, lizzy

ps, i see them and i immediately need a cigarette and divorced dad rock.

thick skull- paramore

“hit over the head (epiphany)/

over my head (repeatedly)/

thick skull never did (nothing for me)/

same lesson again (come on, give it to me)”

the chorus of this song makes me envision satoru falling victim to the prison realm upon seeing kenjaku in suguru’s body. he’s been torn apart by suguru and let him go unscathed, and he never truly learned from that, seeing as though leaving suguru’s body after death is what caused his downfall.

weird fishes/arpeggi- radiohead

“i’d be crazy not to follow/

follow where you lead/

your eyes/

they turn me/

turn me into phantoms/

i follow to the edge/

of the earth/

and fall off”

if i could just use all the lyrics to this song, i would. satoru’s six eyes are a focal point of their arc throughout the manga, seeing as geto explains in the HI/PD arc that if he had gojo’s eyes, he could fulfill his goals. and of course, gojo’s six eyes come back to bite him later when they recognize suguru in the shibuya arc.

from me, the moon- lav

“tell me if the years are all gone/

is the moon still in love with the sun?/

do you still keep count of my sins?”

i fear this one is a slap in the face. they spend so much time together only for suguru to throw them to the side so quickly. i envision this one from satoru’s pov, asking if his other half still wants him. it could also be suguru, too, in that third line, asking if he’s done too much to ever regain satoru in his life.

i guess- mitski

“i guess, i guess, i guess this is the end/

i’ll have to learn to be somebody else/

it’s been you and me since before i was me/

without you, i don’t yet know quite how to live”

they had an identity together as the strongest. they reference that often in the HI/PD arc. i think that’s why suguru’s line in their KFC breakup (yk the one, are you sg bc you’re the strongest, vice versa) hits so hard. gojo had always thought of them as the strongest together while suguru had always seen satoru as an entity so far out of his reach. gojo had to relearn who he was without the man who made him so strong.

past life- tame impala

“well, somewhere between a lover and a friend/

it was different back then/

surreal, poetic but uncertain/

like a chick flick with a confusing end”

yall had to see this one coming. it’s SO THEM. satoru sees suguru in everything, and im sure he sees themselves in yuji and megumi. also, the reference to things being different back then ties together beautifully with the manga’s timeline of introducing their relationship in a flashback. i’d also like to touch on that last line. the confusing end can mean so many things, but i mainly pull from it a reference to their complicated timeline of betrayal, death, resurrection, imprisonment, etc. however, it could also be related to their relationship status when they parted ways at KFC and when suguru died. did that love still exist? we’ll never know, especially bc we can’t be 100% sure what suguru’s last words were.

i’m not a mountain- sarah kinsley

“i swear im unattached/

living in the past, but/

i can’t get off my feet/

you say we’ll all go mad/

but i don’t believe that/

so you’ll prove it to me”

first two lines remind me of the HI/PD arc in its entirety being satoru’s memory in a dream. the last three are reminiscent of suguru’s slipping mental health and his ability to commit what satoru had believed to be impossible (aka, mass murder and leaving him).

i’d hate me too- susannah joffe

“when we last spoke i was a dog with a broken leg/

i couldn’t run to you so i’d bite till you’d shoot me dead/

…

i wanted you to hate me so you’d know i was still there”

i have nothing to say here. just pain.

what are we gonna do now- indigo de souza

“i know you’re worn, you’re exhausted/

this is love/

this is lost on you/

i’m holding my night in your hands”

gojo NOTICED that geto was depressed and detached before the breakup even happened but he tried to see past it because he didn’t want things to CHANGE. i can’t they’re so tragic. he knew he was exhausted but he wanted their love to last and he entrusted his happiness to geto. fuck, man.

duvet- bôa

“and you don’t seem the lying kind/

a shame that i can read your mind”

satoru very clearly did not want to believe that suguru had committed the atrocities he did, but he could believe it because he had noticed how off he was. he read him like a book. this could also signify gojo’s disbelief in seeing suguru’s walking body after having killed him. he’d know his soulmate anywhere.

i saw you in a dream- the japanese house

“i saw you in a dream/

you had stayed the same/

you were beckoning me/

said that i had changed”

this one is definitely from suguru’s pov. we all know the breakup tore up satoru, but it had to destroy suguru, too. his drastic change has to haunt him at night right alongside the thought of gojo.

the comfort of a laugh track- roar

“will i live in shame of/

the things in the past that i should have done for you?/

and is it possible to/

forgive all the ignorant ones if they’re just too young?”

satoru wishes he could have done more to help suguru in his poor wellbeing. maybe then he wouldn’t have left. satoru also forgives his students for their ignorant optimism in spite of knowing what’s to come for them if they’re anything like himself. this entire song is stsg coded; i highly recommend.

—

ANYWAYS, sorry for the yap sesh. i love stsg with my whole heart, as tragic as they are. enjoy the last few days of pride month, folks.

[caffeine-and-spells]

Like/RB if you’d hex Ron DeSantis.

[sleepyorchidmonster]

In light of recent developments in twst's story chapters (A.K.A. Book 7.5 WTF) I've decided to finally talk about some ideas for Book 8 that had been plaguing my mind since march😅...

The main idea is how, after Book 7, both Idia and Ortho tried to understand how the hell NRC students managed to defeat 7 OVERBLOTS with ZERO casualties (almost, but Lillia got better), and yet they still haven't managed to beat RSA.

The answer? DORMS.

You see, while NRC is know for its competitive students who can't seem to get along, let alone exist in the same room without starting a fight, there is a sense of camaraderie present in the dorms, the "I'd go to hell for you, but I wish you'd stop going there you IDIOT" type of camaraderie, that is.

I mean, the main reason the dream segment went so well was because they went by dorm order, like, can you imagine if the dream team started the Heartslabyul chapter with Riddle's dream? Aside from whatever Grim and Yuu could tell the others, they wouldn't even know Riddle basically erased his entire life...

Anyway, now that they established this point, they just have to use it for the Interschool Spelldrive team. Which leads to a team comprised of the overblotters (we're praying that their shared experience as overblot victims, dormleaders and whatever they managed to glean from Book 7 will be enough), and a NRC Tribe 2: Overblot Edition.

And that's how Book 8 would include two main plots, with the A plot following Yuu and the first years investigating the mirror, Mickey and the Overblots, and the B plot following the shenanigans of the overblotters and Grim (yes, this would be the first Book that separates Grim and Yuu, assuming Grim will overblot, we need to tackle his abandonment issues).

[cinnamon-phrog]

I don't know if I still love the trio or not. I don't know if I can continue to love them. Even without giving the creators monetary support. I could just be being dramatic, I want to still love them, but do I need to. Will I just continue hurting. Do I love them just because they've been with me so long, because I felt like I had to. I don't know. I knew when to take breaks, I'd give my other f/o's time. I thought I was happy. But people outside of my control kept telling me I couldn't have them and now the main source of my comfort doesn't work anymore, and I'm scared to even look at them, even though all I want is to hold them close because I know at least Yellow would not stand for this.

[hanzajesthanza]

pro tip: give into working on that fic you wanted to work on again, because nearly as soon as you start outlining it, you will run into such plot conundrums that you can't solve, that you will want to drop it just as quick as you picked it up, and will go back to being productive and doing actual work

[tenok]

The point (one of them) is that both Aziraphale and Crowley actually think they the smartest one in any given situation. And since I relate to Aziraphale much more today I get fixated on his brand of superiority. He starts his journey with rebellion from pretty tame "I don't get why they makes this desisions and it's look horrible on surface evel but I'm sure that they get best ineterests of everyone involved in their hearts and it's probably me the one that didn't get some oblivious detail" to "oh okay I'm sure it's some kind of misundestanding and we can all talk it out as adults because we there work on same goals" to frustrated "they won't ever listen to me and I will get in trouble for arguing and it will be better for everyone if I will make my desisions in secret and go behind their backs because I just can't let THEM make desisions that will destroy everything". It's not straightforward, I'm 30 and still circulate sometimes between "what if it's me the one that wrong aout everything" and "god HOW people can be THAT stupid", but I remember going throught this stages first as good and obedient kid with really stupid parents making stupid desisions and later with school, govermnet, activist spaces etc.

And the problem is, I was the smartest person in the room enough time to develop issues, and Aziraphale lives like his for 6000 years at least. I can only imagine how many times he thought "if only Starmaker listen to me and didn't Fall", "if only God listened to me and didn't make an Apocalypse happen", "if only Heavens listened to me and didn't did this or that that thing", "if only Crowley listen to me and understand in what kind of danger we can get", "if only that human listened to me and haven't dig the body", etc etc. It's awful, to be the one who always gets to say "I told you so", especially when there's such awful consequenses you can't even feel satisfaction, and you will be the one to clen this mess up (and Aziraphae will clean, or better try to prevent). Now, it's of course leads to issues. BIG issues.

