#but this time i know what they're saying right away!!!! so fun <3< /div> Explore tagged Tumblr posts

[saiintvalentiine]

Summary: Parrot finds out Wifies doesn't know how to dance, and tries to teach him a few moves.

Notes: we're ignoring our dads' divorce <3 a billion years ago i posted this, and it came back to me and i got a little inspired. speed written in the span of about 4 hours between loads of laundry so it's super unpolished!!! feel free to lmk any major SPAG errors :) just a fun lil romp! divider

Wordcount: 1,286

It comes up on a random Wednesday afternoon. They're chopping down a tall spruce tree and Wifies is in charge of swapping out their jukebox’s music discs when they end, because Parrot is way too picky. He's just put a new one in— otherside, a recent snatch from an Ancient City run they did— when Parrot hops off the top of the half-chopped tree and lands next to him, wings aflutter. He's already dancing along on the way down and it makes Wifies laugh.

“I like this one!” Parrot says with a wide grin. “Don't laugh at me!”

“I'm not laughing at you,” Wifies defends, pulling his axe out of his inventory. “You can stay here and dance like a bum while I chop, if you'd like.”

“Why don't you dance with me instead,” Parrot is doing a two-step already as he reaches out for Wifies's free hand.

“Nah, I don't know how to dance.”

“What!”

This is probably one of the least strange things Wifies has ever said to Parrot, but Parrot has stopped dancing in shock.

“You don't know how to dance?” Parrot echoes. “What!”

“I just don't!”

Wifies tries to shake Parrot off but Parrot doesn't let go, instead tugging him closer.

“It's not hard,” Parrot says, getting that stubborn glint in his eyes that assures that Wifies won't be getting away from him. “C’mon, I'll teach you.”

Wifies groans but stores his axe again and turns to face Parrot. Parrot grins, earwings fluttering in pleasure as he takes both of Wifies’s hands hostage.

“Okay, we’ll start with something easy.”

Otherside is whimsical and simple in it’s rhythms, and Wifies has no problem keeping track of the beats. The issue, it turns out, is that knowing the beat and moving to the beat are two different skills. He and Parrot focus on just his feet, restarting the disc over and over, and Wifies keeps stumbling over Parrot. Parrot’s grip on his hand has saved him so many times that Wifies is red in the face with embarrassment.

“Okay, let’s try something different,” Parrot says. Wifies is biting his lip too hard. “This isn’t a good song to start dancing to anyway.”

Wifies isn’t sure that he’s being honest about that, but whatever will end this mortifying ordeal is fine by him. Parrot pulls out otherside and begins fiddling with the jukebox before popping in a new disc. Creator begins, but never descends into its full instrumentation.

“Is that a music box disc?” Wifies ask.

“Yup, and we’re going to learn to waltz to it,” Parrot says, pulling Wifies close again. “I’ll lead until you can do it. It’s really simple.”

“Maybe I’m just hopeless,” Wifies sighs out, but he lets Parrot maneuver him around regardless.

“You’re not hopeless,” Parrot says as he puts Wifies’s right hand on his shoulder. “You’re learning a new skill. I didn’t approach teaching you the right way.”

Parrot nudges Wifies closer by putting his left hand on Wifies’s scapula, and then takes his other hand in a loose tangle. Wifies mirrors his posture, adjusting his stance so that they’re toe to toe. The disc has already looped twice in the time they’ve taken to set up.

“Okay, watch our feet.”

Wifies does. He watches and listens with his usual precision and consideration, Parrot whispering “one, two, three, turn,” over and over, and Wifies follows. It’s still a struggle, but he steps on Parrot’s toes less.

“You need to relax,” Parrot says, breaking Wifies’s focus. He stumbles, and they stop. “You’re way too tense. You’ve gotta feel the music, not try to strangle it.”

“Ha ha,” Wifies looks up and glares at Parrot in the dying sunlight, but Parrot just smiles. “What does feel the music even mean?”

“What are you so red for?” Parrot teases, and Wifies pinches his cheek for it. “Ouch, ouch, okay! Just, you gotta feel the music, c’mon.”

Parrot starts up again, and Wifies follows, but instead of counting, Parrot hums along with the music. The rises and falls sound so much fuller coming from Parrot’s chest, just an inch away from Wifies’s own. He finds himself humming too, breathy and quiet, trying to feel whatever it is Parrot wants him to feel.

