#big things in pj's future ;)

[asahicore]

fast forward - pjs

pairing. jay x fem!reader

synopsis. After yet another romantic disappointment in the form of one Jake Sim, you go to the well you’ve always believed to grant wishes and ask for your one and true love to appear. That night, you go to sleep in your bed but wake up in a strange house. When you head downstairs, you find a man washing the dishes and telling you your favorite meal is waiting on the table for you. You’ve spent hours glaring at the back of that head, you could recognize it anywhere—it belongs to none other than Park Jongseong, your high school sworn enemy... and future husband, or so it seems.

genre+warnings. high school au, the type of e2l where they never really hated each other to begin with, they act like they're academic rivals even though they're not particularly academically gifted, jay has a thing about german the language, sunoo and kazuha besties, heeseung is a loser, jake and sunghoon are assholes sorry, ive liz is german, 02z get into a white-boy locker-room fight, attempts at banter etc, they're a little bit silly

word count. 26.6k

a/n. had the idea for this listening to fast forward by somi LAST SUMMER... and only wrote it this summer and only posting it now <3 i hope u guys enjoy reading this as much as i enjoyed writing it !!!!! jay is an absolute cutie here pls love him as much as i do.... as always let me know what u think and remember to vote for @zreamy president in the upcoming elections, shes the only one i trust to beta-read and hence to run a country <3 no it doesnt matter that shes scottish put this woman in the white house

There is only one thorn on the otherwise immaculate rose that is your life.

Every morning, you wake up feeling refreshed from eight hours of restful sleep. You go downstairs to the kitchen, a boiling cup of milky Earl Grey tea already waiting for you, and eat breakfast with your brother Jinwoo and father. Your mom dashes in, placing a kiss on your and Jinwoo’s foreheads, and on your dad’s lips, saying she’s late for work but will see you in the evening. “Have fun at school,” she bids every morning without fail. Your dad teaches Korean Literature at your school, so the three of you drive there together. He watches amusedly as you and Jinwoo bicker light-heartedly on the way there—even in the pits of his puberty, you and your brother get along like two peas in a pod. He still tells you about everything he learns at school and fills you in on the drama in his class, up-to-date with everything even though he pretends not to be interested.

You’re always one of the first to arrive at school, so you scroll through your feed or finish up some homework as you wait for your classmates to file in. Your friends circle your table and you chat about the last episode of the show you’ve been watching until the bell rings and they leave you for their assigned seat.

Class starts with your teacher handing out the math tests you took last week. “Jay and Y/N, great job, keep it up,” he says as he walks past you and the boy in front of you, and hands you your paper. Relief floods your body as you take in the bright red 82 in the top right-hand corner—not the best of the class, but enough for you to be satisfied. 

Good friends, good grades—nothing extraordinary, but it’s a life you dare say any high school senior would want.

There’s just that one thing. The thorn in your side that won’t stop poking.

You glare at it as it whips around in its seat and takes a peek at the grade on your paper before you get to snatch it away from view. It only gives you three seconds to rejoice over your grade. 

“Aw, Y/N. Good effort! Maybe you’ll do better next time!” Jongseong coos, holding up his test for you to see and glare even harder at. 85. Not that big of a difference, but it makes you want to punch the faux sympathetic pout off of his face. 

You’re about to spit something just as petty back at him, but someone whispers your name, and you turn your head in their direction. Beside you, Jake is smiling at you as he asks what grade you got. Your attention is swiftly taken off of Jongseong, whom you don’t even notice dramatically rolling his eyes, huffing in annoyance, and turning around. 

“82,” you whisper back, holding up your paper for Jake to see. His friendly, absurdly handsome smile makes your ears burn. “You?”

The corners of his lips fall down into a sad pout—the kind that makes your heart melt rather than gets on your nerves like someone else. “68,” he says. Leans in over the gap between your tables. Your heart jumps uncontrollably around your rib cage. “Do you wanna go over it together during the break? I think I need some help.”

One-on-one time with Jake Sim? You don’t need to be asked twice. You nod silently, almost mesmerized by Jake as his grin widens. He leans back in his chair. “Perfect. I’ll see you in the library, then.”

“Library, yeah,” you echo dumbly, but thankfully, your teacher tells you to all quiet down and starts the lesson. 

You’re antsy all throughout the rest of your morning classes and lunch break, so nervous that you barely manage to finish your yogurt. Of course, your friends, Sunoo and Kazuha, have a field day with this, and even you can’t help but laugh along as they jump between reassuring you that it’ll be fine, slapping your shoulders with excitement and making fun of your uncharacteristic quietness.

Jake arrives at the library five minutes after you, looking around the room before he finds you at the big round table in the back of the library. Your brain is too riddled with anxiety for you to make more small talk than “Hey,” “Hey,” “How was your lunch?” “Good, yours?” “Good.” And so you just jump straight into it.

You’ve only had a couple minutes of quiet explanation on your part and heavy nodding on Jake’s when Jay appears at the entrance of the library. He spots you and Jake immediately, and without any hesitation whatsoever heads towards you and sits down at your table, right across from the two of you.

“Hey, Jay,” Jake greets in a friendly manner, but Jay only responds with a nod of his head.

“Oh, don’t mind me,” he says when he notices you glaring. “I won’t bother you.”

As if he could be anything other than a bother, you think, but courteously keep to yourself. The childish rivalry you and Jongseong have got going on has no business spoiling a rare hour of alone time you get with Jake. As you go over the exercises he had the most trouble with on the test with you, your eyes often drift over to Jongseong as if to check on him—you’re cautious like he’s a spider in the corner of the room that might spring on you at any moment.

And indeed, the moment your gaze leaves him for more than a minute as you explain an intricate theorem to Jake, he’s out of sight, and panic shoots through you. Where the hell has he suddenly gone off to? you wonder, but not for long.

“There’s a much easier way to do this, really,” says a voice from behind you, and of course, it’s none other than Jongseong himself, quite literally butting his way into your tutoring session. Right between you and Jake, he bends over and rests his elbows on the table, taking Jake’s pencil from him and describing the theorem in a way that isn’t that much simpler. Your eyes shoot bullets into the side of his face while he, unbothered, explains this and that to Jake, who glances at you a couple of times but otherwise does not seem so perturbed by the sudden change of tutor. Either Jongseong doesn’t notice your glare or doesn’t care, because he doesn’t budge.

Just when they’re done with the exercise and you think you’ll get Jake to yourself again, another voice appears from behind, a much higher, girlier one. You notice the hand on Jake’s shoulder first, until slowly, your eyes drift to the face—you recognize Yunjin, head of the cheerleading squad, and she’s smiling at you, a smile that at once tries to cover and betrays her surprise at seeing you and Jake together. She doesn’t acknowledge you any more than that, gaze going back to “Jakey,” asking him if he wants to head to class together. You check the time—five minutes before the first bell rings. What do they need so much time getting to class for? It’s not like any room in this school is more than a three-minute walk away.

But Jake doesn’t even look back at you, just says “Sure!” with far too much enthusiasm for your taste as he packs his stuff. “Thanks, you two,” he says, looking at Jay first, then at you. You think his eyes linger on you for a second, but just like that, he’s gone, him and Yunjin walking side-by-side.

You watch them leave—they look good together, the cheerleading captain and the soccer team’s star. The white Vans she’s wearing have a bunch of red love hearts on them that look drawn on, and you think, Of course, Jake is the type to date someone cute, someone fun, someone who would draw on their shoes. Not someone like you, whose idea of a good Friday night is lighting up a scented candle and reading your favorite novel for the nth time. When they’ve left the library, you slump in your seat, crumpling the sheet of paper you had drawn a bunch of graphs and formulae on to make things clearer for Jake. Jay awkwardly clears his throat and finally returns to his seat, looking at you with his lips pressed in a tight line.

“Y/N?” he asks tentatively, and the sound is too much to bear, so you pack your things and head to your next class early, too. Your mind is racing with a million thoughts a minute—who is that girl to Jake, how come you’ve never seen them together before, how come he was so eager to leave with her, what was that smile she gave you about? In the fifty-five minutes of your biology class, which you uncharacteristically don’t pay any attention to, you’ve convinced yourself that they are crazy in love and that none of Jake’s actions or words towards you had ever meant anything, that you’d liked him so much you’d dreamt up the possibility of his liking you back, too.

Your next lesson starts—the smile Jake gives you as he walks into History is so bright, it dissipates any clouds hanging over your head. You do believe in male-female friendships, but despite yourself, you can’t help but think that anyone in a relationship wouldn’t give someone else such a perfect, warm smile. It just wouldn’t be right. And so, you reason with yourself that simply walking to a class together didn’t mean two people were a couple.

For an hour, you stare at the back of Jake’s head, and although you do eventually come to the more sensible conclusion that a smile may just be a smile, you also think it's unlikely that he and Yunjin would be a thing. If they were, why would they hide it? Jake is so nice, you wouldn’t be surprised if he’d exaggerated his enthusiasm upon seeing her. You’re sure you still have your chances. He even says see you tomorrow when class is over and slips out of the room to go to soccer practice. 

You feel like you’re walking on cloud 9 as you head from History to your next class—but when you remember that the next class is German, your mood drops significantly. Because the universe has it out for you, you and Jay are two of just ten students in your year taking German as your second foreign language option, everyone else having gone for either French, Japanese or Spanish. Your reasoning for it is that your dad has had an obsession with Germany since his year abroad in Bavaria, and twelve-year-old you had wanted to make him happy. Eighteen-year-old you regrets it slightly, but at least now your dad is ecstatic every time you tell him in German that the dinner he made was really tasty. Why Jongseong decided to take it beats you—he’s probably just insane.

But because you don’t really know anyone else in the class, and because it’s your last period of the day, you have no friends to run off with once the lesson is over, and he gets to bother you all the way from the classroom door to the staff parking lot. 

You’ve barely finished bidding Auf Wiedersehen to your teacher and Jongseong is already harassing you. “So, I didn’t take you as the type to be into guys like Jake Sim.” He says Jake’s name with such disdain, like he thinks he’s so much better than him, or like he hates him. It confuses you just as much as it annoys you; Jongseong didn’t seem to have a problem with Jake earlier at the library.

“And that’s your business, because…?”

You don’t look at Jongseong, who’s quickened his pace to keep up with yours, but you can feel the smirk on his face. It’s insufferable. “Oh, it’s none of my business. I’m just surprised, is all. You guys are so… I don’t know, different.”

You scoff. “If you think I’m not good enough for someone like Jake, I’d rather you tell me straight up, Jongseong. Or actually,” you say, looking up at him with a dry smile. “Keep it to yourself and leave me alone.”

He looks offended by your words, and it only adds to your already immense annoyance—he’s the one who just insulted you, so why is he looking at you with those stupid furrowed eyebrows?

“I never said that.”

“You didn’t need to.”

“No, Y/N.” He grabs your wrist and makes you face him, your stomach flipping in surprise that you quickly cover up. When he releases you, you cross your arms over your chest and wait for him to speak, keeping your eyes trained on a spot behind him. “I don’t think he’s too good for you.” 

This makes you look at him. You have to admit, your curiosity is piqued. Not like Jongseong to say anything even vaguely in your favor. “He’s just…” He sighs, searches for the right word. “Well, he’s just a bit of a dick, isn’t he?”

You freeze for a second. You’re so taken aback, your scoff comes out more as a laugh—Park Jongseong, king supreme of all dicks at this school, just called Jake Sim a dick?

“I’m sorry?”

He sighs again, as though you’re the unreasonable one. “He’s so… smug. A wannabe class clown and thinks he’s the shit because he’s on the soccer team. Have you seen the way he swaggers around school?”

You look at him with fake sympathy. “Jong, are you jealous?”

“Pfft. No way. I just think it’s a shame you keep going after these dudes who are not even worth your time, or whatever, so yeah…” he says, voice trailing off and looking down at his feet as he speaks. Hands in pockets and blank expression on his face, you can tell he’s trying to look cool, but the way he’s avoiding your gaze is a dead give-away. Even his ears have turned red. Jongseong is having one of those shy moments he has when he’s trying to be nice to you. Clearly, a simple act of kindness towards you is so hard for him that it radically changes the way he behaves. 

Like when you were fifteen and you just couldn’t get this stupid art project right, so he stayed behind for three hours after school with you, helping you draw and paint and cut and glue. 

Like when you were sixteen and your grandma just passed away, making you miss a week of school, and without a word, barely looking at you, he gave you a stack of handwritten notes of all the lessons you missed. To this day, you’re not sure how he did it—you weren’t in the same class that year.

Like when you were seventeen and Park Sunghoon rejected you in the middle of a crowded hallway. You’d run off to the girls’ bathroom to cry it out, but Jongseong quickly found you and spent the entire period cursing Sunghoon out instead of being in English, like you were both meant to be. He was uncharacteristically nice to you for a few days after that, never starting an argument for no reason or interrupting you when you spoke. When you snapped at him, telling him it only made you feel worse that he treated you differently, he smiled and told you how stupid you looked when you cried. It made you laugh more than it should’ve.

Like now, when he suddenly decides that Jake Sim is also a wrong choice for you. “Him and Sunghoon are good friends, you know that?” he says. “Birds of a feather, and all…”

So you know that Jongseong is not all bad. He has his redeeming qualities. He can even be nice sometimes, when he so wishes. But those moments are so few and far between that when he returns to his usual insufferable self, you wonder if you’d dreamt it all up. Which is why you can’t quite take him seriously right now. You roll your eyes and resume walking towards the parking lot, but of course, he continues to follow you. “Why do you even care who I go after?”

“I don’t-”

“You clearly do, otherwise you wouldn’t be bothering me like this.”

“Well, if all your attention is taken up by that douche, who am I going to go up against?”

“That’s what you’re worried about? That I stop arguing with you?” you say, disbelief clear in your voice.

“I’m offended, Y/N,” he starts, his sarcastic tone making you roll your eyes again. “That our little rivalry matters so little to you.”

“We’re not even the top students of our class, for God’s sake, we’re not fighting over anything.”

“I’ve actually got the best grades in German, thanks very much.”

“Whatever. I wouldn’t call it a rivalry so much as a mutual dislike of each other, because one of us woke up one day and decided to start going against everything the other said.”

“At least you’re self-aware.”

The exit to the parking lot now appears to you like the gates of heaven. You don’t even bother replying to him, thinking that he’ll just leave you alone now that you’re here. But as you step outside, he places himself in front of you and blocks your path, arms splayed out, eyes wide like he’s just seen a ghost.

“What are you-”

“Have you done the German homework for tomorrow?”

The sudden change of subject gives you whiplash. “What? No, Miss Schumacher assigned it just now-”

“Well, given your tendency for getting the word order all wrong, I can already tell you you’re not gonna have fun with it-”

You pinch the nose of your bridge, trying to calm yourself down before you lose what’s remaining of your mind. “Jongseong, were you actually dropped on the head as a baby? Go away. My dad’s gonna be here any second.” You try to walk around him, but he steps in front of you again. You peer up at him, undisguised annoyance in your eyes. Where are your dad and brother when you need them?

“I’m just saying, you’ll probably need help with it-”

“I won’t. And if I do, I’ll just use Google. Now get out of my way,” you say, and manage to duck under one of his arms.

Then you see it.

Well, actually, it takes you a second to understand what it is you’re seeing. At first, you think it’s one of those horny couples thinking they’re being really discreet by going to the staff parking lot to make out, when in reality they could be caught by any one at any time. They’re just far enough that when you do a double take, you realize that you do know the back of that head; that fluffy mop of brown hair. You sit behind it every History period, next to it every Maths and English period.

The girl is up against the wall, and you can’t really see her, what with her and Jake’s tongues being down each other’s throat and his body blocking her from your view, his hands on her hips, her arms around his shoulders. All the works. She’s wearing a cheerleader uniform, so she could be any of twenty girls—but you’re pretty sure only one of them wears a pair of white Vans with red love hearts on them.

Your heart sinks to your stomach.

You’re frozen in place when a whistle rings in the distance, and Jake and Yunjin separate, giggling to each other as they jog to wherever the sound came from. The sports field, probably. It’s Monday; the cheerleaders and the soccer team share the field for their practice. 

Jake spots you and Jongseong staring at them. He waves quickly, awkwardly at you, still smiling even when surprise coats his features. Yunjin tugs on his hand and just like that, they’re gone. 

“Y/N-” 

Jay’s voice fades in the background. You want to get away from this situation as quickly as possible—it’s embarrassing enough seeing the guy you like and thought you had a chance with kissing a girl that is arguably much more on his level than you are, but having Jongseong of all people not only witness it, but try to protect you from it, God knows why, makes it impossibly mortifying. You speed-walk to your dad’s car, huffing as you plop in your seat and slamming the door behind you. Your brother is already sitting in the passenger seat, and you don’t even argue with him about it. When you only give single-word replies to his questions, he shrugs and returns to playing Clash of Clans on his phone. 

The moment you get home, you fish a five cent coin from your purse, change into mud boots and grab your dog’s leash. Desperate times call for desperate measures.

After half-an-hour of trudging through leaves and soft ground, muddy from many a rainy November night, you and Pablo, your massive, fluffy airhead of a German Shepherd, find yourselves at the well in the middle of the forest. Ever since you were little, you have attributed magic powers to the well—not that anyone told you any sort of myth about it, but you remember reading a story about a magic well and decided that your well would be magical, too. You’ve never wanted to abuse its powers, so you’ve used your wishes conscientiously: things like getting a certain present at Christmas (when you were nine and the most important thing ever was getting the Monster High doll you wanted) or not stuttering during your presentation in class (when you really didn’t want to embarrass yourself in front of Park Sunghoon and his cool friends). Every wish you’ve made has come true. Whenever a faint voice of reason tells you that it’s because you always ask for very realistic things, you squash it and continue to believe in the well.

Because today, you’re not asking for something realistic. 

Today, you’re asking the well to show you the way to love.

You’ve grown up watching The Notebook and Pride & Prejudice. Your parents are high school sweethearts who are still, twenty-five years later, happily married. You devour romance novels and binge-watch Asian dramas, the more unrealistic and romantic, the better. You are convinced that soulmates exist, that love always finds a way, that it is there for anyone to see. That it can take form in a childhood friend, an archnemesis, a total stranger.  

But for some reason, it hasn’t shown itself to you yet, no matter how valiantly you’ve looked. 

You’re absolutely sick and tired of it. It is Jake kissing another girl, it’s Sunghoon leading you on for months and then rejecting you in front of everyone, it’s your ex-boyfriend-who-shall-not-be-named, your first love and first heartbreak, dumping you after a year and getting with the girl he had told you not to worry about a week later. At a party a few months later, he’d said, word for word, “At least I didn’t cheat on you.”

Coin lodged between your hands, you interlace your fingers and press your palms closely together, eyes screwed shut in desperation. “Hey,” you start simply, because you and the well are good friends. “It’s been a while since I’ve asked for anything, so I hope you can indulge me… This is gonna sound so cliché, but I’m really tired of getting fucked over by boys — excuse my French — and I just wanna meet the person who’s right for me, you know? Mom’s always reminding me that I’m only eighteen, and that I’ve got plenty of time to meet someone, but I just feel like if I don’t find someone now, I never will. And if I get fucked over again — sorry — I’ll just lose hope and write off men for the rest of my life. So help a girl out, will you? I’ll leave it to you how you wanna go about it, but… just show me that there’s someone out there. Please.”

When you open your eyes, you need a few seconds to adjust to the darkness. You toss the coin in the well. It doesn’t make a sound as it hits the bottom, as if it has been absorbed within the old brick walls. You know better than to question it—the well works in mysterious ways.

You’re quiet that entire evening, making up an excuse of a tiring day at school when your parents ask. Really, you’re just thinking about your wish, whether it’ll work, what might happen. You half-ass your homework—Jay was right, the German exercises throw you into a bout of despair, so you quickly close your textbook and bury yourself in your sheets, falling asleep hours earlier than you usually would.

--

For some reason, the first thing you notice when you wake up is that it’s still dark outside. It must be the middle of the night, you think. It takes you a few seconds to realize that you’re in a completely strange room.

Instead of your floral-patterned sheets, you find yourself covered by delicate silk sheets that your parents would never agree to buy you, no matter how adamantly you argued for the benefits of silk for your skin. If skincare experts online had convinced you of one thing, it was that silk would do wonders for your obstinate acne. You slide out of bed and find a pair of slippers on the floor, as if waiting for you. Even the pajamas you’re wearing are fancier, more grown up than the ones you have at home, a set composed of a pinstriped button-up and shorts. You look around, for some reason more surprised and curious than panicked. You could’ve been kidnapped, for all you know, but all you care about right now is this room. Rather than the pink and white walls that have surrounded you since childhood, covered with pictures of you and your friends, postcards of artwork bought at museums, and posters of your favorite movies, the walls here are beige and mostly bare, except for a painting of Japanese cherry blossoms above the bed and a family portrait on the opposite wall, above a wooden chest of drawers. 

The family portrait. A woman, a man, and what you can only assume are their children. They look like twins—two girls. Can’t be older than three years old. Out of the four faces, you recognize two of them. You recognize them far too well. One of them is yours, of course. You look slightly older, by a decade, maybe? You’re glad to know that you won’t fall off after twenty-five, like much of social media has led you to believe. 

The other face you recognize immediately, too, but it takes you a few seconds to truly believe it.

It belongs to none other than Park Jongseong.

A dry chuckle falls from your throat, as if someone has just made a very insulting joke at your expense and you have to pretend you find it funny. The well has a very odd sense of humor, you think. It’s probably just a prank, a magic-induced nightmare before the real thing. Except this already feels real, disorientingly so. The fabric on your skin, the picture, the room. It all feels too real, more tangible than any dream you’ve ever had.

You take a step closer towards the picture, as if looking at it harder will make Jongseong’s face fade into that of another man, the real man that will become your husband and father of your children. But alas, his features remain the same, frozen in time by the photographer’s camera. He, too, looks older—and not only does he not fall off after twenty-five, he becomes all the more handsome for it.

Is this how you find out that Jongseong was handsome all along? You stare at it until the familiar face becomes practically unrecognizable, like repeating a word so much it stops feeling like one. The straight nose, the almond-shaped eyes that seem to have softened overtime, whereas his jaw has remained as sharp as ever. Have his eyebrows always framed his face so perfectly? Has that dimple always been there? 

You look around again, and the bright numbers on the bedside alarm clock catches your attention. They read 9:57 p.m., but it’s the date that makes your stomach sink—today is still the 18th of November, but ten years later. You stare at the clock, at the unfamiliar number, a date so far into the future you can’t wrap your head around it. You could barely envision life after high school.

Downstairs, the sudden clang of pots and the sound of a tap running manage to rip your gaze away from the alarm clock. An overwhelming curiosity tells you to follow the noise. This is all a dream, so there are no consequences if you explore a bit more, right? 

You’ve never been in this house before, and you have no idea where your feet are taking you until you find yourself in the kitchen. It’s the only lit room in the house, and you’re creepily standing in the dark under a wide archway that connects the kitchen to what looks like the dining room. A man has his back to you, washing dishes and putting them out to dry on a rack next to the sink. He’s wearing a white cotton sweater, one that you feel you recognise without ever having seen before, and a brown apron is tied around his neck and waist. 

The first thing you think to yourself is Oh, his haircut hasn’t changed. In almost every class you share with him, Jongseong has made it a point to sit either next to you or right in front of you, so you’ve spent a lot of time glaring at the back of his head. You wouldn’t be surprised if he started developing two eye-shaped bald spots there. His hair is still short and spiky at the back and on the sides, longer on the top. When he lets it grow too long, it sometimes covers his eyes, and he obnoxiously keeps having to push it back like a heartthrob in an 80s movie. 

Something like a memory flashes through your mind, blurry like those images you aren’t sure came from a dream or from real life. Your surroundings are unclear, but Jay’s face is nestled against your neck, your hand in his hair. You can feel the softness of the close shave against your palm as clearly as if you were touching it right now. You ask him why he’s always kept it that way, and he replies that it’s simple to maintain. Then in classic Jay fashion, he adds, “And it makes me look awesome.”

Another memory, a clearer one, this time—this definitely happened. It’s halfway through sophomore year, a random Tuesday, and Jay walks in, holding his head high and looking smugly around himself. The bastard got a new haircut. Long gone, his messy, unorganized flop of black hair that looked like it didn’t know what it was doing; hello, sleek undercut. It accentuates all of his best features, which is terrible news for you. You had never even thought of Jongseong as someone having “best” features, but now they’re being thrown in your face. His nose. His jawline. His smile.

It ruins your day, and a few after that. You can’t quite put it into words when your friends ask what’s wrong at lunch—or rather, you don’t wanna face the humiliation of uttering something along the lines of “Park Jongseong looks good with his new haircut, and it’s bothering me.”

Here, it’s a familiar sight in an unfamiliar environment, the back of his head. Without really thinking, you take a step forward. Jongseong starts at the sound of your slippers against the marble floor tiles, but his face relaxes into a smile when he sees you.

“Oh, it’s just you, honey. I thought you were sleeping.”

Just you. As if the two of you being in the same kitchen is normal. You guess it must be, to this version of Jongseong. To him, you’re not the annoying girl he strives to best in every class—you’re honey. 

“I was,” you say, walking around the kitchen island to join him by the sink. Something in you needs to look at him, really look at him, maybe pinch yourself or pinch him to be sure you’re not going crazy. Maybe you caught wafts of some ancient algae that lives in the well and made you hallucinate?

“I left a plate out for you in case you woke up. Made your favorite. The girls weren’t so happy, seeing as it’s the third time this month,” he says with the special kind of smile reserved for parents talking about their children. The girls. A mention so casual, so obvious, your heart hurts. “But I think I got it really right this time,” he continues. “Honestly, it might even be better than the original.”

He goes back to washing the dishes and you watch the sponge in his hands as it scrubs away tomato sauce, the soap as it runs from the plates into the sink. A knot forms in your stomach, something like a deep sadness that overwhelms you all of a sudden, and tears form in your eyes, threatening to fall any second.

When you haven’t budged in almost a minute, Jongseong starts to say, in an intimate, almost worried voice, “Aren’t you going to eat, honey?” but when he sees your wet eyes, the tremble in your lower lip, he shuts the water immediately and dries his hands. With his thumbs, he wipes away the tears that have started falling from your eyes. “What’s wrong?” he whispers.

You can’t reconcile the man in front of you with the image you have of the boy that torments you in every class you share. You can’t reconcile the genuine concern in his voice with the snarky tone you’re met with every day. And yet, they respond to the same name, their features are identical, if not for the years that separate them, the stress of adulthood on one and the carefreeness of youth on the other. 

Your body reacts automatically to the soft touch—never in a million years would you let the Jongseong you know come near you like this, but here, nothing feels more natural than his hands on your face, your shoulders, your hair, as though they’re just as much his as they are yours. You realize the emotion in your stomach is not sadness—tears fall, but you’re not sad. You’ve never felt as home as you do now, and if one thing romantic novels have taught you, is that this must be love.

You look up at the man in front of you, eyebrows furrowed as you search his face for confirmation or some sort of an answer. There’s a tremble in your voice when you speak next. “I just… I think I love you, Jongseong.”

He chuckles. “Well, we established that a while ago, didn’t we? What with getting married and having kids. But I’m glad you still feel that way.”

The mention of marriage and children doesn’t faze you nearly as much as it should. You’ve only got one thing on your mind. “Do you love me too?”

You expect him to laugh—not out of cruelty, but because the answer is so obvious, it almost doesn’t deserve to be answered seriously. Like when your brother asks if he can have one more of your cookies and you tell him you’ll cut his hand off. Sometimes you think it’s easier to be sarcastic than be unabashedly nice to someone. Especially with Jongseong, whom you don’t expect kindness or patience from, you wait for him to stay something like, “No, that’s why I’ve stayed with you these eight years.” 

So when instead, he says, “More than anything on this Earth,” voice low and vulnerable, tears flow even harder. 

“Sorry, it’s probably just my period,” you say through sobs, although you have no idea where in her menstrual cycle this version of you is.

Jongseong chuckles again, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “You do get emotional around this time.” And you cry more, because you can’t believe someone other than your mother knows you so well that they know what your period symptoms are.

Rubbing soothing circles against your back and whispering soft words in your ear, he holds you for as long as you need to calm down. When you finally do, he tells you to go sit on the couch, that he’ll finish up the dishes then heat and bring your food for you. You think you’ve got your emotions under control, but the moment you bite the pasta, cooked to perfection with the most succulent tomato sauce you’ve ever had, sweet with a little kick of spice and a generous amount of parmesan cheese, tears start to fall again as if you had an endless stock of water behind your eyes.

“This is so good,” you mumble.

Jongseong smiles, his gaze full of affection miraculously directed at you as he tucks away strands of your hair so they don’t get in your eyes or in your food. “I’m glad, baby.”

You react to the nickname viscerally, words tumbling out of your mouth before you can even understand them. “You haven’t called me that in ages.” You widen your eyes at yourself, wondering how this was something you even knew. But when you look at Jongseong, all he does is smile more.

“You’re right, I haven’t. I guess I was reminded of college. You cried all the time back then. As much as it pained me, I can’t say I wasn’t happy to be the one you always came to for comfort.”

You haven’t been through college yet, so you should be unable to tell whether this truly happened or not—and yet, the memories of the body you’re in all confirm what Jongseong just said. But it feels impossible—going to university with him, letting yourself be vulnerable enough with him to not only cry in front of him but let him comfort you. Whatever could have happened in the years between the present you know and your time at university for things to change so drastically?

But before you can make sense of any of it, Jongseong speaks again. “Why? Do you like it when I call you baby?”

Your stomach flips. Heat rises to your face at his words, the tone with which he said them, the things he was alluding to—you know that having children means you’d popped your cherry at some point, that you’d had sex with Jongseong specifically, but to be confronted with the fact was something else. 

“Maybe,” you mumble, and proceed to stuff your mouth with pasta so that you can’t incriminate yourself further.

He puts on a recent movie, something you should arguably be paying attention to, since you’re literally getting a glimpse into the future of cinema—you could steal the idea, go back to your present and sell it for an outrageous price.

But Jongseong’s presence next to you makes it impossible to concentrate on anything but him. The warmth emanating from him, the scent of his perfume envelop you, give you a sense of just how real this all is—despite how comfortable being with him like this feels, you’re still not convinced you’re not just in an unsettlingly vivid dream. You take one of his hands in yours, examining each finger, turning his hand over, tracing the lines of his palm, smoothing your thumb over his nails—it’s an undeniably human hand. Warm against yours, slightly rough. He’s started using hand cream, you think, all these winters when his dry hands would crack because of the cold coming up to your mind, teenage Jongseong’s hard refusal to wear any sort of cream to protect himself. Memories bob up to the surface: fixing his cracked hands up with a plaster, your tear falling on his hand, the both of you in your school uniforms in what looks like the school infirmary; awkwardly gifting him some hand cream the Christmas of that year, not looking at him as you hand him the small package. Saying, “It’s a waste of plasters for something that could be fixed so easily.” Him treating you to warm, spicy tteokbokki because he felt bad for not having gotten you anything, even though this was the first time either of you had ever given the other one a present.

As your fingers trail up from his hand to his forearm, his shoulder, his jawline, more memories flood your mind. Clumsy first kisses; squabbles of the kind you were already used to; lazy mornings in bed; hours spent in your kitchen or his, before you shared one, cooking dinner together; the way you felt when he proposed, a feeling so intense remembering it is almost unbearable now. Your eyes and fingers examine his face in detail—even though you’ve seen him almost every day since the start of high school, this feels like the first time you really perceive him. The delicate bow of his lips, the strong nose, the softness in his eyes when he looks at you. Your heart beats uncontrollably as you hold each other’s gazes, but you feel inexplicably relaxed at the same time, two nearly opposing realities fighting each other inside of you—one in which you and Jongseong regarding each other with such affection is unthinkable, the other in which it is daily routine.

“Movie not to your taste?” he asks, voice gentle, breaking you out of your stupor.

“Hm?”

He nods towards the TV screen. “I see you’re not paying much attention.”

“No. I have… things on my mind.”

He raises an eyebrow, a smirk slowly growing on his lips. “Yeah?” You think your heart might actually flatline when he brings you in closer to his chest, and, face buried in your hair, says, “You know, I’ve been thinking that the twins might want a younger sibling to play with soon enough…”

You’re not sure whether he actually wants a third child or if this is weird dirty talk that apparently turns parents on—all you know is that this is something future you will deal with, not high school senior you. 

You whip up your head at him, eyes wide in panic that he mirrors immediately. “Or—or not. Later. Later?” You nod fervently, and the worry dissipates from his handsome features. “Okay, later,” he whispers, kissing the top of your head before returning his attention to the movie. 

A couple hours later, you’re laying in bed in the dark together—you can tell Jongseong is falling asleep by the regularity of his breathing and his stillness, but you’re wide awake. You don’t know how you’ve managed to spend all this time with him, acting like the wife he knows and loves, without imploding. But suddenly, the idea of waking up in your childhood bed, surrounded by your pink-and-white walls, going downstairs to be greeted by your brother and parents, sends a wave of panic through you. You haven’t felt this comfortable in a long time—Jongseong’s arm draped over your waist, the fact that you could reach over and feel his skin against your palm if you wanted. You don’t want to go back to a time where you hate him. In fact, you don’t know if you could hate him after this.

“Jongseong?” you say softly, the syllables unfamiliar on your tongue, even though the name rings brusquely through your head for the best part of every day.

It takes a few seconds, but he reacts eventually. “Hm? Did you just call me Jongseong?” he murmurs sleepily, as if you’d just called him Robert or Christopher and not the name his own parents gave him.

“Yeah.”

He chuckles. “Now that’s something you haven’t called me in ages. Makes me feel like you’re mad at me,” he says, turning over and burying his face in the crook of your neck. His hair tickles your skin, and one of your hands comes up reflexively to feel the softness of his close shave.

“...Jong?” you try.

“That’s a step up, but not quite what I want,” he mumbles.

You’re silent for a few moments. “Honey,” you say tentatively, voice a mere whisper.

“That’s better.” You can hear the smile in his voice.

“Will you be here in the morning?”

“Mh-hm. It’s Saturday tomorrow.”

“No,” you say, feeling out of breath. “I mean, will you be here?”

You’re aware you’re not making much sense—and yet, Jongseong needs no further explanation. “Of course, baby,” he starts, voice soothing. “I’ll be here tomorrow, and the day after that, and every day afterwards. ‘Til death do us part, remember?”

You let out a shaky breath. “Okay.”

“I love you, Y/N.”

“I love you, too,” you find yourself saying, and, more importantly, meaning. It’s the last thing either of you says before falling asleep.

--

Tears are streaming down your face when you wake up the next day. When you open your eyes, pink and white obnoxiously stare back at you. The clock reads 7:12, just three minutes before your alarm goes off, and unfortunately for high school you, the night hasn’t given in to Saturday morning—it’s Tuesday, and you have to go to school and act as if you hadn’t just had the weirdest, most realistic dream of your life. You don’t even get a weekend to shake this weird feeling in your stomach off, you’re going to have to face Park Jongseong full force. At least, this will become your friends’ favorite bit for the foreseeable future.

They’re already sitting in the classroom when you get there, animatedly chatting to each other. You plop down in your seat in front of them, and when they see the sullen look on your face, ask you what’s wrong.

“Did you wake up during the night to play Hay Day again?” Kazuha asks, eyebrows knotted with genuine worry.

“I’m not that person anymore,” you reply. “No, I just had a really weird dream. More like a nightmare, really. It feels like I didn’t get any sleep.”

“What was it about?” Sunoo asks.

Your eyes dart back-and-forth between the two of them as you brace yourself for their reactions. Not wanting anyone else to overhear, you lean in conspiratorially. They mirror you. “I was married to Park Jongseong,” you whisper. As expected, they burst into laughter immediately, and you lean back in your seat, crossing your arms in annoyance. “It’s not funny.”

“It’s very funny,” Kazuha retorts. “It’s ironic, even, considering how much you hate the guy.”

“Exactly!”

“But I guess even you know how ridiculous it is that you hate him, if your brain is able to imagine yourself being married to him,” Sunoo adds, shrugging. “It’s a good reminder that you’re literally the only person in this school with a vendetta against him.”

Kazuha nods energetically. “He picked up a pen for me, once. He’s a nice guy.”

You look around the room in panic. “Keep it down, will you?” you hush, despite the fact that no one is paying any attention to the three of you. You sigh, resolving yourself to telling them the entire truth. “But guys, I’m scared. I think this might be a sign.”

Their eyebrows perk up. “A sign that your hatred of him has actually been disguising a crush this entire time?” Sunoo asks, feigning innocence.

“No—what? Where did you get that idea?”

“Nowhere. Go on.”

“Whatever. Come here,” you say, gesturing for them to huddle again. “It’s the well.”

“Oh my God, Y/N, you’ve actually lost it,” Kazuha says, fascinated by your stupidity.

“I’m not going to tolerate any well slander, this is serious. I just wanted it to reassure me that there was someone out there for me. And then I had that stupid dream.”

Kazuha and Sunoo exchange a look like they’re parents trying to announce to their daughter that she’s adopted. “Y/N…” Sunoo starts.

“This is crazy. Like, love philters and writing Park Sunghoon’s name a hundred times are one thing, this is…”

“Crazy,” Sunoo said, nodding along. “This is crazy. There’s no other word for it. Your eighteen years of boyfriendlessness have finally caught up to you.”

“You guys don’t get it. What about that time I asked it to give me a good grade on our Literature exam and I literally came first out of our class? Or when I told it I missed Jung Hae-in and his military discharge announcement came the next day?” you say, aware that the look in your eyes is only confirming their suspicions—but you need someone to believe you, or at the very least understand you.

“One, you’re a good student. Two, that was pure coincidence,” Sunoo explains.

“But girl, if you want to marry Jay, that’s fine. You’ve got our blessing,” Kazuha says, shrugging.

“Yeah. He picked up her pen, once,” Sunoo adds.

“And you know, you guys clearly have some sort of chemistry.”