1) It's really hard to stop being plotting and maciavellian and communicate things properly when you expect that person will at best argue with you, at worst punish you and double down on their stupid desisons and you will clean this mess up. It also really hard to stop trying to control everything because you already accepted that everything is your responsibility and everyone else would just make things worse. (as someone that relates to Aziraphale I think he did so much progress there, the levels or trust he shows Crowley are amazing for two beings that probably last time heard of psychotherapy when Freud was alive. but such trust is fragile thing, one misstep and you back on your "it will be better if I do everything alone" bullshit. I'm not saying it's good. I'm also not saying that it's bad. it's just how things work)

2) It makes you overstep other people authonomy, because, again, it would be better for everyone if they did what you think best for them. It works funny wih Aziraphale because yes he's all for free choices for humanity!! NOW GO AND DO SMART CHOICES DAMN YOU!!! WHY YOU DON'T PICK THE THING THAT WOULD BE SMART TO PICK I HATE YOU ALL. That's where me and Aziraphale difer a little because at least I somewhat good at stepping into other people shoes and understand why they do what they do. But angel there is autistic (or bad at this specific thing for other reasons), so I think when people he consider reasonable doesn't agree with him for their own reasons he ge's really baffled, like, there arE correct opinion and it's mine, WHY are you being difficult?? to spite me?? And I'm sure that half of the reason why Aziraphale's so comfortable with Crowley is that he perfectly happy to let him buly or manipulate him into doing things Aziraphale picks as right. Usually Crowley know where pick his battles and how to play long game to make Aziraphale agree for really important stuff he wants from him, but otherwise? Sure he will complain how he hates Hamlet but they will watch Hamlet, and Aziraphale will be very pleased with himself. (and than there goes final fifteen and we back at "but WHY won't ypu agree with thing I pick or us IT'S GOOD AND RESONABLE THING" and we should be happy that consent is something that imporant for our angel ok? he would be angry with Crowley for picking wrong but he won't make him do what he doesn't want. they respect each other like that.)

3) It makes you really really tired and tense. You control everything, unfortunately the longer you do it the more things starts really depedend on you, you can't let go, you don't know anyone that can share this burden with you because first they should prove that they won't blow his up and for this you should share at least something with them, but what is they would blow it up? Better be safe than sorry. And look when it's my problems it's credit cards and doctor appointmens and with Aziraphale we talk about people dying. Crowley dying. Now, as I said, he actually shows Crowley so. much. trust. for someone with such issues. Because Crowley was there for 6000 years, and he proved himself capable enough times. But still there's areas where let go and not worry would be impossible for Aziraphale, Crowley's safety being one of such things (you see, you can risk with your life when you deal with your problems because whatever you will clean shit up if needed, but if someone close to you hurt themself?? it's YOUR problem too but it will be SO MUCH HARDER to clean. I think when Aziraphale points to Crowley that hell would be harder on him than he can expect heavens to punish him, it's partially because he believes it's true and partially because he knows how to minimize harm when heavens angry with him but HOW can he do this for Crowley??). Anyway. Lol. The more I think about it the more I sure that Crowley without Aziraphale would be a miserable angry dick, and Aziraphale wihout Crowley would be dead, because it was the one person that kept him one tiny slip away from total burn out.

So yeah there's a lot of posts about how angry heartbroken etc Crowley will be with Aziraphale (I don't agree but that's for other post), less posts about how sad and heartbroken will be Aziraphale, but I hope to see Azyraphale being angry too (it they will be angry with each other at all). Not only for not picking him or leaving or making everything messy and emotional and wasting their first kiss at their fight etc, but also because Aziraphale was trusting him! Trusting that he get another resonable adult in team with him! Someone who he can trust to make resonable desisions and see his ideas as clever and him as capable and being willing to go to the end of the world with him with mild complaints and than!! When he did trust him to understand!! He was like everyone else!! Unresonable and emotional and angry with him and why he asked him at all he should've do it secretly and alone as always and it would've be as usual and it wouldn't hurt but it was Crowley that taught him to trust and to ask him for help!! Breaking his perfectly fine coping mechanisms!! It's all his faut if you think about it huh?? (but of course he's already forgiven. but also Aziraphale would do what he needs to do alone this time, as one and only capable adult in the world.)

Anyway it's not a meta it's just some late night thoughts. And it's in no way whole analizis there's so much more problems inside this angel. It's just something in particular that resonated with me today. Also it's not in any way critisizm of him, mind you, because a) he does really the smartest person in the room most of the time and b) I LOVE how fucked up in the head he is!!! I think he needs to become even more fucked up actually!!! and Crowley should love him for that and I will cheer for him from sidelines!!!

[yume-no-miya]

look i love making sae be the one who's so in love and showering hajun with so much love and affection but it's much more fun to think that HE fell harder than her

[ratherchili]

𖹭 cw suggestive, fluff, mdni

Nobody likes your mean bf sukuna, except you, of course.

You knew he didn't stand much of a chance with your friends and family with his tattoos and resting bitch face. Add to that his gruff demeanor and tendency to remain (somehow aggressively?) silent except to bark orders or hurl insults, and your loved ones are regularly pulling you to the side and whispering their concerns into your ear.

They don't like the way he talks to you. They don't like the way his hulking form sticks to you like a dark shadow, never letting you out of his sight. They don't like the possessive way he paws at you, heedless of his audience. It's disrespectful.

"You deserve better."

"Why do you let him treat you like that?"

"If this is what he's like in public, I'd hate to see what he's like behind closed doors."

Oh, you're quite sure they would hate to see it.

"Get it yourself," you say, when he interrupts your family dinner to demand you bring him a beer. "And get a dog if you want something to bark at."

The scraping of his chair against the floor is absurdly loud in the otherwise silent room. Your family exchanges uncomfortable glances as he rises and stalks into the adjacent kitchen.

"Everything okay with you guys?" Your sister asks, touching the back of your hand.

"Toxic," somebody else whispers.

They don't see the way he looks at you, the way he smirks over his shoulder. They don't understand that he bites so you'll bite back. They don't see the way his heavy hand lays across your thigh, inching slowly upward even as you smile around a mouthful of pasta.

"Thought they'd never leave," he sighs, pulling you into his lap the second you return from seeing them out.

"You realize an hour is on the shorter side for a family gathering?"

"Short?" He grumbles, his hands warm as they glide up your back under your top.

"If you'd be nice they'd stay longer," you whisper, lips grazing his neck.

"What have I told you about threatening me?" He growls, standing suddenly and dragging you with him as you shreik and struggle weakly in his tattooed arms.

He takes you to the bedroom to teach you a lesson, but you never do learn.

[dreamersparacosm]

jeon jungkook - handle with care

warnings ; oral (f recieving), he hits it from the back, hair pulling, blue collar dick🚨🚨

prompt ; in which your landlord sends an electrician to fix your power, and you end up learning firsthand the magic of blue collar dick.

note ; if you are reading this.. this is a queue’d post while im in MEXICO!!!!! you horny little sluts really thought i would leave you alone for 5 days.. i would never. i figured — hey if i can’t post part 5 of tpod i can at least give a life lesson on blue collar dick, right? backstory here is that the other day my best friend and i had a conversation about our sexy ass landlord and that got me thinking… jungkook..? blue collar..? big dick..? so anyways this is the product of that convo! (and also a standalone one shot bc yall be loving these!)

Later, when someone asks you to recap this story, you’ll say that in your defense, you weren’t expecting the electrician to look like he walked straight off some cringy Pornhub set. You’ll say you just wanted your electricity fixed, not to be spiritually humbled by a man who smells like sawdust and pine.

Your apartment is the kind of place that builds character. And by character, you mean mild trauma.

The kitchen light flickers like it’s been possessed since the day you moved in. The ceiling creaks when your upstairs neighbor sneezes. Your shower only has two settings (arctic and molten lava). There’s a weird stain on the ceiling you’ve been ignoring for three months. And today, of all days, the universe decided to cut the last thread holding your sanity together: the power.

No lights. No working outlets. No WiFi. Which means you’re sitting on your couch, in a hoodie and shorts, trying to hotspot your laptop with 3% battery left while rage-texting your landlord like you’re filing an official grievance with Satan himself.

You immediately text your landlord, fully expecting a five-day delay and a $30 deduction off your next rent.

You: hi. respectfully. what the FUCK is happening?

You: i work from home. i pay rent. i have needs. pls fix ASAP.

He replies five minutes later like he’s doing you a personal favor.

Landlord: sending my guy over. 15 mins.

Your landlord is somehow both your greatest nemesis and your weirdest emotional support system. He’ll ignore three maintenance requests, ghost you for a week, then show up unannounced with a half-eaten bag of Hot Cheetos. You’ve threatened to sue him in writing and sent him a happy birthday meme in the same month. And you’re already halfway into a mental spiral about “his guy” being a 60-year-old with pants that don’t stay up and opinions about the current political climate when there’s a knock at your door.

You swing the door open, fully expecting to see a crusty old man with a clipboard and a wheeze, and instead, you see… (and you’ll remember this moment until the day you die.)

Lip ring. Tattoo sleeve. Tool belt slung low over cargo pants. A black tee stretched across broad shoulders. Jesus Christ, the hair. Dark, slightly shaggy, pushed back on top but long in the back, curling at the nape of his neck in a way that should not be allowed near unsupervised women.

“Hey’,” he says, like this isn’t a pivotal moment in your sexual awakening. “I’m here about the outage?”

You blink at him. You are officially unfit for conversation.

This man has a mullet. A tattooed, lip-ringed, mullet-wearing man is standing in your hallway holding a voltage tester like its foreplay.

Suddenly, your pajama shorts feel too short for this moment. You fumble with the doorknob, “Uh. Yeah. Come in. It’s, uh.. yeah.”

Brilliant. Shakespeare could never.

He steps inside, and holy shit, he’s even taller than you thought. The kind of tall that makes your ceilings feel shorter. The kind of tall where you have to crane your neck just slightly to look up at him, which is offensive because you’re not exactly short yourself. He smells like a mix of sawdust, a hint of pine, laundry detergent, and a 2002 Nissan Altima. It’s oddly specific.

He glances around like he’s surveying a battlefield. “Power cut out completely?”

You nod, shuffling behind him as he moves farther into your apartment with the kind of confidence like he’s somehow been to your home before. His boots thud across your hardwood floor, scuffed and loud. The tool belt clinks. His shirt rides up when he stretches his arm to check something near the ceiling and there’s a flash of golden skin and low-slung cargo pants and—

You’re not doing well.