“There,” Parrot murmurs. “There you go. Now try to look at me.”

That’s a tall ask. It’s a very, very tall ask. But Wifies looks up and meets Parrot eye to eye. His left foot drags a little behind, his right too quick, but Parrot is smiling with so much joy that Wifies thinks it’s probably okay if he scuffs Parrot’s boots a bit. Parrot is a good lead, adjusting Wifies’s position with his left hand and holding him tight with his right, while being insistent enough to stop him from falling but never restrictive enough to frustrate.

It’s what saves them both from a nasty fall. In the low light of their scattered torches and a waning moon, they seem to have spiraled too far out from their cleared out space and their legs tangle in a copse of ferns. With a whirl and a few hard flaps of his wings, Parrot keeps them from falling ass first into the dirt; it’s the kind of kinesthetic thinking Wifies has never had, but that Parrot has always excelled in. Watching Parrot fight isn’t all that different from dancing with him.

“Whoa,” Wifies says, stilling for a moment to shake off the little shot of adrenaline. “That was dangerous.”

“Nah, we’re fine,” Parrot says, pulling him close again. “You were doing well.”

“I didn’t think you liked dancing this much,” Wifies tries to frown but finds the expression melting away immediately.

They must have spun a hundred times around the jukebox, but Parrot looks as content as he did at the start. The cool night air has nipped his nose pink and his feet have got to hurt after everything they’ve been through, yet there’s no discomfort anywhere on his face.

“I don’t know many avians to dance with. It’s nice to dance with someone.”

Their waltz starts over. Wifies has almost entirely tuned the jukebox out at this point, and talking while dancing seems a little too advanced for him. He tries anyway.

“Must be boring to dance with me,” he picks each word carefully, ignoring how breathless he sounds. He’s not tired, but anxiety over messing up muddles his chest. “Wingless and all.”

“Never,” Parrot says. “Anything with you is good. The only bad part is I can’t get you out of your head for long enough to actually enjoy it.”

Wifies snorts and stumbles, and Parrot bears his weight with a chuckle. They slow down, out of sync with Creator but in sync with each other still.

“We’ll try to get you into it next time,” Parrot says, squeezing Wifies’s hand. “Teach you a few new steps.”

“You should start wearing steel toed boots,” Wifies feels his anxiety unravel slowly.

“Maybe. But you’re really not that bad.”

“You’ve been compensating for my mistakes.”

“That’s what dance partners are supposed to do,” Parrot draws them into a proper stop. “It’s not about getting it perfect, it’s about feeling good.”

Parrot drops his arm from Wifies’s shoulder and steps back. Wifies mirrors him, their fingers still intertwined. Parrot’s bows, spreading and tipping his wings forward in an impressive, wide display of colored feathers. Wifies doesn’t have any feathers to preen, but he still bows in turn once Parrot stands.

“Thank you for teaching me,” Wifies says.

“Thank you for dancing with me.”

Wifies still isn’t sure that there’s any hope for him when it comes to dancing, but it won’t be a problem as long as Parrot enjoys indulging him anyway.

[mixtapedoh]

is it very funny to me that oneus put a song called "baila conmigo" on an album titled "la dolce vita" as though italian and spanish are the same language? yes. is the song still an absolute banger? yes.

i am simply a baila conmigo apologist. it's incurable, i fear.

[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.”

© asahicore on Tumblr, 2024. please do not repost, translate, or plagiarize my works. support your creators by reblogging and leaving feedback!

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[vividxpages]

༉‧₊˚🕯️❀༉‧₊˚. "the craving"༉‧₊˚🤍❀༉‧₊˚. PART 1

Read Part 2 here 🤍

pairing: Jacaerys Velaryon x fem!Reader

words: 6300

summary: after a long day of scouting together, your betrothed Jacaerys and you are forced to seek shelter at an inn when a storm is raging outside. The only "problem"; there is only one, tiny bed for the two of you.

warnings: sexual tension, they're both virgins, but the Targaryen ancestors wrote a kamasutra for future generations and Jace has read it ;) , only one bed trope, cuddling/spooning, sexual content (making out, vaginal fingering, a little bit of dirty talk from Jace), aftercare

a/n: I had a lot of fun writing this story and it's my longest one for Jace so far, hope you like it! <3 I also have some ideas for a potential part 2 👀....