You scoff. “If you think that him refuting my every word and finding every opportunity to make fun of me, then yeah, I guess you could say we have chemistry.”

“You guys have banter,” Kazuha says as if it’s obvious.

“Oh, please. Banter is cute. I want to kill him every time he opens his mouth.”

Your friends both roll their eyes. “While I understand that most men are better off staying quiet—no offense, Sunoo—”

“None taken.”

“You have to admit Jay is not nearly as insufferable as you make him out to be,” Kazuha says.

“Are you kidding me? He’s always acting like a child. Rubbing it in my face when he gets a better grade, trying to start arguments for no reason, sucking up to teachers, stealing my erasers, for God’s sake, you’d think he’s twelve. I know that I’m not on the majority's side, but I seriously cannot understand how other people tolerate him at all.”

Sunoo sighs. “Because he’s nice to everyone. He never hesitates to help people, he’s even funny, sometimes, and—well, look at him.” He nods his head towards the door, and when you turn around, Jongseong is indeed walking in the classroom. “He’s not a bad-looking boy.”

“Gosh, Sunoo, maybe you should marry him,” Kazuha says, but since you laid your eyes on Jongseong, you’ve stopped listening.

You feel weird. You look at him, and you feel weird. It’s the same feeling you had during your sleep last night, a feeling that paralyzes you from head to toe, that starts in your stomach and spreads to your entire body, weighs you down in your chair. 

“Hey, guys,” he greets simply, and his voice wraps itself around your heart and squeezes. You can’t do anything but watch him as he takes his seat next to you, plopping his bag on the table and taking his notebook out. He looks at you, watches you watching him, then swivels around in his chair.

“What’s wrong with her?” he asks your friends.

“She had a dream that she m—”

“Do not finish that sentence, Zuha, if you want to live to see another day.”

“Yes, ma’am,” she replies, a satisfied little smile on her lips.

Despite yourself, you’re still staring at Jongseong, trying to figure out what the hell these emotions are that are raging up a storm inside of you. Instead of ignoring you, he turns to face you, resting his elbow on the table and his chin in his palm as he stares back at you, smirking. “What’s up, Y/N? Has it finally dawned on you how devastatingly handsome I am?” he asks, and you frown, because he’s not so far off from the truth.

“Please, kids, it’s 9 a.m., don’t flirt right in front of us,” Sunoo says, despair in his voice.

“She’s the one who started it,” Jongseong replies, still looking at you, his smirk growing.

For some reason, this startles you out of your trance, and you look away from him like you’ve been burned, preoccupying yourself instead with your notes for this class. “In your dreams, Jongseong,” you mumble.

“More like in yours,” Kazuha says, her and Sunoo giggling.

“Zuha!” you exclaim. Jongseong looks at you with raised eyebrows, and with his infuriating capacity to put two and two together, you’re scared he’s figured out what she meant, but you’re literally saved by your teacher who walks in at that moment and starts the class. 

The second the bell rings to signify the end of the class, you hurriedly pack your things and mutter an excuse about needing the bathroom, trying to get as far away as possible from the boy whose all-too familiar scent had messed with your thoughts all class, whose every brush of his arm against yours had made your heart race uncontrollably.

--

It hadn’t just been a dream. It couldn’t have been.

Just like there was no doubt the 28-year-old Jongseong from last night had once been the annoying boy you knew, the 18-year-old Jongseong was sure to one day become the husband of your dreams. A devoted partner and father, his presence comforting, his good looks indeed devastating, unwavering.

There was no mistake to be made. The well had worked its magic.

Whether you liked it or not, you would end up marrying Park Jongseong. You, of all people; him, of all people.

Was there already something of your future husband in the boy that snickered when you mixed up your genders in German class, or would he one day spring out of nowhere? Apparently, you’d be around to find out.

But for now, how to act around him? It felt unfair that you were privy to this knowledge of your shared future while he was ignorant of it. Blissfully, perhaps. You couldn’t imagine that he would rejoice much at this news.

Your mind is somewhere else the entire day. At lunch, your other friends try to get the thing that’s obviously bothering you out of you, but Kazuha and Sunoo are there to tell them not to bother. You’d needed to tell someone about it, but you don’t want the entire school to know about your marital premonitions. The two knuckleheads you call your best friends are already doing a good enough job teasing you about it—”There’s your husband, Y/N,” when Jongseong walks past; “So have you thought of baby names? Kayleigh and Mackayleigh, perhaps?” unsolicited, during Physics. You turn around to check on the culprit — because yes, Jongseong is the culprit here, you, a mere a victim — and when he notices you staring, nods at you as if to say, What’s your problem?, trying to look threatening in his white lab coat that’s three sizes too big and protective goggles.

It doesn’t help that Jongseong has a way of hovering around you. Even in classes in which your teachers assigned the seats for you, he’s never far from your seat. The two of you sit next to each other in German, your last class every Monday, Tuesday and Thursday. But today, the seat next to you is empty—what would’ve been a cause for celebration just yesterday is now a source of worry. You’d seen him just two hours ago in your previous class together, so where the hell was he now? He’s lucky that your teacher is an old German lady who always spends the first ten minutes of the lesson rambling about something in dialectal German no one understands but nods along to anyway. When he walks into the room, five minutes late, she just says, “Hallo, Jay,” and continues with her story. It’s about her first school trip to Berlin when she was fifteen and the country was still divided. You think.

He winks at you when he takes his seat and you roll your eyes. You pretend to listen to your teacher for thirty seconds, then hit him gently with your elbow. “Where were you?” you ask without looking at him.

He doesn’t answer immediately, probably surprised you initiated a non-hostile conversation with him for once. “I was just hanging out with my friends, something you clearly wouldn’t understand.”

And your friends wondered why you hated him?

“Still having imaginary friends at eighteen is really concerning, Jongseong. You should see someone about it.”

When you glance at him, he’s already looking right at you, smiling. You’ve never felt so conscious of your side profile. 

“Why? Were you worried?” he whispers, kicking your foot with his.

You look at him, horrified—where the hell had he gotten that idea? How was he so spot-on? You scoff, trying to diffuse the tension inside yourself. “No.”

He kicks your foot again. “I was five minutes late and you started to worry?”

“No. Stop.”

“I didn’t know you cared about me so much, Y/N.”

This time, you give him a harsh look, one that lets him know you really mean your words—“Stop it.” Finally, he relents, getting the assigned homework out now that the teacher has actually started the lesson. Your face softens—he looks hurt. Guilt tugs at your heartstrings.

Despite what you might say, you like the way things are with Jongseong. If some people always need to be crushing on someone, you always need to have someone you perceive as an enemy—it was Na Jaemin in elementary school, because he’d once made fun of your incapability to climb the monkey bars; Shin Ryujin, in middle school, for kissing your crush during a game of spin-the-bottle at your own birthday party; Park Jongseong, since freshman year, for simply existing. Your reasons for disliking him are trivial, you’ll admit. You weren’t sure you could even place a finger on what had first triggered your disdain towards him—one too many awful jokes, one too many times raising his hand in class and rattling off a perfect answer, then looking around himself proudly, one too many roars of laughter heard throughout the entire cafeteria. The fact that no one else seemed to be bothered by him only added to your aggravation. He just got on your nerves, and it seemed that you openly showing your dislike of him — him, who was so used to being loved by everyone around him, pampered by his family, praised by his teachers, popular among his peers — was enough to make him dislike you, too. So, after a few failed attempts at trying to be your friend, because Jongseong was unable to not be friends with everyone he met, he didn’t simply give up. 

If he couldn’t be your friend, then fine, he’d be your enemy.

At least, that’s how it appears to you, still now. It’s never gone dangerously far, but if there’s an opening to tease you or get on your nerves, he’ll do it. Not passing you the ball during soccer, or conversely, only aiming for you during dodgeball, not sharing his textbook with you when you forgot it unless you beg, loudly clearing his throat when you speak in class. And, lately, pouring salt on your wounds in the form of reminding you how impossible you and Jake Sim are. His motto must be if there’s a will, there’s a way. And when it comes to making your life hell, his will is infinite.

Everything is upside-down now. The question of how your relationship can possibly go from this to that obsesses you. It feels like you’re more capable of sharing a funeral, dying at each others’ hands, than a wedding. 

“Jong, your textbook.”

He squints at you. “Funny how I’m Jongseong when you hate me, Jong when you need a textbook,” he says, sliding his book closer to himself.

“It’s not my fault your name is a mouthful,” you retort, trying to pull it back to the middle of the table, but he’s quicker than you.

“Then maybe you should call me Jay, like everyone else on Earth.”

“Where’s the fun in that? Now give it here. Please?” you ask, mustering your best smile. Any other teacher would’ve scolded the two of you by now, but Ms. Schumacher is peacefully going on about the importance of word order and punctuation in the German sentence, oblivious to her two students bickering in the back row. Jongseong usually never sits at the back of the classroom—only here.

He gives in, smiling back, but there’s something behind it, something that tells you nothing good is brewing in his brain. “Only because you’re so pretty.”

Normally, this kind of remark would’ve warranted a slap on the arm or an array of insults, but if today is anything, it is not normal. You look at him like you’ve been stung, visions of your not-dream coming to you in flashes like you’re the titular character on That’s So Raven—the affection in your husband’s eyes, the kindness in his words, the sincerity in his smile. Again, you’re left to wonder if this man is already taking root inside of the boy next to you, if Jongseong’s future capacity to love you presently exists in his heart.

Does your future capacity to love him already exist in your heart?

You watch as his smirk softens into a grin, your flusteredness and lack of a response clearly amusing him, then as he circles the exercises Ms. Schumacher is assigning for the lesson. She seems to have forgotten there was homework due—Jongseong will be sure to remind her of it quickly.

He kicks your foot again, tells you to focus. His ears have turned red.

You wonder if those capacities haven’t existed from the start.

--

As much as you love a good friends-to-lovers story, characters hiding their feelings out of fear of ruining the friendship have never failed to frustrate you — just tell her, you dummy, it’s obvious she likes you too — and yet, you’ve never related more than now.

Whatever it is that you and Jongseong have, you don’t want to lose it. It adds entertainment to your otherwise average life. 

“Good thing she didn’t pick on you while we went over the homework, ‘cause you clearly put zero effort in. And I wouldn’t have helped you, even if you’d asked, by the way.”

You hum absent-mindedly as you put your notebook and pencil holder in your bag. Are you sure that these are even your feelings in the first place? Just because the well put a silly idea in your head doesn’t mean you have to believe it like it’s scripture. If what you saw is real, then it will happen in its own time. Things don’t have to start changing right this instant.

“Gosh, Y/N, what’s up with you today? You’re so boring,” Jongseong continues, following you out of the classroom. 

“Just tired,” you reply. Wouldn’t it be unnatural if you were to radically alter the way you behave with Jongseong? Love should come about organically. Sure, his presence has always provoked some kind of reaction within you, but that’s usually been annoyance. Whether he’s stealing the fifth eraser you’ve bought that month or running on the soccer field, beads of sweat running down his temples, hair sticking out everywhere, victoriously smiling when his team scores—you’re annoyed. Whether he’s sticking up his hand higher than yours or going to the school dance with Ahn Yujin—you’re annoyed. When you learned that she’d been his neighbor since infancy and that she had a boyfriend, who went to another school and only trusted Jongseong to take her to the dance, you were still annoyed—this time at yourself for feeling even the tiniest bit relieved that nothing was going on between them.

And this — his quick steps trying to keep up with yours, his dumb story about yogurt coming out of Heeseung’s nose today at lunch when they were laughing too hard — yes, you’re still annoyed. But you realize you’re not annoyed at him.

You’re annoyed at how he makes you feel.

“Y/N?” he says, but you’re too deep in your thoughts, only vaguely registering the sound until he repeats it, louder this time, and grabs your hand, making you abruptly stop walking. “Are you sure everything’s okay?” he asks with genuine concern in his voice. “You’re barely listening to me. I mean, it’s not like you usually really do, but you’d have told me to get lost, like, five minutes ago now…”

He chuckles self-deprecatingly, but despite his words, you’re focusing on something else yet again. His hand on yours, his loose hold on your fingers. Your brain is yelling at you—hold his hand, hug him. It’s like there are still traces of the 28-year-old version of you you visited yesterday, urging you to behave like her and not 18-year-old you. 

So, the well had let you know that you need not look much further to find what you wanted. Here it is, in the form of a boy you have convinced yourself you hated, and hated you, and yet, he’s holding your hand, asking you if you’re okay, worry knotting his eyebrows together. 

Hold his hand. Hug him. Instead, you retract your hand, let it fall limply by your side. Jongseong’s eyebrows shoot up.

He’s so close, the supposed love of your life. You don’t know how to reach out to him.

For now, you smile. “Get lost, Jong.”

--

you guys how the hell do i act around jongseong now that i know our fates are romantically intertwined

kazuha i think not treating him like the number one public enemy would be a good start

you so what… be nice to him? how do i do that

sunoo oh my god y/n when she has to treat another person like a regular human being

you he’s not just another person!

sunoo okayyyyy i see you little miss repressed feelings

you i hate u

kazuha just don’t roll your eyes at everything he says anymore and don’t start arguments for no reason

you he’s the one who starts them… but okay i’ll try

--

“Let’s pair up for the reading analysis today. You can stay with your deskmate or pick a partner, I don’t mind as long as you get the work done. I’m talking about you, Chaewon and Yuri. This is English class, not a gossip session.”

The second your English teacher has finished speaking, Jongseong swivels in his chair. “Let’s partner up, Y/N?”

“What about me?” Jake asks, eyes darting back-and-forth between the two of you.

“You can partner up with Minju,” Jongseong replies, pointing to the girl he’s usually seated next to. “Look. You guys will be great together. Say hi, Minju.” Minju waves shyly at Jake, braces on display as she smiles ecstatically. It’s not everyday that she gets to talk to one of the most popular guys in school.

Jake reluctantly switches seats with him, glancing back at you and Jongseong who just grins at him, fake friendliness plastered on his lips, until he turns around again. Your new partner’s smile softens and reaches his eyes when he looks at you. “Hi.”

You have to look away—you feel your face burn under his gaze. “Hi, Jong.”

He tilts his head. “What? Do you hate me so much that you can’t even look at me now?” he asks, and you can’t tell whether he’s joking or genuine.

You frown. “I don’t hate you.”

“Oh? That’s a recent development.”

“I guess,” you mumble after a few seconds. Is it really? You suddenly can’t remember if you ever really hated him, or if you’d exaggerated your own feelings.

His smile widens. “Well, good. I mean, you were going to have to realize at some point that I really am funny, smart, endearing, handsome-”

“Back to hating.”

“Let’s start the assignment.”

You agree on reading the passage first, but you realize halfway through that not a single word has been absorbed. “Hey. Why did you switch seats with him?” you ask, whispering so as not to be overheard.

Jongseong shrugs. “I thought you wouldn’t want to work with him, considering…”

“Right.” You’re silent again, but only for a bit. “What’s it to you?” you mumble. 

He scoffs. “Sorry for trying to be considerate.”

“That’s not—”

“Let’s just focus on this.”

His sudden coldness vexes you. You know you should let it go — don’t start arguments for no reason, and all that — and you know it’s childish, but you can’t help yourself. You have certain reflexes you’re not particularly proud of when it comes to one Park Jongseong. “Let’s just focus on this,” you repeat, mocking his grumbling tone of voice and shaking your head like a puppet.

He glares at you. “Can you not act like a toddler for once?”

“Can you not be a dick for once?” you bite back.

“Y/N, Jongseong, I’m sure you’re having a fascinating conversation on the use of chiaroscuro in the text?” your teacher asks, a look of warning on his face.

“Yes, sir,” you reply, embarrassed.

“Yes, so much chiaroscuro,” Jongseong mumbles, resting his cheek on his knuckles. When the teacher has turned away, he kicks your foot. “See, you’re getting us in trouble.”

“Do you even know what chiaroscuro is?” 

He hesitates. “That’s not the problem here. You are.”

“Well, maybe if you didn’t-”

“Y/N, Jay, final warning.”

“Sorry,” you both say at the same time. With one last glare at each other, you finally get to work.

So your plan to start getting along with Jongseong isn’t in full-force yet. On the drive back home that afternoon, you reassure yourself that these things take time. When the moment is right, the two of you will grow closer.

--

But increasingly, it feels as though the right moment will never come.

Two months have passed since your visit to the well, and things between you and Jongseong have not changed. Not really, at least.

You still bicker like cat and dog — it goes without saying that you’re the cute puppy and he’s the heartless cat — and he gets as much on your nerves as ever, especially now that you know that the potential to be nice to you, to love you, even, exists somewhere inside him. Somewhere deeply hidden perhaps, but somewhere nonetheless. Of course, after telling yourself that what must come will come of its own accord, you haven’t done much to change the dynamic between the two of you. But if you used to see your retaliations against him as necessary to your survival, you now find some sort of enjoyment in them—some might call it Stockholm Syndrome, you perceive it as a step in the right direction. You’ve followed one of Kazuha’s pieces of advice: you don’t roll your eyes at him anymore, simply because you don’t feel the need to. You argue with him with a smile on your face, his attempts at insulting or annoying you have started to make you laugh.

He doesn’t say anything but seems to gladly welcome this change. If you get a lower grade than him on a test, he doesn’t try to stick the knife in further, but genuinely offers to go over it with you later. If you give in after two hours of tearing your hair out over a German exercise and text him for help, he doesn’t make fun of you. If he says something particularly arrogant or makes a really bad joke, all you need to do is give him a look, and he’ll mumble an apology. 

Could it have been like this the entire time? you wonder, watching him across the schoolyard as he and Heeseung hunt for Pokémon. Just a couple months ago, you would’ve scrunched your nose at the sight, making fun of him for his childish interests. Now, you notice the way he laughs, audible all the way to where you sit with Kazuha and Sunoo, the way he jumps excitedly and points at things only he and his friend see, and all you feel is endearment.

“Look at you, look at that,” Sunoo says as he hits you on the forehead with his metal spoon, startling you. He tuts. “You’ve got love dripping from your eyes, sweetie.”

“Sunoo, that’s disgusting.”

“Love? I know.”

“No, your spoon. Your saliva’s all over that,” you say, and all he does is eat another mouthful of his yogurt while staring wide-eyed right at you. When you look back at Jongseong, he’s high-fiving Heeseung. You wonder which creature he’s caught now. In the library yesterday, he spent thirty minutes showing you every single one he had captured so far instead of revising for the upcoming Physics test.

“Yeah, we know you’d like someone else’s saliva more,” Kazuha chimes in, and the two of them snort.

“It’s not like that,” you say, biting into an apple slice.

“Oh yeah? What’s it like, then?” Kazuha asks.

“We’re… becoming friends,” you say, but you’re not sure who you’re trying to convince more.

“Y/N, I’ve had to watch the two of you giggling to yourselves in the library one too many times to believe you’re friends. I know your homework’s not that funny,” Sunoo argues.

“Friends can giggle with each other!” you exclaim, but your friends are inflexible.

“I would tell you to get yourself together if you giggled at me like that,” he says.

“I saw you twirl your hair the other day,” Kazuha adds.

“I never—When?!”

She shrugs. “The other day.”

You deflate, crushed under your friends’ accusations. “I wouldn’t twirl my hair…” you mumble. You decide to busy yourself with your apple slices, not even bothering to find out what Kazuha and Sunoo start snickering and elbowing each other about.

“Hey,” a familiar voice greets, making you look up. Jongseong smiles at you and steals an apple slice from your tupperware as he sits down next to you, Heeseung across from him.

“Hi, Jong,” you say, sitting up straighter. You offer a piece of fruit to Heeseung but he declines, saying he doesn’t like apples without peanut butter.

In front of you, your friends exchange a look, and you’re immediately terrified of what they’ll do next. Leaning in, they place their elbows on the table, and Kazuha starts them off. “Jay, you and Y/N know each other pretty well, right?”

Jongseong glances at you, eyes wide. “Uh, sure.”

“Have you ever noticed her, say, twirling her hair?” Sunoo asks, tilting his head innocently at the poor boy by your side.

You’ve never seen him look so confused. “Um, yeah, she does that when she’s concentrating on something, sometimes…”

They lean back. “Huh,” Kazuha says, studying Jongseong’s face.

“Interesting. Very interesting,” Sunoo says, slowly nodding.

You glare at your friends. “See, that’s different,” you tell them. “I was concentrating on something, not doing… whatever you guys had in mind.”

Jongseong looks at you. “What did they have in mind?”

You answer before either of them can dig your grave any deeper. “Nothing. It’s nothing. We were just having a stupid conversation.” You muster your most convincing smile, and the subject is finally dropped.

No one says anything for a few moments, until Heeseung decides to speak up: “You should’ve seen Jay earlier, Y/N. He caught this super rare version of Pikachu earlier, it was awesome.”

“Dude…” Jongseong murmurs.

“What?” Heeseung asks, his enthusiasm quickly dissolving into confusion. Jongseong just shakes his head. Thankfully for all of you, the bell rings then, and you head to class. The three of them walk in front of you while you and Jongseong fall back a step.

“Why were you guys sitting outside? It’s freezing today,” he asks you. Walking side-by-side like this, you can’t help but notice the inches he has over you, the broadness of his shoulders in comparison to yours.

“They turned the heat way too high in the cafeteria, so we came outside for some fresh air,” you explain. He’s right, the air is chilly today—it’s a few days into December, and the temperatures have been accordingly low.

“Aren’t you cold?”

Your heart skips a beat. One of the side effects of not being at each other’s throat anymore was that you got more and more often to be privy to this side of Jongseong—attentive, considerate, kind. What you once thought were his moral attempts at not being so mean to you all the time, you found out was actually his real nature. He wasn’t a prick who was sometimes nice, he was a nice person who turned into a prick with you. Whether the fault lay on him or you was another debate.

“No, I’m alright,” you say, but your body decides to betray you and makes you sneeze three times in a row.

“Bless you,” Jongseong says, laughing. “Here.” You try to stop him, pushing his hands away, but he takes his gloves off and forces them in your palms.

“I’m going to be inside for the next four hours, Jong, I’ll be fine. Keep them.”

“No, it’s okay. Just so you can warm up quicker.”

You eventually give in, putting the gloves over your hands, laughing at the extra fabric that hangs off the tip of your fingers. But when you look at Jongseong’s now-bare hands, something catches your attention. Stopping in the hallway, you grab one of them, examining the cuts on his knuckles. “You need to wear hand cream, Jong, your hands are too chapped.”

He lets you turn his hand over, smooth over his skin, do the same thing with his other hand. “Men don’t wear hand cream,” he says, a grin on his lips.

You burst out laughing. “I think that’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard you say.”

“Seriously, though, I don’t like the way it feels. Too sticky.”

“You just need to get a quick-absorption one.” Then, you make the terrible mistake of looking up from his hand and meeting his eyes—you gasp silently, his gaze and soft smile transporting you right back to that night, the images of 28-year-old and 18-year-old Jongseong mixing into each other, becoming indistinct from each other. Your gaze drifts down to his lips — chapped, too, when they’re usually plumper, rosier — and his hand, still in yours, balls into a fist. The second bell rings and you both take a step back, eyes meeting again for a brief moment before looking down at the floor. With uncharacteristically shy, embarrassed words of parting, you make your separate ways to your next classes.

“That was beautiful, Y/N,” Sunoo says, waiting for you by the door, and you walk past him without so much as a glance.

“I don’t wanna talk about it.”

--

sunoo jay and y/n almost kissed earlier

kazuha WHAAAAT

you KIM SUNOO.

kazuha WHEN?????

sunoo right before class after the lunch break y/n was sooo embarrassed afterwards lol

you we did NOT almost kiss you’re talking out of your ass

kazuha i can’t believe i missed this fml

you YOU DIDNT MISS ANYTHING NOTHING HAPPENED

sunoo be serious u guys we’re standing inches apart

you were* and no we weren’t

sunoo oh stfu it was autocorrect i saw it w my own eyes y/n… you WERE literally holding his hand and staring into those beautiful eyes of his

kazuha sunoo…?

sunoo what can’t a man acknowledge another man’s objective attractiveness if i was y/n i would’ve folded the moment i saw him

you literally one of the first times he talked to me was to make fun of my handwriting

sunoo yeah he’s on his tsundere shit i fw it

you …

sunoo anyways zuha you shouldve seen it when the bell rang they practically leaped away from each other and u didnt know what to do w yourselves afterwards likeeee it was so obvi what you both were thinking of

kazuha cuuuute

you i resent these accusations.

sunoo istg if u dont kiss him next time i will

kazuha ???

you SUNOO?

sunoo WHAT

--

Something happens a few days before the start of winter break.

Ms. Schumacher is absent, gone off to Germany to visit her family there—she has enough seniority in the school that they let her abandon her responsibilities as a teacher once in a while. A week is too short a period of time for them to bother finding a substitute. It’s usually your last class of the day, but you have to wait around for your dad to be done working, so while most of your classmates have gone home early, you sit with about six other people in the unsupervised study room, absent-mindedly jotting down tid-bits of dialogue for your new story idea, too preoccupied with Jongseong’s absence to really pay attention to anything else. It’s fifteen minutes after the hour, but he’s nowhere to be found, although you know for a fact that he takes those weird Molecular Gastronomy cooking classes your Chemistry teacher offers for extra credit every Thursday after school, so he should be here. And anyways, if he’d gone home, he would’ve texted you something like, Have fun sitting around for an hour, I’m gonna go do awesome stuff with Heeseung, even if awesome stuff meant playing Mario Kart or drinking Sprite and holding a two-person burping contest.

You’re so engrossed in your own thoughts that you pay no mind to the sudden ding of a phone in the room, followed by some gasps and heated whispers. The exchanged words go through one ear and out the other—There was a fight? In the locker rooms? It must be bad if they were sent to the nurse before the principal… Huh? Over who? So he took both of them on? Damn, I didn’t know Jay got like that. He seems so well-behaved.

Your head whips up at the mention of your friend’s name. “Jay? Did something happen to him?” you ask out loud, the whispers dying down immediately as everybody stares at you. 

Gaeul, who was in your class last year, is the only one who answers you. Holding up and waving her phone, she says, “They say he got into a fight.”

Jongseong? A fight? It sounds like a practical joke. He admitted to you he once started crying watching Heeseung playing Call of Duty, it was so violent. You shake your head. “He-he did? With who?”

Gaeul and the girl next to her exchange a concerned, almost guilty look. “Jake and Sunghoon.” The crease between your eyebrows deepened. You don’t need to ask anything else before she adds, “They’re at the nurse’s station. It sounds pretty bad…”

That’s enough for you to leap out of your chair and run to the nurse’s station. It seems the news has spread impossibly quickly among your year group—even Kazuha and Sunoo are already blowing your phone, asking you if you’ve heard, if you know how Jay is. You ignore them, reminding yourself to text them back later, until one message from Sunoo in particular catches your attention: It apparently started because Sunghoon said something about you, Y/N. They’re saying Jay got angry.

The nurse is busy on the phone when you get there, her back to the entrance, so you’re able to slip in unnoticed. You head to the adjoining room where the beds are, all three of them taken—you walk by Sunghoon first, his arms crossed over his chest and pointedly not looking at you, then by Jake, who calls out your name. You glare at him and pull on the white plastic curtain that separates his bed from Jongseong’s. They’re already going to hear you, you don’t need them seeing you on top of that. 

Jongseong sits up with a grunt when you appear at the end of his bed. The sight of him makes your stomach flip, and not in a good way, for once—his left eye is swollen and circled by a deep purple bruise, shiny with ointment, there’s a cut on his cheek, his lower lip is busted, his right hand is wrapped in bandages. “Oh my God,” you whisper as you help him up, voice breaking. He stares at his hands, jaw locking when you gently place one palm on his good hand, the other on the side of his face, moving it this way and that so you can take a better look at his injuries. He winces, and you let go, resting your hand on his shoulder instead. “What the hell got into you?” you whisper vehemently, unable to decide if you’re worried or angry or both as tears form in your eyes.

He tries to shrug, but even that seems to hurt. “Don’t shrug, Jongseong, tell me what happened.”

“I’m Jongseong again now?” he says, attempting a smile, but only one corner of his lips rises.

You sigh. Even in this state, he has to be a smart-ass. “You’re Jong when I need a textbook, Jongseong when you get into stupid fights,” you reply, and he smiles wider but immediately winces, hand coming up to the cut on his lip. You notice that his hand is still riddled with cracks, and whether they’re due to their dryness or to this fight doesn’t matter—”Wait here,” you say, and go rummage through some drawers for plasters. “She forgot some spots.” You feel Jongseong’s eyes on your face as you patch him up to the best of your abilities.

“I don’t want to tell you what happened. I’ll do the job of hating these idiots for the both of us, so don’t concern yourself with them,” he says, apparently not caring that the idiots in question can hear his every word.

He keeps his promise—you never hear another word from him about the cause of the fight. 

Later, you find out through other means, namely Sunoo’s questionably remarkable ability to unearth any and all gossip, that in the locker rooms after Phys Ed, someone had started Jake on the topic of Yunjin, who had been recently revealed as his girlfriend. They’d apparently kept it secret because it was just fooling around at first, and only later had gotten serious enough for them to parade around the school as the couple. 

It had been an unremarkable conversation until Jake said, “You guys know Y/N from our class? She saw us in the staff parking lot once, and I was sure we’d be busted then. But she didn’t tell anyone.” And just like that, the conversation turned to you, someone who was usually never a topic among these boys, jocks, soccer players, “the kind of people who peak in high school and still have a superiority complex at forty,” as Sunoo describes them. 

He has a harder time explaining what happened next, can’t quite look you in the eye as he recounts what was said. “So, this is what they say, apparently someone said that you used to be obsessed with Sunghoon, then with Jake, and Sunghoon said you… Well, he said you were pathetic, that asshole, and that you had been so easy to lead on, then Jake joined in, saying the same things, basically, how funny it was seeing you so obviously in love with him when he would never give you a chance…” He looks at you worriedly, but you tell him to go on. “And so that’s when Jay got up and just straight-up punched Jake in the face. And while Jake was trying to figure out what happened, Jay punched Sunghoon, and then they both got on him, pushing him, but when he wouldn’t stop throwing punches, they started fighting, too. I think they all got some good ones in before the other boys were able to break them apart and the P.E. teacher arrived…”

But that would be later. Now, sitting with Jongseong in the nurse’s station, tears falling onto the plasters you place on his hand, nothing matters but him. You don’t need the details—he’s hurt, he got hurt over you, you feel as though every cut on his body may well have been done by your own hand. You’ve never felt so guilty for something you didn’t do. Your voice trembles when you speak; you’re unable to look at him, at his busted eye. “I just don’t want you to get hurt for me.”

Without missing a beat, he says, “What else would I get hurt for?”

You can only meet his eyes for a split second. Even like this, he manages to look at you with the same softness that has haunted you since the night you met 28-year-old Jongseong, that has rendered all thoughts of anything other than him meaningless since the day your gaze drifted down to his lips just weeks ago. “Jong…” is all you can mutter as you look down at your hands holding each others’, your lips trembling.

He raises his bandaged hand, still not used to his dominant side being ineffective for now, then lowers it when he realizes. Clumsily, he pats your hair with his left hand. “Don’t cry, please…”

Jake’s head pops out from behind the curtain. “Y/N, I’m really sorry—”

“Not right now, man,” Jay quickly interrupts. Jake pathetically disappears behind the curtain again.

“Just promise me you won’t do this again.”

“Y/N…”

“Promise me,” you say, more demanding this time, sticking out your pinky finger. Jay, hesitant, looks between your outstretched finger and your face a few times, but eventually gives in.

The nurse, upon coming to check on the boys, catches you with Jongseong and chases you out immediately. You sulk back to study hall, where everyone’s head perks up the moment you walk in. “They’re okay,” you reassure vaguely, and unenthusiastically answer their many questions. It’s only a few minutes until the bell rings, and you’re free to go then.

--

jong so… guess who got a five-day suspension

you you idiot what did your parents say?

jong they’re not happy i have to do all the household chores for a month

you boo-hoo

jong not sure why i came here thinking i’d get some comfort…

you … are you feeling better?

jong a little bit the nurse gave us some really strong painkillers but i’m okay because there’s a pretty girl that’s going to drop off the homework for me after school every day :)

you oh did you ask chaewon to do that?

jong um no i was talking about you ..if that’s okay

you haha i know i just wanted you to say it straight up

jong ykw maybe i should just ask chaewon

you i’ll see you tomorrow jong!!

jong :) see you tomorrow pretty 

 --

The months that separate your return to school and graduation come and go in the blink of an eye. Jongseong can’t come to school the last day before the holidays or the first four days after, and he’s grounded in-between. Things change bit by bit with every day you visit him—To give him the homework, you tell his parents, although there isn’t much to do when the semester isn’t in full swing, and you could’ve easily sent him pictures. The first time, you spend more time scouring the pictures and trinkets in his room than actually talking to him, and awkwardly give him a half-hug when he tells you he won’t be able to hang out at all during the break before practically running out of his house, your heart beating a thousand miles a minute from the innocent contact. By the fourth time, you lie together on his bed and talk about your plans for college, your hands sitting centimeters apart on the navy sheets. You haven’t dared touch his hand since that day in the nurse’s station.

You’re window-shopping with Kazuha when you spot the hand cream you had seen yourself gifting Jongseong in your well-given vision. Buying it is one thing, actually giving it to him is another, an awkward, stuttery situation in which the wrapping done by the store employee suddenly seems over-the-top and out-of-place. But Jongseong seems to like it—it’s the last day of his suspension, his black eye is now a yellow-ish color, he can smile without risking splitting his lip in two. He applies it immediately, tells you he’ll make sure to wear it every day until the end of winter. You find yourself wishing there was something you could give him for every season so he wouldn’t go a day without thinking of you. When you leave, he bashfully thanks you for making sure he doesn’t fall behind and says he’s excited to see you at school the next day. You hardly know what to do with yourself, so you squeak out a “me too” and slip out the door.

His first day back is a Friday. It starts with Mathematics, a class in which you sit by each other. You remember the first week of classes when Kazuha and Sunoo had ran to sit with each other, expressly because they knew that if he saw you were sitting alone, he’d take the seat next to you, just to better torment you all year. You’d resented it then; it couldn’t make you happier now. Your body is humming with nervous energy, your foot tapping relentlessly against the tiled floor. When he appears in the doorframe, you wave at him as if he’d forgotten his seat in three weeks of absence. His elbow brushes against yours as he sits down.

Between the two of you, friendship blossoms over these months. To the detriment of everyone around you, you continue to bicker as you always have, but it’s now clearly done out of habit, out of affection, even, than out of actual dislike of each other. He and Heeseung slowly integrate your small group of three, and before you know it, it feels as though there have always been five of you. Together, you welcome spring.

In January, to thank you for helping him to pick out his mom’s birthday present, Jongseong treats you to some tteokbokki, which you said you’d been craving all week. He orders the spiciest one, then has to take a sip of water between every bite. You laugh at his teary eyes and red face while you devour the bright red rice cakes easily. 

In February, he makes a show of giving you and Kazuha and Heeseung and Sunoo some homemade chocolates, saying it’s a friend thing. You find out that evening that the others each have five in their box—there are twenty in yours. It’s one of the things that makes you second guess what sort of feelings he has for you. For years, you’ve been convinced he harbored strong feelings of disdain for you; now, he seems to enjoy your friendship. You’re scared to read too much into anything, because if Jongseong is well-liked throughout school, it’s for a reason: he’s nice. To everyone. Even to you, too, nowadays. But if nice is giving five chocolates, what is giving twenty?

A sudden realization hits you in March—Jongseong appears at your door, drenched from the rain, a bag of your favorite snacks in hand. “You weren’t at school today. I had to find out you were sick from Kazuha,” he says as if she was a random classmate of yours and not your best friend, as if he should be the first to know about these kinds of things. Your mom rushes him in, finds him so charming in the five minutes they converse that she decides he should stay over for dinner, and as you watch him laughing with her, you think, I haven’t thought of 28-year-old Jongseong in ages. I’ve only thought of you. And although you can trace the start of your feelings to that dream-like experience you had, you can now say with confidence that it’s not the only reason for them.

College application results come out in April, right on his birthday. The five of you celebrate together at an American-style diner, gorging yourselves on crispy bacon and chocolate chip pancakes. Kazuha is going back to Japan, almost a decade after moving to South Korea—”I’m gonna miss you guys, but I miss takoyaki and my grandma more right now.” Heeseung has been accepted into the Engineering department at the country’s top university. You, Sunoo and Jongseong are all heading to the same place: you for Screenwriting, which you’ve known since you were one of the winners of the scholarship contest last October, Sunoo for Communications, whatever that is, and Jongseong for European History and Literature with a minor in German, that freak. It’s a good university, and it’s not far from home. The way Jongseong tells you about his acceptance sticks with you: he doesn’t say, They accepted me, too, or, I’m going to the same university as you. He says, We’ll be together.

May is filled with afternoons at the park when you should all be studying for exams. Your mom keeps asking when she’s going to see “that wonderful boy” again. Your friendship with Jongseong has given him new ways of teasing you—after four years of near-kleptomaniac tendencies, he’s finally stopped stealing your erasers and has instead started to let his gaze linger on your face, to call you pretty when you least expect it, to tuck your hair behind your ear. You hate it most when he asks you whether there’s something from your romance novels or movies that you want him to recreate. “Is there a field big enough nearby that I can walk through at the break of dawn, Mister Darcy-style?” he’ll say, or “I’ve always wanted to try that upside-down kiss from Spider-Man. It’s a classic, really.” 

Summer comes early in June. You need to bring a two-liter water bottle and a hand fan to your exams, and you’ve never felt such relief as when it was all over. After endless pictures with your parents and siblings, just your parents, just your siblings, then Kazuha and Sunoo, together, then separately, then with Heeseung and Jongseong as well, Kazuha forces you and Jongseong together, watching with a smile as he shyly wraps an arm around your waist and you awkwardly throw up a peace sign. It’s your first picture of just the two of you.