He pops open the panel in the ceiling like it’s nothing. “Y’all been having issues with this before? Flickering? Dead outlets?”

“Sometimes the kitchen light hums like it’s possessed,” you say, which you regret immediately. “I mean, not literally possessed. Not like.. haunted. Just… you know. Buzzing.”

He chuckles. It’s a low, gravelly sound that sinks its teeth into your spine and doesn’t let go.

“Probably a loose connection in the junction box. Nothing too crazy,” he says, grabbing something from his belt that you will now dream about tonight. “You work from home?”

You nod again, helpless. “Yeah. Marketing.”

He glances back at you. “Tough with no WiFi.”

You turn around under the guise of “letting him work” but really just to text your roommate, Sana, with trembling fingers.

You: help. our power went out and the electrician we got sent is so hot

You: he has a MULLET. a mullet, sana. he said “junction box” and i almost moaned

You hear him grunt softly as he stretches to reach something and you nearly drop your phone.

Sana: SEND A PIC RN

You sneak a glance back — he’s perched on your step stool, arms flexing as he reaches into the ceiling. His hair is curling perfectly at the back of his neck, a little messy from the heat.

You don’t send a pic. You can’t. It feels criminal. You feel like you’re watching live porn with consequences.

Then he speaks again, casually. “You smell something burning last night? Or anything weird before it cut out?”

You nearly say “just my ovaries,” but God reaches down and slaps your mouth shut.

Instead, you clear your throat. “Nope. No sparks, no smell. It just… died this morning.”

He nods, focused. “Might be a fuse then. I’ll check the basement in a sec.”

He drops down from the stool with a casual thud and wipes his hands on that rag in his back pocket. That ass, that rag. This is no longer an apartment. It’s a crime scene.

You glance up just in time to see him walking toward your front door, lifting the back of his shirt to wipe his forehead. You black out for a second.

You: he just wiped sweat off his forehead with the back of his shirt. i saw ab muscle. like cut definition. i think it smiled at me.

Sana: you need jail or a CONDOM stat. get his number???

You’re halfway through typing “I don’t even know his name yet” when the front door opens behind you, and you almost launch your phone across the room like it’s a grenade.

He steps back into your apartment with that casual, unbothered energy he’s so good at carrying. Hair slightly damp at the edges now, cheeks pink from the walk up your stairs, tool belt still jingling.

“Basement breaker’s fine,” he says, brushing his palm down the front of his shirt. “Might be a wiring issue. Gonna check one more thing.”

You blink. Nod. Attempt human speech. Fail. “Cool. Yeah. Check… stuff.”

Christ. You sound like you learned English from Duolingo five minutes ago.

He smiles then, actually smiles. Full teeth, little bunny front ones peeking out. His lip ring glints as he does it, and your brain goes completely static for a second.

“Want some water?” you blurt, and immediately hate yourself. “Or iced tea? Or, whatever I have in the fridge that isn’t expired?”

He huffs out a little laugh, shakes his head. “Nah, I’m good. But thanks, sweetheart.”

You freeze like you’ve been slapped by a porn star. He walks past you again like nothing happened, reaching for something in his tool bag, completely unaware that your soul just evacuated your body.

You unlock your phone immediately, fingers trembling, and text in all caps.

You: HE CALLED ME SWEETHEART.

You: arrest him. make him marry me. i don’t care just make it LEGAL

You barely get the message out when he turns slightly and casually, and says, “So… you live here with your boyfriend, or…?”

You blink hard.

The question hangs there, just slightly too relaxed. Like it’s not loaded with potential. Like it’s not every Wattpad plotline you’ve ever read come to life in front of your half-broken Ikea bookshelf.

Your brain short-circuits harder than your kitchen socket. Is he flirting? Was that… are you being flirted with? It’s been a minute. Like, a long minute since you’ve had someone show genuine interest in you. You can’t tell anymore. He could be asking because he needs to know whose ass he’s about to get chewed out by if he knocks something over, or because he’s just curious.

You manage to croak out, “Just my roommate. Sana.”

He nods and doesn’t press. He lets out a low, distracted, “Hm,” like that’s useful information. Like it slots into place somewhere in his head and he’s okay with it.

You, meanwhile, are mentally drafting a will because you’re not sure your heart’s going to survive the rest of this visit.

He leans over your couch armrest to reach the outlet near the floor. His cargo pants pull slightly tighter around his thighs and you look away so fast you give yourself whiplash. You try to look normal, like a woman who isn’t catastrophically horny over someone adjusting your voltage.

You: HE ASKED IF I HAD A BOYFRIEND

Sana: I AM SCREAMING. I’M IN LINE AT TRADER JOE’S. OFFER TO MAKE HIM LEMONADE OR SIT ON HIS FACE IDK CHOOSE FAST

He stands back up, wiping his palms on that stupid fucking rag again, and glances over his shoulder. “Shouldn’t take much longer,” he quips with that lazy, dangerous smile.

You nod, eyes wide, pretending you’re normal. “Cool. Thanks. No rush or anything. It’s not like I need power to… survive.”

He quirks a brow at that, like he finds you kind of funny, or kind of tragic.

You sit on the couch, phone hidden in your lap like it’s a shameful secret. He crouches near another outlet, testing something with one of those little gadgets that beeps and blinks.

“So, marketing,” he says over his shoulder. “Like… ads?”

You blink. “Uh. Yeah. I work for a beauty brand. Mostly social media, some campaign strategy. Lots of pretending I know what I’m doing and hoping the algorithm doesn’t hate me that day.”

He chuckles. That low, amused sound that makes your toes curl. “That why you’re so good at talking?”

You freeze. “What?”

He glances back, smile creeping in slow and lazy. There’s an unfortunate amount of sarcasm behind his tone. “You seem to stumble a bit over words.”

You blink again, officially out of working brain cells. “Sorry. I—I can stop. I don’t mean to be annoying, I just—”

“I didn’t say it was annoying.” He doesn’t look at you when he says it. He crouches lower again, tapping something against the outlet. But you hear it anyway and feel it, low in your stomach like a dropped elevator.

Your phone buzzes in your lap, blessedly interrupting the moment before you combust.

Sana: girl. do i need to walk around the block or are you gonna fuck him. be honest.

You bite your lip so hard you nearly draw blood. He straightens up, wiping his palms again. “So do you like it? The job?”

“Oh. Um. Yeah. It’s… stressful. But fun, sometimes. I guess,” You scratch the back of your neck.

“You good at it?” He grunts out, looking for something in his toolbox.

Your mind blanks. “What?”

He turns to look at you full-on now, arms crossed, shirt clinging to the curve of his shoulders. “Marketing. All that stuff. You good at it?”

You let out a nervous little laugh. “I mean, I hope so. I’ve been doing it for a few years now, and nobody’s fired me yet.”

“That’s not what I asked.” His tone isn’t aggressive. It’s low and relaxed. But something about the way he says it makes your pulse skip.

“I… I think I am,” you say, slower this time.

He nods once as if that answer pleases him. “You seem like you’d be.”

You’re gonna die. You’re going to actually die. This man is being nice to you, and it feels like your body isn’t prepared for that level of stimulus.

You glance at your phone again.

Sana: WHY ARE YOU TAKING THIS LONG TO RESPOND??? IS HIS DICK OUT. BLINK TWICE

You look back up and he’s leaning against the doorframe that divides your kitchen and living room now, arms still crossed, lip ring catching the light. “So your roommate…?”

You nod, trying not to choke. “Yeah. Her name’s Sana. We’ve lived together since college.”

“She at work?” You swear he looks at your legs in your shorts, but could also be wishful thinking.

“Not right now. She works night shifts at the hospital 15 minutes away from here.,” You twiddle your thumbs in your lap.

He hums, still watching you. “So you’re here all alone today.”

It’s not a question. It shouldn’t be hot. It’s just a sentence. But, the way he says it? The tone? The slight lilt at the end, like it means more than it says?

You let out a strangled sound that you hope reads as a laugh. “Yeah. Just me. Alone. In this… apartment. Where you are. Currently.”

He tilts his head, smiling again. “You’re kind of funny for someone with no electricity.”

You hesitate. Then, blurting before you can stop yourself, “And you’re kind of cocky for someone who still hasn’t turned my lights on yet.”

He raises an eyebrow, a smirk slowly appearing. “Hm?”

You shake your head way too fast. “I mean—just—like, you’ve been here for a bit now and you’re fixing my power and it is taking quite long, but I promise I’m not mad about it.. I’m sorry.”

He lets out a real laugh this time. Full, low, and stupidly hot. He pushes off the wall and walks back toward the kitchen like he didn’t just wreck your central nervous system.

You take another breath and text Sana.

You: he’s flirting. he’s literally flirting. i want to crawl inside the oven

Sana: girl. jump on the counter and say “while you’re fixing things, i’m also broken.”

Almost like he was trying to prove a point to you, the lights come back on with a quiet click, a whirr of electricity humming back to life through your walls, and you swear the sound might as well be a death knell.

He steps back from the panel in your hallway, tapping the side of it with a knuckle like he just fixed your entire infrastructure. “There we go,” he says, “Should be good now. Might’ve just been a loose connection behind the breaker, it’s common in these old buildings.”

You nod slowly, like you understood a single word of that. All you really heard was competency and your brain whispered: breedable.

“That’s… great,” you reply, way too softly. “Thanks.”

He wipes his hands again on that same rag and starts packing up his tools, metal clicking together as he slips things back into place. His forearm flexes with every movement, tattoos shifting across his skin like they’re in on the joke.

“Need help with anything else?” he asks casually, not looking at you as he zips up the tool bag. His voice dips slightly.

Your heart stutters. You should say actually, yeah, my back is acting up and I think the solution involves that couch and maybe you using me like a handrail. But instead you go, “Nope. That’s all.”