𐙚𓏲⋆ ִֶָ ๋𓂃

It was a rare occurrence for you, being chosen by the Queen to scout for the day, patrolling the sky and the lands underneath it from a safe distance. 

You were a princess of Dragonstone, but you were also a dragonrider, even if you were still young and an honor like this filled you with undeniable pride.

It was an even rarer occurrence that she allowed Jacaerys to join you.

Your recent betrothal to the prince had been a blessing, making your strong bond of friendship weave itself only tighter, but it also had brought up feelings you'd thought you simply could've brushed aside before.

Jace had gotten more...protective of you, more tender and you could not help but feel yourself being drawn to him too, longing for the mornings spent together at breakfast after saying goodnight to each other on your doorstep the night before.

Of course, there were rules, things to do when courting and things to avoid, such as sharing a room before marriage and the things that could happen in said room…

But you were never the one to follow rules lightly and weren't you going to be married anyways? All you needed was a little push until you'd surrender your heart and your body to Jacaerys...

And somehow, you had a feeling you weren't alone with these forbidden desires.

Today had been mostly spent in the sky, flying together as if you had never done something else. You were a unit, always knowing where the other was and what they did and it seemed like your dragons were delighted as well by the recent development of your planned union. 

You couldn't help but laugh with the wind when they playfully snapped at each other, both making little besotted growls from time to time, like Jace and you were interrupting a date.

Everything would've been alright if the storm hadn't moved into your direction.

It was getting darker and darker and both of you couldn't make your dragons move any faster, since they were young just as you and Jace were. Situations like this couldn't exactly be trained beforehand.

When the rain hit you, your mood dropped instantly.

"It's getting late!" You heard Jacaerys' familiar voice calling over to you through the wind and rain. "The weather isn't going to get any better and we are too far away from Dragonstone to make it back before midnight. We have to find a place to spend the night, it's no use."

You knew he could see the frustration on your face, worrying what your people back in the safety of Dragonstone's walls would think if the future of a more hopeful realm did not return as punctually as expected.

"She's going to be worried out of your mind for you." You called back, but the rain in front of you was blurring your vision and you kept pushing your hair out of your face.

Vermax let out a displeased growl as thunder rolled through the clouds. Jace squinted his eyes to make you out next to him, the storm getting stronger and stronger by the minute. "I'm not going to let us get struck by lightning! There's a merchant route right under us, if I remember it right. We land, now."

You reluctantly tugged the reigns of your dragon tighter around your fists and steered her down, following Jace and Vermax through the clouds as they descended. You couldn't argue with him, but a stop in an unknown region was risky. Even if you two were in the company of your dragons.

By the time you had landed in a clearing of the forest Jace had spotted from up above, your clothes were dripping wet on the ground.

Climbing down your dragon's back, you couldn't help but snort as Vermax immediately seeked shelter underneath the massive pine trees from the weather, his rider fondly shaking his head at his companion. 

As you approached, Jace sighed and squinted up into the sky above you. "I know you dislike this, as I do. But I'm not taking a risk. It's better to wait the night instead of getting attacked in a thunderstorm, don't you agree?"

"Yes…" You looked at him, still a little conflicted. "But we can only hope our people at Dragonstone agree with you as well."

Jace smiled at you, raising both his hands in defense. Like this, eyes bright and wet hair curling around his already beautiful face, he was a vision, making you permanently weak in the knees. "They will agree, because I am protecting the princess, my betrothed, as you are protecting yours."

Yours.

You involuntarily shuddered, the promise of being married to him one day never tiring of sending lightning through you.

While you understood the Queen's choice to wait with marrying you because of the war, you were growing tired of being denied what you craved so badly; not the ring on your finger - a beautiful thing you knew Jace had already commissioned to being forged, one of Vermax' scales sitting in its silver center - but the boy you were dreaming about at night, visiting you in the quietness of Dragonstone, sliding underneath your warm covers to-

"Everything alright?" Jace had stepped to your side, one hand on your shoulder. 

You nodded, swallowing thickly. "We should stop and rest at the first place we can find."