In July, you and Jongseong unlock a new first: saying goodbye. He’s leaving to stay with his American family as he does every summer. You show up at his house the day before at four p.m. “to help him pack,” you say, but it’s Jongseong, and he finished packing two days ago. So instead, you sit on his desk chair, he on his bed, and you fight back tears. “You’re coming back, right?” you ask, like he’s leaving to go to war and not Seattle. Amusement and affection flicker in his eyes. “Of course I am. I wouldn’t throw four more years of being a pain in your ass away, would I?” he says, and you smile, because you know it’s going to be much more than four years.

But he doesn’t just leave you with a few nice words. Avoiding your gaze, he hands you an envelope. Inside is a single ticket, a two-month membership for your city’s arthouse cinema that you can only go to when they have student deals or when your parents have had enough of your begging. You can’t even begin to imagine how much this must’ve cost. “Jong…” you murmur, in awe at the thin slip of paper between your hands. “This is incredible. Thank you so much.”

Jongseong looks down at his feet, fighting a smile as he kicks the invisible rocks that obviously litter the floor of his bedroom. “I thought you’d get bored without me around, so, that way you can entertain yourself, I guess… And if you run into any film bros next year, you’ll have seen as many pretentious movies as them.”

You burst into laughter then, and, without thinking, wrap your arms around his neck, thanking him over and over again. It takes him a second, but he wraps his arms around your waist and says it’s no big deal.

As you walk down the path from your house, he calls out your name. “Don’t be a stranger,” he says.

You smile. “Never.”

So, he’s not here for summer. Kazuha is working in her parents’ ramen restaurant to make some money before leaving, even Heeseung leaves two weeks into July for Seoul to visit some relatives there and get accustomed to life in the big city. You only get to laze around with Sunoo, but even he eventually leaves for his grandparents’ house by the sea, making you promise you’ll come visit him at some point, otherwise he’ll “die of boredom.” 

It’s August now, and your brain and body alike buzz with restlessness. You go to the cinema almost every day, making the best of your subscription. If you’re not going around your house looking for spider webs with your vacuum cleaner, you’re riding random bus lines and discovering parts of your town you’ve never set foot in before. If you’re not making your way through your never-ending pile of unread books, you’re creating your own stories, finally taking the time to properly outline and draft the one-line ideas you’ve had sitting in your Notes app, preparing yourself for the start of your degree. Your mind is taken up with love stories. From Romeo & Juliet to Dirty Dancing to Book Lovers, you can’t get enough of the genre. You become particularly obsessed with stories involving time travel, rewatching After Time and Lovely Runner like they contain some precious knowledge. By the end of the month, you’ve turned your life into an eight-episode TV series—a desperate girl makes a wish on a star only to discover she is fated to marry the one boy she hates most. You know you’d watch that. You send Sunoo and Kazuha the pilot, and after calling you insane numerous times but also heaping on praises, Sunoo says this: lol your going through jay withdrawals.

It shakes you so much you’re not even compelled to message back you’re*.

But he’s not wrong. The more you let yourself admit it, the more you realize how true it is: you miss Jongseong. You text once in a while, you’ve even stayed up late talking on the phone a couple of times, but you miss him, his corporeal form, having his gaze on you, having the possibility but never the courage to touch him. Every day, there’s something you want to tell him about. The cats huddling around a young neighborhood kid as he pours milk into a bowl, the clearance sale at your local library, most books for one buck only, the actor from an 90s Hong Kong film you swear has the exact same smile as him. You don’t want to bother him, so you write letters instead. Some you send, some you don’t—the ones you keep hidden in your drawer usually hint too obviously at your feelings for him. Some of them don’t just hint and contain lines of your declarations: I miss you, everything I see reminds me of you, I want to check that your bruises have healed completely even though the last trace of them faded months ago. You keep these letters a secret, even from Sunoo and Kazuha, who would never let you live down such woebegone, down bad behavior.

You do it because it feels good, getting all of your feelings out on paper. You’re a romantic at heart, so you’re prone to over-exaggeration when it comes to things like these—but everything that you write remains based in truth. You’d started with a postcard of your hometown, jokingly writing, Don’t forget where you came from. How is it over there? and he’d actually replied with a postcard of his own, filling it from top to bottom. You easily went from these small postcards to multiple pages of stream-of-consciousness-like writing. You think it’s the most romantic thing you’ve ever done—although you’re not sure he feels the same way, considering he still writes to the German pen pal Ms. Schumacher had assigned him in your first year of high school. No one else’s correspondence had lasted more than four months because she’d immediately forgotten to make sure you kept in touch regularly.

I ran into Jake Sim at the city library, you write one day. You’ve replied to everything in his latest letter, so you’re now catching him up on your recent adventures. He was checking out some books about Linguistics, of all things—he bought me bubble tea afterwards and told me that the injury he got last April was actually a relief. Did you know his father was a big name in soccer here? Apparently, he never wanted to be a soccer player that badly, and he wants to do Linguistics and Social Anthropology, who would’ve guessed it. He’s like Troy Bolton if High School Musical was about Humanities and not singing. Anyways, you probably don’t want me to go on and on about him, so I won’t, but we did talk about that fight you guys had back in December. He apologized for it, to you and me both, although he didn’t go into much detail — Sunoo is still the only one who’s had the balls to tell me exactly what happened, and he wasn’t even there! — and I was reticent at first, but he seemed genuine. He said he didn’t even hang out with Sunghoon or Yunjin or any of those people anymore, that it was only out of convenience really, and that he hopes starting university will be like turning over a new leaf. Well, he could be full of shit, who knows. As I sat there listening to him I wondered what it was I used to see in him. He’s nice enough, but we only spoke about him for the entire hour. He asked me no questions that weren’t “and you?” so it was a bit exhausting. 

But it got me thinking about your fight again. Reflecting on it now, I can say that it was a turning point for me in my perception of you.

You look at your words, smiling to yourself—this is one of the times where you find yourself erring from the topic at hand, instead indulging in sappiness and nostalgia. You write about how your opinion of Jongseong has changed over these months, how it wasn’t seeing him as your husband in all those years that had really shaken things up, but rather that day in the nurse’s station, the frightening colors around his eye, his attitude like it was natural that he would get hurt like this for you. You write, Have I been wrong about you this whole time? I thought you harbored the same negative feelings towards me as I had you since the moment you’d laid eyes on me, but all of a sudden, here you were, bloody, bandaged hand holding mine. Even with your busted eye, you looked like an angel next to all that white in the nurse’s station. I’ll never forget your words that day. Would you really not get hurt for anything else, Jong?

“I’m going to the Post Office for a package soon, Y/N. Are you done with your letter?” your mom calls from the staircase landing.

“Give me five minutes!” you call back.

You forage through your drawer for a new sheet of paper and re-write your letter, making sure to leave any compromising parts out and fold both letters into neat squares—one that will cross the seas and reach Jongseong, one that will live out its days in the darkness of your crowded drawer. You’ve run out of envelopes, so you go look for one in your parents’ office. Your mom calls out your name again, impatient to leave — if she sends her package off before twelve p.m., it will get to the receiver tomorrow, and she’s hell-bent on getting perfect five-star Vinted reviews — so you hurriedly put your letter in the envelope, close it, stamp it, and write Jongseong’s name and address on the back. The other letter you absent-mindedly throw in your drawer with the dozens of other letters in which you’d crossed the line.

--

A few weeks later, like an apparition, Jongseong stands before you again.

He’s tanner from months under the Washington sun, from afternoons spent at his family’s lake house, on their boat. His hair is slightly shorter and suits him even better; you don’t recognize any of the clothes he wears. He grumbles as his mother goes back-and-forth between hugging him, staring at him worriedly and reminding him to call at least twice a week while his father unpacks the trunk. “I’ll only be a thirty-minute train ride away, Mom,” he says. 

He’s still Jong.

You moved in yesterday, and you’re now waiting for your new roommate, who, after five minutes of deliberating whether she should bring a jacket or not and finally decided against it, changed her mind the minute she stepped outside. 

It’s been two months since you last saw him. Shortly after sending your letter, you’d gone to stay with Sunoo’s grandparents for a week, just a day before he was set to come back from Seattle. Amid packing and other preparations, you haven’t had time to see each other. Is it okay if I respond to your letter in person? I think I’ll be too busy these two coming weeks, he texted you. You replied that it wasn’t a problem, you told him which dorm you’d been assigned and found out his was the one next door.

When he notices you staring, he does a double-take. You wave at him, and even from this distance, you see the blush that creeps up his neck and takes over his face as he shyly waves back. You’ve never seen him like this—he’s always been either arrogant or friendly, never… flustered. He makes a motion as if to say, I’ll text you, and heads inside the building with his parents and all of his luggage.  

Indeed, he texts you some hours later while you’re sharing a piece of strawberry and matcha cake with your roommate Liz, whom you find out is half-German—Jongseong and your dad would probably love her for that simple fact. Some of the first things she’d asked you were what your astrological signs were and whether you wanted her to pull tarot cards for you when she was all done setting up her side of the room. Between that and her dyed blonde hair, you’d felt comfortable telling her all about Jongseong, the well and your dream. Unlike your skeptical and sarcastic friends, she’d nodded along to your every word, a serious expression on her face. “A sign from the universe,” she’d called it, and she gasped in excitement when his name appeared on your screen.

He sends you a link to a freshers’ week event, some potted plant sale happening on the main campus square, and asks if you’re free to go with him tomorrow. I need something to liven up that depressing room, he writes.

So that’s how you find yourselves among green plants of all shapes and sizes, searching for one that’s both low-maintenance and appealing to the eye. You’re glad that you have something to actually do—if you were just sitting at a café and having a conversation, you’re not sure you’d be able to stand the awkwardness. You’d chalked up his behavior on the day of his move-in to nerves, or to surprise upon seeing you so unexpectedly. But apparently, it wasn’t a one-time thing. He keeps clearing his throat as if he were sick with some cold, won’t look into your eyes for more than split seconds at a time, and in complete opposition to his usual confident, deliberate speech, talks in a quick and disorderly manner. And he’s either really caught a cold, or his ears have just permanently turned red. You ask him if something’s wrong a couple times, but he violently shakes his head, says, “No, what could be wrong?” then looks at you as if you might tell him what’s wrong.

When you’re alone again, you wonder what on earth could have happened over the summer that could make him change his behavior with you so radically. Did something happen in Seattle? Maybe he met someone there and doesn’t know how to tell you. Maybe you went overboard with your letters, he doesn’t want to be friends anymore, he wants to let you down easy but doesn’t know how to tell you. Or maybe—maybe you got impossibly pretty during those two months, and absence does make the heart grow fonder, as they say, and every thought you have about him, he has about you, but he doesn’t know how to tell you.

In any case, he’s hiding something.

The theory that he might want to stop being friends soon falls flat—the invitations to other freshers’ events keep coming, be it free wine & pizza taster sessions from the Wine Society, karaoke nights with the Taylor Swift Society or a shark movie marathon with the Bad Film Society, and he never turns you down when you tell him there’s something you want to visit in this new city of yours, even when the thing you want to visit in question is a bakery you have to queue in front of at seven a.m. if you want to get a pain au chocolat. In your defense, they turn out to be the best ones you and Jongseong have ever tried—although, to be fair, neither of you has been to France.

Things progressively return to normal. He’s able to make eye contact for more than three seconds again, he listens carefully and laughs along when you tell him about your week by the sea with Sunoo, he fills you in on what Heeseung’s been up to. One thing remains different, however—when you throw quips at him, he usually would’ve delighted in coming up with a better, wittier response, but now, he’ll roll his eyes at best, look at you amusedly and stay silent at worst. “Won’t you even entertain me?” you ask him once, to which he replies that you’re doing a good job entertaining yourself as is. 

Instead, he becomes more earnest. As per usual you badger him with questions like Aren’t I so pretty right now? or Isn’t my outfit so cute today? to get a reaction out of him, and if during your high school days he’d either fake a puking sound or look you up and down and grumble I guess, he now smiles and simply says Yes, you are, Yes, it is. It seems impossible to keep track of his attitude: one day, he’s one thing, the next, he’s another person entirely. 

It annoys you. You take his changing demeanor to mean that now that he’s a college student, he won’t indulge in your childish squabbles anymore, as though he was above all of that now, when just three months ago he was stalking your parents’ Facebooks to find unfavorable photos of you from when you were thirteen and using them as reaction pictures in your friends’ group chat. You think of your graduation day, of the box he’d given you, all done up in wrapper paper and a bow—he had filled it with every eraser he’d stolen from you over the years, he’d even gone so far as to date every single one of them, from the second of October freshman year to the twenty-eighth of November of your senior year. You didn’t count them, but there had to be at least a hundred. At the time, you’d just thought it was funny—but what if the gesture had meant something deeper than you’d realized? What if he was marking the end of something with that box? No more playing around, we’re adults now. But classes have barely started, you don’t know your way to the off-campus library, you aren’t a different person to who you were just weeks or even months earlier. Why is he acting like he is? You look at him, and you see the boy whose fault it was you had to buy a new eraser every week—who knows how many books you could’ve bought with that money. But when he turns to look at you, too, and your eyes meet, you’re suddenly assailed with the memories of that night, the kind eyes, the soft smile. 

Does his future capacity to love me already exist in his heart?

Your heartbeat speeds up and you have to look away.

--

From your letters, it seems to be much hotter back home than in Seattle—you talk of sunburns, of afternoons spent inside with the fan on maximum speed, of ice melting instantly and watering down your Coke Zeros, whereas Jay can walk around the city pleasantly and needs to bring a jacket if he’ll be out until late after sundown. And yet, as he reads your latest letter, his skin prickles feverishly, from the top of his head to the tip of his toes. He’d excitedly torn the envelope open the second it arrived in the mail, heart thumping as he counted the pages, at least three more than usual — he was always happy that you wanted to talk to him at all, so the fact that you had this much to tell him sent him over the moon — but he would have never expected what was awaiting him inside.

With a smile on his face, he read your replies to the questions he’d asked you last time, your reactions to everything he told you about, the live Mariners game, the lake house, the rides on the boat. He imagined you as you sat at your desk in your room he’d only seen once, when you’d held a small party for your birthday and he, having arrived first, was honored with a tour of your house. He imagined your smile, the way you played with your hair when you focused on something, wondered whether you pondered every word before you wrote it down as he did or whether you poured your thoughts out onto the page without hesitation. His smile faltered when Jake Sim’s name appeared in your neat handwriting, but he was relieved to find out your description of him now was miles away from the one at the start of the school year. 

Then you start writing about him. Him, Park Jongseong, and your words startle him so much, it’s like he’d forgotten he was the recipient of this letter in the first place.

But it got me thinking about your fight again. Reflecting on it now, I can say that it was a turning point for me in my perception of you. 

He’s been lying comfortably in his bed, but he sits up the moment his eyes take in these words. If there is one topic the two of you have practically never broached, it’s this exactly: your relationship, the changes it’s gone through this past year. Except for a few mentions made in jest here and there, you’ve always conveniently ignored the fact that not so long ago, you were at each other’s throats. At least, you were at his throat, and Jay let you be, let you think the hatred went both ways, when in reality all he wanted was to keep you close one way or another. To him, anything was better than indifference.

But here you are, writing about how you feel about him, not in hints, not in jokes, but actually telling him black and white what goes through your head when you think of him—in other words, everything he’s been dying to know ever since he met you and especially ever since you started warming up to him a few months ago.

I have never told you about that night because I know it’ll just be more fodder for you to endlessly tease me, and I haven’t even mentioned it in these letters that I write and don’t send. Sometimes I debate the ethics of it—if I know something about our futures, isn’t it right that you know, too? But then again, I still hesitate whether what happened was real or not. As with anything, the more time passes, the more I forget about it. What kind of cheese you’d put on the pasta, the movie that played in the background, whether the stairs were carpeted or wooded—these details have evaded me by now. All I clearly remember is your face and how I felt, seeing it then, seeing it the next day at school, ten years younger, the same exact person in what felt like a different universe. As much as I tried to deny it, I know now that it was no coincidence—I was talking about it with Sunoo and he said that sometimes, we want something so badly, we conjure it up for ourselves. He’s not always a dimwit. And he’s right, the kind of love I felt from you in that dream — or not-dream — I’ve yearned for it ever since I first watched Pride & Prejudice, the 2005 film to be precise, when I was ten. But with you? That was what I couldn’t believe at first. I don’t think I need to explain why—you were there, I think you knew how I felt about you for over three years, it’s not like I tried to hide it.

Then you turned up and the sight of you was enough to bring back all the feelings from that dream. You must’ve wondered why my behavior with you switched so suddenly—well, a glimpse into marital bliss is sometimes enough for a girl to make some changes in her life. Yet I valiantly tried to convince myself that any flutter of my heart around you was due to this stupid dream, to a version of you my brain had conjured up because it was starved for affection, and you happened to be at the forefront of my mind, even if not for the right reasons. But it was no use. I had entertained the possibility that this future was really mine, and I couldn’t go back to seeing you as the boy who annoyed the living daylights out of me.

But Jong, if you weren’t you, I would’ve been confused for a week and then I would’ve gotten over it. I stayed confused for a while, and everything you did only served to confuse me further. I started to notice you more, to see you for who you were and not for the idea I had constructed of you in my head, I stopped taking note of only the things that reinforced this idea. And that changed everything.

Let’s get it out of the way: as much as I hate to admit it because it proves you right, I saw that you are indeed devastatingly handsome. It devastates me every time I have to look at that stupid, wonderful face of yours. And if aging is something you’re worried about, don’t be. I’ve seen you at 28, and let’s just say that your jaw somehow only gets more chiseled. I’ve realized that you don’t just participate in class to be a prick — except for when you contradict me in Literature, I know you only do that to piss me off, and yes, it works — but that you actually care about what we learn and that you don’t want the teacher to feel like they’re talking to a classroom full of students made out of bricks. I’ve also realized that you didn’t specifically pick German to be the one subject where you must beat me at all costs, you just actually really like German, even if I’m still undetermined as to why. And I can finally admit to myself—you are funny. Sometimes. There were so many times I had to stop myself from laughing at one of your idiotic puns because I could not bear to give you the satisfaction. That feeling when the worst person you know makes a funny joke, and all that. And as much as I’ve mocked you for it, I do actually like your laugh. I like that you’re only loud when you laugh, or sneeze, or get excited over something. You don’t scream, you don’t get angry, and I think that’s a lot for a boy fresh out of puberty. Or for any boy, really. 

But above all, you’re kind, Jong. I think it’s the best thing about you. I think it’s the best thing anyone can be. I see it in your patience with Heeseung when he starts one of his rants better reserved for Reddit than real life, I see it in the way you took Sunoo and Kazuha in stride, even though they’re a bit rough around the edges sometimes, I see it in the way you guide the freshmen at the start of every year, when all anyone does is complain about them, I see it in the gentleness with which you let down the girls who confess to you, even the more persistent ones. I used to think they were crazy, but I understand them more than ever now. I also used to think that all those kindnesses meant that the ones you occasionally showed me meant nothing more than that—occasional kindnesses. You were just a nice guy, occasionally so to me. But you sort of ratted yourself out when you gave me those twenty chocolates for Valentine’s.

Or, really, what made things clearer was that fight in December. I guess I was wrong—you do get angry. I remember a thought I had at the time: just when I think I know you, you do something to shake it all up. You punched two of the star soccer players of our school in the face because they said some mean, unimportant things about me. Thinking about it now, I still don’t understand it. Was it another one of your acts of kindness? 

And then I thought of those other times you helped me out. Do you remember them—the art project, the handwritten notes after my grandma passed away, you tearing Park Sunghoon a new one in the girls’ bathroom. I’m sure there are many more that I’ve dismissed simply because I did not want to see you in any other light than the one I’d decided to shine on you. 

Maybe I’m rewriting the past here, but I’ve been thinking about something lately. The theme today seems to be honesty, so I’ll lay myself bare and tell you something I haven’t told anyone yet, not even myself. The more I write, the more I become aware of its truth. I like you, Jong. I think I have for a long time, longer than either of us thinks. Maybe that’s why I kept buying erasers.

I don’t have the best memory — I suspect iron deficiency, it runs in my mom’s side of the family — but I do remember this. The first time I saw you. I haven’t noticed your face changing in real time, but I’m sure I’d laugh at how much of a baby you looked back then. Although I didn’t fare much better, I’m sure. Well, you’re the one that has all these embarrassing pictures of me, you freak, so I’m sure you could tell me. Moving on… 

I found you really cute. You were chatting to the person next to you, maybe it was Heeseung, I didn’t look properly—I only looked at you. Don’t laugh at me. It was the first day of high school, there was a nervous energy in the air, but you seemed happy to be there. You know I don’t have hordes of friends like you do, I don’t walk through life with people naturally gravitating towards me. I’m okay with it now, but it was something I struggled with back then. Kazuha, Sunoo and I have had each other since our elementary days, and I never needed more than that—but fifteen is the prime age for comparison, and as the weeks passed and we got used to being high schoolers, I listened to everyone sing your praises, I watched as you talked with all of our classmates, even our teachers, like you were old friends. But we sat next to each other in a couple of classes, and you wouldn't talk to me outside of partnered work. I, who wanted to be easily charmed by you like everyone else was, who thought maybe you’d help me come out of my shell. But it felt like sitting next to me was torture to you, like the boy whom I watched speak with ease to everyone else disappeared when I was around. And so — and I’m not proud of this — every smart remark in class, every joke that had the entire class roaring, every high five you gave out in the hallway, I started to despise them. And by association, I started to despise you. After that, it was easy to find fault in everything you did, my contempt was only enhanced by everyone’s admiration. But I’m not alone here. It went both ways, didn’t it? I don’t think you liked that I didn’t like you and openly showed it, so used to being everyone’s favorite person you were. I remember how you showily tried to be nice to me after that, maybe you just wanted another friend, but I didn’t let you. I don’t blame us for how we acted, only for taking so long to get our heads out of our asses.

(I have to say, I also have a thing for hating people. Remind me to tell you about Na Jaemin and Shin Ryujin one of these days.)

Anyways, I think it’s because I had liked you so much at first that I could then seemingly hate you so much. But I never hated you, Jong, not really. I’m sorry if I gave you that impression. Can I take it all back now? 

Now that we’re entering university soon, I can’t help but look back on high school. This is what I want to know, but I’m not sure I’ll ever have the courage to ask you, because if your answer is the one I suspect, I don’t know how I’ll handle all the regret in my heart.

Have I been wrong about you this whole time? I thought you harbored the same negative feelings towards me as I had you since the moment you’d laid eyes on me, but all of a sudden, here you were, bloody, bandaged hand holding mine. Even with your busted eye, you looked like an angel next to all that white in the nurse’s station. I’ll never forget your words that day. Would you really not get hurt for anything else, Jong?

Your letter abruptly ends here, no concluding remarks, no wishing him a fun time in Seattle and looking forward to his next letter, no sign-off. It was as if someone cut you off before you could say everything you wanted, but then why send him this seemingly unfinished letter? It is all the more bizarre since your letters are usually meticulous: you write on every other line, it looks like you take your time with every single letter, the only disturbance in your otherwise perfect handwriting is your going back-and-forth between cursive and script s’s. But this particular letter looks rushed, your lines are sloppy, some words need to be read a few times over to be understood. What kind of state had you been in, writing these words? Jay’s heart swells, thinking that you were as moved writing as he was reading. He even looks through your letter again, wishing to find a tear stain somewhere, but there are none. Maybe he’s been watching too many of these romantic period dramas you always go on about.

He has to pace his room when he’s done reading your letter, but he feels trapped inside these four walls, so he dashes outside, saying that he’s getting some air when his relatives ask him where he’s off to in such a rush, and walks around the block five times. When he’s back in his room, he rereads your letter, eyes taking in each and every word slowly and carefully, making sure he doesn’t misread anything.

You like him. You, Y/N, like him, Jongseong, it’s a fact, it’s real, you said so yourself, you went into quite some detail about it, he can’t believe it, but it’s real, it’s written right there on the page, if anyone dares tell him he’s fooling himself, he can prove them wrong, you’re the one who said it.

The smile doesn’t leave his lips for the rest of the day, he can barely eat, he’s already full of happiness. He reads your words over and over before falling asleep, committing them to memory, dreaming about them, about you.

You. How should he respond to this? Are you even expecting a response? You seem to know he’s not impartial to you, either, although that’s an understatement. 

In the following days, the thought that you hadn’t meant to send him this letter nags at him. The abrupt ending, the absence of your usual Love, Y/N. The fact that this had come out of left field—none of your previous letters had even a romantic undertone, no matter how he tried in his own to hint at his missing you, the most reference to seeing each other again you would give him was It’ll be better to show you this in real life. The act of sending letters itself didn’t feel very platonic, but you never went there, so he didn’t, either. He had secretly yearned to have you this close all these years, he would never forgive himself if he ended up chasing you away now with his over-eagerness.

You had landed on something very real in your letter: I don’t think you liked that I didn’t like you and openly showed it, so used to being everyone’s favorite person you were. I remember how you showily tried to be nice to me after that, maybe you just wanted another friend, but I didn’t let you. He cursed his fifteen-year-old self, that idiot who couldn’t even speak to a girl no matter how much he wanted to, just because she was so pretty, he was afraid of saying something stupid and messing it up before it even had a chance to start.

On days when you’d had particularly nasty or petty arguments — it could get pretty bad, at the start, before you both started maturing and realized how ridiculous you were, especially with your classmates telling you to keep it classy — he’d stay up all night, wondering why you hated him so much in the first place, what on Earth he could’ve done to warrant such vitriol. Now, finally, he knew, and he could only resent the fact that no one had invented time machines yet, so he could nip his useless ego in the bud; so he could tell younger Jay not to take it personally, that you had your reasons for disliking him, that even if you hadn’t, the world won’t end if someone doesn’t like him like everyone usually does. 

Because, he hates to admit, that was what had done it for Jay. He couldn’t stand that someone — not just someone, but one of the prettiest girls he’d ever seen, a girl he’d been hyping himself up to talk to every day, but never found the courage to — didn’t immediately fall for his charms. And not just that, but even showed just how much she disliked him. You looked him up-and-down with disdain, made disgusted faces at his jokes, rolled your eyes when he spoke up in class. It made him burn with anger, but he also weirdly enjoyed it—at least, you were paying attention to him. So, he amped it up. Talked louder, laughed louder, hovered around you. He even stole your erasers, wrote the date on which he’d taken them, kept them in a box on his desk that he looked at every time he studied at home. He aimed to beat you in every class you shared, even though neither of you cared that much about grades—the annoyed look on your face when he boasted about the two points he’d gotten over you was enough satisfaction.

All in all, he behaved like a child, and you reciprocated in like.

Until you didn’t.

It was a random Tuesday when something in your attitude towards him shifted. It wasn’t a complete 180, but he noticed everything about you, so even a slight change of your tone was obvious to him. You started using your nickname for him more often than his full name—he never told you, but of course he loved that you didn’t call him Jay like everyone else, that you had your own way of addressing him. It was a sign to him that the two of you had something special, even if it was on the opposite end of the spectrum of what he wanted with you.

He again spent sleepless nights wondering what had caused this change: was it something he had done, or something within you? It was a welcome change, that much was sure, but he was initially too confused to take it in stride. He’d long made peace with the fact that he’d never have you the way he really wanted, so he was fine with whatever this was—but now, you were changing, your interactions were tinged with something like shyness, the distance between you felt greater than ever. He tried to keep up his smart-ass appearances around you, but you only indulged in your old habits once in a while, as though you had grown tired of arguing with him, even of giving him the time of day.

So he resolved himself to adapting his behavior to yours. If you stared at him intently like his face was a puzzle you were trying to solve, he let you, rested his head on his palm and smiled as he stared back at you. Finally, he had an excuse to look at you without you threatening to punch him or saying a picture would last longer. He knew they did, he’d had to resort to scrolling through Sunoo’s and Kazuha’s Instagrams to find any photos of you. Yours was private and at the time, you would’ve probably cursed him out if he’d sent a follow request. If you seemed too annoyed or upset over something, he’d leave you alone, he’d do something nice to let you know you didn’t need to have your guards up at all times around him. If you seemed to silently call for a truce of hostilities, he easily complied.

Then, after a few weeks, your petty arguments resumed, but those too were different—if before they felt filled with real disdain and irritation, they now seemed to be a comfortable habit to fall back on, almost like a fun hobby. Those, too, Jay readily welcomed.

And so things changed in a direction Jay had never thought would one day be possible. You gave him no explanations, nor did he ask for any, and soon he stopped losing sleep over the why’s and the how’s and simply let himself enjoy the fact that you now had the semblance of a friendship, that he could compliment you and pass it off as amical teasing, that he could learn things about you like what you spent your weekends doing, what your relationship with your family was like, whether you were a dog or cat person, whether you wanted to visit his farm in Stardew Valley. 

Unsurprisingly, this only enhanced his already pathetically strong feelings for you. He worried over how to make sure this wasn’t some sort of 30-day friendship trial you had wanted to test out. He reveled in the fact that his top university of choice was the one you had already been accepted to. He now knew what it felt like to have you smile at him, smile because of him, and he never wanted again to live in a world where this was not a daily occurrence. 

He now sort of has an answer—your letter doesn’t make it very clear, it makes him think again that you really had not meant to send it, but you seem to have had a dream. A dream of him, 28-year-old him, to be precise, of your life together—he’s not sure. At this point in time, he doesn’t care much, either. Whether it was a dream or a real vision of the future that you had, all that matters is that it allowed you to see him in a new light, a light which he had hoped for years would one day appear to you, and it had changed things. And now, you liked him.

You said so yourself.

He’s at a loss for words. He can’t concentrate for long enough to put all his thoughts in order, he can’t make himself calm down and write his feelings down. He has to pack to go home, once he’s home, he’ll have to pack for university. But it’s only two weeks from now to the day you meet again, and it’ll be better to say what he wants to say in person, anyway.

Is it okay if I respond to your letter in person? I think I’ll be too busy these two coming weeks, he texts you.

And then those two weeks pass like two seconds and you’re there, a few meters away from him. All the speeches he’d prepared in his head, from grand declarations of love to laid-back admittances of Yeah, I like you too, you’re cool, I guess, they all vanish from his head. For fourteen days he’s been going through scenarios upon scenarios of your reunion, what you’d look like, what he’d say, how you’d react. But now that he can actually see you, now that he would just have to walk a few steps if he wanted to touch you, hug you, kiss you — hoping that was something you wanted to do — he freezes. He forgets how his body works, the part in his brain that’s meant to manage language ability fails him. HIs mom calls him over, urging him into his new dorm building, and all he can do is wave back at you like an idiot.

When finally he musters the courage to text you, what he hopes will be the day that starts your romantic relationship turns into the day Park Jongseong realizes how much of a loser he is. For the first hour, he can’t look at you, he can’t get through a sentence without stuttering out half of his words, he runs out of things to say in record time. All he can think of is how easy it’d be to grab one of your hands, hold it in his and walk around this stupid potted plant sale as if the two of you were two halves of a whole. He doesn’t even want a potted plant, his roommate already has five, he just wanted an excuse to see you. He steals glances at you when you’re looking elsewhere, and he notices everything about you tenfold now that he can, now that caring about you doesn’t need to be in vain any longer. He tells himself that he just needs to calm down a bit, even when you have the confirmation that the person you’re about to confess to already likes you, revealing your feelings to someone is always nerve-wracking, the two of you haven’t seen in each other in a while, he’ll talk to you once his heart gets out of his throat.

But you’re acting normal. Suspiciously so. You’re acting like you never told him you liked him, like nothing has changed between you. He rereads your letter the second he gets back to his dorm. He’s not crazy, it’s written right there, I like you, Jong. I think I have for a long time, longer than either of us thinks. He knows the words by heart now, but he checks them anyway. So why are you acting like you never said anything? Had you really not meant to send that letter? Did Jay actually intrude on your private thoughts by reading words that had never meant to be seen by another soul?

You continue to behave as you usually would around him, but if he couldn’t go back to vicious bickering when things changed the first time, he can’t go back to friendly bickering now that things — for him — have changed a second time. He doesn’t even want friendly to be in your shared vocabulary anymore. 

So he stops giving in. If you make fun of him, he just stands there with an unimpressed if amused look on his face. If you pedantically correct him on something, he just nods his head and accepts it. He can tell you’re bothered by it, but he needs to show you that he doesn’t want to go on being just friends with you—he wants to compliment you without having to pass it off as teasing, he wants to stare at you with hearts in his eyes without having to look away when you catch him, he wants to spend every waking second of every day with you, he wants to hold your hand, hold you. 

He could wait for things to change slowly again, but why wait when he could help things along?

--

It’s nine p.m. on a Saturday and you’re sneaking Jongseong into your dorm. Liz is away for the weekend, gone back home to celebrate her aunt’s birthday, so you have the room to yourselves. It took some convincing to get him to come — What if we get caught coming in, What if your T.A. sees us, What if I get reported to campus police — and so when your verbal reassurances failed to work, you resorted to blinking up at him through your lashes and that did the trick.

Jongseong was in many ways unlike any other man you’d ever met; in some other ways, he was the exact same.

Plastic bag of the tteokbokki you’d asked for in hand, he looks around the deserted hallways like someone might jump out of nowhere and beat him to a pulp at any given moment. At this time of the week, everyone’s out partying or holed up in their dorms, presumably either to rest or because of a lack of friends so early on in the semester. You grab his free hand and hurry him along to the elevator—once inside, it takes you a few seconds before you realize you’re still holding it, and you retract your hand quickly while he just smiles. 

You settle yourselves on the floor—comfort is not worth getting gochujang sauce on your white sheets. You sit criss-cross in front of each other, the food between the two of you, and catch up on your first week of class in-between bites of spicy, gooey rice cakes and fish cakes. You wonder, if one day you and Jongseong are no longer friends, how long you will keep associating tteokbokki with him.

When you tell him that you and Jake share a class, Introduction to Film Studies, he gives you a look. “What’s that face for?” you ask.

“Did you guys sit next to each other?”

You chuckle. “Of course. We only knew each other in that room, it would’ve been weird not to.”

He continues to stare at you. After a while, he muses, “You’re not…?”

You halt in your tracks, rice cake at the end of your plastic fork hanging in the air, halfway between the container and your mouth. “Whatever you’re thinking, the answer is no.” Still in love with him, interested in him again, you don’t know the exact details of Jongseong’s thought process, all you know is he has nothing to worry about—if it’s something he worries about.

When a smile slowly grows on his lips and he nods, saying, “Okay, good,” you let yourself think it might be.

Later, you’re ten minutes into a senseless blockbuster movie when he suddenly pauses it. It snaps you out of a trance—his hand was awfully close to yours, so is his shoulder, his thigh, his knee, everything, really, and you haven’t been able to concentrate on anything but the warmth radiating off his skin and the intensity with which you crave to feel it intentionally rather than accidentally. When he speaks, there’s something serious in his tone that makes you nervous. “Y/N,” he says as he turns to you, and now his face is awfully close, too. There’s still many centimeters separating you, but in this tiny, barely lit-up room, he feels closer than ever before. “Do you remember when I said I’d reply to your letter in real life?”

You tilt your head. “Yeah, that was ages ago.”

“Well, I thought I’d do it now.”

“Now?”

He takes a deep, shaky breath. “Now.”

And then those safe centimeters suddenly disappear, and Jongseong’s lips are on yours. It’s a brief, chaste kiss, so quick you wonder if it even happened when he leans back again.

“I like you, too,” he says, and your heart stops.

“W-what?” is all you can say back, eyes wide like he’s just admitted to killing someone rather than reciprocating your feelings.

His confident facade quickly crumbles. “God, this was so much cooler in my head, I-I’m sorry.” He pulls something out of his sweatpants pocket, pages folded over and over into a tiny square. As he unfolds them, you recognize your paper, your handwriting—but what do your letters have anything to do with him kissing you, of all things? “I don’t think you meant to send this. But I’m glad you did.”

He hands you the pages and your eyes skim over the words, not detecting anything out of the ordinary, until—But it got me thinking about your fight again. Reflecting on it now, I can say that it was a turning point for me in my perception of you. You remember this line, because you had made sure to strike it and everything that came afterward out when you rewrote the letter that you would actually send Jongseong. So how was he giving you this? 

“I-How do you have this?” you ask, voice trembling. You feel as though your heart overflows with all kinds of emotions, and so your eyes follow, tears staining your lower lashes. 

But Jongseong is not one to let you hide things from him. “Hey, no, it’s okay,” he says, warm hands coming to cup your face. “Look at me.” You have no choice but to oblige—his gaze is somehow both soft and stern, a mix of concern and determination. “Did you mean what you wrote in here?” You nod. “Then everything’s okay. You don’t know how happy I was reading this.”

The tension in your body slowly starts to fade. “Really?”

“Really. I cherish every single word in there.”

“Really?” you repeat, and he chuckles.

“Really.”

Your heartbeat speeds up as you gaze into his eyes, as you let yourself bask in the affection and endearment you find there. You can’t quite comprehend what’s happening. The letter, the kiss, his confession, your inadvertent confession, it’s all a mess in your head; so sudden, but such a long time coming at the same time. You never imagined that things would change so quickly—less than a year ago, you thought Jongseong was the most irritating person on this planet. After meeting his 28-year-old self, you thought it’d take ages for the two of you to be on such good terms. But now, just a week into your first semester of university, belly full of tteokbokki and Sprite, you like each other enough not only to be in the same room without hurling insults at each other but to actually be smiling at each other, willingly at that.

Your eyes drift down to his lips, just like in the hallway all those months ago, and the words slip out before you can stop them. They’re a mere whisper—”Kiss me again.”

Jongseong doesn’t need to be told twice. Still cupping your face, he bridges the gap between the two of you again, and this time, when your lips meet, they don’t come apart so quickly. It’s your first kiss, and it’s nothing short of magical, better than any romance novel could’ve prepared you for. His lips are warm and soft against yours, moving slowly, gingerly; as if he’s scared to take any wrong step, he lets you control the pace, follows every tilt of your head this way and that. It’s a relief that he seems to know as little about this as you do—his hands haven’t moved from your face, yours are on his knees, all you can do is focus on the movement of your lips, to think of anything else at the same time would be overwhelming. 