Your phone vibrates against your thigh, dragging you back to earth.

Sana: have you ever heard of blue collar dick??? this is ur chance

You squint at that text, thumbs pausing mid-reply.

Blue collar dick.

The phrase unlocks something buried deep in your brain. A memory. A TikTok you watched half-asleep one night at 1:37AM, under the glow of your LED lights, while eating dry cereal out of a mug. The girl had looked straight into the camera, wide-eyed and deadly serious, and whispered: “Blue collar dick is not just a concept. It’s a lifestyle. It’s the kind of unholy grip someone develops on you after a man with calloused hands and a union paycheck fixes your sink and rearranges your soul in the same afternoon.”

You’d laughed. Scoffed, even. How dramatic.

He zips up the last pouch on his tool bag and stands tall, glancing toward the door like he might head that way but he doesn’t. He stays.

He rolls his shoulder a little, absently adjusting the strap, and you watch his fingers drag across the curve of his neck.

“You think everything working alright?” he asks, voice low and unhurried like he’s trying to fill the silence. Like he knows you’re still stuck in some sort of horny trance and he’s being generous enough to let you catch up.

“Yeah,” you say, breathier than intended. “Power’s on. Looks like the WiFi is back. I can check if my laptop came back to life.”

You gesture toward your computer like it matters. Like any of that is worth focusing on when he is standing six feet from you.

He hums, looking around your living room where you’re still on your couch. “Place is cute.”

You blink. “Oh. Uh. Thanks. It’s… falling apart slowly, but charming.”

He doesn’t really acknowledge that. “Anything else broken in here?” he asks, stepping away from the wall a little. “Leaky faucet? Shaky table leg? My dad taught me how to fix a ton of stuff, I’m pretty handy with anything. You want me to check something else?”

Your mouth opens and closes. Your brain struggles to find the words, and the words you want to say are not coming out easily, so you just respond with, “No. I mean… no, I think we’re good. You fixed the lights.”

His eyes flicker and stay on you just a second too long. Then he shifts slightly, sets the tool box down again with a thud, and stretches his arms overhead like he’s got nowhere to be. Shirt rides up just enough for you to see the line of his waistband and the shadow of toned skin beneath it, and you almost bite your tongue off.

“You sure?” he asks again, tone casual, almost amused now. “You looked kinda… bummed when the lights came back on.”

Your head jerks up. “What? No. I wasn’t.. I mean, not bummed. Just surprised. Happy. Grateful. Electrified, if you will.”

Electrified. You’re going to throw yourself off the balcony.

He laughs again, and you swear it vibrates in your chest. “I could hang out a sec,” he offers, and it’s not subtle anymore. “Just make sure everything stays stable. Sometimes the lights will turn back off randomly.”

Everything’s stable, you repeat in your brain like an idiot. I am not.

He’s leaning one shoulder against the wall now, lazy and relaxed, eyes still on you like he’s just waiting to see what you’ll say next.

Before your brain can stop your mouth from doing anything reckless, you blurt out, “Have you eaten?”

His brows lift. “What?”

You clear your throat. “Lunch. Have you had any?”

He tilts his head, eyes flickering down to your mouth for one half-second too long. “Not yet,” he says, “Didn’t get the chance.”

You nod like this is normal. Like offering food to electricians with tool belts and stupidly sexy mullets is part of your daily routine. “I can make you something if you want.”

His mouth curves, slow and teasing. “Yeah? You feed all the guys your landlord sends over?”

You roll your eyes so hard they nearly eject from your skull. “Only the ones who save me from having to live in darkness.”

He huffs out a laugh. “Then yeah. I’m kinda hungry.”

He walks over to where you’re sitting, drops his bag beside the couch, stretches with a casual groan that shoots straight between your thighs, and flops onto your couch like he’s done it a hundred times. Like your couch is a perfectly acceptable throne for his man-spreading, bicep-showcasing, very-much-staying presence.

You twiddle your fingers, “If i make you food, it’s only right if I get your name.”

Smooth. Real fucking smooth.

“Jungkook,” He looks over to you, trying to bite back a grin. “And yours is [Y/N], right? Saw it on the assignment sheet.”

“Yup. Cool,” You gulp down some saliva that was lodged in your throat.

You march to the kitchen like a woman on a mission, flinging the fridge open with the determination of someone prepping for an exorcism. It’s not that you want to impress him. It’s just that… okay. No. You do want to impress him. You want to serve this man a sandwich so good he files a formal complaint against your thighs for being too far from his face.

You find good bread. Not the sad white slices. You find turkey. Cheese. Lettuce that isn’t slimy. A tomato you aggressively pat dry with a paper towel like a psychotic housewife. You toast the bread and add a little mustard. You even cut the sandwich diagonally, because if you’re going to be delusional, you’re going to be domestically deranged about it.

Your phone buzzes for the billionth time.

Sana: DID YOU FUCK HIM YET

You ignore her. You grab a little paper plate with a cup of water and a napkin and present this meal like you are some Michelin chef. You walk it out carefully, feeling like you should have a white linen apron and one of those vintage Coke ads playing behind you.

“Damn,” he says when you hand it to him, voice warm with surprise. “You really went all out.”

You shrug, trying to act chill. “Just a sandwich.”

He takes a bite and groans.“No, this is next level. Wife-tier sandwich.”

Your face goes hot. You sit down beside him on the couch, one cushion away, legs crossed, heart racing. You grab your phone and finally reply to Sana before she drives to the apartment and physically removes you.

You: sana i need you to take a lap. actually take a five-mile lap. this house needs to be mine for two hours minimum.

Sana: i will literally be gone until sunset

You set your phone down and glance at him again. He’s halfway through the sandwich already, clearly enjoying the hell out of it, crumbs on his fingers, lip ring glinting as he chews.

“So,” you say casually, “how’d you get into electrical work?”

He swallows, wipes his mouth, and shrugs. “Started out helping my uncle with his crew back home. Learned enough on the job that I stuck with it. Took the exam, got certified, picked up my own clients.”

“That’s hot,” you say before thinking.

He pauses, blinks, then smirks again. “Yeah?”

You want to shrivel into the cushions. “I mean, just like the hands-on thing. Fixing stuff. Being good with your hands.”

He glances at you, faintly amused. “It’s a bold choice… Flirting with the guy who knows your wires inside out better than you ever could.”

You’ve made your decision. You’ve committed to the bit. You’re going to have him. You don’t care how. You don’t care if it’s a terrible idea. You’re already halfway there, and if blue collar dick is a myth, you’d like to be the one to confirm or deny it firsthand. You smile, tilting your head. “I like living on the edge.”

He finishes the sandwich and sets the plate on your coffee table with a little sigh. “Damn. Guess I should’ve been in this line of work sooner.”

You let out a soft laugh, glancing at him through your lashes like you’re not actively in the process of losing your mind.

He shifts slightly on the couch, one arm thrown casually along the back cushion, knee brushing yours now, and your whole body tightens at the contact. You look down at his hand, rough, calloused, fingers spread just enough to imagine what they’d feel like anywhere else.

Focus. Focus.

“So,” you start, aiming for casual but landing somewhere around unhinged, “do you, like… do this for a lot of people?”

He raises an eyebrow. “Fix electricity?”

You laugh too fast. “No! Well, yeah. I mean. Yes. But like… do you do this for one person a lot? Regularly? Like… someone special. Like a client. A consistent client.”

He’s still watching you, brows slightly raised, clearly trying to follow your logic. “Huh?”

You look down, embarrassed. Shit. Too subtle. You double back. “Sorry, I meant… like… is there someone who, you know, gets their power fixed all the time? Like a… girlfriend?”

Oh my god. Girlfriend. You say it like you’ve never spoken English before, like the concept of casual inquiry never existed.

His lips tugging up like he knows exactly what you’re asking. “Nah,” he replies. “No girlfriend.”

He reaches for the glass of water you’d set on the coffee table earlier, and you watch his throat work as he takes a slow gulp. His lip ring catches the light again, and your brain completely flatlines.

No girlfriend.

No girlfriend. That’s… fine. That’s great. That’s also dangerous.

Your heart is pounding so loud in your ears you barely register that he hasn’t looked away. When he sets the glass down again, his eyes don’t drift back to his phone or the room or the vague distance.

They stay locked on you.

You shift slightly, suddenly hyperaware of how close you’re sitting. His fingers are still relaxed against the couch cushion, a breath away from the curve of your shoulder.

“Should I expect a full background check with your next outage?”he says, voice low now.

You’re officially in the danger zone now with no intentions of stopping. “Already ran yours. Five star reviews all around. “

He chuckles, quietly. “I’m honored.”

Your breath catches. It’s a small sound. Barely audible. But his gaze dips lower at the sound of it, flickering between your mouth and your throat. He doesn’t hide it anymore. There’s no playfulness left.

“Stop staring” you mutter, trying to keep your voice even.

He lifts a brow. “I’m not.”

“Are you… thinking about kissing me?” This is worse than that one time in 10th grade when you got put in a closet with your crush and you practically slammed him against the door begging him to kiss you.

However, Jungkook doesn’t smile or smile. His gaze lingers on your lips still like he’s counting the seconds. “Would that be a problem?”

Your stomach drops. The air between you turns solid. “No,” you say softly. “It��d be the opposite of a problem.”

He doesn’t move right away, or lunge and lean in. He lets the silence fill with heat, with potential, like he wants you to feel the choice stretch out and make sure you want it just as much as he does. (Is he insane? Of course you do)

You want him to kiss you so bad it’s physically painful. Every nerve in your body is waiting for it, screaming for it, for the weight of his hand on your jaw, the feel of his lip ring pressing into yours.