The traveler's road was empty and no one noticed the two of you stepping out of the forest and making your way over to the first building you saw, a small inn with its windows alight from the inside.

You shivered at the thought of a warm fire and wrinkled your nose at your clammy leathers. On top of it, your belly growled and Jacaerys and you shared a look.

A little smile tugged at the corner of his lips. "Don't worry, I'll find you something to eat even if I have to hunt it myself tonight."

You blushed, his words always managing to touch something deep within you.

Jace and you entered the inn, immediately enveloped by its delicious warmth and sociability. As Prince and Princess, you were not used to a civility like this and for a moment, you wondered what it'd be like to live like this, leading a simple life with Jace where no one would know you and you could do whatever you pleased. What a dangerous thought this was...

Just before you and him reached the small reception counter of the inn, Jace placed one of his gloved hands on your lower back, a secure and telling gesture that made your skin underneath the riding leathers burn pleasantly.

"Good evening." He spoke confidently. "My wife and I are looking for a place to stay for the night. The storm has caught us off guard on the road."

The innkeeper looked at you and although you knew he didn't want to hear it, you silently said a prayer of gratitude for Jace's beautiful dark hair and eyes. If he'd have silver hair, all could be lost, depending on the opinion of the inn's staff on this ongoing war.

You tugged your cloak tighter around you, hiding the riding leathers on your body, and looked back calmly. You forced your bottom lip to wobble as if you only now remembered the cold haunting your bones. How fast could you make your way back to the forest and your dragons before the whole house was up on their feet for two Targaryens in its midst?

"It caught us off guard alright as well, good sir." The innkeeper said goodnaturedly after a moment and you sighed on the inside. "The taproom is bursting at the seams tonight. I can only offer a single room, but I'm sure it's no problem for two young lovebirds like you. Dinner will be served for you, too, if you require it."

Jace swallowed thickly, not meeting your gaze at the prospect of a tiny room for the two of you. 

So far, your betrothal had consisted of courting each other quietly and sweetly, the long promised wedding pushed back again and again, much to your frustration. To share a room with Jace before you were married - it sent a shiver down your spine and you couldn't say it was a bad one.

"We require it. And thank you for the room. We will pay in advance, of course." Jace produced a small sack of coins from his cloak and you stepped aside and peeked into the full taproom, trying to calm your racing heart.

When he was done, Jacaerys stepped up to you and smiled encouragingly, although you could see through him instantly and saw the same nervousness possessing you. This was no place for you two and yet here you were.

"Dinner, my lady?" Jace asked under his breath and with a snort, you let yourself be led into the taproom, carefully avoiding any curious eyes on you as you found a quiet corner in the far back where hopefully no one would disturb you or have questions. 

Quickly, two plates with bread, cheese and tomatoes were brought to your table and Jacaerys and you began to eat, tense in your wariness for your surroundings but comfortable in each other's presence. 

He politely declined the waitress's offer of beer, but made her bring you a pitcher of clear water, the day spent underneath the sun having dried out your bodies like nothing else.

After a while - you were still munching on your bread and Jace looked about to be finished - he took a few of his tomatoes and placed them on your plate, a silent encouragement.

"Thank you." You said quietly and ate them too while he kept watch, over you and the room behind you. But in all the hustle going on in there, no one had time or interest for a young couple on the road and soon, your plates were empty and you retreated upstairs and down the narrow corridor.

The last door was yours.

Your eyes widened shortly as you took in your room for the night. There was a window where rain splattered against the glass, a small table with a chair and a bed, although it could barely be called that if you thought of your enormous bed at Dragonstone.

Beside you, you could feel Jace pausing as he locked the door, his eyes darting back and forth between you and the tiny bed in the corner of the room. If only one of you could fit, it'd be a miracle and the floor was in no condition to be slept on.

You took off your cloak and threw it over the chair, opening your mouth to speak just as Jace did.

"I'm taking the floor." He declared and you wanted to roll your eyes and also kiss him for his selflessness.

"You will not sleep on this floor, Jace." You argued and as you wrung out your damp hair, the last droplets of water fell onto the boards, blooming in the dust covering them. 

Jace stayed silent for a moment, wrapping a cloth from within his cloak around the doorknob and tying a tight knot, so you wouldn't be disturbed by any unpleasant visitors tonight.