“I’ve liked you from the start,” he suddenly says, face still so close you can feel his breath on your lips as he speaks. 

“Hm?” you hum, body reeling from the kiss.

“I’ve liked you from the start,” he repeats, grinning—he looks relieved, like he’s been waiting to say these words for a long time. “I can’t believe this is happening after all these years. Or at all, really.”

“I think I did, too.”

“Yeah, you mentioned that in your letter.”

Your eyes widen and you bury your face in your hands as Jongseong laughs. “You’re never going to let me live that down, are you?” you mumble.

He smooths over your hair with one hand, brings your face back up with the other. “Don’t worry. I won’t ever make you regret this.”

Your brain and heart are too all over the place for you to come up with a coherent answer, so you lean in and reconnect your lips to his. It’s already becoming your favorite sensation, feeling him smile into the kiss, threading your fingers in his soft hair.

Time passes delicately like this, the two of you on your single bed, in the sheets that you bought three weeks ago. A lot of it is spent kissing and learning how to fall into each other’s rhythm, but you also spend hours talking, comparing situations and how you’d experienced them. You thought his occasional acts of kindness were done out of guilt, evidence that he did have some morals; he was trying to show he cared about you. He thought you’d despised him from the moment you saw him; you reiterate in more detail than your letter what really happened, you say you wish you knew then what you know now. 

“But I never hated you, Jong. I think I wanted to believe that I did, but I never actually did.”

“You glared at me everytime I walked past like I killed a member of your family.”

You groan, ashamed of yourself. “I did, didn’t I?”

“You did,” he says, chuckling, placing a kiss on your forehead. His arms are around you, your head rests atop his heart—you’ve never felt more comfortable in your life. “But it’s okay. We’re here now, and I don’t want us to have any regrets about high school. We had a good time, didn’t we?”

You tilt your head up to look at him. “I’m sure you did, stealing all my erasers.”

He lets out a hearty laugh. Clearly, he’s very proud of his feat. “Hey, I gave all of them back.”

“And what am I going to do with a hundred erasers, Jong?” you ask, laughing too, pecking his cheek aggressively—your way of punishing him for a grave deed.

“Keep them as a token of my love for you,” he says, and your breath falters at the mention of that word. “In fifty years, it’ll be a sign that I’ve liked you since the beginning, I just had a funny way of showing it.”

“Fifty years, huh?”

He grins. “Fifty, a hundred, whatever. You’re not getting rid of me.”

“I wasn’t planning to.”

You’re both smiling so wide, you can barely manage a kiss. He trails kisses from your lips to your ear. Holding you close, he whispers, “It’s always been you, Y/N. Always and only you.”

There may be thorns on the otherwise immaculate rose that is your life, but Park Jongseong was never one of them—all along, he was a bud waiting to bloom.

--

The more time passes, the more you wonder whether that night you had seen in your vision will ever come. There’s been evenings similar to it—crashing the minute you came home from a long day on set, telling yourself you’d take a fifteen-minute power nap only to wake up three hours later and coming downstairs to find your husband cooking dinner, cleaning the kitchen, taking care of your son or simply watching TV, but waiting for you, always waiting for you. He seems as happy now watching you come down the stairs as he was then finding your face among all the students flocking out of lecture halls. 

The details are blurry now, but many small things seem to be different from what you’d seen. He still tries to recreate your favorite meal, but it’s not pasta all'arrabbiata, it’s laksa, because your first date as an official couple was to a Malaysian restaurant, not an Italian one. He’s still the best father you know, but you have one son, not twin girls—although that offer to “give him a younger sibling to play with” is always on the table. Even the house you live in is different from the one in your dream, which has now become nothing more than a funny anecdote you share with people when they ask you the story of how you and Jongseong met.

You think of Sunoo’s words from all those years ago: Sometimes, we want something so badly, we conjure it up for ourselves. Had 18-year-old you been in such denial over her feelings for Jongseong that she’d had to convince herself a magical well had bestowed a crazy dream upon her to admit that, yes, there was something there, something other than childish hatred?

It doesn’t matter anymore. Months pass without you thinking about that well, anyway. 

Tonight, you come home late from work after having had to do last-minute changes to the script for your current project, a movie that starts shooting in a few days. Jongseong texted you that he was going to bed an hour or so again, so you’re greeted by a plate of japchae covered in film paper. The post-it note stuck to it reads, I’m afraid of the repercussions of too much curry consumption on our son, so no laksa tonight my love. Hope you like it. Come to bed quick. You were starving a second ago, but you decide food can wait—other things can’t.

You tiptoe up the stairs and into your son’s room, breathing in the scent of his hair and placing a kiss there. His hair is still worryingly sparse, but if he’s anything like his dad, it’ll come in a bit later than the other kids. You always thought babies with a full head of hair were freaky, anyway. He doesn’t budge a bit, sleeping like a log—his dad is another story, shuffling in bed the moment you step into your shared bedroom. He opens his arms wide, a silent invitation.

“You’re home,” he says as you attach yourself to his body, your leg hiked up over his, your face buried in the crook of his neck, your thumb caressing the start of stubble on his cheeks.

You smile. “I am.”

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[hyunjinsbelovedamericano]

Sleepy time with bf! skz

------------------------------------୨୧

Tysm for the request! I have wrote something like this before but I have way more ideas

Fluff ofc, implied fem reader on Felix's part

---------------------------

Bangchan

Winter times is the time where you and bangchans sleeping schedule drop,4am is the new 20:00pm! Even though you have to wake up 3 hours early tomorrow it doesn't stop you from staying up late

Youd end up scrolling on Amazon looking up things that you wanted, Chan knew that you were a shopaholic your basket was FLOODED with items

"baby,you can't keep adding items to your basket like that"

"What why"

"You don't have that much money"

"Yeah but you do"

Chan sighed knowing he couldn't say anything back to this,he always wanted to shower you with gifts he should expect your basket to overflowed like that.

He didn't wanna keep you up too long though,so he cradled you to sleep like you were a baby,your knees would be up to chin and you would be laying on your side,Chan would put him arms around your waist his warm hands relieving any type of pain your stomach was having

Lee know

Lee know would 100% loveeee to cuddle with you and his cats, it's like free melatonin.Soongie would be in between the both of you, purring from the head scratches.

If you're struggling to sleep, say no more, Soongie, Doongie,Dori and Minho are to the rescue!It's like sleeping on clouds, it's comfy cosy and it has Lee know. What more could you want? Right before going to sleep Lee know would help you prepare for bed, if you weren't having such a good day he would help you with your skincare, make sure you have fresh pjs you just have to go to sleep stress free.

He would be a bit confused though, I don't think he would have the best knowledge on how these face masks work

"No,lino-you,you have to-wait"

The face mask would end up all over your face, even going in your mouth once

From now on you know to sheet face masks preventing anything bad happening in the future

Changbin

Changbin always had energy so it would be harder to fall asleep with him,he's constantly so giggly and silly but it's hard to hate him because.. It's changbin

You had a very big collection of plushies which changbin found very cute, before you even started dating you forced him to memorise the plushies names. You had them piled up on the side of the bed and made him name the plushies you picked up.

"Whats his name?"

"That's a he? I thought it was a she-"

You would get frustrated with him not being able to remember ANY of them, you taught him this!

"Changbin! You know this"

"I kinda don't though"

You sigh heavily and plop down on the bed beside him,

"I was too busy looking at your pretty face"

He would try to cheer you up with being a flirt, it wasn't gonna be that easy though. He would have to smother your face is kisses and cuddle you trying to get you to relax, once he noticed that you started getting sleepy he would lay his head on his chest playing with your hair,falling asleep with you

Hyunjin

Hyunjin would treat you like a princess, he wants to make sure you enjoy every bit of your rest,you guys would be snuggled up in a heated blanket he got you for your birthday, this time of the month is the coldest and he definitely doesn't want you to get sick

If you had trouble sleeping he would sing you to sleep,play with your hair until you fall asleep. Anything that makes you feel at ease

When you wake up kkami would be there in between the both of you,how did he even get here? Whatever he's here now and that's all that matters

You guys would have debates on who has to switch off the light

"Hyunjin I'm already in bed"

"So am i"

"Yeah, but, I got here first"

"I don't wanna get up tho"

"Neither do I!"

You would end up forcing him to do it 🤷‍♀️

Han

Omg han would snore so loud,your trying to get some peaceful rest and all of a sudden you hear this agitating grating sound, turns out it han! And he's snoring

You expressed to him how loud and annoying he can be when he's asleep, to this he just acts oblivious and clueless

"What dym I snore? No I don't"

"Are you certain?."

But when he doesn't snore you guys would be pulling all-nighters knowing you have to wake up early the next day

Binge watching your fav k-dramas, one more episode wouldn't hurt right?

I honestly see han being a drooler, he sleeps with his mouth open most of the time which causes drool to fall down the side of his mouth, ew

Felix

He would ramble to the extreme, like daymn don't you ever run out of words to say?

Yk those clips of him where he just says the most stupidest things to ever exist, yeah he's gonna dump them on you

"Yk how Australia is two or three hours ahead of Korea,if you think about it when I go from Sydney to Korea... I'm basically time traveling"

"Felix go to sleep"

All he does is talk honestly,yappa yappa yappa

He would talk until you fall asleep, when he's not talking about stupid shit, he would be talking about your future

Like your wedding day, how many kids you wanna have

"We should have 5 kids"

"NOO"

"Why not?"

"If ur birthing the kids then sure"

Seungmin

You and seungmin would 100% pillow flight, even if you're not awake he'd hit you with a pillow

If you have to get up early and you're not waking up he's just hit you with the nearest pillow he can find

"Honey wake up"

"Honey get your ass up"

".... Okay then"

All of a sudden you'd wake up from being brutally attacked by a pillow, how rude of him

"Seungmin, ow-what are you doing?!"

"I told you to wake up"

What a menace

Jeongin

I lowkey think jeongin would sleep walk, just for lil bit yk😋

You would wake up in the middle of the night and turn to side to see no jeongin, where did he go?

Just as you were about to get up to look for him you heard a creak from the door, you turned to see jeongin leaning his head against the door

Obviously you were confused like,what when how why

You rushed to him and tapped him on the shoulder gently not wanting to alarm him

"Jeongin wtf"

This seemed to awake his from... Whatever and he snapped back into reality

"How did I get here?"

"I don't know you tell me"

--------------------------------------

[strxbrymochi]

i know im quite late but this has been stuck in my head and i need to get it out so here are my 12am impulse thoughts,,,

how i imagine nct dream would be on valentine's day;

note: this is just the vibes i get from seeing them and 100% based on my delusional imagination

mark;

i am extra delulu for this man rn its so bad

i feel like he would be such a wholesome valentine date

straight up imagined some sort of serenading going on bc hello guitar skills?? and his voice??

i'd imagine he'd gift you some sort of designer thing (just cause i think he's the type to spoil u for special occasions bc ur his girl yk screams)

i think good food = good talks = just enjoying each other's company; type of guy i genuinely feel like you can have hour hour hours long convos and not get bored

lots of laughs bc hearing his laugh >>>

feel more home date vibes where you take out your fave foods and just jam out love songs in pjs but i can also see late night walks or going to some lowkey resto so yalls dont get spotted

renjun;

this guy is for real a deep down romantic aint no way with that face and attitude have you seen how he speaks to some of the dreamies??

defs would serenade u if u ask him to (imagine him shy at first but giving it his all aww)

hands down will gift u something he custom made i do not doubt this given he made custom hoodies for the rest of dream but yours defo will be extra special and made with care <3

can imagine some sort of art date or a quiet night for the two of yalls, him spoiling u a bit cause valentines is extra reason to do so

honestly if i was on a date w him i'd just stare at him ... oops

i think u guys should do the "draw each other" trend as a gift and ur drawing of him looks horrendous (bc u are not as gifted in the arts-- if you are good for u) while his of you looks majestic but he keeps it anyways bc u made it (hearing his beautiful laugh makes it worth ut too anyways)

jeno;

ok look i think jeno's v acts of service-y

wouldn't question if he attempts to cook for you or do things for you a lot more often on valentines to show his love for u (wake up to meals and a clean house yessir-- only for today tho GAHAHAHAHA)

another one i think would spoil you with designer stuff and just imagine the little cute smile on his face when he watched you open the gifts cause he's out here looking at u w pure genuine love (must be nice)

my man's a gamer would probs challenge u to a game or two before heading out

ice cream !!!!!! i have seen 2 vlogs w him looking for and eating ice cream i think you guys will defs have an ice cream taster or smtg (he's so me!!)

idk bro i love jeno any boyfriend fantasy i have in my dreams is played out by him. TT

haechan;

nah yea atp they'd all spoil you (pls dream is full of loving green forest men)

i can imagine deep talks about your future together like wouldnt be surprised if mans doesnt just propose to you alr thats how much he loves you

clingy clingy boy and he is not afraid to show you and let you know how much he loves u !

would hands down take you to the BEST restos and yalls would have insanely good food

can see some karaoke or bowling or idk just an activity yalls can do together before going home for a quiet night of the talks and just enjoying each other's presence

where do i find one genuine question

jaemin;

royalty treatment all the way

breakfast in bed: check with four course meal, flowers: check, gifts: check, chore-free house: check say less

i feel like jaemin is a very big words of affirmation guy so he will not stop complimenting you or saying he loves you

takes a lot of pictures of you too

yk also i think he'd actually send his mom flowers for valentine's day too

staring at you for hours with that stupid cute grin of his, eyes full of adoration

would have all your wants and preferences memorised hes so attentive you actually dont need to worry or do anything all day (just appreciate it bc u deserve him and his love!!!)

chenle;

(there were like no chenle gifs wtf)

PRESIDENT ZHONG CHENLE!!!!! money moves fr name what u want and u got it, spoiled level 1000 on valentine's day

if he could go around freely i think he's the type to take you to fancy ass restaurants like those rich hotel ones (but like if not that's ok he'll spoil you through other means)

he's a menace sometimes i think he'd joke around and try to get on your nerves a bit for fun like imagine him rocking up and being like what day is it today? oh it's valentine's? what's that idk what that is. was i meant to do smtg for u? (him and haechan fr would be the type to tease u so bad) all that just for laughs i can alr imagine the look on his face

as sweet as he is i think at one point he'd either make you do smtg so stupid w him or get a random ass matching present just for the lols (he rlly doesn't gaf he's so real and u love him for it)

jisung;

my sweet sweet child (we're like the same age)

i feel like he'd be so babie trying to prep everything and making sure everything is perfect for u awwwie

tries to act all tough and cool but melts on the inside, compliment him once he shows that smile of his and he's down forever

would be the type to get advice from his hyungs on what to do but be so shy when asked (sksks hes adorable pls)

i feel like he would make you a custom gift like something you can take w u always but also get u something expensive idk unless ur not into that stuff GAHAHA

IMAGINE he tries cooking for u but oblivious kiddo ended up burning it but its ok he tried, yalls got takeout instead

OK ALSO think him trying to teach u how to dance that'd be so cute or yalls can end it w a movie just in each other's presence and u fall asleep next to each other on the couch (BYE SO CUTE IM DED)

ok that's it im done i need to sleep good night (stay delulu besties <3)

[deesseshesca]

PAC What lesson is this situationship trying to slide into my DMs? (18+)

You are stuck giving all that you got ...

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PILE 1 

Y’all are POC. 

You use your love to destroy. Stop talking with me by using bad poetry. Enough is enough. Y’all should stick to math. Not everyone that loves Lana Del Rey is meant to be a big writer. Some are meant to be engineer and is ok pile 1. Your guys are gashlighter, manipulators, whore but never broke. Y’all will use love to eat something. I feel like y’all just get in a relationship to get free food. I just got a vision of somebody in their pj in their bed choosing from their roaster who is going to have the pleasure to pay for their food. Some of y’all are staying with your cheater of a partner because they always offer amazing gifts when they feel guilty. Designer bad, baecation and concert ticket. Y’all may be in a relationship and you still fucking on your boy bff. I just heard y’all say ‘’ You always need to keep an eater close (wink)’’. You felt so safe to share that with me … Anyways Pile 1 … stop being a red flag. (Hum .. hum before y’all retirer can u show me how ? (my spirit guys looking at me) What ? You would do it 2 for a check …) 

2. You need to stop being dumb. Y’all need to be more careful. You're out there with a restaurant name in your contact, you don’t delete text and nudes. When your partner finds out you stay defensive when you are caught on 4k. I just got a vision of your sex tape and we can see you clearly, giggle and  shit. Not y’all in your Kim K era. Babe you're not Future and a tower moment is coming your way. Yes. you will pay for all the heartbreak you did. So enjoy because what’s about to hit is inevitable. C’mon you did not think this playing around is going to last forever. 

What's their love language according to the cards – text, treats, or trauma bonding?

Text

The person you are currently messing with, they love to keep up with you. They love to text you throughout the day the most basic things. They love to send you memes, tiktoks, reels. Y’all may even still be doing Streaks. They love taking pictures of you without you knowing it. They love your face when you are focused on a task or doing your homework. They love sending you money. Unlike Pile 2, your person loves when you are asking them instead of them giving it to you. Is like they love to feel and hear in some shape way or form that they are needed in your life. Almost like they are in competition with other suitors and they think that they are winning. 

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PILE 2

I’m getting a very sinister vibe from y’all. Y’all are maybe worshipers of Lucifer or be very deep into the goth culture. Y’all may be self-harming or you are going through extreme depression . Y’all may have lost someone extremely close to you. 

This is a DUAL POV. Your partner came in  fucking strong and did not want to let me go. But I don’t ever feel like they are going to be reading this, that’s why for their POV, I still use ‘’ They’’. 

Feminine Energy. 

You need to learn to accept the love you give out. You have a heart full of love and you are not scared to pour it into other people's cups but when it comes to you, you are nowhere to be found. You keep everyone at arm length while genuinely being there for them. You will always be an open ear for them. You don’t mind tagging along to a very scary appointment if he needs it.  You don’t mind staying awake on the phone because they have night terrors. You don’t even mind giving your all in the bedroom. You always make sure they are pleased. You always make sure they know they are loved and their voice matters. They especially love when  you give them head. Your mouth feels amazing. They think you are gorgeous when you are going down on them. Your hair in a ponytail so they can truly enjoy the beauty of your face (Ok.. Pile 2 … Face cards never decline !). They love to see your eyes full of lust while your mouth is sweet like honey. I’m hearing:’’ Ok now I am going to suck. Baby you tell me if you need me to stop.’’ After you are done give them a handjob. In my vision they are still fully clothed (even have their coat on (Damm y’all not even going to take off the coat… Not y’all fucking in winter attire)). But when is their turn, no show. I’m hearing : ‘’ My turn now’’. You are still in your panties and a big t-shirt. ‘’ Nah … I’m ok…’’ you put yourself under the cover. That makes them feel like a piece of shit. I feel like y’all be doing that because you don’t think you have a pretty pussy. But babe… is more than sex. You refuse to admit that you care. You tell them the only reason you cuddle is because you are cold. You tell them the only reason you go on a drive at night is because you hate driving but love music. The only reason you help them study is to make sure you understand the subject enough. You give love while making sure he knows that it is not that deep. That kind of hurt. 

Stop making your partner feel useless. The person that you are dealing with doesn't feel needed in your life. You treat them like you can’t depend on them. Some of you even walk 45 minutes from your house to school (even in high heels from home to work) because your car broke down. Instead of calling them to pick you, they find out when you got there. It really wasn’t your intention to make them frustrated or scared for you. Some of you ignore them when life goes hard. When depression  hits a tap a bit too much and you are in bed incapable of communicating with the outside world. They would love you to at least text I am ok but can’t talk right now. Make them feel like shit that you don't think they are worth enough to open up. When you need help you don’t ask for them. When you want space you disappear. 

3. They hate the way you don’t defend yourself. It might be specific to people with abusive families. If your parents are physically abusive, I’m seeing : Both of y’all cuddle in his bedroom (he may have red cover) and he asks why you are shivering but you brush it off with ‘’ Oh, I’m cold’’. But really the contact of your clothes with the wounds hurt. They cuddle you but you don’t relax, actually you get stiffer. You try to not make them look under your shirt but they saw it all. I’m hearing y’all tell me; ‘’ It happened one time !’’. They are answering; ‘’ One to many fucking time.’’. You are not lying it was a one time type of shit but still it was fucking mess up. The one with the abusive verbal parents, I got a vision of them going through your phone. At first they thought it was a boy blowing up your phone (y’all have another name for your mom in your phone) but actually it was your mom telling the worst kind of shit. I hope you slowly, I should have never kept you, you are nothing but a useless slut. Then you walk in and you brush it off. ‘’ Until I found out it was because of some fucking dishes.’’ (Well thank you for the input, maybe soon to be bf). Anyways no matter the scenario, they fucking hate the fact that u refuse to anything because you know it will only get worse. They are in your life to show you that babe … this is the worst. You are trying to save yourself from the worst while living in it. 

What's their love language according to the cards – text, treats, or trauma bonding?

 Treats 

They love doing stuff for you. Especially with their hands. Some of you have verbally abusive and alcoholic mothers. One day she went in your room and mess it the fuck up. And your men re-purchase a vanity and build it for you. It was a mini (huge) surprise for you. They may have also helped you set up your bed frame. They also like to bake for you. They love to go pick up your Starbucks orders and bring it to your school (some of y’all may go to cosmetology school). They hate when you use your money and you hate using their money. They are so petty, they just say ‘’ Well your money is for everything your mom broke … my money is for you’’. Not them shutting you up on Tumblr, Sir…They love treating you like princess. The reason … is your smile. When you smile it is like a whole sun is on their phone (they may have your face as their lock screen),in their bedroom, in the car. LOOOOL ! You are like the sun in the teletubbies. 

Masculine energy. 

Not them asking for a whole reading for themself. Sir… please go book on Ko-fi. Out here making me work extra on an empty stomach (smh). 

They are going through a hard phase in their depression. 

They can’t imagine a future with you. HA ! Don’t be scared. I just saw someone holding their heart… Lol. ‘’ Well you could have worded it differently …’’ Sir, this is my blog … CAN A GIRL CLICKBAIT IN FUCKING PEACE ? Girl, come get your man, he is getting on my nerves. You can let go of your tits. What actually is happening is they don’t think they are going to make it past a certain age. Stop holding your tit … (I’m just clickbaiting rn … sometimes I enjoy being dramatic … what ? I am a writer after all). People around them  always seem to die at a specific age because of their mental health, substance abuse or misery. But there’s age in their family in which most don’t pass and in the state they are in … they don’t think they are going to be different. Maybe their bff ended their life and they think they are next. That destiny only enjoys torturing them. They see you old and gray with your teletubbies smile running around in your backyard (hum… weird…) but it is like from the bottom of their soul they think they will be there. 

They don’t know their light. You came into their life to show them that there’s more good in them than they think. Maybe they are from a family where there’s more people in jail than free. Or more people die more because of addiction than old age. So all their life nobody gives a damn about them. Why would they care for the mess up kid in the fucked up family ? Is like they are multiple generations of fucked up. You showed them their light. The fact that they always answer your call no matter the time, they also serve you, they also go to work for you. All those actions prove their love but also their commitment at being better than the rest. They know how to budget, keep a job, take care of their health, etc. They just need the right motivation. 

What's their love language according to the cards – text, treats, or trauma bonding?

 Trauma bonding

First they love you. Second, their intentions are pure. It is just that my question can give a bit of a clickbait vibe, y’all know that I live for the drama (rarely … I just hate basic questions …). You are their safe place. They love having sex with. They love seeing in red lingerie.  They love the push up bra, the extremely thin pantie, the stocking, the way you did your hair and makeup just to end up being a sucking them the fuck up. They also love when you are drooling with spit from how big they are. They love touching you. They love cuddling you. I don’t feel like y’all make love. Y’all are way more rough in between the sheets. They love aftercare. They love taking care of you. They love taking a towel and cleaning you up or running a bath for the both of y’all. They love taking a shower with you (it may be mandatory activity everytime y’all sleepover to their house). They love cuddling you. They just love you ! They hate any kind of space between y’all. You are the only person to whom they open up too. They love the fact that you never rush them. They love the fact that you try to give them tips to cope in a better way. They love the fact that you believe they can be a better man. 

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PILE 3

You guys are the children of divorce parents. They always took care of you. You always had the newest clothes and shoes. You always had the newest technology gadgets. They put you in private school and you had a luxurious car as a gift. Yet, you grew up watching your dad being abusive very severely to your mom physically. You swore you were going to be different … but  here we are….  I don’t think y’all are physically violent to anyone but your anger is something. Is not like is coming out of no where but the stuff y’all do when you are loosing it is fucking questionable. If it was not for your beauty and money … y’all would be in JAIL ! 

Y’all need to learn to what the fuck a patnership is. You don’t like when people tell you what to do. Well sometimes it is needed. Also I am getting that a person just stating their opinion can piss you off. But ruffling feathers is part of  a relationship. Is also the fault of your partner because how is he/she going to get mad at you because you attract attention. Like you are a pretty boy/girl so for sure you are going to attract isn’t how they got you. Getting mad at you because you are wearing a short skirt like they were not in the same instagram profile liking that very same picture of you in it. You can’t get mad at baddie consequences when you bag one. On the other hand the way you show that anger ain’t it. The screaming, the destroying or even the blocking his/her phone number no, no , no. Y’all need to create a safe place to communicate and allow opinions that hurt you. Because in a safe place every emotion is valuable even if it is not factual. Is for both of y’all to find a way to explain yourself with love and care. 

2. With kind intention ONLY…Y’all need therapy because that’s the reason you can’t keep nobody close. Is not just that person is a friend, coworker, or even family member. I know you want someone to see past all that anger because you are so much more than that. You are brilliant, you are pretty, you are elegant, you speak multiple languages, you are multi-talented, you are excellent at study, you have great life hygiene, you are kind and extremely giving but girl… that monster inside of you needs to be tame. There’s only so much that a rage room can do. I know it is not your fault … your parents made you that way. With the constant screaming, beating, and even choking. It’s so fuck up to be responsable for a healing from trauma we never ask for. But not doing it is going to cost you all the love you are meant to receive. 

3. Stop suppressing your emotions. This situationship makes you realize how bad your emotional state actually is. Because being in a relationship with someone put you in a situation where all your triggers are in the open. You can’t run away, you can’t act like nothing is going on, you can’t play it cool. Because everything is too much, you feel too much so act impulsively. From the exterior, you have that facade of the perfect child. That front is a huge source of stress. You wish it to be true but you know damn well that you are far from it. You are always one trigger away from breaking your protection. That’ s a fucking source of stress on it’s on. Admit that you are angry and mad. Being always happy is killing you slowly. Y’all make me think of the red hair in Desperate Housewive. 

4. Gradual numbness. Since reacting doesn't work for you. When you are mad all the people in your life tend to forget all the good you did to them and all the good living within you. You are slowly running in a hole of feeling nothing. Going from feeling too much to feeling nada. 

What's their love language according to the cards – text, treats, or trauma bonding? 

Text

They love texting you. Honestly I feel y’all recently broke up but even if it has been a while they still love you so much. They are rooting for you. They also love the fact that the only communication between y’all 2 is texting. They can’t handle all you are but that does not mean they don’t love all of you 2. They love staying on the phone talking about everything. They love how educated you are on many subjects. They love your voice. Damm do they love your voice. Y’all have a pretty voice. They would never admit it but they love your voice even when  you are yelling at them. They love your moan and they still masturbate to your voice audio. Y’all may still practice phone sex because they can’t have enough of you. You are genuinely the most perfect human they've ever seen. Rightfully so, y’all have a very proportionate body, beautiful brown eyes and full tits. They have flashbacks of touching you not in a sexual way but they miss having their hand on you. You have one of the softest skin. 

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[a-daydreamers-stories]

Hey! This is an AU I thought would be fun and thanks to my friend @sherriesherbet I decided to write it! I'm not an expert in COD or UFC, so things will be wrong, sorry. This will be multiple parts, not sure how many yet. Hope you enjoy it!

The reader is a plus-size reader, this will be an 18 + story, minors do not interact

Never done this fandom before so if you'd like to be tagged for future parts let me know

Chapter warnings: Violence? Nothing really specifically mentioned yet

Chapter 1

Reader’s POV

“Please come with me! I won these two amazing tickets and my bud that was supposed to go is sick.” My brother whined out as he looked at me with big puppy dog eyes. I sighed and instantly regretted letting him into my apartment, it was my night off and I had been looking forward to lounging in my pjs as I ate takeout and watched sitcoms. 

“Don’t you have any other friends to take?” 

“No! Everyone else is busy or out of town since its last notice.”

“And you assumed I wasn’t busy?” I raised an eyebrow at him, he turned to look around my living room and then to the pjs I was already wearing. 

“You are?” 

“Yes I am,” I huffed at him and folded my arms over my chest as I snuggled deeper into the couch. “Now fuck off, I’m not going.” 

“Please! I have no one else, I’ll get you dinner too! Anything that you want just please come with me…” He begged even going so far as to get on his knees and hold his hands together. 

“Fine... Fine! I’ll go, what the hell do I even wear to this?” 

“Just go put on jeans and a shirt.”  He jumped up and fist-pumped the air like the dork he was. 

“Whatever you owe me,” I grumbled as I got off the couch, pushing him onto it as I made my way to the bedroom. I quickly showered and changed into jeans and a nice black tank top before putting on my sneakers. Walking out of my bedroom my brother popped up from the couch as I did with a big smile on his face. I couldn’t help but smile back, though I did shake my head at him. 

“Ready?” He asked excitedly. 

“Yeah, I’m ready.” After grabbing my phone and purse, I nodded and gestured for him to head out of my apartment. We left my apartment before I locked it up and headed to him to his car. “So how did you win these tickets?” 

“Radio contest spent a whole day listening to get these and I swear I called like 20 times but then I won! They’re amazing tickets too, fucking front-row seats!”  

“Okay okay calm down before you start hyperventilating.” 

“I’m just so excited!”  

“I can tell, remember to breathe though I don’t want to die because you passed out at the wheel.” 

“Shut up,” He playfully pushed my shoulder as he continued to drive towards the stadium. I couldn’t help but laugh, it was so funny to watch him get so excited like a teenager going to their first concert. We eventually made it into the stadium, parking had been a nightmare situation to try and figure out. He pulled out the tickets and we were guided to our seats, my brother moved into his seat and shot me an excited grin as I sat beside him. 

“Are you going to fangirl when these guys come out?” 

“No!” He narrowed his eyes at me in a playful glare. 

“Uh-huh,” I smirked at him and he rolled his eyes before something behind me caught his eye and he gasped. 

“Oh god…” 

“What?” I asked in confusion before looking in the direction he was looking in, an older man with mutton chops was slowly coming down one of the walkways. Tight black t-shirt molded over his wide shoulders and straining on his biceps and jeans that molded to a very delicious ass. The back of his shirt had the number 141 on it. “Who’s that?” 

“That’s John Price, he’s the head coach for the 141 Academy, his top boys are fighting tonight, and behind him coming out for the first fight is Gaz!” 

“Gaz? What kinda name is Gaz?” I asked as I spotted the handsome bronze man, probably somewhere near my age or my brother’s, coming down the hallway behind him in gold UFC shorts. 

“Well his real name is Kyle Garrick but he goes by Gaz in the ring.” Gaz flashed a smile and waved at the crowd causing a lot of girlish giggling and whistling as he moved to the ring. John patted him on the back and whispered in his ear, Gaz nodded back to him twice before flashing him a bright smile and clapping John’s shoulder. He practically bounced into the ring, full of energy and oozing charm. It was hard to believe someone as pretty as him, fights for a living but then his fight starts and you can see the hardness settling into his features, making him a little sharper and his entire focus is on the fight. 

He and the other man in the ring are similarly built but Gaz is faster and more calculated with his strikes, it doesn’t end in a knockout but Gaz does win the fight in the end. The referee lifts his arm at the end which causes a quick grimace to fall on Gaz’s face before he flashed the crowd a blinding smile, that’s only slightly bloody, which causes the crowd to lose their minds as they erupt into ear-piercing screams. I couldn’t help but clap for the man before he got out of the ring and John patted him on the back with a proud smile, saying something to the fighter. Looking him over before nodding to a different hallway than the one he came out of. 

“He’s sending him to the medic to get looked over, the other guy managed to hit him pretty hard in the ribs.”  My brother explained as Gaz walked away, cheers following him as he went. John moved his sight back to the other hallway and a few minutes later another man appeared from there, this man had a mohawk and was a bit broader than Gaz had been with blue UFC shorts on. 

“Who’s this one?”  I asked my brother. 

“Oh! This is Soap! He’s from Scotland.” 

“Soap? Why the fuck is he called Soap?” 

“Because he’s a slippery motherfucker.” My brother smirked and I snorted at that rolling my eyes. 

“Alright, gotta admit that’s pretty original for a UFC fighter name.”  

Soap stopped in front of John and started talking, it was still too loud to hear him clearly over the crowd but there were bits and pieces of an accent that reached us, John rested his hands on Soap’s shoulders and made the younger man look at him before he started talking to Soap. Soap nodded to him, a smirk on his face, there was a cocky yet capable attitude to him. John squeezed Soap’s shoulders before nodding to him and stepping aside, Soap got into the ring. The man he was facing was slightly taller than Soap and not quite as wide. 

The fight started and it was clear why they called him Soap, even with his wide frame, Soap dodged hits smoothly. He taunted his opponent with a smirk and a cocky joke but while his opponent grew hot-headed, Soap remained cool and calm. Gaz came back in the middle of the fight and stood next to John to watch Soap’s fight. He cheered Soap on from the sidelines till the fight ended and Soap was pronounced the winner, the crowd went nuts for the Scot. 

His lip and was split and he had a black eye forming but overall he was in good shape as he made his way out of the ring. Gaz patted him on the back in congratulations and John rubbed his head affectionately as Soap beamed at the two of them. John pointed towards the Med hallway and Soap shook his head before saying something to John with a lopsided grin on his face. 

There was a hush that settled over the crowd suddenly and I looked at my brother confused, he nodded excitedly towards the hallway the men of the 141 Academy had been coming out of. My breath caught in my throat as I turned to look at the man coming down the walkway, he was an absolute tank of a man in red UFC shorts. Taller than the other two fighters and his biceps were bigger than my head, with crocodile scars covering them and the upper part of his chest. 

“That’s Mace…” My brother whispered in my ear, his voice in awe. 

“His UFC name is Mace or his actual name?” 

“Honestly? No one knows, he only goes by Mace.” My brother shrugged. We watched as Mace made it to the other men by the ring. John nodded toward him and Mace threw him a feral smirk and a nod in return, before getting into the ring. The crowd erupted into loud cheers and screams as he made it into the ring. This fight was the most interesting so far, Mace was a vicious opponent and his opponent couldn’t do more than block the harsh blows that Mace landed. By the end his opponent was a bloody mess that had only managed to land a few good blows, even though they didn’t seem to phase Mace much, it didn’t surprise anyone when the referee lifted his arm as the winner. He got out of the ring and wrapped an arm around Soap’s shoulder, smirking as he talked to him, Gaz, and John. 

“Next is the main event of the night, it’s the last fight!” My brother told me and then pushed my shoulder excitedly as the hallway door opened again. My gaze traveled to the man coming out and my eyes widened as my stomach fluttered, this man was huge too. Just as big if not a little taller than Mace, though his arms were slightly smaller, he was no less intimidating though maybe more so with the look on his face. He had blonde hair, that was short on the sides and slightly longer on the top. He had scars on his face, small ones scattered along his face, a large one going diagonal from his chin to the bottom of his eye, and another larger one going down through his eyebrow on the other side. He had on black UFC shorts but right above where the short ended on his right leg was the design of a skull. 

“That’s Ghost…” 

“Ghost?” 

“Yeah, no one knows what his name is either. They just call him Ghost.”  

“Let me guess because he’s a killer in the ring?” I smirked though I couldn’t take my eyes off the man as he made his way down to the ring. 

“That but he’s also a spooky fucker.” My brother chuckled. Ghost stopped in front of the other fighters and John, who spoke to him for a moment. Ghost just gave John a curt nod before he made his way into the ring. There were no smirks, no waves, he barely acknowledged the crowd gathered to watch him fight, only that his eyes scanned over the stadium while he waited for the fight to start. 

A shuddering breath escaped me as his eyes met mine pausing in his scan, the only thing that came to mind as this god of a man looked at me was to smile at him. His head tilted slightly and I could have sworn I saw a tick of one side of his mouth, almost like he would return it before he looked away towards his opponent. An intense focus settled over his face as he rolled his broad shoulders, waiting for his opponent to strike first.

[huckleberrykai]

txt ~ squish

pairing: txt x fem!reader scenario: how txt react to their chubby!gf in a tight/revealing outfit warnings: very suggestive, reader is chubby, mentions of insecurity in gyu's n yeonjun's notes: THBAKU PEACH FOR SUGGESTING THIS i was just gonna do little thoughts but brain went brr so here's some proper hcs! i hope u like :3

soobin:

he gets so shy

it's your 5th date and soobin is absolutely smitten with you - confident that this time around he's gonna at least kiss you.

but then you turn up wearing the cutest tight little off shoulder cropped shirt with lacy detailing.

he thinks its absolutely adorable, but he can't help but let his eyes wander to your plush chest spilling out of the top and your squishy belly poking out between the shirt and your jeans waistband. your thighs look so cute too, squished and plushy in the skinny denim trousers.

he just wants to squish you so badly

it's all he can think about for most of the date, and once it's over he wants to kill two birds with one stone.

standing on your porch not wanting to leave, soobin finally goes in for the kiss - which is of course happily reciprocated !

his hands land on your waist... until one starts to wander to hover over your tummy - feather light loving touches that you lean into.

when you break away from the kiss he still doesn't let go, one hand on your waist keeping you close while he caresses your squishy centre. he can't help but give you another peck, whispering against your lips~

"you're so cute.. so warm n squishy... Y/N do you wanna be my girlfriend?"

you laugh at him a little but agree happily

"you like my squish?" you'd ask with a grin

he pulls you in for a big hug and hides in your neck, nodding against your shoulder.