You inch just slightly closer and your knee brushes against his fully now. Your face is tilted up toward his without even thinking.

“Are you gonna?” you whisper, voice barely there.

His eyes flicker again and then he smiles. “Thought you’d never ask.”

He leans in, not in some clumsy rush. He drags it out just long enough for you to feel your whole body tense with anticipation. His hand finds your jaw first, thumb brushing your cheek, fingers curling gently under your chin.

And then his mouth is on yours.

He kisses you like it’s his job, like he’s done this a thousand times but still finds something new in the shape of your lips. His mouth moves with intention, none of that awkward fumbling, none of the soft, shy hesitation. It’s confident. His lip ring drags against your lower lip and you actually whimper, because of course he knows how to use it.

He groans low in his throat when your fingers knot in the front of his shirt, tugging him closer. One hand slips around the back of your neck, the other finding your waist, pulling you across the couch and into him like he can’t stand even a breath of space between you.

He tastes like faint mint and the sandwich you made him. Your legs shift, tangling with his. His hand is already on your thigh, rough palm skimming under the hem of your shorts, gripping hard enough to make your breath stutter into his mouth.

You gasp when he bites down lightly, but enough to make you feel it. He soothes it with a kiss immediately after, dragging his mouth down your jaw, and murmurs into your skin, “You’re a good kisser.”

You could die. You could die right now and it would be worth it.

You tilt your head back to give him more access, voice breathless. “Yeah? You’re not so bad yourself.”

That earns you another groan, this one deeper, more possessive. His hand slides up your side, under your hoodie, fingers grazing bare skin and making your back arch instinctively.

He kisses you again, messier now and wetter. Tongues tangling, teeth clashing. His fingers sink into your thigh, pull you closer until you’re practically straddling him on the couch and you feel him, hard beneath his cargo pants, pressed against your hip like a threat.

“You sure you don’t need anything else fixed?” he murmurs against your mouth.

And all you can do is nod, eyes heavy, hands trembling against his chest as you whisper: “Hmm. I think my body is out of order. Needs fixing.”

Big hands grip your thighs, and with one swift, greedy motion, he’s pushing you back into the couch cushions. You land with a quiet gasp, hair fanned out, lips swollen, hoodie riding up over your stomach.

He’s hovering, body caged above yours, weight pressed into one arm braced beside your head, the other skimming up your waist and dragging your hoodie even higher. His silver chain dangles loose from his neck and every time he leans down to kiss you again, it smacks against your throat, cold and heavy, sending a shiver straight through you.

He groans when you arch up into him, letting your hips roll slightly, needy and desperate, and he feels it, feels how bad you want him and how worked up you are.

His bicep flexes beside your head, holding himself up so he doesn’t crush you but you kind of wish he would. You let your hand drift up, fingertips grazing the muscle slowly, shamelessly.

Holy fuck, he’s strong.

Strong in the way that makes your thighs press together, that makes you want to find out what else those arms can hold you down against. You squeeze just a little, test the resistance, and he grins against your lips.

“That’s what you’re thinkin’ about?” he murmurs, dragging his mouth to your neck now, teeth grazing your jaw. “My arms?”

You don’t answer. You can’t. Your brain is literally melting.

He licks a stripe up the side of your throat and bites, just enough to make you whimper, and the damn chain swings again, cold against the same spot.

“You like that?” he asks, “Hmm?”

You nod frantically, whining. You’re gone.

His hand slides down to grip your thigh again, hiking it up around his waist, and the angle has you gasping. His hips dip into yours just enough to make it obvious: he’s hard, and he’s not even trying to hide it now.

“You gonna let me take care of you?” he mutters, biting your earlobe. “Since you fed me and everything. Feels only fair.”

You nod again, breathless. “Yeah.”

“Good,” he says, lips brushing yours. “Been thinkin’ about kissing you since the second you opened that door.”

His hands are already slipping under the hem of your hoodie, thumbs dragging across the skin of your waist as he mutters, low and sinful, “Lift your hips for me.”

You do instantly and he slides your shorts down so slowly it feels like punishment. They snag slightly at your thighs before he gets them off, flinging them somewhere over the armrest, and then he just stares. Lets his eyes drag from your knees to the place between your thighs like he’s about to pray and commit a felony in the same breath.

You’re not even fully naked, but you already feel exposed. Every part of you twitching with anticipation because the way this man looks at you? It’s like he already knows what you taste like.

He lowers himself, right between your knees and spreads your legs open with two hands and drags your body closer to him.

“You’re already shaking,” he whispers, lips brushing along the inside of your thigh. “What’s got you so worked up, sweetheart?”

You want to answer. You try to answer. But then he presses a kiss right above your knee, then lower and lower. It’s like he’s savoring every inch of you, kissing a trail up your thigh like you’re dessert and he’s been starving all day.

When he finally gets to your underwear, he lets out a low hum.

“Fuck,” he murmurs, thumb dragging along the edge. “You’re soaked.”

You choke on your own spit. He hooks his fingers under the waistband, and looks up at you, eyes dark. You’re propped up on your elbows, watching him like you’re in a live-action fantasy, because that’s exactly what it feels like.

“Gonna take these off now,” he says, almost too gently.

You nod like a bobblehead. “Please.”

He tugs them down painfully slow, and when they slip off your legs and drop to the floor, he doesn’t even hesitate. He just dives in.

Tongue flat, broad, ruthless against you, dragging through your folds. You jolt, hips bucking off the couch, and his hands immediately slide up to pin you down, fingers bruising your thighs as he holds you in place.

He moans into you, tongue curling, lips wrapping around your clit with slow, maddening pressure. The suction makes you cry out, hand flying to grab at his hair, soft, messy strands you curl your fingers into.

“Fuck, J-Jungkook,” you gasp. His grip tightens on your thighs in response. He flattens his tongue again, licking long and slow, nose nudging against your clit just enough to make your legs shake. Then he shifts, tilts his head just slightly, and flicks the tip of his tongue in tight, fast circles.

You swear you see God.

He doesn’t stop, and it’s obscene how good it is. You can hear it. Mapping out every flick, every swirl, every suck that makes your thighs twitch and your head fall back in helpless, high-pitched whines.

He’s so good at it, it’s almost infuriating. Like he’s been training for this specific moment, like he knew your body before you ever laid eyes on his goddamn toolbelt.

“Shit,” you whimper, your fingers gripping the edge of the couch like you’ll fall off the earth if he keeps going.

He pulls back barely, enough to murmur against your soaked skin, “What’s that, sweetheart?”

You look down at him, wide-eyed and desperate, and the sight makes your stomach flip.

His eyes are dark, heavy-lidded, locked on yours with zero shame. His lips are wet, his lip ring gleaming, his chain dragging down your thigh. His hands are still gripping your legs tight. “You’re already shaking,” he taunts, “You gonna fall apart before I even get my fingers in?”

You let out a sound you don’t recognize. Your hips buck without permission, trying to chase more friction, more pressure, anything, and he laughs.

“Thought you were gonna take it,” he mutters, kissing your inner thigh again, right where it’s already slick. “Thought you were tough.”

“Jungkook,” Your voice breaks.

“Yeah, baby?” he smiles, “Want more?”

You nod frantically. “Please. Please, please.”

“Mmhmm.” He drags his tongue back up, slow and torturous. “Tell me what you want.”

“I want—” you gasp as he suckles your clit again, just hard enough to make your legs spasm. “I want your fingers please. I can’t—”

“You can,” he says, way too calm. “You’re gonna. Not done with you yet.”

He slides one hand down between your thighs, dragging his fingers through your slick folds, slow and unhurried. You feel the first press of his fingertip at your entrance and it’s over.

When he finally pushes in just one thick finger, your mouth drops open in a silent gasp. It feels so good, too good.

“You’re so tight, baby,” he notes more to himself than to you. “Fuck. Gripping already.”

He curls his finger and you practically wail. You slap a hand over your mouth but he sees it, and then lowers his mouth back down to your clit like he’s starving for it.

His tongue and his finger move in tandem. Circles and pressure and heat all at once, building you up, pushing you higher, dragging desperate sounds out of you that you’ve never made before.

“Jungkook, fuck, please,” you sob, grabbing at his hair. “Please, I need—”

“You need what?” he murmurs against you, adding a second finger slowly, the stretch perfect, his mouth never leaving your clit.

“I need, need to cum, please—”

“Nah,” he says, eyes flicking up to meet yours as his fingers start to fuck into you even deeper, “Not yet.”

You’re near tears at this point.

He flattens his tongue and moans into you, and your hips jerk off the couch. Your hands are clutching at him now, your stomach tightening, thighs trembling around his head as he talks you through it.

“You’re so fucking pretty like this,” he exhales, eyes locked on your face. “All needy and loud. Fuck, baby. I could eat you all day.”

You’re so close it hurts. He can feel it, the way your walls clench around his fingers, sucking him in.

“That’s it,” he coaxes, voice hoarse against you. “Come on, pretty girl. Cum for me.”

And you do, embarrassingly hard. It crashes over you like a power surge, hot and fast and blinding. Your hips jerk, your mouth drops open in a silent cry, and you’re cumming so hard you forget your own name.

He doesn’t stop until you’re twitching, until your legs are shaking uncontrollably and you’re pushing at his shoulder with a broken gasp.

Still, he doesn’t let up. His tongue is relentless, fingers even more ruthless. You’re sweating, teary-eyed and so close you’re practically vibrating, when you finally snap.

“Jungkook,” you moan, throat raw. “I need you to fuck me. Please. I can’t—“

That gets him to cease. He pulls back, mouth soaked, lip ring gleaming. His hand lingers between your thighs for a second longer before he pushes himself up and wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, panting.