"Please don't be ridiculous now." You tried again, softer this time. "You had a long flight today, too. We slept side by side when we were kids sometimes, remember? We'd fall asleep in the gardens of King's Landing while we watched the clouds, dreaming of riding our dragons someday."

"But we are not kids anymore." Jacaerys said quietly.

No, you weren't. 

And as you looked at him, reaching behind himself to unclasp his cloak, his dark curls still framing his serious face, you knew there was not an ounce of childlike innocence in you when it came to him.

"And I-" He interrupted himself as his cloak joined yours on the chair and you did not step back, only shuffling closer to rest your hand on his nape. 

What had gotten into you? This boldness, it was dangerous and misplaced and- very much exciting.

Jace slowly looked at you, his dark eyes like burning embers, bringing the heat to your cheek you so desperately needed.

"I'm afraid I cannot control myself around you, princess." He confessed hoarsely and for a moment you thought the wooden floor underneath you had turned into water and you were trying to dance on top of it, unsteady.

You exhaled shakingly, tongue tied in your shock at his confession, but a burning heat swirling pleased in your stomach. 

After a moment, he forced himself to tear himself away from you and cleared his throat. "I mean this in the most chivalrous manner, but I think we should take off our leathers if we don't want to be sick in two days."

You agreed and the two of you turned away from each other, the spell broken.

You faced the wall by the bed as you reached behind yourself, your fingers fumbling with the laces of your uniform. Whoever had invented dragonrider clothes had not intended them to be taken off without the help of half a dozen maids.

Your movements were clumsy and unpracticed, used to getting attended to by your maids for these kinds of things, preferably followed by a hot bath after a long flight.

But now, you were helpless and frustration grew quickly in you until you tilted your head back and let out a tired sigh.

"Jace?" You spoke over your shoulder and heard shuffling. 

"Yes?" 

"I...I can't take them off myself." You admitted, risking a look behind you to see his leather uniform draped over the table, only thin linen pants and a matching top remaining on him. You had never seen him like this, never could've imagined what was laying underneath his princely attires. He looked...innocent, like a boy with big eyes as he watched you. Biting your lip, you added: "Could you help me, at least with my laces?"

"Of course." He breathed and stepped closer as you turned around again, holding yourself completely still as you felt his warmth radiating against your back.

Suddenly, his hand was in your hair, brushing in awe over the wavy strands. "Can I…"

"Yes." You breathed, your nerves fluttering. "Please."

You shuddered as he carefully brushed your hair over your shoulder, exposing your tightly laced back to him.

Then, with surprisingly skillful fingers, he began to swiftly unlace you, his hands dancing over your spine and making their way down your back.

You were sure neither of you was breathing, your mind growing a bit foggy as you let him attend you like this, the task of a maid replaced by the care of your betrothed.

"All done." He whispered after a while and you were snapped out of your dreamy thoughts. You could already breathe more lightly as the riding leather dangled down on your sides, the front only held up now by your hands on your chest.

"Thank you." You whispered back. What would happen if you turned around now and faced him? Were you too far gone already or would you be able to remember yourself before it was too late?

"I'll light some candles and I...I won't look." Jace said flustered and turned away again, giving you as much privacy as he could as he busied himself with the unlit candles by the table.

Quickly, you slid out of the rest of your uniform until only the thin dress you wore underneath remained. With only these undergarments on you, you almost tripped as you slipped under the covers of the bed and pulled them all up to your chin.

The cold rushed back into you tenfold and you pressed your lips together to keep your teeth from clattering. 

Silently, you watched as Jace lit the last candle and checked the doorknob for one last time to make sure you were safe for the night.

When there was nothing to be done about the state of the room anymore, he met your gaze and asked one more time: "Are you sure?"

I'm afraid I cannot control myself around you…

You nodded, shuffling to the wall as far as you could. There was barely space left for another person, even like this. "Yes. We both need rest."

It seemed like your shivering only intensified as you felt his weight dip on the mattress, joining you as carefully as he could without bumping his knee into your side.

When he was settled, on his slim back while you laid on your side, facing away from him to hide your burning face, he drew the blanket over the two of you, trapping you in for a tight fit and combined warmth, hopefully.

The silence in the room was thick, loaded by something you could not name yet. 

"Try to sleep." Jace whispered to you in the darkness. "Tomorrow, at sunrise, we'll take flight."