"mhm~ so pretty. 'wanna hold you for as long as you let me <;3"

yeonjun:

he wants to eat you

like straight up push you on the bed and RAVISH you

yeonjun loves your ass so much he's such an ass guy to me

so when you're getting ready to go to your friend's birthday party and you come in wearing a short, tight little red dress that hugs all of your curves .. he doesn't even wanna go to the party anymore.

not that he even did to begin with

"does this look okay? doesn't make me look gross n fat?"

*catoonish record scratch*

yeonjun malfunctions.

"baby you look so fuckin sexy i don't even wanna let you go out. nothing could make you look gross~ you're a goddess. remember that alright?"

he pulls you over to stand between his legs where he sits on the bed and just runs his hands all over you, leaving little squeezes on your butt and thighs, little kisses trailing around your middle where he can reach from his seated position.

"you sure you even wanna go? or we can stay home and i can show you just how sexy i think you are?"

he smiles up at you so deviously

and when he smirks at you like that... well... you never really liked that friend anyway x

definitely tries to convince you to wear more tight fitting clothes in the future after that. seeing all of your jiggle through a sexy satin outfit just sends him reeling.

he buys things for you and leaves them out on the bed as a little hint that he wants you to have confidence in how sexy you are 😌

beomgyu:

beomgyu had always found you attractive the whole time you were friends.

he was just so scared you'd reject him and that he wasn't enough for you - you're perfect in his eyes and he thought you deserved the best.

that doesn't stop him from flirting tho

especially when you decide to have a lil casual bestie sleepover in your pjs and you walk in wearing your comfiest nightdress ~ that just so happens to be a little tight around your boobs and tummy.

he almost starts drooling. you never really wear tight clothes and he just wants to touch you so bad :(

so he makes an excuse and starts a little tickle fight just so he can touch you.

he relishes in your laughs and takes your distracted giggles as an opportunity to squish your belly.

he only stops when you look panicked

"gyu- gyu! don't touch my stomach..! don't like it.. 's ugly..."

he feels his heart break into a million pieces

"no it's not! it's adorable! every part of you is adorable, i like every little bit of you Y/N."

*suprised pikachu face*

you're even more surprised when he shifts down your bed to press some kisses to your belly over your nightdress.

"i like you so much Y/N. you never need to hide from me cutie~"

and when you tell him you like him too he settles in next to you to watch a movie, cuddling up and rubbing your plush belly like it's his favourite thing in the world :>

taehyun:

taehyun decided to take you shopping as a fun little date for your two week anniversary

so he happily sits out in the boyfriend chair while you try on some new clothes !

you're comfortable with your body, and you know taehyun doesn't care what you look like as long as you're healthy and happy, so you decide to pick out some tighter things to try on that are a bit more out of your comfort zone to see what he thinks.

you knowwww you're hot shit

and when you step out in a dress with tight fitting top and flowy skirt with some cutouts around the waist ... taehyun looks up from his phone and nearly faints

he isn't used to seeing you in anything like it, and to say he thought you looked stunning was an understatement.

"woah... how did i get so lucky?"

he rubs his hands over the cutouts and squishes your soft skin gently. he eyes your boobs poking out of the top, and the little rolls peeking out of the cutouts, then your thick thighs - he feels himself losing strength T-T

"how about i buy you this then take you out somewhere nice and show you off hm beautiful?"

you notice him struggling to keep his composure

so when you whisper to him and suggest he just take you home and tear it off of you instead... he definitely isn't saying no.

he buys you some pretty lingerie on the way out too... you're in for a long night of being worshipped like a goddess.

"think you can handle me, tyun?"

"oh sweetheart, i know i can."

hueningkai:

kai our number one chub lover

it'll be early in your relationship when kai offers to bring you to help him pick out a christmas tree for his dorm

having only been on dates and hanging out in the cold autumn and winter, kai had only ever really seen you in big hoodies (which he thought you looked adorable in) or with a coat over your outfits

so when you choose his tree and get home and you're wearing a tight turtleneck sweater and thick leggings to keep you warm... baby boy is SWOONING

he's obsessed with the way the tight, thick fabric clings to your every bump and curve, and the way your leggings stretch out over your thick booty >.<

you try to talk to him about the decorations you're gonna put on it but he's just like 🧍🏻

eventually you drag him out of his daze and get him to help you decorate

and he even offers to lift you up so you can put the star on top :')

and so he can hold your love handles and get a good view of ur butt

he's just. in love

and he tells you that ! for the first time :')

"thank you for helping me decorate, beautiful. you look gorgeous today by the way~ and every day. merry christmas cutie, i love you <;3"

bonus ~ he definitely asks you to make him some christmas cookies, both because he loves your baking AND because he can 'help' by standing behind you and giving you belly rubs~ which definitely turn to less wholesome touches while the cookies are baking hehe

sucks when you have to break off from him smothering your stomach with hickies on the couch to take them out of the oven LOL

i didnt know which taglist to use so i went nsfw since it's a lilll suggestive >.<

nsfw taglist: @subbyjvnnie @mazeinthemoon @n0-thisispatrick @banggyu0308 @majestyjun @bibibinnie @beom-pyu @txtistheloml @nightlytyuns @dido-of-the-endless

[gojos-fr-bae]

Gojo Christmas HCs

Pairing: Gojo x gn!reader

Warnings: Cursing

Word Count: 557

A/N: Heyy~~ I such a joke honestly, posting my Christmas fic on new years, but in my defence, I haven't had access to my laptop since I wrote Liar pt.4, anyways, Enjooooy

(Requests open)

You wake up to being snuggled tightly within his arms while it snows outside.

Refuses to get up anytime before 10am so u probably just end up falling back asleep.

Wakes you up to go downstairs and make breakfast “together” bc let’s be honest this man can’t even boil a rock.

Taking a bath/shower together is a MUST

Deeefinately forces you two to wear matching pjs or like those sets where the guy wears the pants and no shirt and the girl wears like, the huge shirt without pants or sum

You would walk into the living room and just find it like, STUFFED with presents and he’ll just sit there with the smuggest grin on his face while u just stand there looking stupid.

If it’s your first Christmas together I can imagine he would be scared out of his mind about whether you would like the presents, whether you are proud or happy with him, whether they were even good enough for you. E.t.c (he would never let it show though)

If it isn’t your first Christmas together though he would probably still be nervous but probably more confident in his gifts. (he just wants to make you happyy*sobs*)

I can see him getting you sentimental stuff like an instrument you had as a kid or your favourite book but also just random expensive shit like a diamond bracelet. Or something batshit crazy like a lambo or sum.

I feel like you would get him something extremely sentimental and something he really wants, and you give the sentimental one second to catch him off guard.

Like imagine giving him the most expensive box of mochi you spent an entire month's worth of your salary and he gets all excited then you shyly slide him a scrap book full of pictures with you two throughout the whole year or since you got together.

And you do that sappy thing where you leave half of it empty for memory’s you’ll make in the future. Ewwwwwwwwwwwww

I feel like he would just look down at it too stunned to speak with big bug eyes and when he looks back up at you he starts tearing up

He would hug you and like, genuinely just breakdown into sobs, and he won’t stop for like another good two minutes.

Like, that is genuinely the best, sweetest most heartfelt gift he has ever received.

From then on I can fully see him always carrying a polaroid with him everywhere he goes just take pictures of you two together, (but mostly just you really) And when he gets home he pulls out the scrapbook and gets to work.

I can just imagine like, walking into your room and seeing him in his pjs on the bed doing that thing where you lie on your stomach and kick your legs back and forth and he’s like, sticking a picture or drawing hearts around a picture of you with his tongue sticking out. Akduhcrtfrw38r7fyu efgujd (oops, I forgot this is a Christmas HC)

I can’t imagine him really wanting to go out so you would probably stay at home baking cookies, snuggling watching movies and doing all that lovey dovey shit couples do.

The best Christmas he has ever had in his entire life, and one he definitely won’t be forgetting…ever

Belated Merry Christmas and Happy New Year

Honestly, Thank GOD 2023 is finally over, worst year of my entire life, can't wait for it to end.

Also, thank you for all the support throughout this year, means the most to me.

© gojos-fr-bae

Pls lemme know if I forgot to tag u, i'm kinda rusty

[themisplaceddemigod]

Can you do one with Poseidon before the big three made the pact to have no more kids. And he meets her on the beach and one thing lead to another and had a son that would end up being the reason why the pact happened and why in the future Zeus is so paranoid about Percy. 

ooooh this sounds fun! sorry for the late reply, i've been busy with work, university and Ramadan!

when power meets passion

PJ!Poseidon x F!Reader

summary - the ask :)

warnings - not proof read, fluff at the start, devolves into angst at the end

Humans were never meant to mingle with the gods. They were meant to be worshippers, dedicating their lives to these divine beings. There was no such thing as falling in love with one of them, or at least that's what you believed before you actually met one of them.

You were a marine biologist, the ocean's wonderful and mysterious animals the objects of your fascination and awe. You also loved the water, and could spend hours just swimming with the fish in their enclosures at the rescue center you worked at.

One of your particular endeavours, the one that actually caught the sea god's attention in the first place, was rescuing a baby tiger shark that was about to be eaten by fully grown bull sharks. You'd brought it to the center, nursed it back to health, and practically raised it until it was ready to be released.

You didn't ever think that would lead you to meeting a handsome stranger on the beach who had seemingly come out of nowhere, nor did you think that you'd manage to start and maintain a relationship with this man.

He was so kind, so gentle and he shared the same passion as you about marine life. You never suspected anything about who he really was, not until he took you aside the night after you both found out that you were pregnant.

"Look, uh...I know this isn't going to be easy for you," he started, a little nervously, "But there's something you need to know. Somethung big, actually, and I'm sorry I've kept it to myself for so long. But this time with you...it's been the best I've had in a long while. And I didn't want to ruin it."

You started getting nervous, wondering where this was going, "What do you mean?"

He took a deep breath, taking your hands into his larger and warmer ones, "It's okay if you don't believe me right away, but you'll see when our baby is born. They're going to be special, in a lot of ways you won't expect. Because I'm not just any ordinary human...I'm Poseidon."

Your jaw dropped, before you laughed nervously, "That's a joke, right? Cause of how much I love Greek mythology? It's really sweet that you're trying to make me laugh right now, but-"

"I mean it," he stated firmly, squeezing your hands. "I am the Greek god of the sea." To prove his point, the waves crashing against the shoreline outside the cabin died down, as if by command. "I didn't want you to know, because I was enjoying your company so much as an ordinary person. But now that you're having my child...he or she will be a demigod." He placed his hand on your stomach, and warmth spread throughout your body, relaxing your tense limbs. "I can't promise to be involved in the baby's life, but I will watch over you two."

You frowned at that, "Are you leaving? Before the baby is even born?"

He sighed, as if he'd been asked this many times before, "It's not the best idea to raise the child around me. They need to be sheltered, especially because of their attractiveness to monsters, and I will only get them killed."

That was his excuse, he didn't want to tell you that it was normal for a god to fall for a human, have a child and leave. He genuinely loved you, and didn't want to hurt you like that.

You tried your best to understand, you really did. You still felt hurt, not understanding fully why he couldn't be with you if you loved each other so much. But you had to move on, because he was doing the same, and you weren't going to let him think that you were weak, especially since he was a god.

You gave birth on your due date, a healthy baby boy who barely even screamed as he was birthed. He came out quiet and calm, much like a certain god who fathered him. As you held him in your arms for the first time, you understood what Poseidon had meant about him being different. He radiated a different kind of energy, and to you he seemed, and looked, very much like the sea god. He was different, he was special, but you would love him no matter what. He was your greatest gift.

And, as you would soon learn, your doom.

Because years later, when he turned twelve, the first monster attacked. He dealt with it okay enough, coming out with only a few bruises and one deep gash, but the ocean water healed that. Another sign he was different, the ocean was his safety, the source of his power and healing. He could control it, command it, and bend it to his will. He could use it to fight, to heal himself, and to do whatever he pleased.

This power went straight to his head, and left you wondering where in all the years you had gone wrong in raising him.

Your son was everything that Luke Castellan would become (decades later), multiplied by ten. Angry, vengeful, scornful of the gods because they weren't around. Because they abandoned their mortal lovers and children, choosing to keep to themselves and stay up in their palace.

The city was flooded. Buildings were crumbling. Cars were crashing. It was all happening too fast, too much all at once. You didn't know where to look, where to go. Your cabin had been flooded first, so you fled into the city hoping the tsunami wouldn't reach it.

But it did.

A tsunami worse than anything your city had ever seen before was approaching, looming over you all like a monster straight out of Tartarus. Every fire hydrant on every street had burst, soaking people, cars and stores alike as water just poured in from all sides. It was the worst sea storm in history, one that was brought forth and controlled by none other than your son.

The boy you had raised, was now destroying a whole city in his rage. Blinded by anger and scorn, by hate for the deity that brought him life, he took other lives. It was unlike anything the gods had ever seen, one of the worst acts of rebellion ever committed by a demigod.

You had tried to speak to him, tried to reason with him, but he was beyond saving. His frustration and resentment had built up too much and caused him to explode, in the most horrifying way imaginable. This was not your son, not the sweet little boy who used to giggle at stingrays and grab baby sharks with his bare hands. Not the sweet boy who used to wake up early on Mother's Day to make you breakfast and remind you that you're the best part of his life. Not the sweet boy who understood why his father wasn't around, before all the quests.

Quest after quest, he suffered. Mentally, emotionally, and it changed him. He got angry that the gods refused to help, even when he was put in extremely dangerous and life-threatening situations. Furious that his father would ignore him when he called on him for help.

You didn't want to, but you witnessed the heartbreaking encounter between your distressed son and his father, who finally appeared to him after all these years.

"Where were you?!" You could hear (son's name) scream, atop a massive wave of water. "Where were you all those times I needed you???" He kept on going when Poseidon couldn't find the words, "Not once did you visit me, NOT ONCE! You just left me, and mom! All those times I called for help, all those times we were having it rough, and you couldn't help in ANY way!" His voice was so agonised, you felt tears pool in your eyes.

Your poor boy...

"Son, if you stop this now-"

"DON'T CALL ME THAT!" Your son roared, the wave getting higher and more imposing, "I WAS NEVER YOUR SON! YOU NEVER ACTED LIKE IT!"

Still, Poseidon tried to reason with the boy. But when that failed, and the sea god met your eyes, you knew exactly what had to be done. You shut your eyes in pain, an overwhelming ache growing in your chest.

And when you opened your eyes again, Poseidon was in front of you, his face the saddest you'd ever seen it. Sadder than the day he'd left.

"You know what they're going to decide about his fate," that deep voice you missed so much boomed, trying to speak gently, "You know what's going to happen, and I...I can't stop it. I wish I could."

"I know," was all you could choke out, before his strong arms wrapped around you comfortingly, and you were sobbing into his chest.

And when your eyes ran dry and all you could do was sit at home and stare out the window, he had to go. He promised he'd try to come see you, try to make things right, but you didn't think that was possible anymore.

You just had to live with it.

And beyond the halls of the Olympian palace, you heard their decree. You heard the decision that would inevitably be broken decades later...

"Each of us, Poseidon, Hades and myself, Zeus, shall swear an oath here and now to never bear children again."

A/N: I hope this was what you had in mind, or at least similar! Ended up being sadder than I thought, broke my own heart writing this but I still hope it was good enough!

[stolenslumber]

devils roll the dice, angels roll their eyes (pjs)

Jay needs someone to pretend to be his girlfriend, and you’re just the person for the job— seriously, you’re almost a professional at this point, regularly charming the families of your idiot twin’s friends who need your help getting their parents off their back. Of course, leave it up to Jay to blur the lines of your fake relationship so smoothly that you catch real feelings; falling in love has never been this easy.

PAIRING: park jongseong x female reader GENRE: acquaintances to partners in crime to fake dating to lovers i guess? lol, college au, vaguely greek life au, vaguely rich kid au, fluff fluff fluff, jake is the mc’s twin bc i thought it would be funny WARNINGS: swearing, kissing and suggestive content/sexual themes WORD COUNT: 14.4k A/N: ik the ages don't line up here shhhh just ignore that okay

NOW AVAILABLE: hang your head low in the glow (companion fic/follow-up)

“WHY DO YOU LOOK SO NICE?” 

“Why do you sound so surprised?” You scoff, tossing the apple you were just about to eat at Jake’s head. Annoyingly, he catches it in mid-air, then makes a show out of polishing it with his shirt and taking a big bite out of it. “Hey, I was going to eat that, asshole.”

“Shouldn’t have thrown it at me, then.” 

You roll your eyes at your twin, then go to retrieve another apple from the fruit bowl. It’s surprisingly well-stocked, given that you’re in a frat’s kitchen. Honestly, it’s surprising that there even is a fruit bowl in a frat’s kitchen, but the president of this frat runs a tight ship.

Said president appears in the doorway just then, snatching the apple from your hands as well as the one from Jake’s hands. “Guys, seriously, you have to wash these before you eat them.”

You and Jake both whine simultaneously. “Chan!” 

“I already took a bite out of that, bro,” Jake complains.

“I’m starving; please have mercy,” you beg.

Chan whips his head around from where he’d begun washing the apples in the sink to fuss at you. “What? Why haven’t you eaten yet? It’s almost 9pm!”

“Which reminds me— why do you look so nice?” Jake repeats.

“I had a thing with Mark,” you sigh. 

“You can just say you were pretending to be his girlfriend; we all know what you mean,” Jake snorts.

“I had a thing with Mark,” you repeat, resisting the urge to throw another apple at Jake’s head. “It was at this ballroom downtown, and of course he had nothing to wear, so I had to take him shopping first, which made us late, and then his parents wouldn’t stop talking my ear off about how I need to convince him to give up the music major, so I couldn’t touch any of the food there. Not even the foie gras torchon,” you recall mournfully. “We just got back, like, five minutes ago.”

Chan hums sympathetically— he knows how much you love foie gras torchon. “You can probably ask for an endless supply in return for your appearance at today’s thing,” he suggests, only half-joking. It absolutely sounds like the kind of thing Mark Lee would agree to, what with his ridiculously large inheritance and hapless generosity (last month, Mark lost thousands of dollars in some animal shelter-related pyramid scheme, marketed to him by none other than Lee Haechan).

You wave a hand dismissively. “Nah, I’m keeping Mark’s favor for something else.”

Jake raises an eyebrow. “What else?”

“Whatever it turns out I need in the future, dumbass. What’s it to you, anyways?” 

“Just wanna make sure the poor guy doesn’t end up trapped in your snares forever, little sis. Yo, can I have that apple back?” Jake turns to Chan with characteristic puppy eyes.

“You’re only older than me by eight minutes,” you grumble, the age-old retort slipping out of you before you can help it.

“No, Jaeyun, you cannot. And don’t talk to your sister like that— oh my god, why do I sound like Taeyong,” Chan mutters, thinking about his predecessor frat-president-slash-mother-hen. 

“Jeez, government name and everything.” Jake holds his hands up, relinquishing his claim to the apple.

“In fact, your sister gets to have both of these apples, after I clean and cut them up, because she is a saint for continuing to save our asses from our parents like this,” Chan lectures, unceremoniously carving out the chunk of the apple with Jake’s bite marks and tossing it into the trash bin.

“Real ones get it!” You reach out and high-five Chan. 

“That is so unfair, c’mon, man!” Jake splutters. “She gets just as much out of these fake relationships— seriously, didn’t you drive her around everywhere for, like, a month after she went to that wedding with you?”

Both you and Chan shudder at the memory. “Ugh, my worst cousin and the worst guy he was ever with. They’re still married, by the way.” Chan shakes his head. “God knows why.”

“Love conquers all…?” Jake offers.

“What the hell are you talking about love for,” a new voice grumbles. Park Jongseong strolls in through the doorway, hands full with plastic bags promising wonderful things based on how your stomach reacts to the smell.

“Oh, hell yeah, chicken!” Jake cheers. “Took you long enough, bro.”

“Traffic was hell; something about a ball downtown, and— oh. Hey.” Jay stops abruptly at the sight of you, now munching on the apple slices Chan hands you, one by one.

You wave vaguely in his direction, too busy eating to respond. Jay is one of your brother’s friends who you don’t know that well, since you’ve never pretended to be his girlfriend. It’s strange that you two don’t know each other better, actually— as the social chairs of your sorority and his fraternity, respectively, you would usually have a lot to work on together. But this year has been particularly busy for you, what with your senior thesis and your various things with Jake’s frat brothers, and you had delegated most of your social chair responsibilities to your co-chair, Yunjin, who was far better suited to the social part of the job, anyways. You suspected Jay had done the same thing, since the two of you only ever texted to confirm budgets for any joint events.

“You need to have more than one-and-three-quarters of an apple for dinner,” Chan scolds you, parental instincts back in full force.

You shrug, about to turn around and rifle through the cabinets to see if you can find some peanut butter to add to your apple slices when a takeout container appears in front of you. Tired and still starving, you react rather slowly, your eyes tracing up the hand on the container to the veins of an arm belonging to none other than Jay.

“You look hungry,” is all he says, before popping the container open for you and rearranging the rest of the plastic bags on the counter. “Jake, tell the others to come down for food.”

The others means that soon, there will be an influx of hungry frat brothers in the kitchen, and you have no desire to be anywhere near that, so you mumble a quick thank you to Jay, plop the rest of the apple slices into the takeout container (against Chan’s complaints about the contamination), and move to leave the kitchen, eager to be on your way to your sorority house.

The last thing you overhear before you leave is Jay asking, “Why did your sister look so nice?”, and Jake and Chan responding in unison, “She had a thing.”

A few days later, when they’re doing work in the library, Jay asks Jake, “So how long have Mark and your sister been seeing each other?”

Jake’s pencil jerks across his graph paper, a jagged line appearing on the page at the same time that he swears. “Dude, what the fuck?”

“Dude, what the fuck,” Jay echoes flatly. “Didn’t you say she had a thing with Mark?”

Jake blinks. “Well, sure, in the same way that she’s had a thing with Chan, and Yeonjun, and Vernon, and all the others.”

Jay gapes at him. “Your sister dated all of them? And all the others?”

“What, no, she didn’t date them, she fake-dated them! Just a couple of times, mainly showing up to things with their families so their parents would leave them alone about finding a partner and all that. You know how the parents are.” Jake gestures vaguely, referring to the oddities of the world of wealth they were born into. 

Jay nods slowly, understanding dawning upon him. Does he know how the parents are? Oh, does he ever. He has always had a good relationship with his own, but they had been more pushy on the whole love thing as of late, with the not-at-all subtle questions his mother asks about any special someones in his life and the unfunny jokes his dad cracks about how he’s still spry enough to help raise grandchildren. Especially unfunny, given the health scare his dad had given them all in the last year.

Jake’s voice brings him out of his veering-towards-morbid thoughts. “But seriously, bro, how is this news to you? My sister’s been doing this… Cinderella-genie thing for two years now.” 

Jay’s eyebrows furrow. “Cinderella-genie thing?”

“Yeah, I mean, she transforms our frat brothers into respectable young men with a respectable relationship, but only for three occasions, and she gets the same number of favors back.” Jake wrinkles his nose. “It sounds weird when I say it like that, and don’t get me wrong, I love to give her shit for it, but it’s all above-board stuff. Sunghoon bought her bubble tea for like, three months. Oh, and no one’s allowed to catch feelings, so everything ends clean and neat.”

“She fake-dated Sunghoon?”

At the mention of his name, Sunghoon pops one side of his headphones off. “What’s up?”

“You fake-dated Jake’s sister!?”

Sunghoon shushes him before responding. “Yeah, don’t you remember? It was a couple of months ago.”

Jay’s ears flush, both at how loud he had unconsciously gotten, and at the reminder that he really has been out of it for a while now. It’s not like he’s been living under a rock, but he has definitely been spending a lot more time with his parents and away from his friends ever since his dad’s health scare.

“She was great, though,” Sunghoon continues. “My mom still thinks I made the biggest mistake of my life ‘letting her go.’ But she’s also been leaving me alone about ‘finding love’ because she thinks I’m heartbroken, so yeah, Jake’s sister works wonders.”

Jake smirks. “Sim genes, man. Elite stuff.” 

Sunghoon scoffs. “You wish. Didn’t I hear your mom yelling at you on the phone the other day for not having settled down yet?”

“Ugh, don’t remind me. Does she not realize what decade this is, I mean, we’re still in college—”

Jay interrupts what looks to be the beginning of a long rant from Jake, cutting him off with, “So where can I sign up?”

Jake stares blankly at him. “Sign up for what?” 

“The Cinderella-genie thing.”

Sunghoon scrunches his face awkwardly. “Uh, she kind of has a waitlist, buddy.”

Jay waits for him to laugh and say he’s just kidding, but he doesn’t. “Are you serious?”

“Yeah, she doesn’t do the fake-dating thing for multiple people at the same time, and she’s pretty busy with all her shit, so I’m not sure how long of a queue you have ahead of you…”

“Okay, but Jake could get me ahead, right? Cut the line, or something? C’mon dude, I’m your best friend.” Jay is suddenly desperate, remembering the conversation he’d had with his mom on the phone last night, where she had dreamily recalled meeting his dad in college and delicately reminded Jay that he could have a plus-one to the Parks’ upcoming 50th wedding anniversary celebration.

Jake eyes his friend warily. “I dunno, she really doesn’t like stuff like that. Unfair advantages, I mean.”

“My parents aren’t getting any younger, Jake, and you know, with my dad last year and everything…” Jay does his best approximation of batting his eyelashes at Jake. 

“Are you guilt-tripping me?”

“A little?” Jay’s smile turns a little maniacal. “For real, my parents have their 50th wedding anniversary coming up, and it would be the perfect event to bring her to so I can reassure them that things are going well in my love life.”

“Are things going anywhere in your love life?” Sunghoon’s tone is skeptical, and reasonably so. 

Jay has been distant lately because of his family, but even before that, he had always been known as somewhat aloof and unattainable. Devastatingly handsome, yes, with killer grades and fierce ambition, and a business empire to inherit to boot, but he is also his parents’ one and only miracle child, born after years of trying and almost giving up. Jay’s parents are older than all of his friends’ parents, and their family business has always been that— a family business. Jay has two years after graduation to learn the ropes in the business, and then he’ll be due for an MBA, and then a return to helm the business, but this timeline has recently felt more urgent than ever with his parents’ flagging health. They would never say it, but he knows the only reason they haven’t retired yet is because they don’t want to hand over control of the business to anyone but him. Jay has worked his ass off in college, trying to get there as fast as he can, as well as he can. But his parents also want him to enjoy college and find true love, and while he’s been doing pretty well with the former, the latter has been on the backburner for, well, forever. Who has time for true love, in between classes, fraternity duties, the various shenanigans his friends get up to, internships, networking, TA-ing, volunteering, being on the executive board of two clubs, and eating, sleeping, dreaming, and thinking?

So. No. Things are not going anywhere in his love life, and he confirms just as much to Sunghoon with a grunt, to which Sunghoon wheezes out his amusement.

Jake eyes Jay with pity, now. “Alright, that guilt trip was successful, but more so because you just admitted to being bitchless for so long. I’ll put in a good word to my sister for you.”

Jay perks up instantly. There is light and beauty in this world after all! “Awesome, thank you bro, you won’t regret this, I promise!”

“I wasn’t planning on it, but those are famous last words, Park.” Jake raises an eyebrow at him. “Are you sure you can handle my sister?”

“Why not? She seems… nice.” Jay is slightly evasive in his answer, and truthfully, it’s because he isn’t really sure what you’re like. All your interactions to date have been cordial, almost business-like, and you and Jake are fraternal twins, so it’s not even like he’s really familiar with what you look like. He is, however, sure that you look beautiful in a ballgown, even if he only saw you in one in his frat’s kitchen.

Jake chortles outright. “No, my sister is not nice. Yeah, I’m definitely going to convince her to help you, just because I think it’ll be hysterical watching her turn you inside out. Good luck, my brother in Christ, because you’ll need it!”

you: hey jake told me abt ur predicament

jay: … good morning, how are you? i’m pretty good myself

you: ???

jay: just being polite. and it’s not a predicament i’m just… interested in your services

you: good for you? anyways i’m super busy right now and don’t really have time to be taking on anything else so i’m just letting you know that i can’t help you out. good luck though

jay: how about coffee?

you: what?

jay: do you want coffee?

you: like right now?

jay: yeah i’m on your porch

You almost throw your phone to the other side of the room. True, Jay’s fraternity house is across the street from your sorority house, but it still feels absurd to think that he’s right there, less than twenty feet below your room. Is he stalking you?

Accordingly, that’s the first thing you ask him when you throw the door open to him. “Are you stalking me?”

He scoffs. “As if. I asked Jake to ask Yunjin for your location.” 

“That’s not not stalking.”

Jay shrugs, though he has the decency to look a little embarrassed as he shoves his hands in his pockets. “Whatever. I just walked across the street; that’s all. So, coffee?”

You stare at him for a few moments, weighing your options. Truthfully, you were about to leave to get coffee before your first class, anyways, but you’re not sure how long you want to entertain Jay. You decide to split the difference. “I’m on my way to Nat’s, so you can tag along. But I’m just grabbing a coffee to go, and then I have class.”

“Okay, let’s go.” 

“Gimme a second; I’ll grab my stuff.” For some reason, your heart is beating a little faster than usual when you reach your room. You’d like to blame it on the stairs you just climbed, but something about Jay coming to find you at your front door feels old-fashioned and sweet, though your rational mind reminds you that he literally just walked a couple hundred feet. He even said so, himself.

But when you come back down to see him leaning against the doorway with his hands still in his pockets, looking out into the street, you suddenly remember that Jay is, like, really good-looking. Despite yourself, you find yourself admiring the cut of his jaw and how nice his hair is styled. It’s not like you don’t know plenty of attractive guys— hell, the guys you usually fake-date are all objectively hot. It’s just inconvenient that you now recall how Jay has always seemed to be the most mature out of Jake’s friends, even from what little you know of him. Unhelpfully, your brain also conjures up the image of him sliding a takeout container to you last week, and the way your eyes had lingered on the veins of his arm.

God. It’s been too long since you’ve gotten laid.

Jay’s voice breaks you out of your bizarre trance. “Ready, Cinderella?”

“Excuse me?”

“Jake told me about your whole Cinderella-genie thing. It would be weird to call you ‘genie’, so…” Jay trails off, scratching the back of his head and looking actually embarrassed now. 

You can’t help but laugh. “Right, because Cinderella is totally less weird. Alright, big guy, let’s go.”

The walk to Nat’s, your favorite local coffee shop, takes about 15 minutes— 10, if you’re walking fast, which you usually are. Jay’s legs are uselessly long, but he seems determined to walk as slowly as possible, while also staying silent the whole time. Finally, you reach the end of your patience and step out right in front of him, intending to ask him what the hell he’s doing. Unfortunately, you find that you misjudged the distance, and he almost collides right into you.

“Whoa,” he mutters, reaching out to grab your arms to steady the both of you. 

“Sorry,” you huff, embarrassed at yourself. A lot of that going around today. “I just… what’s your deal? I already told you I can’t help you, and then you show up at my door and ask me to get coffee, but you don’t say a single word. What do you want from me?”

Instead of answering your question, he asks, “Why do you do it?” 

“Do what?”

“The Cinderella-genie thing.”

You roll your eyes. “Jake has got to stop calling it that. It’s a long story, honestly.” Sighing, you reach into your backpack to pull out your planner. “Alright, we’re already past the amount of time I scheduled to get my coffee and get ahead on some readings before class, so I guess we can sit down inside.”

Jay raises an eyebrow. “You have time for me now? Also, that’s the most insane planner I’ve ever seen.”

You gesture around you. You had stopped Jay almost at the door of Nat’s, and you’re clogging up the sidewalk. “We should at least get out of the way of these people. And yeah, I’m sure it is.” You are a live-and-die-by-your-planner kind of person. Everything is in there— social events, studying time, your various things with Jay’s frat brothers, even things like eating and showering and sleeping. It seems psychotic, sure, but you’re a busy person, and there’s no way you’d be able to handle everything without the strict schedule you set for yourself.

When you walk up to the counter inside Nat’s, your favorite barista— a cute high school kid named Riki— is manning the register. You smile warmly at him. “Hey, Riki. The usual, please.”

You expect Riki to tease you about your usual, which contains an admittedly concerning amount of caffeine, but instead he calls out, “Jay! What’s up, my man!”

From behind you, Jay reaches out and fist-bumps Riki. “Hey, long time no see, buddy. How’s history going?”

Riki groans theatrically. “Horribly, ever since you stopped tutoring me.”

Jay frowns. “Wait, really? What are you having trouble with? I know I’m kind of swamped right now but we can always find some time and—”

Riki bursts out laughing. “I’m kidding, I’m kidding! Jeez, you should’ve seen your face. Relax, I got a 94 on my last paper!”

“Oh, very funny, you menace!” Jay punches Riki’s shoulder, but his expression eases up. You wonder at the fondness that twinkles in his eyes. 

Riki laughs some more, then he turns to you. “Noona, one cup of liquid death coming up! Hyung, what about you?”

“London fog, please. And seriously, text me if you’re having trouble, okay?”

Riki waves the both of you off, telling you that he’ll bring your drinks over to you. 

You make a beeline for your favorite spot, right by the large window that overlooks the sidewalk. Jay surprises you for the umpteenth time that morning by easily striding ahead and pulling your chair out for you, then coughing and turning red when you give him a weird look.

“Sorry, I, uh, yeah. Instinct,” he explains, which is really no explanation at all. 

“Are you courting me or something?” You try to keep your tone light and joking, but confusion inevitably slips in. Nothing Jay has done today has made sense. 

He seems to have regained his composure when he sits down, because he hits you with, “I guess you could say that. It’s just something I think I’d do for my girlfriend.”

You stare at him blankly. “Thanks for telling me…?”

“I mean, if you’re going to fake-date me, you can probably expect me to do stuff like that, right?”

You groan. “I’m not going to fake-date you, Jay, how many times do I have to say it? I—”

“— don’t have time, I know. But what if I could make it worth your while?”

“Jay, you know I’m Jake’s sister, right? We have money. Besides, I’m helping Mark right now, and I don’t do this for multiple people at the same time.”

“Oh yeah, Jake told me about that rule. What if I could take care of that for you?”

You raise an eyebrow. “What do you mean?”

“I’ll help Mark find a real girlfriend, and then you can help me, instead.”

“If it were that easy, don’t you think Mark would have done it himself?” 

Jay waves his hand dismissively. “Oh, please, Mark’s been crushing on the girl in his music class for ages. He gets too into his head about asking her out, so he chickens out every time. They’re partners on a project right now, though, so I’ll just give him a push in the right direction.”

You have to admit that you’re intrigued by his proposition. Everything Jay just said lines up with what you know about Mark, especially the chickening out part. You’d like to see Jay try, and you figure it can’t hurt either way, so you nod. “Okay, fine. If you can help Mark, I’ll help you. But seriously, what’s your deal? Why do you want my help so badly?”

Jay blinks, then he leans back into his chair. “Oh. Honestly, I haven’t 100% decided that I do, yet.”

“But you’re willing to agree to help Mark Lee with a girl in order to secure my help?” You shake your head. “You’re really strange, Park.”

“I get overly invested in challenges really easily,” Jay confesses, showing you an unexpectedly bashful smile. “So I got a little caught up just now in the idea that I could change your mind about helping me. But now that you’ve brought it up, I’ll still help Mark, no matter what. I’m sick of him writing lovesick songs about that girl, anyways.”

“Large iced Americano, no water, four shots of espresso. And a London Fog,” Riki announces. He sets the drinks down on your table right as the bell above the shop’s door chimes and lets in the pre-9am work crowd. He groans and bids you both a hasty goodbye.

Jay eyes your coffee with disgust. “Liquid death, huh? That’s disturbing.”

“Hey, don’t knock it ‘til you try it.” You tilt the cup in his direction, laughing when he shudders. 

“Absolutely not. I can’t believe you order that enough that Riki knows it’s your usual.”

“I usually see him in the afternoons when I order this, actually, so I’m sure he’s going to give me an earful about getting one in the mornings, too. Speaking of— doesn’t he have school?” You whip around in your seat to stare at Riki. 

“He has two free periods on Mondays this year, so I guess he picked up an extra shift. He’s a hard working kid,” Jay says. 

You turn back around to see him with that same fondness in his eyes. “How do you know him, by the way?”

“Ah, he’s my little’s friend from high school. My little is Jungwon— cat-looking dude?”

You let out a squeal. “Oh my gosh, he’s the cutest!” 

Jay crosses his arms and grins, looking amused. “Yeah, he is pretty cute. Anyways, Jungwon mentioned his friend was having trouble with his history class last year, so I started tutoring him a bit, just casually, since I’m studying history.”

“Not economics?” You’ve heard about Jay’s family’s notoriously tightly-controlled company. Everything is within the family, so you’re surprised that he isn’t getting ready to take over. 

“Both. I can have two majors, you know. What’s yours?”

“Linguistic anthropology. And studio art. I can have two majors, you know.” 

Jay rolls his eyes. “Okay, okay, I know that was pretentious. What’s linguistic anthropology?”

You clear your throat, not expecting to talk about your hopes and dreams so early in the morning, and with someone who’s only a few steps away from being a stranger. “Languages, and the social and cultural foundations of them. Basically. I want to do linguistic archaeology in grad school, and this is the closest thing you can get in undergrad.”

Jay leans forward and nods enthusiastically. “That sounds really cool. What kind of art are you doing?”

“Oil paints, mostly, and some charcoal drawing…”

Like that, an hour flies by. You don’t even notice the blocks in your calendar getting overwritten by what is essentially a coffee date with Jay until you get the reminder that you have class in thirty minutes. 

“Shit, I gotta go soon.” You say it with some regret; surprisingly, you’re really enjoying yourself with Jay. He’s smart, and funny, and a little awkward in a way that makes you think he’s the most sincere person you’ve ever met. And he has interesting thoughts and opinions on history, some of which you even make a mental note to follow up on later for your thesis. 