You reach up, fingers clutching the front of his shirt, dragging him down so you can kiss him. You taste yourself on his tongue, and it just makes it worse, makes you needier.

He stands up, stripping down as fast as humanly possible. The black tee comes off first, revealing a chest that’s all muscle, abs that flex when he tosses the shirt aside. Then the cargo pants get shoved down, and…

Holy fucking shit.

It swings free and heavy into his palm, and you gasp.

That’s what they meant by blue collar dick. Thick, veiny, the prettiest goddamn cock you’ve ever seen. Long, curved just right, flushed and leaking at the tip as he wraps his hand around the base and starts stroking himself, slow and lazy.

He tilts his head back with a low groan, lashes fluttering, chain swinging over his chest and you just stare.

You’ve seen good dick before. You’ve had great dick, even. This is different. This is the kind of dick that installs central air and breaks bed frames. The kind that fucks through creaky floorboards, says “good girl” like a prophet, and pays in cash everywhere.

“Yeah?” he rasps, still jerking himself slowly, eyes dark as he looks down at you. “You want it, baby?”

You nod like your life depends on it. “Please. Need it so bad.”

He doesn’t waste another second. “Turn over,” he says, voice commanding. “Face down, ass up. I want that spine arched.”

You scramble to obey, flipping onto your stomach, shoving your hoodie up out of the way. You bury your face in the couch cushion, arms stretched forward, hips high in the air and the sound Jungkook makes behind you is inhuman.

“Fucking hell,” he licks his lips, hands gripping your hips, thumbs spreading you open. “Look at you.”

You feel him line up behind you, thick head sliding through your slick folds, teasing but not pushing in yet, and your whole body twitches.

“You’re perfect like this,” he says, one hand sliding up your back, pressing between your shoulder blades until your arch deepens. “Back all pretty, ass in the air, soaked for me. Fuck, baby.”

He leans forward, voice rasping hot in your ear. “You gonna take it for me like this, yeah? Gonna let me fuck you nice and deep?”

You moan out, whimpering into the pillow. “Yes. Yes, please.”

“Atta girl.”

He pushes in slow, allowing you to feel every inch. You feel the thick, burning stretch of him as he sinks in deeper, splitting you open around his cock. Your breath catches on a whimper, eyes rolling back as he fills you.

“Fuuuuck,” you choke out, voice strangled. “You’re so big.”

Behind you, Jungkook lets out a guttural groan.

“Yeah?” he rasps, still sliding in, forcing your walls to open around him. “That too much for you, baby?”

You shake your head, barely able to breathe, cheek pressed into the cushion. “No, no, it’s so good, just, fuck—”

He bottoms out, hips flush against your ass, and you swear you see stars. You’re so full it’s almost unbearable, like he’s in your stomach, You’ve never felt anything like it; your walls clenching, dripping, pulsing and he’s barely even moved yet.

He pulls out halfway and slams back in, then does it again… and again… and again.

His pace is brutal, deep, pounding thrusts that send shockwaves through your spine and bounce off the walls. Skin slapping, the obscene wet squelch of your cunt sucking him in over and over, the couch creaking beneath you. You’re a full mess under him, and he’s moaning now too.

“Fuck,”Jungkook growls behind you, breath ragged. “You hear that? You hear how wet you are for me?”

You do. The sound of your pussy squelching around his cock is loud, echoing with every thrust as your juices coat his length and drip down your thighs onto the couch cushions below.

“Fucking soaked,” he growls again, hips snapping into you.

His hand finds your hair, grabbing a fistful at the base of your neck and pulling. Your head lifts from the pillow you grabbed from nearby in a panic, back arched to its limit, body bent like a bowstring as he fucks into you harder now that he has you right where he wants you.

“Taking it so good, baby,” he pants, yanking your head back just enough to make you moan. He keeps pounding into you, dragging that cock so deep it feels like he’s carving himself into your soul, keeping your head held high by your hair, whispering filth that makes your legs shake.

“You wanna cum, don’t you?” he growls, tone thick and mean. “Wanna fall apart right here on my cock?”

You’re shaking too hard to answer, all that’s coming out are some babbles you nor him have any energy to interpret. Somehow, your brain flashes back to that fucking TikTok. That girl that described “blue collar dick” like it was some natural disaster.

Now you’re living it.

You’re bent over on your own couch, spine arched, tears in your eyes, unable to even think as Jungkook wrecks you with his cock and whispers filthy praise in your ear like it’s his job. This is blue collar dick. This is the goddamn thesis statement of that TikTok. You’re going to send that girl flowers.

“Please,” you cry, “Please, Jungkook.”

“Yeah?” he pants, breath hot against your neck as his fingers reach down and work your clit cruelly enough to keep you from tipping over. “That desperate for it, sweetheart?”

You nod, choking out sobs, your body twitching around him, clenching hard enough that he starts to fall apart.

“Fuck,” he groans, cock twitching inside you. “You’re so tight. Keep squeezing me like that and I’m gonna cum before you do.”

You moan loud into the pillow, your whole body wrecked and burning, still locked in this purgatory he’s created, his cock fucking you deep and hard, his fingers rolling over your clit with precision, holding you right there.

“Say it,” he growls, “Tell me how bad you need it.”

“I need it, please, I need it so bad. I can’t, I’m so close, please let me cum.” Your self -control has exited the apartment.

“Yeah, that’s it,” he grits out behind you, “Fuck, baby, feel how tight you are? How bad your pussy wants to cum for me?”

You can’t answer. You’re drooling into the pillow, gasping, your body jerking with every thrust like you’re being electrocuted.

“Let go,” he groans, voice shaking. “You’re gonna cum for me now, yeah? Go on, baby. Fucking cum.”

The second his thumb presses tightly just right against your clit, you shatter. It hits you like a wave. Your body locks up, thighs clenching, back arching so hard it lifts your hips even higher as your orgasm rips through you, hot and overwhelming. You scream as your pussy clenches around his cock, pulsing and gushing as you cum so hard your vision goes white.

Your arms give out completely. You collapse forward onto the couch with a breathless sob, ass still arched up as your cunt throbs around him, wetness dripping down your thighs in sticky trails. Your face is buried in the cushion, your legs are trembling.

“Oh my fuck,” Jungkook groans, “Just like that. You feel that, baby? Feel how good it is when you cum on me?”

He curses, pulls out fast and you let out a weak little cry at the loss, at the ache he leaves behind.

But then he’s jerking himself over you, his hand wrapped tight around his cock, wrist snapping fast, hips stuttering as he pants over you, chasing his own high.

His head tilts back, bottom lip tucked under his top teeth. A deep, broken moan is ripped straight from his chest as his hips twitch forward and he spills across the curve of your ass in thick, hot ropes. His chain swings with the motion, clinking gently as he fucks his fist through it, painting your skin in messy, perfect streaks.

“Fuckfuckfuck,” he groans, his eyes squeezed shut. “You’re… fuck, baby. You’re unreal.”

You’re too far gone to speak.

You stay face-down on the couch for a full minute post-impact, naked and glazed like a donut.

Jungkook exhales somewhere behind you, like he too is processing the life-altering events that just occurred in your living room. You hear his body move as he leans back, chest rising and falling, the distinct sound of a man who just came so hard he forgot his social security number.

There’s cum on your ass. Your hair’s stuck to your cheek. The throw pillow has a bite mark in it. You are not well.

You finally lift your head a fraction of an inch. “I think I just met God.”

Jungkook lets out a soft, post-nut laugh. “Yeah?” he rasps. “Tell him I said hi.”

You look over at him from where you’re sprawled out on the couch, now on your stomach. “…So do I owe you money, or…?”

He snorts. “For what?”

“For fixing my power?” You say it like it’s obvious.. which it should be.

Jungkook leans over and smacks your ass, casual, affectionate. “Nah. This one’s on the house.”

Eventually, he helps you sit up, grabbing the nearest clean towel in your bathroom like this is all completely normal. You look at each other and you don’t know whether to laugh or cry or call your landlord and thank him for being so aggressively useless.

You’ll deal with that later.

Right now, you accept the towel, take a shaky breath. You blink at him, dazed, legs still jelly. “So if I break something else… just a hypothetical, should I call you..?”

He smirks, tugs his pants back up without bothering to button them, and says, “Depends. If you break something else, I expect a personal invitation. No middleman this time.”

masterlist + request

[novelistwriter]

The Pirate King

DP x DC Prompt (picked up AC Black Flag, the sea shanties inspired me for this one)

The entire DC world knows of the historical figure known as Captain Nightingale. The youngest pirate captain to ever live, as the stories tell that he was just a teenager when he began to earn the respect of adult piretes with his combat skills and his magic. Captain Nightingale had the largest navy to exist during the time of his reign.

Captain Nightingale was a boy who had pure white hair and tanned skin. His pirate outfit was mostly black with white accents and an amulet around his neck that is said to guide him to whatever he desires, yet the hear didn't seem to bother him. And he remained looking like a teenage boy for decades before he just vanished, leaving his ship, his sword, his outfit, and his amulet behind.

The "artifacts" of Captain Nightingale's reign have been scattered in the modern era of the DC world. Ra's Al Ghul has the entire outfit of Captain Nightingale, Ra's Al Ghul himself, has lost many times to the young Captain after it was decided that the pirate Captain would become a problem to them. Lex Luthor is the current owner of Captain Nightingale's ship, having used all of his devious methods to obtain it. Selina Kyle had stolen Captain Nightingale's amulet from a museum across the seas before arriving in Gotham. The Wayne family has the Sword of Captain Nightingale, as it is rumored that the Wayne's of that time were somehow part of Captain Nightingale's crew.

Danny, sent to the DC world on a vacation because of overworking himself on his Ghost King duties, learns about his other vacation as a Pirate Captain through a Lex Luthor funded tour about his ship, the Sagittarius, on display like a trophy.