You tried your best, you really did. 

But there was no use, not when he was laying so close to you. You were too aware of him, too overstimulated by the mere thought of his body so close to yours, his body heat radiating off of him while you still missed your own.

You were sure the whole mattress was shaking with your quivering, your lips blue and limbs clammy from the cold that had soaked into you on dragonback. Squeezing your eyes shut, you prayed for a slumber that wouldn't come. 

Jacaerys couldn't bear it anymore.

Seeing you, feeling you shiver so pitifully, he had to put an end to it. It was what a good husband would do.

"Princess…" He whispered into the darkness and you tensed. "You're freezing. If you'd let me...I want to help."

"Help?" You echoed, looking over your shoulder. Like this, you could only make out his eyes in the dark, his silhouette tempting and comforting at once.

Jace swallowed thickly, shuffling until he laid on his side and could support his head with his hand. "If we'd be...closer, I could warm you."

Your heart skipped a beat at his suggestion, his boldness surprising both you and himself. As scandalous as it was, you already felt yourself drawn to him, your cold bones screaming yes, yes, yes.

"If I won't inconvenience you." You murmured shyly. "I'm shaking like a leaf."

"I'll do my best to change that." Jace promised dutifully, darkly, and shuffled even closer.

Now, you were sure your heart was going to give out. 

Underneath the blanket you shared, Jace pulled you to him, his arm sneaking around your waist as your back met his chest.

You sighed, a small sound of relief as the warmth of him enveloped you and you could feel it also leaving his chest, as if you were two pieces melting together into one.

It was a lover's embrace, there was no doubt about it, but the line between you had already been blurred tonight, ever since he had called you his wife downstairs.

It should've surprised you more, how well your bodies fitted together, how natural the curve of your spine found its place against his lean torso. With his arm securely around you, making sure you'd stay connected, you were not sure if you could not breathe anymore or were finally able to.

"Is this good?" He asked you quietly after some time, your heads now sharing a pillow, a space, an embrace.

No. You needed more.

"Yeah...you are really warm." You breathed out and he chuckled and gods, you could feel the sound against you and thought nothing about this was real, not the inn, not tonight, certainly not him.

You shifted in his embrace, trying to get a little more comfortable when he suddenly let out a low hiss, your bum brushing against-

Oh.

Oh.

You wanted to combust.

You wanted to turn around and kiss him stupid. You wanted to do everything and yet, you were frozen in place, hotness rushing through you at the thought that your prince had gotten aroused while he laid with you like this.

"'m sorry…" He whispered near your ear and in front of your inner eye, you saw his eyes closing in defeat, having given in so quickly to his carnal desires.

You were about to be a very bad betrothed.

Innocently, you moved back against him and he choked on his breath, his mouth now hovering over your nape, the damp hair you wished to be out of your way now to feel him better.

Your hand rested on his forearm around you  and you traveled your fingertips upwards, brushing over his knuckles until you could entwine your fingers, squeezing him reassuringly.

"Princess...we can't." You wanted to chuckle at his unconvinced tone, an unfamiliar strain to his voice like he was trying his best and most to hold himself back from giving in to you.

"We can." You whispered back, kissing his hand in yours and hearing him sigh behind you. "I want you so badly, I feel like I'm dying."

It was too much, to hear those same words he only dared to think in his mind, it shattered the last bit of self control Jacaerys could muster up. He had been aroused ever since he helped you undress, the dreams that usually had him waking up in a sweat in his chambers at Dragonstone now coming true right in front of him.

"Please, Jace." You added with a sigh, pushing back against him. "Give in, please."

He surged forward, his lips making contact with your neck and setting you aflame.

You let out a low moan, the sight of the wall disappearing in front of you as you closed your eyes blissfully, focused only on the feel of Jacaerys lapping at your neck.

It was like he tasted something exquisite and unique, taking his time as he brushed your hair aside, his other hand delicately holding your jaw as he suckled the sensitive spot underneath your ear, making you twitch back in surprise against the outline of his hard cock.

He stifled a groan, something final snapping in him and he turned your head, his finger swiping over your chin and cheek as you both stared at each other, pupils gone wide and dark with desire.

"May I kiss you?" He asked huskily and you nodded quickly, your hand finding its way into his curls, tugging him closer until his hot breath grazed your bottom lip.