“Before you go, will you tell me why you do the fake-dating thing?” Jay puts his head in both his hands and smiles at you, and…

“Are you batting your eyelashes at me?”

Jay squints at you. “Maybe. Is it working?”

“Not really,” you lie, like a liar. 

“Didn’t work on Jake, either. Man, I gotta work on it.” Jay gives up the act and relaxes back into his chair. “Will you tell me, though?”

“Sure, it’s not like it’s a big secret or anything. It’s not even that long of a story, now that I think about it. Not something worth trying to seduce me over, but I like your hustle,” you joke. 

“So it was working!”

“I wouldn’t go that far. Okay, so it started with Chan. He just didn’t want to go to his horrible cousin’s horrible wedding, but his sister had been arguing with the cousin about Chan and was, like, defending his honor or something? And one thing spiraled into another and all of a sudden Chan needed to show up to the wedding with an impressive partner to prove to his cousin that he could pull.” You make a face. “Boys. I’d actually met this particular cousin before, through some convoluted situation at one of those holiday parties that our families throw, and I knew he was insufferable, so I was willing to help out. Other guys in the frat heard about it, and you know, it’s surprising but not shocking that your frat has a lot of guys with some sort of weird baggage that prevents them from actually seriously dating someone. It’s weirder that a significant number of them also find themselves in situations where they need to pretend to have a girlfriend, but as it turns out, I’m really good at it— being a fake girlfriend, I guess. I haven’t had much time to date myself, so it’s kind of nice hearing how much everyone’s families liked me as their potential daughter-in-law. Plus, I always get favors in return, so it’s not the worst thing in the world. It’s like the fun part of dating, without the actual time commitment.”

Jay looks skeptical. “Going to family events and schmoozing with distant relatives is the fun part of dating?”

You scoff. “Whatever. You’re the one who asked why I did it, and I told you. It doesn’t have to make sense to you.”

“Sorry, sorry. I’m not judging, I swear. I just think that there’s probably better parts to dating, but who am I to talk,” he mutters.

“Ah, yes, Jake mentioned that, too. Bitchless all these years?”

Jay deadpans at you. “I know you aren’t making fun of me for that when you basically just told me that you fake-dated all these guys because you have a raging praise kink specifically for people’s families.”

“Oh, fuck off.” But you’re laughing, almost— giggling? Ugh. Maybe you do need to back off on the caffeine. “Alright, I have to go now, for real. Text me when Mark is good, and then we can talk about our two fake dates.”

“Isn’t three the max?”

“I was serious about not having time, Jay. I have a thesis for linguistics, and a portfolio to put together for art. Mark was going to be my last… thing this year. I went to one event with him, so if you can get things squared away with him, you can have his other two.”

“Okay, fine. Pleasure doing business with you.” Jay salutes you with two fingers.

“You haven’t even succeeded with Mark yet, and you haven’t heard what favors I want in return, either. Don’t get ahead of yourself, hotshot.” 

And then you’re gone, leaving Jay to ruminate on the last hour and a half you spent together.

Jake’s right— you’re not nice, not in the traditional sense of the word. You’re kind of prickly, and you seem to run your life like a drill sergeant, but Jay thinks you must be really kind. Aside from Chan, the others you’ve helped (Mark, Yeonjun, Vernon, Sunghoon, good lord) are all variants of pretty boys who can’t talk to women to save their lives but live and die by the words of their parents, who all hope to see them get married sooner rather than later (Jay elects to ignore how he fits into that mold pretty well, too). No wonder you felt bad for them in their plights and wanted to help them; and Jay really believes that you did it to help them, not because of whatever favors you got in return. Like you said, you have money, so it’s not like you couldn’t buy your own bubble tea or pay for a driver. No, he’s seen your calendar, and it’s crammed with volunteering events in between everything else, and he’s seen the way you fuss over Riki, someone you only see a couple times a week while ordering a coffee. He’s pretty sure you’re just a classic do-gooder, and he doesn’t even need your help that badly, but he does love a challenge. Get Mark Lee together with the girl of his dreams is the first one. The second one is to figure out why he cares about proving himself to you so much— it’s not like he’s swimming in free time either, but somehow you’ve gotten under his skin, and he wants to see where this goes.

(Plus, he thinks you’re really pretty.)

When you enter your studio art workshop class, you find Yunjin immediately and pout at her. “Thanks for revealing my location to Jay, traitor,” you whine.

Yunjin grins. “It’s not like the sorority house is a state secret, babe. And I have zero regrets— he’s hot!”

“So?”

“So, I’m sick of you fake-dating these guys because you love to be the most helpful person in the room, and I want to see you actually date someone!”

You snort. “Joke’s on you, then, because he also wants to fake-date me.”

“Eugh, really? What the hell, I thought he was a good one,” Yunjin groans.

“He is a good one,” you respond instantly. You’re not sure why you’re so defensive about him, but from everything you’ve witnessed today, you know that Park Jongseong is the definition of a good guy.

“Well, maybe this will finally be the one that goes from fake-dating to real dating!” Yunjing wiggles her eyebrows at you. “You already think he’s nice, and you didn’t say he isn’t hot, either.”

“I have a pulse, Yunjin, I can tell that he’s hot.”

Yunjin whistles between her teeth. “Wait ‘til I tell Jake to tell Jay that.”

“Do not— and since when are you and my brother so close, anyways?”

She flashes you a conspiratorial wink. “New boytoy.”

“Ew, seriously? Jake?”

“Hey, it’s not that deep. He gets around, too, doesn’t he? Friends with benefits, no strings attached, etcetera.”

“Famous last words, honey.” You start pulling out your art supplies, chewing on your lip as you consider whether to ask her what you’re dying to know. “... So, what do you know about Jay? And do not tell Jake about any of this, Yunjin, I swear.”

“We’re really not close like that, babe, and I’d never betray your trust for dick.” Yunjin puts her hand over her heart solemnly.

“I want you to know that I’m throwing up in my mouth.”

“Noted.” Yunjin sticks the pencil she was using in her hair, then leans back and hums thoughtfully. “Now, Jay… I know what everyone knows about him, I guess. Good guy, nice family, kind of detached, if I had to say so? Not in a bad way, though. I just mean that he seems to hang out with his friends and that’s pretty much it. He’s involved in a bunch of stuff on campus like you are, but I know he had to pull back recently because one of his parents had a health thing— oh no, I can tell you’re already Cinderella-ing.”

You huff. “Jake is so annoying for that. What do you mean, Cinderella-ing?”

“You feel bad for him and now you want to help him!”

“I already agreed to help him, if he helps Mark Lee get a girlfriend, first.”

“Wow, he must really need your help if he’s willing to do that.”

“Funny, he said he isn’t sure if he needs my help, yet.” You shrug. “He’s confusing.”

“Oooh, but you’re interested, aren’t you?” Yunjin peers closer at you. “Oh my god, you whore! You want him!” 

“Yunjin!” You shush her, cognizant of the other students around you. “I’m just curious, okay? I wanna know what I’m getting myself into.”

“Sure, sure. I believe you!” Yunjin insists, looking entirely unbelievable. “That’s not surprising about Jay, though. His family is, like, super family-oriented. Introducing them to a fake girlfriend seems like it wouldn’t go well, so it makes sense that he’s hesitant about it. You should ask him for more details when you guys fuck—”

You cut her off with a hand slapped over her mouth. “I’m going to murder you in your sleep.”

Yunjin laughs underneath your hand and flicks you off. “But seriously, the rumor is that he’s never dated anyone in college because his parents had the perfect college romance and want the same thing for him, and he’s always been too busy being the prodigal son and heir apparent for true love to just, like, fall into his lap. Despite the valiant efforts of many girls on campus,” she finishes dryly.

“That’s… a really detailed rumor.”

“Chaewon’s little is obsessed with him, so I’ve heard it a million times.” 

You both cringe. Chaewon is far too nice to say it, but her little is stuck in a phase of boy mania so all-consuming it borders on clinical.

“Enough about boys; how’s it going with the portfolio?” Yunjin nudges her chin towards your empty canvas.

You sigh. “Pretty good, except for the human portrait part. It’s really not my thing, but Professor Song was so adamant that I try to include at least two of them by the end of the year. I did one of Jake already, but he doesn’t know, so it’ll be hilarious to see him cry at the senior showcase.”

“Oh, he’s totally going to lose it,” Yunjin agrees. You stay silent on the curious display of knowledge she just exhibited on your brother’s behalf. “Who are you thinking for the other one?”

“Beats me. I’d use my parents, but that feels a little bit too on the nose, especially after the one of Jake. It’d be weird to ask our friends, right?”

“Not really, but your portfolio theme is family, isn’t it? Very sweet of you to think of us as family, but then you’re talking about an entire group of people.”

Instantly, you shudder. “That’s way more than two humans. Love you guys, but no thanks. I’ll figure something else out.”

Yujin smirks at you. “If you and Jay date and fall in love and get married, you’ll be family, and then you could do one of him.”

“That is so not the solution!”

You don’t hear from Jay until a week later, at which point you figure he has given up, so you’re shocked to find him at your door again. 

“Morning, Cinderella,” is all he says to you before handing you a cup.

“Good morning,” you return, too dumbfounded to say anything else. “What’s this?”

“Coffee. Large iced Americano, no water, four shots of espresso,” he recites. “I got Riki to text it to me,” he admits quickly.

“I appreciate it, but what’s this for?” You narrow your eyes at him. “You can’t possibly think that one of the favors I’ll ask from you is coffee, right? I’m not that easy, Park.”

Jay looks offended. “Hey, you let Sunghoon buy you bubble tea!”

“Yeah, but he was really pathetic about the whole fake-dating thing.”

“... Fine, I’ll give that to you. That does sound like him. But no, this is because I wanted to ask you something, and I figured I’d take up the time that you usually schedule for getting your coffee.”

“Ooookay. So, what’s up?” You start on the walk to the library, and he’s quick to fall into step beside you.

“I’ve been thinking about how to help Mark with his crush, and I have the perfect idea, but I need your help.”

“You need my help to help Mark so that you can get my help for yourself?” It sounds absurd coming out of your month, and before you can stop yourself, you blurt out, “Wow, try saying that ten times fast.”

A surprised laugh erupts from Jay’s chest. “That was corny as hell,” he says, but he’s still laughing, high pitched and delighted. Laughter transforms his whole face, his eyes slipping into crescents and his nose scrunching with the force of his happiness, and you’re left dazed looking at him like that.

“Don’t tell anyone you witnessed that. I know where you live,” you threaten him half-heartedly. It really doesn’t carry much weight when you’re beaming in response to the mirth in his expression.

He stops laughing to grin at you, still bright and lovely. “Yeah, right. Who’s been coming to whose front door?”

“You don’t think I could walk across the street? I’m there all the time, Jay. So many people in that house owe me; it’d be a piece of cake to get your room number.” You say this with a stupid smile still on your face.

“Right, consider me properly frightened.” The wattage of his grin finally turns down a couple of notches, giving you room to breathe properly. “So, about Mark,” he starts.

“Yeah, this just sounds like more work for me,” you respond skeptically.

“Hear me out, okay? Mark has all these love songs written about this girl, and I found out that she always eats lunch at the same table at the same time in the dining hall on Tuesdays, so I figured he could play one of his songs over the dining hall speakers and then confess to her.” Jay makes little jazz hands at the end of his sentence, and it prompts a giggle out of you.

You have to fight your smile down when you speak. “A couple of things. One: that is so incredibly over the top for a confession, but sure, I like your spirit. Two: there’s no way Mark is slick enough to pull this off. Which leads me to three: what do you need from me?”

Jay nods. “Exactly, Mark could never do this on his own, which is why I’ve enlisted a bunch of guys from the frat, and you, of course.”

“Me, of course?”

“Sunoo and Jake are going to sweet-talk the lady at the dining hall who has the keys to the staff office with the dining hall audio hookup and microphone— she loves Sunoo, and Jake will flash her the ol’ puppy dog eyes to keep her sufficiently distracted. Heeseung will walk past and swipe her keys, and Jungwon is going to make sure that Mark’s crush is actually in the dining hall at the right time. Chan is going to apologize on everyone’s behalf if this goes wrong.”

You tut. “Poor Chan.”

“It’s his presidential duty, god bless.”

“And where do I fit into this?”

“You and I need to hold Mark’s hand, figuratively, and keep him hyped up enough to actually go through with it. He agreed to the plan, but I can totally see him chickening out again, which is why Sunghoon and Yeonjun are also going to stand guard outside the staff office so he can’t escape.”

“I feel like you could hold Mark’s hand on your own,” you argue, but you don’t really mean it. This sounds so chaotic and harebrained that you would normally want to stay a mile away from it, but Jay’s enthusiasm and seriousness about it is rubbing off on you. Plus, it would be nice to see one of your fake boyfriends actually succeed in their love life.

“He has two hands, and I can’t hold them all by myself because I have to operate the audio hookup,” Jay proclaims solemnly. “And I said figuratively! He trusts you, clearly, or at least he trusted you enough to be his fake girlfriend.”

“I come highly recommended,” you intone dryly. 

“And he trusts me enough to go along with the plan, so I think we’re the best suited to be his moral support,” Jay continues, ignoring your smartass comment. 

“This is a ridiculous plan, Jay.”

“So you’re in? Oh, wait. Are you free at 12:30 today?”

You stop to check your planner and confirm that you are. “What would you have done if I wasn’t?”

“Reconfigure the time-space continuum so you could be in two places at once. Mark’s future happiness depends on this,” Jay insists.

"I see what you mean about getting overly invested in challenges really easily… Alright, text me where I should meet you later, then?”

“You got it. Have a good day, Cinderella!” He yells this part as he jogs away from you. 

“Stop calling me that!” But you can’t remember the last time you smiled this much this early in the morning.

Hours later, you smile instinctively upon seeing Jay’s name pop up in your notifications.

jay: coast is clear. meet me outside the dining hall staff office in 5 minutes. operation is a go

you: omw, 007

jay: stop ur making me blush

you: fr?

jay: no this is just banter

you: omfg mark just texted me to say that ur actually blushing

jay: im going to end him. after he gets a gf, ofc

“Hey,” you whisper in Jay’s ear, making him jump. 

“Holy shit, how’d you get here so fast?”

You shrug, jostling his shoulder as you’re pressed up against him in the tiny recessed alcove across from the staff office. “I’m a fast walker. Places to be, people to see, you know? Speaking of…” You motion to the open office door. “Should we go inside?”

Jay clears his throat. Up this close, he can count the eyelashes that flutter against your skin. “Yeah, Mark’s already there. I’m surprised he found the composure to pop his head out and see me, or text you, honestly. He’s been a nervous wreck since this morning. Oh, finally, way to be on time, losers!” Jay beckons Sunghoon and Yeonjun closer from down the hall.

“We’re fine; Jungwon says Mark’s crush hasn’t even sat down at her table, yet. Hey, how are you? Long time no see.” Yeonjun flashes you a smile.

“Committing questionable acts in the name of love, you know, just living the dream,” you joke. “How’s your mom?”

“Great! She still asks about you. By the way, if I had known being a little more pathetic would get me this level of commitment,” Yeonjun gestures around him, “I would’ve asked for a real girlfriend, too.”

“I’m told I was pretty pathetic, and even I didn’t get this kind of treatment,” Sunghoon reminds you.

You pat his arm consolingly. “Maybe if you had Jay on your side, buddy.”

“Yeah, what the hell, best friend?” Sunghoon eyes him accusingly.

Jay pats his other arm. “Sorry, I have ulterior motives with Mark.”

“Oh, so now Mark gets a girlfriend and a secret male lover?”

Jay scoffs. “Not those kinds of ulterior motives, but please. As if Mark could bag me.”

“Ladies, ladies, there’s plenty of Jay to go around,” you say placatingly. 

“Guys, I’m freaking out in here!” Mark wails from inside the office.

“Fuck, Jungwon said she’s sitting down now. Go!” Yeonjun pushes you and Jay towards the office.

In quick order, Jay gets the audio hooked up to Mark’s laptop, and he starts the song. While Mark hyperventilates between the two of you and you actually do share in the holding of his hands, Jay finds himself staring at you as you try to encourage Mark. You really are quite kind— he doesn’t think many people would have agreed to be dragged into this silly scheme, but here you are, throwing yourself into it wholeheartedly because there’s a chance it might secure Mark’s future happiness. 

The sun reaches its highest point in the sky just then, streaming in through the windows behind you and drenching you in golden light. Jay’s not sure if he’s nervous about getting in trouble for this or if he’s just been looking at you for too long, but he can feel his heart stuttering in his chest. It’s positively outrageous how pretty you are.

“Bro, what the fuck do I say?” Mark hisses, interrupting Jay’s very important investigation of the color of your eyes. “The song is almost over, please, you gotta help me!”

“Just tell her how you feel,” Jay offers. It’s not his best attempt at advice, but he’s distracted by the way your hair brushes against your neck. 

Mark splutters and fumbles and curses under his breath, but then the song is over, and Jay is turning on the microphone for him to speak. “Um, hey, so, yeah! Yeah. Uh, I’ve liked you for a long time… which you can probably tell, because of the song and everything.” Mark giggles nervously. “There’s, like, at least five more where that came from. Because I like you a lot, but I’m not great at talking in person, so I wrote all these songs, and oh god, this is super weird, isn’t it? I’m sorry if it’s weird, I just, well, I wanted to tell you. What I feel for you is so big I think I might explode; it makes me lose my mind and my breath and my ability to speak, and it leads me to do stupid stuff like this. And now you know. Okay, cool!” Mark reaches over and slams his hand to turn off the microphone. 

You and Jay share an exasperated look over Mark’s head.

“Mark, you didn’t even say who the song is for,” you remind him. 

He pales. “I didn’t?”

“Or who it’s from, but I think that part is pretty obvious,” Jay sighs. “Just text her right now, and tell her it was from you, and ask her out!”

“What? No, I can’t do that, I think I’m gonna be sick,” Mark moans.

You roll your eyes. “Mark, do it right now, or I’m telling your mom you cheated on me.”

“What? But I didn’t! And we weren’t even dating for real! And I just told her we broke up!”

“Right, I’ll say we broke up because you cheated on me.” You stare him down. “Seriously, I’ll call her tonight.”

“Nonono, I’ll text Mina, okay? See, I’m texting her right now.” Mark pulls out his phone and types frantically. 

Jay throws his arm around Mark’s shoulder, using the leverage to hit the send button on his phone. “See, that wasn’t so hard!”

“I need to go walk into traffic,” Mark declares. 

You smile breezily at him. “Sure, whatever. Love conquers all!” Behind his back, you and Jay high-five.

Jay says you should have dinner to celebrate Mark and Mina’s new romance (ignoring Mark’s pained “What romance? I’m dying.”), but you tell him that you’re volunteering at the community kitchen that night. Jay doesn’t miss a beat. “Sure, I’ll be there. We should talk about my thing, anyways.”

That’s how he finds himself in a hairnet and disposable gloves that night, making funny faces at the head of the community kitchen’s daughter, who’s running around underfoot. He’s been put in charge of chopping vegetables, while you’re stirring a huge pot of stew at one of the stoves.

“Watch your fingers,” you scold him half-heartedly. He’s devastatingly cute like this.

He has the audacity to wink at you. “I know my way around a kitchen, don’t worry.”

“Very cool, trophy husband.”

“What, no more 007?”

“Depends on the outcome of Mark’s text to Mina. Did you hear anything from him?”

Jay scoops up his vegetables into a large bowl and brings it over to you, nudging you aside with his hip so he can add the vegetables to your pot. “Not yet, but I don’t have him freaking out in my messages either, so I’ll take that as a win.”

You let him take over the stirring and turn around to lean against the countertop. “Cute hairnet,” you quip.

“Thanks. You think they’ll let me take it home?” he jokes. 

You nudge your chin in the direction of the little girl giggling at Jay. “I think she wants to take you home.”

He winks at her, then lowers his voice so that only you can hear him say, “She’ll have to get in line.”

You swallow and wonder if the stove is turned on too high. “Right, so what’s your thing about?”

“Later, yeah?” Jay gestures around you, and you suddenly remember that you’re in the middle of a busy kitchen, with everyone hustling to get ready for the dinner service starting in half an hour. 

You spring into action again, embarrassed at how easily you’d been absorbed into conversation with Jay. Something about the way he talks to you makes you feel like you’re the only person in the world— he’s always so attentive, nodding and responding to your every comment. You have to wonder why he hasn’t dated anyone seriously in college; he seems like he’d be the dream boyfriend. Hypothetically.

He only proves this point further when he reveals two containers of mac and cheese that he had picked up before getting there, which he microwaves for the two of you to eat after the dinner service is over. You turn on the lights in one corner of the cafeteria and sit at the only table that’s still left out: a children’s table where you have to balance precariously on seats that are too small for you. But it’s entirely worth it, knocking knees and elbows together, laughing too hard for what the situation warrants.

“I would’ve made you something myself, but I didn’t want to use up the kitchen’s ingredients,” Jay comments off-handedly.

Your heart glows in your chest. “That’s really thoughtful, Jay.”

He smiles and scratches the back of his head, suddenly shy. “Nah, it’s common sense, right? Come on, eat before it gets cold.”

Right then and there, Jay learns that he loves to watch you eat. You make exaggerated faces and ooh and ahh over something as simple as mac and cheese from the 24-hour diner down the street, and he finds himself itching to make something with his own two hands that will make you react like that. 

When you’re done eating, you sit back and sigh in satisfaction. “That was exactly what I needed. Now, tell me about your thing— what kind of mess have I gotten myself into?”

Jay hems and haws for a good minute before finally telling you about his parents’ upcoming 50th wedding anniversary. “It’s a little complicated because they had this, like, fairytale relationship, and of course I’m happy that they’re still so in love all these years later, but it’s kind of… a lot to live up to. Not that I’m complaining, because they’re awesome, but I don’t have that kind of relationship with anyone yet, so I haven’t brought anyone home to them.”

“So the rumors are true,” you mutter under your breath.

Unfortunately, Jay seems to have heard you. “What rumors?”

Flushing, you explain what you’d heard from Yunjin, who had heard it from Chaewon’s little. You’re quick to add, “I wasn’t asking around about you or anything!” 

Jay just smirks at you, something wicked and slow that only contributes to the heat in your cheeks. “I didn’t say anything.”

You hesitate before speaking up again. “So, if you don’t mind me asking… How come you haven’t dated anyone long-term in college? You’re, you know, perfectly okay to look at.”

Jay deadpans at you. “Wow, thanks, that really means a lot to me.”

You let out a huff of a laugh. “Shut up, it’s not a secret that you’re hot.”

Jay’s eyebrows shoot up, and you swear to god, he blushes to high heaven. “Th-Thanks.”

“Mm.”

It’s silent for a few long moments, then Jay clears his throat. “If I’m being honest, I haven’t dated anyone long-term in college because my parent’s relationship is a lot to live up to, and it’s not like I have a ton of time to find my perfect life partner in between everything else.”

“Ugh, tell me about it. Yunjin tells me I should try actually dating again, but it’s kind of a lot, right? Putting in the time and effort to get to know someone from scratch, when you’re not even sure how it’s going to pan out? And you’ve seen my calendar.” You laugh quietly. “And, honestly, I have this problem with dating where I get bored pretty easily.”

Jay leans forward, pushing into your personal space close enough to count your eyelashes, again. “Are you bored right now?” 

“No,” you answer, although you’re not sure why he’s asking. “Um, so, why do you need a fake girlfriend, then? I don’t think it’ll pass muster with your parents, if they want you to be in love for real.”

Jay fidgets with his fingers on top of the table. “Yeah, it’s kind of stupid, to be honest. My dad was hospitalized for a month last year, and it really shook us all. My parents are on the older side, and I’m their only child, and, well, I’d like to make them happy while they’re still around. Sorry, that was morbid. And I know it’s not like we’d be doing this forever, and it’s wrong to fake it, but still. They’d be overjoyed to see me in a relationship. I want to give that to them, even if it’s only twice.” He tells it to you like it’s a secret, and your chest caves in with the force of his sincerity.

“I don’t think that’s stupid. It’s sweet, Jay, really.” You reach out and still his fingers. “Listen, you know I’m really good at being a fake girlfriend, right?”

“You come highly recommended,” he mimics you from earlier, mouth quirking up in the beginnings of a smile. It lifts the atmosphere slightly, and you’re glad for it.

“Right, so don’t worry. Leave it to me. Your parents won’t suspect a thing,” you promise. “When’s the anniversary celebration?”

“Six weeks.”

You pull out your planner to start scheduling. “Great, so you can send me information about yourself, and I’ll do the same for you, and then we can find time to meet up and quiz each other about it and get our answers on our relationship straight—”

Jay’s hand lands around your wrist, stopping you from writing further. “Not that I don’t appreciate your… efficiency, but I don’t think that’s going to work. Like you said, my parents want to see a true relationship, and I don’t think flashcards are going to cut it. How about we just… get to know each other?”

You blink. “What, like daily one-on-ones, or something? Office hours, but just for each other?”

He bursts out laughing. “Oh my god, you’re serious, aren’t you?” He lets go of your wrist to hide his face behind his hands as he continues to laugh, which makes you smile despite yourself. He’s so goddamn cute.

You decide to humor him. “What do you suggest, then?”

“As much as I would love to monopolize your time, I don’t actually want to take up any of the precious few free spots on your calendar. You need to set aside more time for yourself, by the way. But for now, how about you give me the thirty minutes you schedule for getting to Nat’s and then back to campus every day? We can get to know each other then.”

“You want to walk me to the coffee shop and back?”

“Among other things.”

“… Such as?”

“Just you wait, Cinderella. I’m going to sweep you off your feet so hard, you won’t know what hit you. I’ll be the best fake boyfriend you’ve ever had.”

In the dim light of the after-hours cafeteria, with his long legs stretched out on either side of yours and the soft crescents of his smiling eyes twinkling at you, you’re inclined to believe him.

Jay keeps his word. He shows up on the sorority house’s porch every morning, backpack slung over his shoulder and hands in his pockets at 7:45am. He doesn’t even have class until 11am (you know because you asked Yunjin to ask Jake), so his dedication impresses you. Sometimes, you’ll watch him approach the house from your window, bopping his head along to whatever he’s listening to in his earbuds. 

When you open the door to greet him, he always smiles sleepily at you and reaches out to grab whatever’s in your hands (usually art supplies or heavy reference books for your thesis). It’s a small gesture, but it shoots through your cotton-candy-soft heart as true and straight as an arrow.

Most mornings, the two of you will chat about anything and everything, swinging from homework to Greek life drama to pet peeves to Mesopotamian history. Occasionally, you’re both tired from your busy schedules and just end up sharing his earbuds, listening to something slow and soothing. More and more often, you find yourself stuffing supplies and books into your backpack until it’s grossly misshapen, just so Jay can have his hands free to brush against yours on the walk to Nat’s.

It’s not just the coffee shop, either. Suddenly, he’s everywhere in your life, as if someone had penciled in his name as one long continuous block in your calendar. He comes to the library with you, and you work on your assignments in companionable silence. He’s now a regular volunteer at the community kitchen, and he’s helping them design a new menu for the colder days coming soon. He even shows up outside the studio art workshop, bringing you takeout when you’ve forgotten to eat. At parties, the two of you dominate beer pong, with him bouncing balls off of his bicep into the cups just to make you fake your fawning adoration at him. He doesn’t have to know that it comes easily to you, especially when he’s constantly looking at you the way you know you look at beautiful works of art.

“If I didn’t know any better, I’d think you were actually courting me,” you comment thoughtlessly one day. You’re perched on the kitchen counter at the frat, watching Jay make ramen for the two of you. It’s almost three in the morning, and neither of you should be awake, but there’s something special about the quiet privacy afforded by the strange hour.

Jay forces himself to keep stirring the pot like usual. If he’s being honest with himself, he doesn’t know any better, either, but he doesn’t want to look too closely into that at the moment. Instead, he opts to flirt. “Wouldn’t you like to know,” he murmurs.

“Yeah, that’s why I said it, smartass.” But you let him off the hook, now preoccupied with reaching over to re-tie his apron.

“Ooh, ramen!” Jungwon’s face lights up as he walks into the kitchen, led by his nose. He looks like he just woke up, rubbing at his eyes with the ends of his sweatshirt sleeves. You have to stop yourself from cooing at him.

“What are you doing up so late?” Jay scolds him gently.

“Oh, hey, Dad. Hey, Mom. I just woke up; I had a weird dream.” Jungwon nods at you both and takes a seat at the kitchen island.

You gape at him. “What?”

Jungwon blinks a couple of times, looking more alert by the second. “Oops. Did I say that out loud? Sorry, Niki’s been rubbing off on me.”

“Niki calls us Mom and Dad?” You’re not sure if that’s sweet or weird.

“As a joke! In a jocular manner. Jovially.” Jungwon throws up a peace sign, as if that helps.

“I’m glad to see the English degree is paying off,” Jay remarks dryly. He looks like he took the Mom-and-Dad thing much more in stride, except for the tips of his ears, which burn red. It’s a dead giveaway that makes you smile fondly, because it’s so him.

“Will you make some more ramen?” Jungwon bats his eyelashes at the two of you.

“See, it works much better when Jungwon does it,” you tease Jay.

“Can’t argue with you there, honestly.” Jay puts another pot of water on the stove to boil. “You should have more than just sodium and carbs, though,” he tells Jungwon.

You nod, hopping off of the counter to rummage through the fridge. “Yeah, you don’t eat enough vegetables. Maybe that’s why you’re having weird dreams. Aha!” You emerge triumphantly with a salad kit.

Jungwon laughs. “And you wonder why Niki calls you Mom and Dad.”

Jay scoffs. “That’s just because he hasn’t met Chan.”

“Fair enough. What are you guys doing here so late, anyways?”

You pause in assembling the salad to point a salad tong at Jay. “This guy just follows me everywhere.”

“We’re in my frat house,” Jay retorts. 

“I could be here for someone else,” you argue. 

Jay’s gaze pins you down, warm and earnest. “You’re not, though.”

You smile at him. “No, I’m not.”

Jungwon coughs. “Get a room.”

You reach over to ruffle his hair. “You’re standing in it.”

The three of you eat your ramen and salad in silence for a bit, all falling victim to varying degrees of sleepiness. Without noticing it, you’re scooched up next to Jay, shoulders and knees and ankles pressed together in one long line of comfortable intimacy.

Jay thinks about Jungwon’s question as he slurps at the noodles. What are you guys doing here so late? The answer almost eludes him. These days, he finds himself drawn to you like a magnet, pulled in by forces far stronger than himself. 

He remembers that the two of you had been doing work in his room after the main library had closed, and you had fallen asleep on his bed at some point, a sketchbook dangling from your fingers. He had spent a ridiculous amount of time admiring your sleeping form, indulging in his favorite pastime of counting your eyelashes and resisting the urge to lay beside you. Eventually, your stomach had woken you up, and he insisted on making you some food, even if it wasn’t as nice as he would have liked to do for you. Now, looking at you chatting and joking with Jungwon, Jay feels his heart expanding into his lungs. You fit into his life so perfectly, and he’d like to think that he fits into yours, too. It’s almost too good to be true— could this be what his parents started with? 

When you’re done eating, Jungwon waves the two of you away, insisting that he should do the dishes since you cooked. You’re not about to argue with that, so you pat him on the shoulder before following Jay back up to his room. 

“He’s a good kid,” you tell Jay as you hop on his bed again, grabbing your sketchbook to pick up where you left off.

“He is.” Jay tuts at you. “And you should go to sleep.”

“I will, I will, just let me finish this sketch, okay? Besides, I don’t see you turning your laptop off, either.” You jut your chin out stubbornly.

Jay glances at the Wikipedia rabbit hole he’d been going down before your stomach had growled loudly an hour ago. He’s done with his work for the day, and he had just been keeping you company for the last two hours. “I have super important, time-sensitive work to finish,” he lies solemnly.

“Jay, I can see that you have the Wikipedia page for sinkholes open.”

He slams his laptop shut. “Actually, I’m done,” he declares, flopping down on the bed beside you. He turns his cheek from where he’s level with your stomach to look up at your hands moving across the page. “What are you working on in there?”

You make a displeased face. “People. I have to do one more human portrait for my portfolio, and it’s driving me nuts. Here, this one is of you.”

Jay lifts his head, astonished to see himself reflected back on the page. In smooth, sure strokes, you’ve captured him in tender detail: strong jaw, sharp eyes, and mouth twisted in concentration, probably from earlier when he’d actually been doing work. Jay’s jaw works as he struggles to figure out what to say. He’s unbelievably touched that you would draw him. “Can I keep this?” he asks finally.

“It’s not even done yet. And it’s not that good,” you warn him.

“It is to me. C’mon, please?”

“Maybe when I finish…” You trail off, swayed by the senseless patterns he’s tracing on top of your knee. “Which I won’t, if you keep distracting me.”

He smirks and stills his hand, looking like he’s about to tease you before he interrupts himself with a yawn. “Alright, goodnight, Cinderella.”

“'Night, 007.”

When he wakes up the next morning, he finds the lingering scent of your shampoo and a complete sketch of himself, now decked out in a tux worthy of James Bond. It makes him laugh out loud, and he knows he’s in trouble when he slides out a picture of him with his cousins from a picture frame to put your sketch in the frame, instead.

Before you know it, the day of the Parks’ wedding anniversary celebration has arrived. You’re on a four-way FaceTime call, with Chaewon lounging on your bed as you try on various dresses.

Kazuha is more invested in asking you about your relationship than helping you decide what to wear. “I’m just saying, I think it’s interesting that you and Jay have been, like, glued together for well over a month.”

“We’re getting to know each other better, so we don’t mess up in front of his parents,” you explain for the millionth time.

Kazuha wiggles her eyebrows at you. “Suuuure. Why didn’t you just send him one of those scarily detailed questionnaires like you did with all the other guys you fake-dated?”

Chaewon motions for you to spin in the billowy dress you’re currently in. “Too beachy,” she decides. “But ditto to what Kazuha said.”

“It’s because she like-likes him,” Sakura sing-songs.

You stick your tongue out at her. “Grow up, will you?” 

“Forget about that— have you guys hooked up yet?” Yunjin demands.

“Yet? No, Yunjin, what the fuck,” you complain.

“Gross,” a familiar voice groans from Yunjin’s corner of the FaceTime. You, Kazuha, Sakura, and Chaewon all zero in on her square.

“Jake?” You exclaim.

Yunjin giggles and moves the camera to show Jake sitting at his desk in his room, wearing his nerdy glasses and hunched over a textbook.

“Did you guys just hook up?” Kazuha blurts out. 

“Gross,” you repeat.

Yunjin rolls her eyes. “Grow up, will you? And no, I’m just here because it was too loud at the house.”

The rest of you fall silent on the call, especially you and Chaewon, demonstrating how decidedly not loud it is in the sorority house.

Yunjin blushes and clears her throat. “Whatever. Hey, you should totally wear that sparkly navy velvet number! The one that cinches at your waist.”

You rummage around in your closet and pull out the dress in question to try it on. “This one?”

Sakura whistles. “Oh, for sure. Good eye, Jen.”

Yunjin blows her a kiss. “Of course, of course.” She points at you. “That’s the one, babe. You have, like, the sluttiest waist ever, second only to Sunghoon; you have to wear that.”

Sounds of agreement abound, except from Jake, who whines, “You guys don’t think I have a slutty waist?”

“You’re a whore in other ways, don’t worry,” you reassure him dryly. You do another spin for Chaewon. “This isn’t too much, though?”

Jake suddenly pops into view of the camera. “It’s a formal event, and Jay is going to lose his mind no matter what you wear, trust me.”

“That’s not the point,” you insist.

The girls respond in unison, “Yes, it is!” 

And you have to admit, the way Jay’s mouth stays open as he gives you the once-over a few hours later is gratifying, to say the least. For good measure, he does it again, letting his eyes linger at the dip between your collarbones and the curve of your mouth.

Molten heat spreads through you in response to his wandering eyes, ratcheting up in intensity when he smirks at you, purposeful and knowing.

You elect to check him out, too, knowing that you’re not the only person who can get flustered here. He cuts an unbelievable figure against the setting sun, leaning against his sleek black car, hands in his pockets and legs crossed at the ankles. The tuxedo he wears fits criminally well, emphasizing his broad shoulders and long legs, and you can’t stop yourself from wondering what he’d look like taking his tie off. On second thought, this may have backfired; you only find yourself feeling warmer the longer you stare at him.

Thankfully, he starts moving, coming up to the porch to hand you a bouquet of baby’s breath.

“Oh, good idea— should I hand these to your mom or your dad?” You ask, taking the flowers from him.

He laughs, surprised. You are too cute for his own good. “The flowers are for you, Cinderella. My parents and I are allergic to pollen, actually.”

“Oh.” You hold the flowers closer to your chest, giddiness touching you from head to toe. He got you flowers, even though he’s allergic. “Thank you, Jay.”

He hums and reaches out to tuck a piece of hair behind your ear. “Happy to do it. I saw the flowers in your room dying the other day. Go put them inside; I’ll wait out here. I can feel Chaewon’s stare drilling into the top of my head, anyways.” He looks up and waves at Chaewon, who’s hanging out of your window shamelessly.

She shouts, “Have her home by midnight, or she’ll turn into a pumpkin!”

“I don’t think that’s how it goes, but okay!” He throws her a thumbs-up.

Inside the house, you’re seized with the urge to splash some water on your face, just to calm yourself down, but that would ruin your makeup. Instead, you place the flowers in a vase of water and trust that Chaewon will bring them up to your room for you, after she’s done heckling Jay.

“Leave my guy alone,” you yell in her direction, pulling at his arm to get him down the stairs and to his car. 

“Your guy, huh?” Jay looks at you with uncontrollable fondness.

“Just for the night,” you say, but you don’t miss the way his smile widens at the way you don’t deny it.

Ever the gentleman, Jay opens the passenger door for you, helping you gather the ends of your dress and tucking them in under your legs. He remains crouched for a moment, looking like he’s debating with himself about something, and then he goes for it, leaning over and buckling you in.