Danny debates whether he should rally his crew again or remain a normal person. His debate is interrupted by a sticky note appearing on his forehead that reads:

"Try not to kill anyone, My King

C.W."

It looks like Captain Nightingale is going to make a dramatic reappearance into the living world after all.

The Justice League is looking for a mysterious thief that has been stealing the artifacts of Captain Nightingale. They learned of the artifacts going missing through Batman, as Catwoman complained to him about the Amulet of the Pirate Captain she stole was now stolen from her. Then Batman learned from Talia that the outfit of Captain Nightingale was stolen from her father's personal treasury. The sword of Captain Nightingale was just recently stolen from Wayne Manor, and only the ship remains, which Lex Luthor us doing all he can to prevent it from being taken.

The Justice League needs to catch this thief to stop them, as they learned from Constantine that the artifacts could be used in a ritual due to their strong magical affinities.

The Justice League had rushed to Lex Luthor's museum, where they caught the "thief" in the act of stealing the ship of Captain Nightingale. A teenage boy wearing the outfit, which looks to be a perfect fit, of the Captain, sword hanging off the hip of the "thief," and the Amulet glowing brightly while hanging off the neck of the "thief." But it's when the "thief" turns around to face them as he's climbing the ships side that shocks them. It's the spitting image of Captain Nightingale that looks at them.

"Ahoy there, landlubbers! I am ashamed that my personal property has been kept as far apart from each other for so long. Didn't none of you respect others' property?"

The ship began to float as the boy got closer to the steering wheel of the ship.

"I've come to teach you all a lesson for disrespecting the dead, but I won't be doing it alone"

The boy had grabbed the sword from his hip and raised it high.

"Rise from the grave, me hearties!"

The ship of Captain Nightingale began to be filled with undead pirates, all looking at the Justice League. Then, right before the ship had flown away, they all heard the boy, no, Captain Nightingale himself, say:

"It is time to set sail once again! Prepare for the return of Captain Nightingale!"

[woniedarlin]

I love the bf! enha yapper x listener. May I request bf! enha where the reader is sulking and the members are consoling her

Sulked and Soothed

pairing: boyfriend! enhypen x fem! reader

caution: This fic contains excessive amounts of sulking 😙

author's note: Thank you for the request anonie!! I’m so sorry it took so long. I hope you all enjoy it. Happy reading! ♡

permanent tag list: @sol3chu @chlorinecake @13tter @jung1w0n @layzfy @firstclassjaylee @ijustwannareadstuff20

HEESEUNG

You were upstairs, curled up by the window, and sulking….no, wallowing. Because Heeseung, your boyfriend, who was supposed to understand you the most, had ultimately dismissed your feelings earlier. You had been genuinely upset about something, and instead of taking it seriously, he had just laughed. You were so frustrated. So, to prove a point, you kicked him out of the shared house. Dramatic? Maybe. Justified? Absolutely.

Now, you sat by the open window, arms crossed, refusing to acknowledge the traitor currently standing outside on the lawn. Because, of course, Heeseung didn’t just leave. That would be too easy. No. Instead, he had decided to stand dead center…

With a boombox.

And he was singing.

“AND IIIIIIIII WILL ALWAYS LOVE YOUUUUUUU”

Your soul left your body.

“LEE HEESEUNG, WHAT THE ACTUAL-”

he was belting.

loud.

painfully and purposely off-key.

“Oh my god,” you groaned and yelled. “Please tell me you’re not doing this!”

‘’CAN’T HEAR YOU, BABY! THE MUSIC’S TOO LOUD”

“YOU’RE WAKING THE WHOLE NEIGHBORHOOD.”

“Good!” Heeseung grinned. “They need to know my suffering.”

You wanted to disappear. Your window was wide open. You could feel the judgmental stares of imaginary people at you. And just when you thought it couldn’t get worse…It got worse. Because then? He switched songs. A slow, romantic ballad started playing, and before you could even process it, Heeseung, your insane boyfriend,

sank to one knee.

and sang-

“CAUSE ALL OF ME! LOVES ALL OF YOU!”

You grabbed your pillow and launched it out the window.

He dodged. Smirked. “Missed me.”

“I AM THIS CLOSE TO ENDING YOU.”

“Then come down and do it.”

Oh.

Your eye twitched.

Heeseung, still kneeling, gave you that lovesick gaze. “I’m sorry, baby,” he said. “I shouldn’t have brushed you off. I get why you’re mad. And I swear I’ll listen properly next time.”

You glared. “Next time?”

“I mean-” He coughed. “There won’t be a next time! Because I’ve learned my lesson!”

Well…you were tired of sulking. With a groan, you pushed yourself up, stomped to the door, and went downstairs.

“EVEN WHEN I LOSE, I’M WINNINGGG”

You ripped the door open. “I CAN’T TAKE THIS ANYMORE.”

He cut off mid-note. “Oh, thank God. My knees were starting to hurt.”

You pointed at the boombox. “And what even is that?”

He turned it off and set it down carefully. “Found it in the garage. Thought it would be romantic.”

You let out a long sigh before finally meeting his eyes. Heeseung was still kneeling on the ground, looking up at you with the softest, most adoring expression you’d ever seen. “…You do sound good when you sing,” you muttered.

Heeseung’s grin widened instantly. “I knew it.” He got up in one swift motion until he could slip his arms around your waist and pull you into him. “Forgive me?” he asked and kissed your temple.

Fine. He won this round.

“Come on, let’s go inside,” he murmured while nudging his nose against your hair.

“…Only if you promise to never, ever do that again.”

“No promises, babe.” He reached past you to grab the boombox. “This might come in handy next time.”

You shot him a glare. “If you bring that thing inside, I’m locking you out again.”

Heeseung laughed and threw an arm over your shoulder as he led you back in. “Noted. I’ll hide it somewhere you won’t find it.”

You rolled your eyes as he shut the door behind you and pulled you closer.

You knew this wouldn’t be the last time this would happen.

JAY

It started with betrayal. Or at least, that’s what it felt like. Jay had done something…something unforgivable. (Okay, maybe not that unforgivable, but still.) And now, in your fury, you had stolen his prized possession.

His beloved leather jacket.

You strutted around the house in it, arms crossed, chin high, making a point of looking better in it than he ever had. Meanwhile, Jay was sprawled out on the couch, watching you. “You’re committing to this, huh?”

You huffed as you flicked your hair over your shoulder. “I deserve to wear it after what you did.”

His lips twitched. “Right. And what exactly did I do again?”

Your eyes narrowed. “You know what you did.”

He bit back a smile. “Oh, of course. My bad.”

You shot him a look before flipping the collar up dramatically. “Well, since I’m suffering here, I’m keeping this.”

Jay tilted his head,

And then, he smirked.

“Damn,” he said and stretched his arms behind his head. “You look good in it. Maybe you should keep it.”

You froze.

That was not the reaction you had planned for.

“What?”

Jay shrugged. “I mean, it suits you. Almost like it was made for you.”

Your brain is short-circuited.

This was supposed to be revenge. You were supposed to be tormenting him.

Not… whatever this was.

Suspicious, you added. “You don’t even care that I took it?”

“Nope,” he said quickly. “I kinda like seeing you in my clothes.”

Your cheeks burned. “That’s not the point, Jay.”

“Isn’t it?”

Ugh. Why was he like this?

Still sulking, you plopped down on the couch, arms crossed. Jay watched you for a moment, then, with an annoyingly soft chuckle, wrapped an arm around your shoulder. “You done being mad at me yet?” he murmured.

You let out a sigh. “TBD.”

Jay laughed as he pressed a quick, warm kiss to your lips. “Alright, take your time.”

And just like that…

You almost forgot what you were mad about.

JAKE

It started with a mistake. A thoughtless mistake. Jake had forgotten something important. And now, you were sulking.

Correction: you were sulking so hard that you had locked yourself in the bedroom.

Jake had knocked at least ten times.

“Babe?”

Silence.

“Okay, I know you can hear me.”

More silence.

Jake sighed. “Fine. If you don’t talk to me, I’ll just-”

A small slip of paper suddenly slid under the door.

You reached for it and unfolded it.

In his messy handwriting, it read:

“I’M SORRY :(”

You scoffed. Does he think one sad face is enough?

You placed the note aside and went back to sulking.

Five minutes later…

Another note.

“I REALLY MEAN IT :(((”

Another five minutes.

“PLEASE FORGIVE ME? :((( I WILL DO ANYTHING.”

You rolled your eyes. Anything?

Still, you stayed silent.

Jake sighed. “Okay. Desperate times call for desperate measures.”

Then, music started playing.

Sad music.

You perked up, recognizing the song. Through the door, Jake sang along, pouring his entire heart into the lyrics. You hated to admit it, but… his voice was pleasant. Still, you weren’t ready to forgive him just yet. Another song started. But this time…It was cheerful.

Too cheerful.

And then-

You choked.

Was he rapping Eminem?

“His palms are sweaty, knees weak, arms are heavy-”

You covered your mouth to keep from laughing.

“There’s vomit on his sweater already, mom’s spaghetti.” he rapped horribly, adding the worst beatboxing noises known to man. It was so bad, so stupidly bad, that your body betrayed you.

A giggle slipped out.

Jake immediately stopped.

“Wait. Was that… was that a laugh?”

You cleared your throat. “No.”

“Yes, it was,” he sang. “I heard that.”

“…No, you didn’t.”

“Baaaabe,” he whined. “Come on, I made a fool of myself out here.”

You hesitated, and then, finally, you unlocked the door. The second it clicked open, Jake pushed inside and engulfed you in a hug. “I missed you,” he mumbled into your hair.

You sighed. “I was only gone for, like, thirty minutes.”

“Yeah, but that’s like ten years in boyfriend time.”

You rolled your eyes, but your arms found their way around him anyway.

Jake grinned. “Soooo… I’m forgiven?”

You huffed. “No.”

But with the way you were smiling into his chest?

Yeah. He was forgiven.

SUNGHOON

Sunghoon messed up. You hadn’t spoken a word in the last ten minutes of the car ride. Not a sigh. Not a hum. Complete silence. And Sunghoon, being Sunghoon, knew he was so screwed. Then, the worst thing happened. You turned to him blankly and said, “Pull over.”

His hands tightened around the wheel. “Wait. What?”

“Pull. Over.”

Sunghoon panicked. “Babe, listen, let’s just talk-”

“NOW.”

Okay, yeah. You meant business.

With a resigned sigh, he turned toward the curb and parked the car.

But what he wasn’t expecting…

was for you to swing open the door, step out, and start walking away.

In heels.

Sunghoon’s jaw dropped. “Are you…baby!”

You didn’t even spare him a glance. One foot in front of the other, heels clicking against the pavement, eyes fixed forward. Sunghoon, still in shock, leaned over to the passenger seat, watching you go. “Are you seriously doing this right now?”

Again, no response.

His head thudded against the steering wheel.

And yet, here he was. Driving at a walking pace, following you down the street with his window rolled down.

For fifteen minutes.

At first, he tried apologizing.

“Okay, okay, I get it! I messed up! But baby, PLEASE get back in the car!”

Nothing.

Then, he tried reasoning.

“Look, I swear I didn’t mean to. Can we talk about this inside the car? Where there’s air conditioning? And no chance of you breaking an ankle?”

Still, nothing.

Then, he threatened.

“I will physically carry you back inside.”

You kept walking.

Sunghoon groaned, dragging a hand down his face. “Oh my god.”

People were staring.

A group of teenagers stood at the corner, pointing and whispering to each other. Even an older man with a dog shot Sunghoon a disapproving look. This was officially the worst day of his life. And yet, he still wouldn’t leave you alone. “Okay,” he pleaded. “You win, alright? Just… please, baby, let me drive you home.”

Silence.

“…I’ll buy you whatever you want.”

Nothing.

“I’ll let you pick the next date.”

Nope.

“I’ll never steal your fries again.”

…Okay.

You stopped.

Sunghoon held his breath.

You turned slightly, just enough for him to see your raised eyebrow.

“…Swear?”

Sunghoon nodded immediately. “On my life. On my ancestors. On my future children’s inheritance.”

You eyed him for a second longer. Then, you turned around and walked back to the car. Sunghoon, relieved, unlocked the door so fast he nearly broke the button. The second you slid into the passenger seat, he exhaled deeply and gripped the wheel.

“…Are you still mad?”

You crossed your arms, looking out the window.

“…Maybe.”

Sunghoon gulped. “Okay. Cool. Great.”

This was going to be a long ride home.

SUNOO

Sunoo had never known actual suffering… Until today. You were mad. Not the fake pout kind of mad, where you just wanted him to baby you. Not the playful, sulking kind of angry, where he had to smother you with affection until you caved.

No.

You were the worst kind of mad. Silent treatment mad. Sunoo had never experienced this before. And frankly? He hated it. You hadn’t spoken to him all day. Not one word. This morning, when he greeted you, you walked past him. At lunch, when he sighed, “I’m starving,” just to get a reaction, you didn’t even blink. And when he poked your cheek, flashing his sweetest smile…you swatted his hand away.

That was when he knew-

Oh. This is serious.

But Sunoo wasn’t one to give up so easily.

If you were going to be stubborn, then OK. He’d have to outdo you.

Phase One: Puppy Eyes

First, he tried his biggest weapon.

The Puppy Eyes™.

You were sitting on the couch, scrolling through your phone, pretending he didn’t exist. So Sunoo sat across you, propping his chin on his hands. He stared. Big, round eyes. Mouth slightly pouted.

But you ignored him.

What.

You didn’t even spare him a glance?

Unacceptable.

Okay. Fine. Time for Plan B.

Phase Two: Physical Affection Attack

Sunoo launched himself onto your lap. He wrapped his arms around you.

You froze. But you still didn’t say anything. Not even a “Sunoo, get off.”

Sunoo gasped. “You won’t even insult me?! Do you know how serious this is?”

Silence.

Sunoo groaned. Okay. Fine. Time for the final stage.

Phase Three: Ultimate Suffering Mode

If words wouldn’t work, and affection wouldn’t work-

Then, it was time for desperate measures.

Sunoo stood up, took a deep breath, and collapsed onto the floor.

“Goodbye, world,” he announced loudly.

Huh?

“I can’t go on like this,” he continued. “She won’t even look at me. What is the point of life?”

You exhaled sharply through your nose.

Sunoo’s eyes snapped open.

Was that a laugh?

He sat up immediately, hope rekindled.

“BABY!” He grabbed your hands. “You still love me, right? Say it! Say it, or I’ll keep going!”

You rolled your eyes.

But then

Finally

You broke.

“…Act normal for once,” you muttered.

Sunoo gasped. “YOU SPOKE TO ME!” He threw his arms around you, hugging you so tight you nearly fell over.

You groaned, trying to push him away. “Okay, okay! Get off me!”

“NEVER!” Sunoo is clinging harder. “You’re stuck with me forever, baby~”

JUNGWON

It started as a joke. Jungwon had the audacity to side with someone else during a ridiculous debate if pineapple belongs on pizza was acceptable. And even though he was clearly wrong (in your very justified opinion), he doubled down just to mess with you. So, naturally, you retaliated. By blocking him. On everything.

Phone? Blocked. Instagram? Blocked. Messaging apps? Blocked. Even his email (just to be extra.)

Jungwon figured you’d cool down in an hour or so, but when the sun set and he was still blocked? Okay, this is serious. Since he couldn’t text or call, he had to get creative. The next morning, you woke up to an unexpected email from an unfamiliar sender. Subject line:

“A Plea for Mercy”

Your curiosity got the best of you, and you clicked. Inside was the most dramatic apology letter you’d ever seen, complete with excessive formal language:

“Dearest and Most Magnificent Love of My Life,”

“I come before you today a humbled and regretful man. It has come to my attention that I have deeply wronged you, and as such, I have been stripped of my most valued privilege: direct contact with you. I write this letter in desperate hopes that you will hear my plea and grant me the mercy of unblocking me.”

Attached was a PowerPoint presentation titled:

“Why You Should Forgive Your Loving Boyfriend”

You opened it, and the first slide simply read:

Slide 1: “Because I Love You. Next Slide.”

The next few slides were just ridiculously cute pictures of Jungwon with captions like:

• Would you really abandon this face? 🥺

• Think about all the funny memes I could be sending you right now.

• You’re literally my entire world. How can my world block me?

The last slide just had three words:

“I’m sorry, baby.”

You stared at the screen, fighting back a smile. Ugh. He’s so annoying. But also… really sweet.

You sighed, picked up your phone, and unblocked him.

Not even a second later, a call came through.

“I KNEW IT!” Jungwon’s voice rang out the moment you answered. “I KNEW YOU COULDN’T RESIST ME.”

You rolled your eyes. “Don’t push it, Jungwon.”

“I’d never,” he said, not even trying to hide his grin. “Now… about that pizza debate-”

You groaned. “Do you want to be blocked again?”

His laugh was loud. “Okay, okay! I take it back! Pineapple belongs wherever you say it does, my love.”

Yeah. He knew exactly how to win you over.

NI-KI

You had been too nice for too long. For weeks now, you had put up with Ni-ki’s competitiveness.

At video games? He crushed you.

At basketball? He blocked all your shots.

At board games? He won, then did a full victory dance on the table.

At just dance?

Oh, he didn’t just win.

He humiliated you.

Not only did he perfect every move, but he dared to turn to you mid-song and go-

“Babe, you good?”

That was the last straw. So, naturally, you did what any reasonable person would do. You stole all of his shoes.

Every. Single. Pair.

And when Ni-ki went to get his shoes before heading out

He found nothing.

Just an empty shoe rack.

Immediately, he froze. Then, he whipped around, eyes wide. “…Babe?”

No answer.

Ni-ki searched the whole house before finally finding you on the bed, surrounded by all his shoes.

Ni-ki just stared.

Then, very slowly, he exhaled. “Okay.”

He walked in and flopped down next to you. “Alright, I get it. I deserved this,” he admitted, throwing an arm over his face. “I have been humbled.”

You huffed.

Silence.

Then-

“…But can I have my Jordans back?”

You turned and glared.

Ni-ki immediately sat up. “Wait, wait! Actually, no. You know what? Keep them. I’m a changed man.”His lips pressed together. He tried to fight back a smirk. “Wow. This must be what true defeat feels like.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Oh, now you understand?”

He nodded solemnly. “Yep. It’s all so clear now.”

You squinted. “You’re just saying that to get your shoes back.”

Ni-ki gasped. Fake betrayal. “I would never.”

You held up his Jordans.

Ni-ki immediately sat up straighter. “Wait. Be careful-”

You smirked. “Maybe I should hide them for another week.”

His eyes widened in panic. “Okay, OKAY! I SURRENDER!”

Without warning, Ni-ki lunged. You shrieked, trying to escape, but he was too fast. He tackled you onto the bed, trapping you under his arms as he snatched his Jordans back. Then, he started tickling you. You burst out laughing, kicking and writhing. “NI-KI, STOP!”

Ni-ki grinned. “Say I’m the best boyfriend ever, and I’ll consider it.”

Through laughter, you shoved at him. “NEVER!”

Ni-ki smirked. “Wrong answer.”

And so, you paid the price.