When you raise an eyebrow at him, all he says is, “Precious cargo,” and then he’s shutting the door, leaving you flushing once more.

The car ride to his parent’s place is easy and comfortable, even with the charged atmosphere that lingers between the two of you. Conversation always flows like water with Jay; you’re debating the finer points of how to determine provenance for historical artifacts when you arrive. Guests are littered across the front lawn, conversing with each other but centered around his parents.

Suddenly, you’re nervous. “Do you think they’ll like me?” You ask Jay.

He looks at you like you’ve grown another head. “Are you serious? Of course they will. You’re you.”

You swat at his shoulder even as you smile widely. “Your unconditional faith in me notwithstanding, I’m serious, Jay. I want to be able to live up to this fairytale romance thing.”

He takes your hand in his, pressing a kiss to your knuckles. “Believe me, you’re a dream come true. Let’s go, Cinderella.”

You gulp and curse your thundering heart, but then you’re five feet away from his parents, and you’re exclaiming at how in love they look, all these years later. Jay’s dad is distinguished in salt-and-pepper hair, and his mom is all smiles when she tells you that you’re too pretty for Jay.

“Mom,” he whines.

“Oh alright, come here, my beautiful boy.” She brings him in for a hug and beams when he kisses her cheek. Your heart melts like ice cream in the summer; he’s a mama’s boy, through and through.

Jay’s dad asks, “So, how did you meet?” 

You open your mouth, prepared with your story. “I’m Jay’s friend’s twin sister, and then we kind of got caught in a scheme to help one of our other friends ask out the girl he liked, and we just got closer after that. Jay’s easy to like.” So far, it’s all true.

Jay doesn’t look like he’s faking anything when he continues, though. “She’s easy to love.”

“Way to one-up me,” you joke, but you feel like you’re floating, cradled by the buoyancy of the affection in his eyes.

“Seriously, she’s so smart it makes my head spin, and her heart shines brighter than the sun. She makes me laugh and work harder to keep up, and I’m lucky to just stand by her side. Being with her is the most natural thing in the world, like breathing, or my heart beating.” Jay doesn’t take his eyes off of you the whole time he’s speaking; he wants to commit every change in your expression to memory, from surprise to fondness to something deeper.

Jay’s dad hums approvingly. “Good work, son. You sound like I did when I met your mom.” He brings his wife in to kiss her temple.

“Enjoy the party, lovebirds,” she coos at you, and then they’re gone, off to greet other arrivals.

You’re frozen in place, with one hand still clutching at Jay’s like a lifeline. “We didn’t practice that,” you mumble.

He shakes his head and rubs his thumb over your cheek with his other hand. “No, we didn’t. Are you mad?”

“Mad? I think I’m jealous of your future girlfriend,” you say, forcing a laugh. It sounds wooden even to your ears.

He frowns. “Don’t do that.”

“Do what?”

“Act as if you don’t know how much I like you.” 

The world stops turning on its axis. “What?”

His gaze slips down to your mouth, tracing your cupid’s bow. “You heard me.” He turns hopeful eyes on you. “Do you… feel the same?”

Just like that, the world resumes its motion, and you can’t let him go a second longer without knowing how much he is loved. “Desperately.” 

He breathes a sigh of relief, and you think he’s going to kiss you— you need him to kiss you— but he hugs you close instead, lips hovering against your ear. “You have no idea how happy I am to hear that,” he murmurs.

“If it’s anything close to how happy I am, I probably have a good idea,” you laugh. You’re surprised at how quickly the burning urge to have his mouth on yours has tempered into something more grounded and permanent. 

“I have to go do something for my parents, but I think I’ll die if I have to leave you. Will you come watch?” 

You’d go anywhere with him. “Of course.”

He squeezes your hand. “Thanks, doll.” Against your will, your hand spasms in his. He giggles, delighted. “Duly noted.”

“Shut up,” you complain, but you follow him all the way to the tented dance floor set up on the grounds behind the house, only letting go after he kisses each of your fingertips in turn.

You’re surprised to see him pull out an eight-string guitar, and even more surprised when he explains to the gathered crowd that he’ll be playing the song from his parents’ first dance. They look perfect, swaying in the center of the floor, but you only have eyes for Jay.

You watch as his fingers pluck deftly at the strings, a romantic Spanish melody that barely reaches your ears over the rush of all your adoration for him. As soon as the song is over, he catches you in his arms, lifting you up and spinning you around twice before setting you back down, hands at home around your waist.

He asks if you want to dance. You teeter back on your heels, looking at the graceful curve of his mouth and thinking back to the nimbleness of his fingers. “Honestly? I want to kiss you. Really badly.”

He exhales and holds you tighter. “You won’t let me take you out first?”

“If you count the last few weeks, you’ve taken me out, like, a million times.”

“But a real date, doll. I want to cook for you, and we can get tea lights, and a picnic blanket, and— god.” Jay sucks in a sharp breath when you move his hands higher to cup underneath your chest. “You’re going to be the death of me,” he sighs, pressing his forehead to yours.

“I hope so. Stop being so nice, and take me to your room, please?”

Jay’s eyes flick heavenward. There’s only so much self-restraint left in him. “You win.”

And when he finally kisses you, pressed up against the door of his childhood bedroom, you nearly cry from how tender it is. He kisses you slowly, reverently, like you’re one of the saints from his history books.

“Sometimes, I think I’ve dreamt you up,” you confess to him. The words hang precious and delicate in the space between your lips.

“Let me show you I’m real then, yeah?” He presses a kiss to the corner of your mouth, then licks right into you, eliciting a gasp from the back of your throat. Your fingers find purchase in the soft hair at the back of his head, and you realize that you’ve been breathing the wrong air your whole life; the groan that passes from his mouth to yours is the only thing you want in your lungs from now on. 

Liquid desire pools in your stomach, rising until you think you might choke on it. “Jay, please.”

“Please, what? Use your words, doll.”

“Touch me.”

That’s all he needs to hear. Quicker than you realize it, but just as urgently as you need it, you find yourself laid out on his bed, and then he’s demonstrating that he knows more than just how to play guitar with those thick fingers.

When you make it out of his room an hour later, you’re still glowing with happiness. Jay knows he looks equally lovestruck, not least because his collar is hiding several lipstick stains from you. 

You offer to help him redo his tie, so he anchors you unnecessarily close to him, hands sweeping up and down your side. “I don’t think I told you yet, but you look really nice tonight,” he murmurs. “You look really nice all the time, actually.”

You bury your face in his chest. “I’m going to explode if you keep sweet-talking me like that.”

He presses his smile to the top of your head. “Nooooo, you’re too pretty to explode.”

“Jay!” But you’re both laughing, bathed in the soft magic of newfound devotion. You couldn’t dream up anything better.

(Dating Jay is a lot like fake-dating Jay, as it turns out. In some ways.

In other ways, Jay still manages to take your breath away with new and inventive methods. He really does make you dinner, with tea lights and a picnic blanket, ensconced in the twilight of a park you drive an hour away to get to. He even makes foie gras torchon for the occasion, from scratch, and he watches you intently as you moan in delight at the taste. You joke about your breath being fishy when you kiss later, but he just shrugs, unbothered and already moving so that his head disappears underneath your dress, making you moan in a different way.

So, yes— there’s a lot more kissing, and sex, and intimacy that makes you want to curl up in a ball and hiss at how vulnerable it makes you. But Jay is always welcome in the prickly patches of your soul, and he wants those parts of you as much as he wants the parts of you that paint him in aching affection.

When he finally tells you he loves you that winter— in so many words, because it shows in his every action otherwise—, it’s three in the morning again, and your hands are fluttering across his brow, smoothing out the creases from a night of worrying about whether he’s really good enough to take over the family business. Your fingers, lovely and dear to him, stitch together the cracks in his self-resolve, and he can’t help but let the words out. His heart absolutely sings when you repeat the words back to him.

Some time later, you ask him to sit for a portrait for you. He doesn’t think too much of it, especially as the seasons bleed into one another and spring brings an influx of senior events, pollen, and the impending question of the future. He’s at your senior thesis, asking you detailed questions during the audience Q&A and wrapping you up in the biggest hug when it’s over, and you sit in on the final class he TAs, applauding when he’s done.

At the showcase of your final portfolio, his jaw drops when you reveal the second portrait (after having laughed his ass off at Jake blubbering over the first one and Yunjin kissing him in public to shut him up). 

The second portrait is of him, and his parents. From his dad’s strong brows, to his mom’s smile lines, to his own hands; every detail is captured, shimmering in loving light. 

He finds that his eyes are wet when you come up to him and brush your thumb against his  eyelashes, smiling brightly at him. “Do you like it?”

“I love it. I love you, so much, like crazy, you don’t even know,” he rambles, laughing through his tears now.

You kiss him quickly but firmly, just a reminder that your mouth was made to fit against his. “Love you more, London boy. Speaking of…” You lean back to stare at him through your eyelashes. “I got the Rhodes,” you whisper.

His eyes widen like saucers. “You’re coming with me?”

“More like you’re coming with me,” you say, knowing that Jay had requested to be placed at his family business’s England location to be close to you in the event that you got the scholarship.

“Obviously,” he relents without missing a beat. “I’m going to follow you everywhere. Can’t get rid of me now.” He dips his head to kiss you longer. Lightning still shoots through his fingertips, just like the first time, and every time after that.

At graduation, you tell him, “You know, I think I’ve decided what I want your favor to be.”

He smiles at you, familiar and true. “Yeah? What’s that?”

“Just love me, for a long, long time.”

“Easy, Cinderella.”)

[ouatnextgen]

If Descendants characters were apart of the next gen, what do you think their relationships with the other next gen would be (assuming they were the younger siblings of the next gen).

This is finna be a looong one.

Obviously all the siblings love each other, and all the older siblings are protective of the little ones, so I tried not to be too repetitive with the details.

The Mills:

Henry:

He has so many siblings now, oh god

Bobby is slightly more of a handful than he's used to, so he (and Lucy) keep him on his toes

Henry always asks Regina if he was like that as a kid, and her answer is always a smug "Yes"

Bobby likes spending time with Henry's other families (ie, his own and the Swan-Joneses)

Evie's a lot quieter, so he appreciates that

He's very protective of Evie specifically

She could ask him for the moon and the stars, and you know that Henry would find someway to bring them down for her.

Roland:

He knows damn well that Bobby looks up to him a lot, so he tries to put on his best act when he's around

Unfortunately, he is more susceptible to The Eyes than Henry is, so Bobby ends up getting away with waaaaay more stuff with Big Bro Roland

Like Henry, he is also very protective of Evie, and will be the one who teaches her how to kill a man when she's older

Basically, Evie is their little princess, and you don't wanna fuck with her

While Evie doesn't like camping, she will tolerate it when she goes with her father, brothers, and sister.

Robyn:

Robyn's just glad she's not the baby anymore lol

She's the least busy of her siblings, by default of being younger, so she's the one who gets to babysit Bobby and Evie when the adults are busy

She and Bobby like to practice archery and eat dirt together or whatever it is kids do

She's never been very girly, so she and Evie have trouble bonding at times

The Nolans:

Leo:

Leo likes hanging out with little kids, so he never minds babysitting Chad

He's very bossy, however, and seems to be allergic to fun, so Chad doesn't like it when he babysits

Leo can also be kind of preachy about the rules, so Chad will end up getting more lectures from Leo than their parents sometimes

Despite the minor animosity, Leo always wants to be a role model and someone to look up to for Chad

He likes to teach him sword fighting and archery, even when Chad has zero interest or skill for those things

Beck (I can't pick a name for this kid, for now it's Beck):

He and Chad go together like two peas in a pod

Beck's sarcastic outlook paired with Chad's optimism make a fully rounded duo

Beck encourages Chad to commit Crimes, and Chad is the Voice Of Reason

The Hermans/Boyds:

Alex:

Alex is pretty chill with Chloe

Alex feels like a disappointment to their parents, so she is kind of worried that Chloe might be their "replacement"

Chloe basically hero-worships Alex, and dyes her hair blue like how Alex dyes theirs pink

In the future, Chloe ends up being a jock instead of a girly girl, and she and Alex bond over their mother not knowing what to do with either of them

Charlie:

He and Chloe argue (a lot)

Charlie hates sports, and Chloe hates boring nerd junk, so they don't get along

They are the epitome of "only I'M allowed to make fun of my sibling!" If anyone else makes fun of either of them, they get the wrath of the other one

The Briarwoods (Aurora's Family):

PJ:

PJ gets along fine with both Ariana and Audrey

He and Ariana specifically love to banter back and forth, which is hilarious to witness since Ariana wins 99% of the time

He will have tea parties with Audrey and dress up like a princess, and he will slay whichever princess dress she forces on him

Arabella:

The girls aren't actually triplets (Ariana isn't even their sister), but they're so close in age and act so similar, that they're always called triplets

They all love princess stuff, and adore being actual princesses; they all want to move to the Enchanted Forest and have balls

When they get older, they sing a different tune, but stay close

The Swan-Joneses:

Henry:

He has so many siblings now, oh god

Harriett has given Henry a lot of gray hairs; more than Bobby, almost as much as CJ

He likes playing pirate with all of the kids

He always calls Harry 'Killian Jr.'

He's the one who bought CJ her red leather coat, to be more like Emma

He spoils them so much (The Mills kids too, but Regina already spoils them a lot) and always brings them gifts when he visits

Alice:

She loves having such a big family and so many little siblings

She shares her love of books with Harriett, stargazing with Harry, and painting with CJ

She's the sibling that gets sacked with babysitting duty, but she never minds

Hope:

Hope is the "cool" sibling, aka, she lets them get away with more shit than Henry and Alice do

She's part of the reason CJ is Like That

For whatever reason, she's Harry's favorite sibling, which sucks for her, since she's not a fan of little kids

The Golds:

Gideon:

Ben is very quiet, so he'll tag along with Gideon everywhere and no one will even notice

Gideon and Ben have a book club between the two of them

He feels kind of weird that Ben still has that "my dad is the best" attitude, but doesn't have the heart to tell him the whole truth

They tell each other everything, and despite the age difference, are very close

[imaginesandbandfiction]

Live While We're Young — JJ Maybank

An Outer Banks Imagine

Pairing: JJ Maybank x Reader

Word Count: 2.6k

Summary: No phones, your sneaky link, and a party.

Warnings: Underage drinking

A/N: This is inspired by the One Direction song because duh. Just a lil bit of fluff to get you through the next few days before Season 4 is out!!!

Masterlist

It’s Saturday night and your phone has been eerily silent. You thought that JJ would be bugging you nonstop about the party, but he hasn’t sent any messages today. For once, it seems like he’s actually respecting your boundaries (though a part of you secretly loves that he barged his way into your life and continues to shake things up on a daily basis). You check it again (still nothing) and turn back to your chemistry textbook with a sigh. 

It’s 9:04 when a knocking sound coming from your window breaks you out of your concentration. Adrenaline spikes your heart rate, and you grab your Hydroflask from your bedside table before going to check it out. It’s mostly full, so it should be enough to knock out a kidnapper or a burglar should the need arise. 

But when you pull up the shades, it’s just a blond chaos demon wearing a mischievous smirk that makes your knees buckle. As you unlock the window and push it up, you flash him an eye roll, which only makes his smirk grow. You step back to give him room to clamber in, and he slides through with a practiced ease. 

“Hey, princess, sorry I’m late. I parked at the country club and walked over so no one would see,” he says, leaning back against the window. His eyes flicker down your body, taking in your PJ shorts and oversized Kildare Marina t-shirt. “Why aren’t you dressed?”

“I told you, I’m not going,” you answer, crossing your arms across your chest. 

“And I told you that you are.” He takes a big step forward, closing the distance between you. He grabs your wrists and pulls your arms down, swinging them. “C’mon, it’ll be fu-un.” There’s a playful glint in his eyes as he sings the last word, dragging out the ‘u.’

“I’m not stupid, JJ, I know that this party is a glorified orgy. And Rafe Cameron has been bragging about all the drugs he’s bringing for weeks now.”

“Well it just so happens that the party's at John B’s, where I conveniently have my own room. No orgy participation necessary. Unless, of course, you decide you want to join in after all.” You huff out a sigh, rolling your eyes again.

“You wish, Maybank.”

“If you’re really that afraid, I won’t force you to come. I just thought we could have this one night to be normal. Get drunk, pretend we’re in love, ignore that this has been doomed from the start.” His shoulders lift in a slight shrug as if he doesn’t care, but he looks down at you through his eyelashes and you see a hint of wistfulness underneath his carefree expression. You bite down on your lower lip as you make a quick mental pros and cons list. JJ can see the gears turning in your brain and pulls you into his chest, dropping your hands to wrap his arms around your waist instead. 

“Don’t overthink it, just let go for one night. I promise you won’t regret it.” He punctuates his sentence with a kiss, letting his tongue sweep across your bottom lip for just a moment before pulling back. The past month flashes through your mind; a highlight reel of stealing kisses behind the boat house when he’s supposed to be mowing the lawn, sneaking out to meet him at the bluffs in the middle of the night, and hooking up in the back of the Twinkie. 

It’s hard to see a future with this boy from the wrong side of the island, but there’s a part of you that longs for it. To be sucked fully into his wild vortex of a life. You let out a defeated sigh. If you don’t seize this moment, you may never get the chance to see if JJ can be more than just a summer fling. 

“Fine, just give me ten minutes and I’ll meet you at the club,” you say. His face breaks into a grin and he leans in to press a quick peck to your cheek and then he’s gone in a flash. 

“I’m gonna go before you change your mind. See you in ten minutes!” He calls over his shoulder as he climbs back out into the flat part of the roof over the garage. 

You shake your head and chuckle to yourself as you throw some clothes into your backpack. On your way out of your room, you grab your laptop and a textbook to strengthen your alibi. 

“I’m going to sleep over at Sarah’s, we’ve got a big chem test next week that we need to study for,” you tell your parents as you pass the living room. You don’t stick around to hear their response and let yourself out the front door. 

The country club is a short walk away, and the Twinkie is the only car in the lot. JJ is leaning against it, scrolling absentmindedly through his phone while he waits. As you get closer, your footsteps get louder, and he looks up at you with a smile. 

“Hang on, I just gotta change quick,” you say as you keep walking, past him and around the car until you’re mostly hidden from his view. “Don’t look.”

“It’s nothing I haven’t seen before,” he snorts. 

“We’re pretending to be in love tonight, right? That means you’re a respectful boyfriend.” You slip off your comfy clothes and into your party attire as fast as you can, wanting to get out of Figure 8 as soon as possible. 

“I never said anything about being respectful.”

Even though he can’t see your face, you roll your eyes as you get into the car. 

“A girl can dream,” you let out a fake-dramatic sigh and cross your arms as he slides in next to you. 

“Look at us, fighting like a couple already.” 

“If we were a real couple, how would you make up with me?” You ask, looking over at him with a sly smirk. 

“I’d say, c’mon, babe, don’t be like that,” he raises his voice an octave, making it sound whiny. Hearing him call you ‘babe,’ even jokingly, sends blood rushing to your core. “Then, I’d grab your hand like this,” he pulls on your left hand, carefully releasing it from where it is still crossed in front of your chest, then laces his fingers with yours. His thumb rubs slow circles against the sensitive skin on the back of your hand and your breath hitches in your throat. 

“Wow, Maybank, I’m impressed,” you say, forcing through your breathlessness to continue with the joke. “Maybe there’s secretly a rom-com heartthrob hiding beneath that whole fuckboy thing you’ve got going on.” You use your joined hands to gesture vaguely over at him, and he chuckles. 

“Nah, I’ve just seen enough movies to be able to fake it.” Your laugh is loud and wild, and with your head thrown back you don’t notice the way JJ’s eyes sparkle as he looks over at you. 

JJ pulls up in front of John B’s house, where the yard is already packed with people. Kiara and Pope are sitting in lawn chairs on the driveway next to a giant storage bin. When you reach over to open the passenger door, JJ grabs your arm and mutters “Wait.” You let your hand drop into your lap and watch as he jogs around the front of the car. In the distance behind him, his two friends share a confused look. He opens your door and holds a hand out to you, dropping his head in a mock-bow that probably looks real to everyone else who can’t see the goofy grin on his face. With another eye roll, you take his hand and let him help you out of the car. While you walk across the driveway, he keeps a firm hold on your hand and gently swings your arm with his own, which makes you laugh again. 

When you stop in front of Kie and Pope, their eyebrows furrow in tandem.

“Y/N?” Kie asks, shaking her head slightly as she looks back and forth between you and JJ. The two of you had been friends as kids, before she started pulling away from everything and everyone on Figure 8. 

“Dude, when you said you were bringing the girl you were hooking up with we thought she’d be a touron,” Pope says, looking over at you with an amused smile. 

A few heads turn at the sight of you and JJ holding hands as you battle your way through the crowd to the keg, but no one says anything. They’d be hypocrites if they did, since most of them are dancing with people they’d never be caught dead with on a normal day. 

John B’s up by the keg with your best friend Sarah, which is really the only normal thing about this party. She flashes you a knowing smile as John B claps a hand on JJ’s shoulder, whispering something that makes JJ smirk, before handing you each a plastic solo cup. You hold it up for JJ to ‘cheers’ before you take your first sip. The cheap beer leaves a bitter taste in the back of your throat which makes you wrinkle your nose. He takes a long swig from his own cup and then leans in so his mouth is next to your ear. 

“If we were really dating, I’d tell you that we have other drinks inside,” he yells over the loud music. 

“If we were really dating, I’d make you get me a vodka lemonade,” you shout back, batting your eyelashes at him as 

He leads you into the house, which he has to unlock and then relock behind you so no one sneaks in to use the beds (or the couch, or the floor…) for their fatherless behavior. 

While he digs around under the sink for the bottle, you hoist yourself up onto the counter next to him, letting your legs swing as you wait. When he’s finished making your drink, he steps up to the counter, nudging your legs to the side so he can wedge his hips between them. You reach for the glass but he pulls it out of your reach. 

“If you were really my girlfriend, I’d make you trade me a kiss for your drink,” he teases, raising his eyebrows as if to challenge you. 

“If you were really my boyfriend, I’d kiss you like this,” you whisper as you grab a fistful of his t-shirt and pull him in. You slide your lips against his in slow, languid strokes, letting your tongue flick against his bottom lip every few seconds but pulling it back before he can suck it fully into his mouth like you know he wants to. 

“If you were really my girlfriend, I’d take you back to my room and fuck you so hard that everyone at the party would know about us,” he mutters against your lips. As much as you like that idea, you actually do want to dance.

“Well, if you were really my boyfriend, I’d make you go back outside and dance with me first.” With both hands, you push against his chest to get him to take a step back and slide off the counter into the now-open space. After giving him a quick peck, you pluck the glass from his hand and strut back outside. You don’t need to turn around to know that he’s following, eager to have his hands all over you again. 

By the time you shove your way to the middle of the makeshift dance floor, your drink is half-empty and you feel the alcohol going straight to your head, blurring the edges of your thoughts and making your brain feel lighter. Finally, you turn around to face JJ and flash him a cheeky, vodka-soaked smile as you start to sway your hips to the beat of the music. He’s still for a moment, watching you through eyes heavy with lust, and then he’s there, right in front of you with his free hand gripping your hip. 

Bravery surges through your veins, aided by the alcohol and the relative safety of a phoneless party, and you slip one of your legs between JJ’s. You can feel him hardening against your thigh and lean into it, pressing your hips forward until they’re flush with his. He leans in to press hot, open-mouthed kisses against your neck, eliciting a soft moan from your lips. 

Despite your closeness, the two of you are surprisingly PG compared to the crowd around you. Out of the corner of your eye, you see Topper Thornton with one hand on Shelby Moore’s tits while the other is lost underneath her dress, two guys taking turns making out with the same girl, and at least three topless girls. So you don’t feel bad about tangling your hands in his blond hair, pulling his head up until it’s level with yours, and crashing your lips against his. 

As the alcohol continues to flow, your game of make-believe descends into madness. When the party starts looking more like an orgy, the two of you decide to take a walk along the beach to try and sober up a little bit. The cool, salt-infused air is a refreshing change from the sweaty mess of bodies you had spent most of the night in, and you close your eyes and take a deep breath, letting it cleanse your sins. 

“If I was your boyfriend I’d tackle you into the water right now,” JJ says from just behind you. He’s got one arm around your waist and his chin is resting on your shoulder. You open one eye and turn your head to the side to frown at him. 

“If I was your girlfriend, I’d kick you in the balls,” you shoot back. 

“Well then I’d kick you in the… boobs.” It takes him a second to figure out where to kick you for the same effect, and you burst out laughing when he finally finishes his sentence. “Hey! It’s not funny. Girls don’t really have anything equivalent to balls.” 

“Equivalent? That’s a big word. JJ Maybank, have you been studying?” 

“Fuck off,” he mumbles, burying his face in your neck. It feels hot against your skin and you twist in his arms so you’re facing him. 

“Oh my God, you have been! It’s a Christmas miracle!” You exclaim, amusement lifting your voice up an octave. 

“It’s not a big deal, Pope’s just been helping me with some stuff.” 

“Not for most people, but for the guy who said he’d rather die than open a textbook, it seems like a pretty big deal.”

“Well, I’d rather not spend the rest of my life in high school, so I thought I should at least try to get my shit together.” He shrugs, trying to look nonchalant, but you know he��s still a little embarrassed because he won’t make eye contact with you. 

You reach up to brush his hair off his forehead, locking your gaze with his. 

“If I was your girlfriend, I’d be proud of you,” you whisper. The words hang suspended in the space between you and suddenly it doesn’t feel like a game anymore. JJ’s eyes flicker down to your lips and back up to your eyes. They’re filled with a softness you’ve never seen before and when he leans in to kiss you, it’s slow and sweet. 

It’s not much, just a soft brushing of lips, but it feels like a possibility. You lean into it, into him, taking a leap of faith. After all, you gotta live while you’re young, right?

[echotoyou]

pizza and packing

pairing: yoongi x reader (no pronouns/gendered language are used for the reader)

summary: you’re moving to a new city and packing up everything you own. It’s a little overwhelming to do by yourself, so thank goodness yoongi knocks on your door to remind you that you’re not alone (plus he brought a smoothie!).

wordcount: 2.4k

what’s inside: fluff, angsty reader quickly followed by comfort, yoongi’s hugs could solve the climate crisis, crying, some overthinking with a dash of spiraling

posted: august 2023 (also on ao3!)

beta read by @theharrowing!!! thank you for SO much i love you an incredible amount 🪿

note: wow this started off as me needing to process some things and then turned into an entire story lol. enjoy!! ALSO this is my first time writing fanfic so please please let me know what you think!!!!!

Moving sucks.

You knew this, theoretically. People always complain that moving is too expensive, too much work, simply too hard. 

But no one warned you about the loneliness. How your home begins to echo as you pull mugs from cabinets and sweaters from drawers, stuffing it all unceremoniously into boxes. The uncomfortable chill that seeps into the newly empty spaces no longer taken up by your rug or TV. Not to forget the bare spots left by taking down the fairy lights circling the ceiling, your wall of photos and art prints, and the whiteboard calendar that still counts down the days to last month’s big celebration. 

Just this morning you cried over a crumpled note found in the back corner of your desk. Rereading your best friend’s well wishes about your new home!, a new start!, a fun adventure! made you realize you couldn’t remember the last time you had deliberately picked up the phone to dial their number.

The doorbell startles you from your thoughts as a rogue tear slips down your cheek. You swipe at it and a quick glance at your phone tells you your fourth take out order of the week isn’t supposed to be here yet. You relax back onto your couch and settle beneath your multicolored crocheted blanket, willing the cheese on your future pizza to melt just a little faster. 

Your stomach grumbles in protest at the thought and you join it, groaning when the doorbell rings a second time. Today’s packing-up-your-apartment uniform consisted of a set of well-loved pjs, with a few holes you are definitely ignoring, and tossing your unshowered hair into a top knot. In other words, you were not in the mood to chat up a solicitor. 

“I’ve already found God! Thank you!” you yell at the door from your fortress of comfort.

A familiar low chuckle paired with a rhythmic knock greets you this time, and recognition makes you roll your eyes and grin. You untangle yourself from your cozy nest of blankets before sprinting over to the door. Flinging it open, you see a familiar sight: Min Yoongi, phone in one hand, thermos in the other, and gummy smirk plastered across his features.

“I thought you were the delivery guy,” you mumble. “Why didn’t you just knock first?”

Yoongi shrugs and holds out the thermos for you to take, “This one is banana peanut butter with kale and…” he stops for a moment, shakes his head and continues, “something else, too, I don’t know. I promise it tastes good though.”

With suspicion only just hiding the smile in your eyes, you open the thermos and take a long gulp, sighing after you swallow. Oof. Had you actually eaten anything today? Yoongi, still in the doorway, laughs out loud, his expression circling between amusement and chagrin as he catches your eye.

“Cherries. It’s got cherries in it. And now your lips are very red.” He chuckles again with a sparkle in his eye and gaze lingering on your mouth for maybe a moment too long.

“Mhm” you wink at him and take an extra swig from the thermos for good measure, turning around to walk into your apartment. You freeze, suddenly seeing the disembodiment of your living room through his eyes and feel him run into your back with a soft ‘oof.’ 

“Um okay so um this doesn’t normally look like this, I–”

“Y/N, you’re moving”

“Yes, I know, but um there’s nowhere to sit and I can’t make you tea or anything, because the pot is packed, and I don’t have any food or snacks to offer, and–” 

Your word vomit dies down as you feel a gentle tap on your shoulder, the slight pressure turning you around to face him. You’re sure he can see the panic in your eyes as he hums a short positive note.

“Do you want me to leave? I wanted to make sure you ate something with greens today and I think I’ve got that checked off the box,” he gestures toward your hands where you’re still clutching his thermos with a death grip. 

With your brain still catapulting headfirst into all of the ways you are currently failing at your people-are-over-must-be-a-perfect-host duties, you purse your lips and sigh, “Yeah, maybe.”

You see something unfamiliar pass across his features, but it morphs so quickly into a sweet smile you can’t decipher it fast enough. 

“Alrighty then.” He nods, “best of luck with the rest of your packing. Let me know if you need anything else, and I’ll see you later.” He turns and walks out the door, down your front steps and disappears around the corner. 

You push the door shut and rest your forehead on the cool wood for a moment, the slight chill relieving you of your hosting concerns when the next set of concerns sidle in. 

Wait, did he want to stay? Better question, did you want company? Being alone for the past three days had been making you feel stir-crazy, but there was still so much to do, and it was exhausting directing other people. But he’s not your normal ‘other people.’ Did he drive away yet? Maybe you can still catch him. Ah shit, did you even thank him for the smoothie? 

Your thoughts tumble and jumble with the force of a second spin cycle – UGH you also still have laundry to do. Pulling yourself from the door, you give up on trying to catch him and head back to the safety of your couch. You sip from his thermos and pull out your phone to text a quick thank you. 

A few minutes later, your phone pings with the notification that your pizza has been delivered. You open the app to double check the photo the driver sent as your doorbell rings. 

You break out into laughter as you pull open the door for a second time and show the grinning man on the other side the photo on your phone: Min fucking Yoongi outside your door holding two pizza boxes with a shit eating grin on his face and giving the camera a thumbs up. 

“Someone order pizza?” 

—

An hour later, you’re not sure who convinced who to stay, but you’ve both been fed and watered with cheesy nonsense and warm conversation. 

Remarkably, he wasn’t bothered by the stacks of boxes and piles of items yet to be packed. The other half of your brain reminds you that he’s seen your apartment – and you – through all levels of disarray, some messes 100% yours, like when laundry day lasts a week and takes over your bedroom, the living room, and somehow the bathroom. Other messes were more of a group effort, when you would join forces to make the biggest mess in your kitchen possible while learning a new cooking technique from your subscription meal kit boxes.

Paper plates thrown into a garbage bag and half a pizza wrapped up for tomorrow’s breakfast later, you plop yourself on your carpet, back leaning against your couch, and sigh. You had been trying your darndest to separate the mountain of boxes in front of you into “give away” and “keep” before Yoongi had knocked on your door the first time, and they had now snuck from the ignorable periphery back into your sight. 

All at once, the previously easy chatter catches in your throat and you feel yourself trail off, whatever you had just been laughing about suddenly dying on your lips. 

“Hey,” a soft voice pierces through the bubble of your thoughts.

“Where did you go, just now?”

You turn to see Yoongi sitting cross legged next to you. He cocks his head at you, his voiced question clear in his soft eyes and slight frown. You avoid his eyes by looking down at your hands in your lap, and realize you are clutching your nearly empty water glass as if it was a life preserver. Raising the cup to your lips, you shrug and gesture loosely at the boxes, the white walls, the furniture marked for people who had messaged you on Facebook Marketplace. 

This room would no longer be yours in less than a week, the items in it in even less time. It was more full than it had ever been and yet you felt the emptiness of each drawer and closet echoing with something akin to grief. 

“Can I touch you?”

You nod, and immediately feel a warm hand touching yours, gently prying the cup from your clutches and setting it aside. He stands and ignores your protests as he tugs you to your feet. He wraps your arms around his waist and encircles your shoulders with his, pulling you into his chest and squeezing gently. You turn your head to the side so your cheek presses against the soft fabric of his shirt. The pressure of his chin sitting on top of your head feels overwhelming and wholly correct at the same time. Tears prick your eyes for the umpteenth time, and the comforting weight of Yoongi’s hug can’t keep them at bay.

“I just…” the words fade as you sniffle. “I just don’t know how to do this and I feel like I’m doing it all kinds of wrong.”

He hums, and his arms squeeze you a little tighter. Melting into the hug, you allow yourself to bury yourself face first in his soft tee and inhale deeply. His gentle scent of freshly laundered clothing with a hint of citrus is all it takes for your breath to turn into shorter, shuddering sobs, wracking your body.

You feel him gently rub the small of your back. Wave after wave of emotion floods your system, ping ponging between frustration and sadness and anger and fear. Each time you let yourself recognize and validate one thought, another sneaks in, bringing a new wave of tears.

One thought in particular stands as a concrete tower above the rest: you had been its architect for the past few months, placing stone after stone higher than the last until it was magnificent in its largess and painful in its stability. Ignoring it had become normal practice until now, when you looked up and realized you had built the tower around yourself.

You were choosing to leave. You chose to move thousands of miles from your family, and now you were choosing again to move hundreds of miles away from the family you had found here. There was no one to blame, no mystical forces of nature to shift the attention to. It was all just you.

A small noise breaks the paralyzing stillness of your thoughts, and you release a breath you didn’t know you were holding. The sound blankets your spiral in a layer of sweet, comforting darkness. You grab at the tuneless melody like a rope and as the rumbling within his chest begins to center you back in your living room, safe in his arms again, you realize he was humming. You squeeze his waist a little tighter and as you release, his humming trickles off.

“If it’s any consolation, no one knows what they’re doing.” He whispers into your hair. “Especially when packing up a home they’ve lived in for a while. This place is stocked with things, yes, but also memories. You’ve grown and changed a whole lot since you moved in.”

“So then why am I leaving?” your voice cracks on the last word as you hiccup it into the void.

He shrugs, “We both know I can’t answer that for you. I do hope that whatever answer you decided on when you started this process is still true, and if it’s not, then this is just one choice. And you can make a new one in the future.”

You ‘hrumph’ back at him and take another deep breath.

Your breathing soon begins to match his small, rhythmic motions, inhaling and exhaling as your brain clears. You pull back from where you had smushed your face on his shirt, grimacing at the snot left on his shirt, and wiggling to escape his embrace in search of a tissue. He seems to have a different idea as his grip strengthens and you look up to see his concerned eyes searching for yours. Suddenly, a cat-like grin breaks out across his features and out of nowhere, the man laughs.

“How could someone look so beautiful after sobbing like the Titanic was sinking?”

You groan, for likely the fiftieth time today, and swat at his chest. With another smirk, he releases you from the hug. You shiver from the immediate loss of body heat and quickly look around the room for something resembling a tissue that had not been packed yet. You hear him clear his throat, and you look back to be met with a tissue dangling right in front of your face. 

“Thank you” your voice sounds small and gravely and you blot your eyes and nose before making eye contact with the spots on his shirt again. “Oh gosh, I’m so sorry… your shirt…” your voice fades as you unconsciously reach out toward the stains, your only focus to assess the damage. He gently catches your wrist before your hand hits his chest, and places a butterfly light kiss on your knuckles.

“Don’t worry about it. This is my designated moving t-shirt, eligible for dust, stains, and tears – bonus points if you get all three in one go,” he winks, fluidly moving his hand from your wrist to your fingers, and spins you around in circles until you can’t help but give him a watery grin. Pulling you in for another hug, he gently squeezes you once more before letting go and heading toward the kitchen. You hear the squeak of the faucet before he reappears proudly brandishing your glasses now full of water. 

You accept the glass he holds out and let your eyes scan the pile of things in front of you. The boxes in the corner pull your attention again and you start to feel the overwhelm teeter you back over the edge. Taking a deep breath, you sip at the water and move to sit on the couch, seeking the comfort of your blanket once again.

“Let’s do something easy tonight, okay? No thoughts, just blankets.” 

You nod, and he plugs in the TV that you had moved into a corner for ‘safe keeping’ while you sold the table it stood on. He settles next to you on the couch and you spy a slight knowing smile on his face as he navigates to your favorite show, the one you started over to watch with him, and the one that makes you happy cry every time.

He slides his hand into yours and it doesn’t leave for the entirety of the first, second, or third episode you watch. Neither does he when you fall asleep on his shoulder.

[myloveforhergoeson]

October 9th

Prompt: Icy

The strength and power of magic, though finite, was sacred among all witches. It flowed through their bodies as energy, their environments as fuel, connected ancestors of the past, present, and future. Magic was something to be protected. Worshiped. Not to be used by a witch to its fullest extent. Or until the well running through their veins ran dry.

That resulted in one of the most humiliating consequences a witch could ever endure - Mana Sickness. The complete and total depletion of their physical and magical energy. Easily recognized from witch to witch, but normally presenting as a cold to the non-supernatural eye.

The mist creation for Logan yesterday had already taken a lot out of the young witch, and while they were at school that morning she'd sensed some sort of new magical aura in the Palm Woods but had been unable to leave class to discover the source. To be safe, she'd concentrated on a warding spell for the classroom instead of the algebra Mrs. Collins was teaching.

All of these spells were contrary to her typical flick-of-the-wrist tricks and cantrips which expended little to none of her magical well at all. By the time she and the band had reached Rocque Records in combination with the duration of her magic use, Roxy was completely out of juice.

She had planned to push through the uncomfortable feeing, the complete deficit of magical energy leaving a hefty emptiness in her chest, at work, but leave it to James and his perceptive eye to catch something was up.

Above all, contracting Mana Sickness was flat-out embarrassing for witches, often doubling as a disgusting affliction and a cultural humiliation - A signal to other witches that the one who contracted the illness was attempting to take advantage of their magical gift. Pushing the limits on what it meant to be a magic user and greedily draining the one thing that made them feel alive.

Even though James didn't know that, his girlfriend was still quite ashamed about the whole ordeal. Roxy had tried to hide it, act as though all was well, but, sometimes she swore James knew her better than she knew herself. His words to her in the hallway of Rocque Records had been startling, even after she attempted to push him away and deal with the sickness on her own.

As much as she didn't deserve it at this point in time, his persistence had been a comfort. Mana Sickness was something witches were supposed to go through alone, punishment for over-use of power. The idea that he wanted to help take care of her at a time like this was foreign.

But his hazel eyes were so big and watery, lips puffing into a perfect pout as he called her name and practically begged to take her home. The concern he held was evident in his soft, yet demanding voice, and she'd all but melted into his arms as he guided out of Rocque Records and back to the Pontiac GTO.

Roxy didn't remember much of the drive home as her fatigue began to catch up to her, but she knew she'd tucked herself into James' side on the bench seating as he flew down the surface streets to the Palm Woods. It always worried her when he drove without his license, but she'd abstained from chastizing him about it just this once.

By the time they'd arrived at the doorstep to 2-H, he was already digging in her black mini-backpack to find the keys to her front door before she'd even thought to look. Seconds later, she was in her bedroom, shivering as her nose ran, while he went through her dresser drawers to find a clean set of pajamas for her to change into.

When he left the room to go root around in her fridge for something to make, Roxy had to remember not to wave her hand to change as she usually would in fear of making her sickness even worse. For the first time in a long time, she had to physically remove her day clothing to change into her PJs

That alone, combined with her splitting headache were enough for her to crawl into bed and pull her knees to her chest. The emptiness wouldn't go away for at least another day as her magic supply replenished, so for now, all she could do was endure the pain.

*

Waking up to a coughing fit was just the thing Roxy's head needed... if she wanted to make the pain of her headache even worse.

With every involuntary movement, she was reminded of the physical toll her body was taking, and not too long later, the intensity of her pain brought tears to her eyes.

James dried them with the sleeve of his soft MAHS sweater. It appeared as though he'd lain next to her during her nap and had even draped an icy washcloth atop her forehead to help bring down the fever she suspected she'd fallen victim to.

There was a bowl of what looked like chicken noodle soup on her side table, but she felt too nauseous to try and have any.

James still chose to be so near to her, even knowing she was suffering from a "cold." If what she had was actually contagious, she'd have fought him longer and insisted on keeping her distance from him, despite knowing he would've pushed back at her twice as hard.

Roxy wanted to thank him, but her throat was too sore from all the coughing. Instead, she settled for turning into his chest, wiggling her arms around his torso and squeezing him with what little strength she had left.

For a split second, the magical emptiness inside her subsided. A small, fleeting spark ran through her body.

In return, James adjusted the cloth on her forehead before his hand moved to cradle his girlfriend's head. A handful of light kisses were pressed into her hair and once again, it felt like the nausea of her Mana Sickness had disappeared.

Is that the key...?

Snuggling up to him certainly wouldn't make her Mana return any faster, but, the more she scooted into him, the more her uncomfortable feelings seemed to be temporarily erased.

"Closer..." She mumbled, though her speech was more slurred than it should have been.

Her boyfriend certainly didn't need to be told twice, the heat of his body radiating onto hers completely defeating the purpose of the cold compress he had made for her. "'Course, baby."

Roxy's fingers were practically claws as they dug into the material of his sweatshirt.

"I'm sorry you feel so yucky," James lamented, and if the sound of sympathy alone could have cured her, those words would have been all she needed to hear. "Is there anything more I can do to help?"

Though it was difficult to shake her head, the witch managed a few side-to-side movements. "You're perfect. You don't... Even know."

If she hadn't been on her way out of consciousness again, she might have caught the increase of his heartbeat. "Yeah?"

"Yeah." Another coughing fit sent tremors through her body, but he kept holding her as tight as he could.

An "aww," of empathy left his lips before he pressed them to her temple. "Do you want me to put on a tape for you to fall asleep to?"

Once again, the girl weakly shook her head. This time, she managed to let her eyes flutter closed as they cuddled.

A few moments passed, James receiving her message and not daring to budge an inch. Though, that didn't stop him from beginning to hum a slow tune, the sound vibrating in his chest where Roxy had her ear.

If only it hadn't managed to lull her to sleep so quickly, she might have been able to figure out what song it was from the melody alone...

[cozyfoxy]

The Brackenwood Murders Chapter 2/?

Summary: Dan and PJ go to the police with the envelope that they received, but they were ignored like always. When dectective Lester stumbles upon them on the steps into the station, he finds himself with not only more evidence than he had expected but also a soft spot for a certain Dan Howell.

Read Part One

Read on AO3

Phil walked carefully along the wet sidewalk, absentmindedly counting each leaf that he passed. His interview with the local news station had gone as well as he had expected. Most of the townspeople agreed with him that there should be a curfew and a rule against traveling alone until the killer is caught. However, there was a small handful of hecklers, telling Phil that he was wasting his time and that he should let the “sinners” die. 

As much as Phil had wanted to argue with those people, as much as he wanted to yell and correct them, he bit his tongue. He hadn’t been a detective for very long, but he had learned in his first year that letting emotions overtake you would prevent you from getting the answers you need. So, he stood in front of the camera, smiling politely and promising to get to the bottom of the Brackenwood killer. He hoped that the killer himself might have been in the crowd tonight. 

Overall, Phil wasn’t a majorly intimidating man. He was a bit too lanky and as clumsy as a newborn deer, but he knew how to use his words. Even when he lacked confidence in himself or in a case, no one would ever spot it. He would speak clearly, surely, and calmly. He had discovered from a young age that even if you had no idea what you were talking about, if you acted like you did, then people would believe you. Phil could only hope that his confidence was already stirring something within the killer. 

A shaky sob brought Phil from his thoughts, and he gripped his briefcase more tightly. Perhaps it was being in such a small town that set him on edge. Back home in London, he could easily ignore the sounds of people crying, horns blaring, or the sirens of emergency vehicles. Something about Brackenwood seemed to set his soul on fire and put his anxieties on display. He didn’t allow himself much time to think about it before he followed the crying to the stairs of the police station. 

“I’m just so fucking sick of them treating me like a problem. I just want to help them solve this so no one else has to deal with losing a loved one, but I’m an overreactive pervert.” A voice cried, followed by a soft shushing from the man next to him. 

Phil watched the men quietly for a moment, taking in their appearances. Both men looked exhausted in a way that Phil had seen more times than he’d like to remember. They were grieving, floating through the days that passed and trying to stay for the future while focusing on the present. Something from their past still sat heavy over both men, like a permanent cloud that prevented the light from touching them. 

“I’m sorry, Dan; I should’ve known that they wouldn’t care. I guess I hoped that things would be different with that big deal detective around, but the cops are still as useless as before.” The other man huffed, still trying to comfort the one next to him.

The mention of the cops grabbed Phil’s attention, and he quickly determined what was going on. These men had evidence of some kind, or something that they thought could be useful, but they were brushed off, ignored by the very people who were meant to protect them. Phil stifled an annoyed sigh; he was going to have to bring in his own team at this rate. Before he could even scold himself for intervening, he began to stroll over to the men. 

“Hello, I’m sorry to interrupt, but are you two alright?” Phil asked calmly, pulling out a small pack of tissues from his coat pocket.

The men looked up at him, the one crying, taking the tissues thankfully, “as alright as we can be, I guess. I’m just done with these asshole cops. They treat me like a problem every time I try to help them with anything.” 

Phil raised his eyebrows curiously, pulling out his badge from his coat to flash it. “I’m detective Phil Lester; I’ve been brought in to assist with the murders here. My time with the police force here hasn’t been the most pleasant, so I can’t say I’m surprised. What happened tonight?” 

“I’m Dan, and this is my friend PJ. We, well, I found this envelope in our flat tonight. We were leaving to go and watch your interview at the park when I found it. Someone had slipped it in through the mail slot; it’s labeled with my name. There’s pictures of Liam Collins inside, the third victim of the killer. He’s my... he was my boyfriend.” Dan rambled, stopping when the pressure in his chest became too much to continue. 

PJ frowned and looked up at Phil carefully. “After we both looked through the pictures and read the note inside, Dan fainted. He does that sometimes when he’s overwhelmed or moves too quickly. I waited on him to wake up, and then I dragged him here to show Brewer. I was hoping that we’d be taken seriously for once, but Brewer scolded us for pranking him. His deputy called Dan a sick pervert for having photos of Liam like this lying around. They never take us seriously here.” 

Phil felt anger bubble up in his chest, and he took a deep breath through his nose to calm down. “May I see the envelope? It could be crucial evidence for the case. And you say they’ve brushed you off before? Was it to do with this case?” 

“Yeah. When we were nineteen, Liam PJ and I were at the opening night of the town’s Halloween festival. We were waiting in line for the haunted house when another man came up to us and started a conversation. He was wearing this really detailed plague doctor outfit, with leather gloves and some kind of heavy white baton with a big black diamond on the end of it. Maybe it was a cane? He was asking if we knew about the new gay club that had opened up a couple towns away. I said yeah, but it wasn’t really my thing. I had heard that it was a kinky place, and at that time I wasn’t even out of the closet, so I wanted nothing to do with it.” Dan rambled, taking PJ’s hand in his as he recalled that night. 

Phil wrote everything that Dan was saying in his notebook quickly. “Anything else? I’m taking on the case as if nothing has been done previously since it seems that nothing really was.” 

Dan nodded, his curls bobbing slightly at his movement. “We thought it was weird, but weird and Halloween go hand in hand, you know? When the guy left us alone, we forgot about it. It wasn’t until around midnight when I was leaving the bathrooms near the trails of the park that I saw him again. I was alone this time, and he stopped me. He told me that he had never seen eyes as beautiful as mine, and I said thank you but told him I wasn’t interested. He apologized profusely and told me to have a good night. When he went to walk away, I noticed under the streetlamp that there was blood on his leather gloves. It was barely noticeable, but it was there. There was even more blood on the crystal part of his baton, dripping down to the white base of it. At first, I thought it was a part of his costume that we hadn’t noticed earlier, until the next morning, when Dillion Hilton’s body was found on the trail closest to the bathrooms.” 

Phil froze in the middle of his writing to look at Dan curiously. “So you went to the police with this information, and they ignored you?” 

PJ nodded along with Dan, “I went with him as support; he was terrified to go anywhere alone at this point. They didn’t write it down or anything; they just told us that it was a Halloween festival and that the blood was clearly a part of the costume. Brewer told Dan not to waste his time.” 

Phil pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed, “They’re fucking usless. Sorry for the language, lads; I’ve just never worked with such a careless police force.”

Dan giggled a bit at Phil’s little outburst and shrugged, “Trust me, I’ve said worse.” 

The detective couldn’t help but smile at the giggle, the sound relaxing his shoulders just a bit. He carefully reached into the envelope, studying the pictures closely. It always struck him as painful to look at someone be so alive in photos, all while knowing that they’re dead and gone. The man in the photos, Liam, didn’t seem truly frightened in the pictures; it seemed like he was enjoying himself. Phil’s heart broke for Dan momentarily before something clicked in his mind.

“So Dan, you said that the masked man was asking about a gay club a few towns away, right?” Phil asked softly, looking into Dan’s eyes. He hated the hurt that he saw there. 

Dan nodded and dabbed at his eyes with a tissue. “Yeah. It’s a fetish club; it’s called The Raven’s Roost. They have a website; I can give it to you if you need it.” 

Phil chuckled, "It seems like you’ve done some investigating yourself. That’s-”

“Stupid, dangerous, a waste of time? I’ve heard it all before.” Dan whispered, pulling up the website on his phone to allow Phil to write it down.

The detective cleared his throat and wrote the website name down in his journal. “I was actually going to say impressive. It is dangerous, but it seems like this criminal has a bit of humanity towards you. Otherwise, I think you would’ve already been a victim of his.” 

Dan shuddered at the thought and watched as detective Lester read through the letter, making occasional notes in his journal. PJ looked at Dan and offered a supportive smile, squeezing his best friend’s hand gently. It felt strange to actually be taken seriously; he could only imagine just how good his friend felt. 

“Dan, PJ, I know this might be a little uncomfortable for the both of you, but could you possibly take me to Liam’s grave? In the letter, the killer says that he’s seen you there. I want to see if there’s a specific spot that he could be watching you from.” Phil explained, writing a note to himself before closing his journal and latching it. 

PJ looked at Dan silently before they both nodded in agreement. Dan stood up and shivered, having refused to put on a coat when PJ was rushing him out of their flat. Wordlessly, detective Lester slid his thick, navy blue trench coat off of his shoulders and offered it to Dan. Despite his best efforts to act unaffected by the act of kindness, the brunette felt his cheeks heat up as he slid his arms into the sleeves. 

“Thank you, detective Lester.” He mumbled, letting the slightly too long sleeves cover his hands.

Phil smiled, “My pleasure, dear, and just Phil is fine. Now lead the way; it might seem impossible for me to get lost in such a small town, but I would find a way.” He joked with a soft chuckle. 

PJ watched Dan carefully, feeling his heart swell. For so long, it felt like it was he and Dan against the world. His best friend had a hard time letting people in and an even harder time letting them stay. After Liam was killed, Dan had decided that he was bad luck and that it was somehow his fault that Liam was killed. Dan had even tried to push PJ away, but no matter what he did, how much he acted out, PJ stayed. It was nice to see Dan open up and show his feelings with someone new, even if it was just with a detective. 

The graveyard that was attached to the local church grounds was just a street away, so the walk didn’t take long at all. It was only just past eight in the evening, but the streets were completely empty. Phil felt a surge of pride knowing that the curfew in place seemed to be working. He pushed his black fringe out of his eyes as he followed Dan and PJ down a row of graves, stopping beside them in front of one.

“This is it.” Dan whispered, looking only at his feet. 

Phil nodded thoughtfully and looked around carefully. The graveyard was old but well kept all the same. The gravestones were neatly polished and decorated with flowers and wreaths. Liam’s grave was nearly glistening underneath the glow of the streetlamps, a beautiful autumnal wreath positioned on a metal easel just to the left of it. The entire gravesite felt overwhelmingly warm and loved to Phil; it sent a calming surge down his spine. 

He pulled out a small camera from his briefcase and turned on the flash, taking a few photos of the areas around them, focusing heavily on the church building. The church was quite small and worn down from the years that it stood, but it was surrounded by beautiful red and orange marigolds that seemed to give it new life. Phil looked up and down the building, pausing at the old bell tower and snapping a few photos. 

“Is it possible to access the belltower?” He asked, looking over to the men who were standing starkly still beside him. 

PJ nodded. “Yeah, they just recently reinforced the flooring and redid the staircase. A little over a year ago, I think.” 

Phil hummed and looked over to Dan, who seemed lost in thought. He debated on interrupting whatever had Dan thinking so hard, but thought better of it. PJ had said earlier that Dan was prone to fainting, and Phil didn’t want to be the cause of that. The detective took a few more photos before turning his attention to the other men once again. 

“Alright, one more thing. I would like to walk you both home, one for safety but also to get a look at your front door. Do you have a doorbell camera or anything like it?” Phil asked, putting his camera away carefully. 

Dan shook his head, “No, we don’t. But you can take a look at the door or whatever you need.” 

Phil cocked his head to one side curiously. “You just lied to me, Dan, why?” He asked softly. 

The younger man froze and looked at PJ with desperate eyes, silently begging him to answer. 

PJ sighed and shuffled on his feet. “We have a hidden camera in the lightbulb cover of our outdoor light. He lied because outdoor cameras aren’t allowed in residential homes in Brackenwood. Something about it invading the privacy of neighbors.” 

Phil arched his eyebrow. “This town is a bit backwards. Alright, let’s head out.” 

PJ all but ran out of the cemetery, feeling on edge. The graveyard freaked him out even on a bright summer day, so being in it on a dark and cloudy night wasn’t the best feeling. He heaved a sigh and stood beneath a large streetlamp, waiting patiently for Dan and Phil. 

“Phil? How did you know I was lying?” Dan asked quietly, following PJ at a slower pace. 

Phil smiled calmly, “I’m trained to see through lies; it’s easy sometimes, but other times it’s impossible. I could tell you were lying because you became unsure of yourself. You’ve been honest with me all night, completely confident, but a simple question made you doubt yourself.” 

Dan sighed and shook his head. “I always thought that I was a good liar.” 

The detective hummed and looked at Dan with curious eyes. “Do you lie a lot?” 

“Nearly everyday.” The brunette admitted in a whisper. 

“What about?” Phil asked just as quietly.

Dan chuckled humorlessly, “People ask me if I’m okay a lot. I think that if I say that I’m fine often enough, I’ll eventually convince myself too.” 

Phil paused his steps for a moment, taking in what was just confessed to him. He had dealt with many people who were struggling in some way or another. Hell, he had talked a few people down from bridges that they planned to jump off of; he had talked a shooter out of killing a group of innocent children. He had even talked a serial rapist into turning himself in. His voice was his greatest weapon, his strongest feature. Yet, in that moment, he was completely speechless. 

“You coming, Phil?” PJ called softly from the lamppost, bringing the young detective out of his stupor. 

Phil cleared his throat, “Yeah, sorry. I got lost in thought. It’s a bad habit.” 

Dan and PJ walked a bit ahead of Phil, not really talking but just keeping close to each other. Despite only having met them an hour prior, Phil couldn’t help but be thankful that they had each other. It was like the men in front of him completed each other in some way. When Dan couldn’t finish his thought, PJ would always step in. When PJ was thinking too hard, it was like Dan realized before anyone else and helped ground him. They had supported each other all these years while this murderer was on the loose. When the people that they should be able to trust proved to be unhelpful, they still had each other. Phil felt himself smile at the friends in front of him, feeling for a moment that he was a part of their lives. 

“Home sweet home.” Dan joked when he and PJ stopped in front of a red painted door with a gold 111 plaque attached to it. 

Phil chuckled at Dan as he observed the door quietly, “An angel number.” He remarked quietly, seeing PJ jump up excitedly. 

“See! It’s not just me, Howell; lots of people believe in angel numbers.” PJ nearly yelled before unlocking the door. 

The detective laughed softly to himself as the two men in front of him bickered about the truth of angel numbers and the idea of fate. While they argued, Phil got onto his knees to take a few pictures of the mail slot on the door, easily spotting a few black threads caught in the edge of the slot. Phil quickly pulled out some gloves and a clean pair of tweezers before plucking them out and putting them into a small bag. 

“May I see the footage from your camera?” Phil asked calmly, spotting the hidden camera in the light cover with practiced ease, “Where did you guys get that camera set up? I haven’t seen that design before.”

Dan invited Phil inside before closing the door and locking it, being sure to lock it with the chain as well. “Oh, we didn’t. Well, we got the camera, but PJ actually built the lampshade cover around it. It’s all his design.” 

Phil smiled. “That’s actually really impressive. What do you do for work, PJ?” 

PJ blushed at the compliment and shrugged, “I think it’s fun, honestly. I’m a journalist; we both are.” 

The detective nodded, thanking Dan quietly when he brought his laptop over with the video feed saved on it. “I think you might be in the wrong line of work, PJ.” Phil teased as he scrolled through the video tentatively. 

Dan nodded in agreement and sent PJ a smile. “I’ve been telling him that for years.” 

PJ rolled his eyes dramatically and sat down on the couch beside Dan. “You can sit down too, Phil. Just pull the coffee table up.”  

Phil hummed in thanks and sat on the other side of Dan, scrolling through the video footage slowly, being sure not to miss anything. At the timestamp of 5:12pm, a figure walked up the steps of the porch, and Phil felt a weight in his stomach. The person was wearing black leather gloves and a leather witch doctor mask. 

“Dan, is this what the mask looked like?” Phil asked softly, turning the laptop to Dan and PJ.

Beside him, Dan stiffened, “Yeah, exactly like the guy was wearing.” He whispered, as if he were afraid the masked man would hear him. 

Phil nodded slowly and scrolled through the video some more, pausing it quickly when he saw patches on the leather jacket that the masked man was wearing. He pulled out his camera and took a few pictures. Each patch was in the shape of diamonds, red and purple in color. The patches clearly had some kind of design on them, but Phil wasn’t able to get a clear look at them just yet. 

“Does anyone else know about the plague doctor mask? Besides the police?” Phil asked calmly, not looking away from the video. 

Both Dan and PJ shook their heads. “Not that I know of. After the reaction from the cops, I felt stupid for thinking it was serious. I was too embarrassed to talk about it.” Dan explained quietly. 

The detective nodded again, “This guy is careful. He’s got a mask underneath the witch doctor mask to cover his neck. Maybe he has recognizable tattoos.” Phil mumbled to himself. 

“You can email the video file to yourself if you want.” PJ offered quietly, leaning over Dan to see the paused video frame. Seeing the mask again made him uncomfortable; it reminded him just how much had happened since that night six years ago. 

Phil smiled thankfully before sending the video to himself quickly. “I think that this will help the investigation a lot. Now I have a better idea of what kind of person we’re looking for.” 

Dan looked at Phil with tired eyes and red cheeks. “Do you think you’re only looking for one person? I’ve always thought there was more than one.” 

“I don’t know for sure. Why? Do you think there’s more than one killer?” The detective asked curiously, closing the laptop gently. 

The brunette took a shaky breath and said. “I don’t really think there’s more than one killer, but I think that the actual killer has someone to help them clean up or move the body. The bodies are never found bloody; they’ve always been cleaned up. Did Brewer not tell you that? They’re always found shirtless, cleaned up, on their backs with their arms crossed over their chests.”

Phil frowned a bit at the new information. He would have to ask Brewer for crimescene photos when they spoke again, as the pictures hadn’t been released to the public. The detective’s blood went cold for a moment. “How do you know that, Dan?”

“I have a... friend who’s close with Brewer. I can give you his name, but please don’t tell Brewer. I get a lot of information from him; that’s why I always know stuff before the other journalists.” Dan rambled, chewing his chapped lips anxiously. 

Phil forced back the small sigh of relief that threatened to fall from his lungs. Though he still had to write both Dan and PJ down as possible suspects, he now had reason to write it off as only speculation. He pulled out his journal and looked at Dan expectantly. 

“His name is Aaron Brewer. He’s chief Brewer’s son.” Dan explained quietly, looking at his lap. 

The detective raised his eyebrows curiously. So, Brewer’s own son was telling journalists information behind his father’s back. Information that should have stayed only between that of the police force. In that moment, it clicked in Phil’s mind who the mystery blogger was that Brewer had been grumbling about. Dan and PJ were smart in their conquest for justice, but now he was in the middle of it. If they had anything to do with the murders, he would find out easily. 

“Thank you both for your help. I need to get back to my hotel room and start going through the evidence that you guys have given me. Here’s my card, one for both of you. Don’t hesitate to call me if anything happens or if you think of anything else that could be helpful. I’ll be stopping by to check on you both sometime soon, so please text me tonight and I’ll save your numbers.” Phil explained eagerly before standing up and stretching his arms over his head. 

PJ nodded and stood as well. “Thank you for taking us seriously. You’ve given us hope for the first time in way too fucking long. Especially Dan.” He added in a whisper. 

“Thank you, Phil.” Dan smiled, “Oh, your coat.” He realized, quickly standing to take it off. 

Phil chuckled, “Keep it for now; I’ll see you again soon and take it then. Besides, it looks cuter on you. Goodnight, lads, lock the door behind me, please.” He added before waving and walking out of the front door. 

PJ quickly ran to the door and locked it before looking at a still blushing Dan. “He’s kinda cute, eh?” He teased. 

Dan stammered and looked away from his friend, “Shut up! You’re not even into men.”  

“Oi! I’m not into dogs, but I can say that they’re cute!” PJ argued with a laugh. 

Dan groaned loudly and stood up, “You didn’t have to say it like that!” He argued before storming off to his room, leaving a laughing PJ alone in the lounge. 

[elevant39]

It´s a wizard and fairy kinda thing

So... I decided to drop another post here... I am so sorry it´s so long... This time about the connection between Wizard 1 and Pixy. (I will refer to Wiz 1 as Lucan for the rest of the post) Mostly because for how little we get, the implications do have a pretty big impact on Pixy as a character (his motives to join AWWNB specificaly). At least that is what I believe. So once again I am need to reference the perfect guide: https://www.skywardfm.com/aczpg-ace-pilot-profiles Now let´s get started. Connection between Pixy and Lucan Thanks to the Perfect guide we can get a really important clue about Pixy and Lucan right from the start. And that is that they are a long time acquaintances. This on it´s own gives us a verry important info about Pixy´s idiology. Pixy most likely had anarchist views before the start of the game. We just never heard about them before Directus because well... Up until that point Pixy didn´t really have a problem fighting in Belkan war. It´s only after he is kinda forced to be part of the counter attack (aka he is on the offensive side) he starts to talk about some of his views. Mission 7 and 8: "Nuclear inspection”, huh? What a joke…"; "Hey Cipher, you hear me? Just look at the view. There’s not much difference between those countries from up here." This does kinda beg the question about how they know each other: Are they long time acquaintances because Pixy always had anarchistic views? Or are they long time acquaintances because Lucan was the one who introduced Pixy to these views? Unfortunately we can only guess because this is all we get from their past. That being said it´s obviose that Pixy does trust Lucan, now I personaly can´t say how mutual this is with Lucan acting like a cult leader and all that. But concidering that Lucan is the only person who calls him by his 1st name in the middle of combat (a furrball no less). And this is the only time something like this happeneds in the game. I honestly wouldn´t be suprised if it was mutual (not to mention with the whole Larry thing it almost feels like Pixy is getting some special treatment from Lucan). However another factor in this is that Pixy is a Belkan war orphan who grew up in a foreign orphanage. Who after leaving became a merc pilot. Meaning that Pixy most likely doesn't have a secondary education, and might not even have primary one depending on how much access to education the orphanage he lived in provided. To tie it back, it makes sence that Pixy would probably trusts Lucan with some of his more philosophical ideas, since Lucan is described as "A deep thinker and has philosophical thoughts. Often pulls quotes relating to philosophy from books and poems." And that is not mentioning that there is 10 years between them. This leads to another conclusion. Lucan is clearly the one who has more intellectual influence in this dynamic. We can actually see this influence if we look at how Pixy talks before Stage of Apocalipse and later in Avalon. Before he is more straight forward with Cipher and PJ. While in Avalon he starts to use more metaphor and more symbolic language (like Lucan). Notebly Lucan and Pixy are the only members that talk about how they will cause a lot of destruction to create the new world. Lucan with his whole "new creation of destruction" and Pixy with his "reset to Zero". Gault 1 mostly talks about his problem how politicians are the one in control and how they never had to go through what they did, Sorcerer 1 is mostly concerned about how borders will create new conflicts in future and how getting rid of them will libare them..

Another interesting connection is that both Pixy and Lucan are the only enemy aces that will use obvious technological advantages against the player in Zero (when I say this I mean something only Belkan magic can explain). Lucan with his Black Widow YF-23 (which somehow has the power to be invisible?) and Pixy with Morgan (I don´t even want to get into to levels of Belkan witchcraft needed for that ECM system).

Now am I saying that Pixy was brainwashed into joining AWWNB? I am honestly not sure, but I would have to say no. Mostly because I think that Pixy is not a case of brainwashing but a case of slow radicalization and how his few connections and world around him as well as his past shaped him into thinking that lauching V2 was a good and moral idea (from his point of view). But that is only how I see it. With all of this out of the way I will focuse on their 2 conversations and what they mean. In game interractions 1) Mayhem Wizard 1: Wizard 1 here, the enemy has broken formation, take them out. Larry, can you read me? Pixy: Looks like you’ve still got the touch. Wizard 1: It’s happening just as you thought, it’s about time we got out of this dead-end job. Pixy: Not just yet. So this one tells us that they know each other but there is something more important. Lucan already gave Pixy an invatation before this mission to join AWWNB and Pixy is considering it. And not turning it down. Meaning that he was probably thinking about joining AWWNB before Hoffnung. That being said just look how casualy this is said in the middle of a giant furball. Implying that they might be more in contact that we think and this is not the 1st time Lucan is suggesting this to Pixy. Also notice that it almost feels like Lucan is trying to push Pixy to accept his offer. Another interesting fact is that after this conversation Pixy´s and PJ´s talks about fighting for peace takes place. If you do keep in mind that Pixy is thinking about joining AWWNB the convo creats another dimension to it. Mostly that PJ is kinda accidentally acting like an intrusive thought to Pixy, basically telling him all the reason why Pixy should join AWWNB while Pixy is trying to grownd himself with every exuse he has. 2) Stage of Apocalypse Wizard 1: Larry, can you read me? Your fairy godmother’s here, Cinderella. Pixy: How could you after what just happened? Wizard 1: [laughs] Today is your lucky day, Larry, just like your birthday. Pixy: And you’re here to pull me off in a magical carriage, huh? to hell, I suppose…

So this dialogue is important because when exactly it takes place. It mostly happeneds right after the 7 nukes are set of, but more importantly it´s also probably happened in the moment that Pixy is most likely in the worst possible psychological state he can be (with Hoffnung before and all that). And right at that moment Lucan just appears out of nowhere and (at least how I read this) starts to reassure Pixy that everything will be alright now that his fairy godmother is there to make things right and pull him of on that carried to that beautiful ball in that fairytale castel that is Avalon. Just like Fairy Godmother did with Cinderella. In her darkest hour she just appeared and helps her and reassures her that everything will be right now that she is here. This is where I once again do need to get into more of a interpretation territory, from what I can come up there could be 3 explanation why Lucan appears at this moment: 1) Pixy already contacted Lucan that he would be joining Meaning Lucan was there to ensure that Pixy would be able to not only join but also to leave to AWWNB,it's just that 7 nukes worked in his favor. 2) Pixy still hasn´t decided yet and so Lucan wanted to give him one last chance to choose and it was an acident that he just so happened to arrive at the perfect moment when Pixy would be most likely to join him. 3) Lucan already somehow (most likely his connection to Gault 1) knew what will happened and just wanted to make sure that Pixy would be in a state where he will not refuse his offer to join AWWNB. Unfortunately this really is up to how you see it. It could be one of them, or a combination of all of the, or it could have been something completely different. I personally fall into a mix of 1 and 2. But this is most likely because of my own personal reading here. That being said every outcome ends the same. Pixy does accept "help" from Lucan and joins him and his organisation. Bonus mission 16: In Wizard squadron fight (knight route), Lucan does mention with his line Pixy, implying that they did talk to each other. "It's just as he said. He flies with aggression." Interesting thing is that only Lucan said this implying that Pixy might have out of the 4 squadron leaders only talk to him about Cipher. With this I believe I already said everything I could from the text it self. However I would still like to talk about some other interesting parallels between Pixie and Lucan that I found.

Parallels of this relationship Morgan and Merlin It´s interesting that Pixy and Lucan seem to mirror the student/mentor aspect of this relationship. Not only is Pixy parallel to Morgan, but Lucan does share some similarities of Merlin too, with his Nick Name “the Blue Magician”. Combine "Often pulls quotes relating to philosophy from books and poems." As well as the fact that you know he literally has Belkan witchcraft on his side (I still have no idea how you can even explain the invisible jets). Cinderella and Fairy godmother I already mentioned this connection in my dialogue 2. I just wanted to mentio it here. That being said this again goes back into the idea that Lucan is the one who holds more authority in this dynamic. Like a guardian over their and ward (at least at that moment). ACE Combat 3 spoiler START Rena and Dision So for those who haven´t playid it. I will be droping some important spoilers here so... yeah.... It´s interesting that they do seem to hold similar position in their organization respectfully. Both Dision and Lucan are leaders (well in Lucan´s case we can only believe that he is, but even then HE is the one who actually has connection to all the interview pilots so make of that what you will). That want destruction of the world Dision for his revenge and Lucan...honestly I do personally believe that he really is just that zealot and believes that is will create a new better world. And Rena with Pixy being the pilots of Super Planes (Rena being the one in charge of Night Raven while Pixy is the last plan of AWWNB with Morgan). The more interesting parallel is also that both Rena and Pixy are recruited and how.

Rena was groomed (and later even brainwashed) to join Ouroboros and be the pilot of Night Raven. Simular thing could be said for Pixy that he was slowly radicalise by war and probably Lucan to join AWWNB and was later choosen to be the Pilot of Morgan. And this is all I could find since I unfortunately have´t played AC3 fully (this is all that I could find from essays and wiki) ACE Combat 3 spoiler END

Ok so another thing my sleep deprived brain forgot to say is that there is also another parallels in how they are after Avalon and their interviews. After Avalon They are both the only members that still try to somehow continue in the ideology of AWWNB. Gault 1 is death, Espada 2 only was there because of Espada 1 and Sorcerer 1 gave up and lives a normal life (as normal as being watch by Osea can allow). On the other hand Lucan continues in his ideas same as before. Even trying to recreate AWWNB and even trying to assassinate the President of Osea. But was later lock up and turned kinda insane. Kinda going deeper into the dark both metaphorically and literally.

While Pixy thanks to seeing ground Zero and help from people (and probably the fact that he no longer is in contact with Lucan) is able to reflect and learn from all of this. He realizes that V2 wasn't the solution and that to fully understand the situation he needs to learn more about why borders exist and why people creat them. He in a sence returns to light (like there is a literal shot where beams of light are shining on him his last speech)

So yeah I somehow forgot the one thing that make me create this post..... sorry about that....

This is really the end (I hope this time), I hope that you all liked reading this brainrot of mine. So yeah... thanks for reading all of this and sorry for how long this was... and how I forgot to put the last part here Have a nice day

[phanfictioncatalogue]

Paranormal Masterlist

A Day in the... Life? (ao3) - carefully_crafted_cliches

Summary: A day in the... er, life of Dan and his ghost boyfriend, Phil.

chaos in bloom (ao3) - vvelna

Summary: The adventures of Dan and Phyl, ghost removal experts.

Dead of Night (ao3) - PoisonedMind

Summary: The windows rattle and the floor creaks and Dan writes i miss you to Phil before he goes to the bathroom to brush his teeth.

As he crawls into bed, he checks his phone. There’s a message from Phil waiting for him.

I'll be home soon

(TW) Early Sunsets Over Monroeville (ao3) - Morguesick

Summary: Dan had found his first ever safe space in Phil, and for Phil, someone to truly love. Yet, their relationship - and Dan's trust is jeopardised when Phil begins acting strangely following unexpected events on a caravan holiday in an abnormal country town with Chris and Pj.

A story of Dan losing his sense of reality following Phil's spiral into gradual paranormal depravity.

- set in 2010 -

Dragonfly (ao3) - lvckyphan

Summary: Something terrible happened in Littlerock Mental Asylum in the 1970s. Dan and his group of historically-crazed friends know this for certain. But when you throw in corporate secrets, paranormal activity and a chilling boy with very, very blue eyes, things begin to get a little more complicated.

four hotel walls (ao3) - watergator (orphan_account)

Summary: dan and phil are paranormal investigators from the 90s

House Haunting (ao3) - Indelible_Faith (TheWaterGoddess), nebulous_frog, PoisonedMind

Summary: Their house is haunted, Phil is certain of it.

Dan, on the other hand, has doubts. But when certain events begin happening, Dan doesn’t really think it’s quite amusing anymore...

in the woods somewhere (ao3) - antiadvil

Summary: After Dani bit Fi, Fi started to change too.

Mystery House (ao3) - multifandomer

Summary: Dan has just moved into a new house. The house is nice and looks expensive, but doesn’t cost as much as it should. He meets some unexpected people that will play a big part in his future.

oh invisible (ao3) - vvelna

Summary: The Happy Phantoms team takes on a ghost in a crawlspace.

Puppy Love (ao3) - citizen101erased

Summary: Phil goes to the dog show. He comes back with more than just fun stories and instagram selfies. Dan is pretending not to be pleased, but honestly, he can’t say no to those cute puppy eyes.

But then, strange things start to happen…

quiet on widow's peak (ao3) - dvp_95

Summary: Phil's got a list of paranormal experiences a mile long that he likes to share with the world. Abandoned buildings, cemeteries, and ghost stories have always called his name, and a particular fan of his has a really, really good ghost story.

(TW) Runaway Poltergeists (ao3) - kittycatrin (orphan_account)

Summary: Dan Howell dissociates, and Phil Lester is a ghost. Somehow, Phil still seems more real than Dan does.

SPI: A Dan and Phil Paranormal Investigator AU (ao3) - trancelover99

Summary: So I made a TikTok where Dan and Phil were Paranormal Investigators, and I decided to make an AU based on it.

The X-Philes (ao3) - UnorthodoxSavvy

Summary: Phil is a psychic. Dan is a detective. When Phil is visited by the ghost of his brother, he knows something isn't right. Can he and Dan solve the case, or will they become the next victims?

Watchful (ao3) - cafephan

Summary: Phil is part of one of the world’s most famous paranormal investigator groups, along with his friends Joe, Zoe and Louise. The never before investigated Harrowick Penitentiary catches the group’s attention, and they settle in the town for a week long investigation. Most importantly, they hope to make contact with one spirit in particular, Dan Howell, who was falsely imprisoned for a crime he didn’t commit, and was murdered in the building. When Dan becomes attached to Phil, things become a lot more complicated.