"Yes." You let out breathlessly. "Kiss me, please, I-"

He closed the distance between you, engulfing your mouth in a hot, desperate kiss, both of your lust and longing for each other too grand to think clearly anymore.

Still gently holding your jaw and you in his arms, he kissed you passionately, his lips moving slow and relishing against yours. You sighed happily against him, your fingers tightening their hold on his curls and making him groan, his free hand spreading itself out on your stomach.

Heat sloshed through you as your tongues danced, the kiss so much more than what you'd ever could've dreamed of. You never wanted to stop again.

His embrace was possessive, with not much room for you to do anything else but give yourself over to him, caged between the wall and his lean body.

You wanted to drown in his kisses, never to be seen again.

When the air in your lungs got thinner, making you lightheaded, the two of you pulled apart, panting and staring at each other with kiss-bruised lips.

Your hand fell over his own on your stomach, the fabric of your undergarment dress worthy to you of being burned in the heat of the moment.

"Can I touch you?" Jace gasped into your ear, almost a plea.

You nodded frantically, but he shook his head, his curls brushing against your cheek. "I need to hear it from you, love."

Gods, you were truly going to die by his tender hands.

"Yes…" You hissed, your mind already drunk on him. "I want you to touch me, Jace, I need it so badly."

You ground your bum back against him and Jace released a moan, the sound going right into your core, where wetness was pooling between your thighs and making a mess of you.

He peppered kisses on your cheek and jaw, relishing the way your back arched against him as his hand dove underneath the blanket and fumbled with the seams of your gown, tugging up the fabric as he went.

His hand slid over your naked leg, the skin still a little cold and covered in goosebumps he hoped were his doing. Up and up he went and you were panting by now, mind and body controlled by arousal for him, just for him.

Resting a gentle hand on your inner thigh, he spread your legs open, just a little, and kissed you once again, so he could feel the exact moment you'd-

"Ah-" You gasped in his mouth as his fingertips touched your clit and it shouldn't have been enough, you wanted so much more, but you already felt like you were able to find release from just this.

"Gods, you're driving me insane." He groaned, burying his face in your neck and suckling on it as he slowly began to rub circles onto you, his hand dipping down further to gather more of your wetness on his fingers. 

You shuddered at the sensation of his hand between your legs and then you keened as he obscenely spread your own juices over your clit, swirling his finger over the aching bundle of nerves.

"Fuck…" You whispered, your mouth falling open as he started a careful rhythm, letting you adjust to the sensation of having your clit pampered like this, easy circles and slight rubs.

Laying on your side only seemed to heighten your senses.

Your quivering legs tangled, bodies firmly pressed together, his hands around you like vines protecting a precious secret. You did not know anymore if you were tense or melting as he played with you, experimenting with the direction his fingers could go, gently tapping against your sensitive flesh which made you see stars...

And of course, your thighs - becoming sticky with your own juices, his finger being joined by another one and carefully massaging your most intimate part. With every round they went on you, your grasp on control slipped a little more and soon, you were a writhing mess, bucking your hips against Jace's hand as he continued to kiss your neck and relished the delicious little sounds you made because of him.

"You're so wet." He murmured, in awe of you and your body and you moaned, slumping against his back as he gently plucked on your clit, shiver after shiver running through you and ruining you. "I only dreamed of you like this, princess. You are a sight to behold."

You wanted to say something, anything, but it seemed like your brain had melted, mewling as he cupped your whole core and slowly shook his hand, the friction intensifying only more as vibrations were sent through your pussy.

"Where did you learn all this?" You asked breathlessly and he chuckled, blushing and nuzzling your sweaty neck lovingly as he dipped his fingers lower, almost where you needed him the most.

"The library at Dragonstone can be very...educational. On many different topics." He murmured melodically and you were still, awaiting, as he pushed your undergarments up more, his hand drifting up over your stomach and towards your chest. "Some of the books our ancestors kept there are very...interesting to read. Diaries of fiery encounters and instructions on love making. I had to resist taking notes when I read some of those passages, on how to please women when I could only picture you in my head."

A guttural, broken moan left you when he mouthed at your neck, licking over your exposed throat.

It distracted you just enough that he nearly sent you into an early release as his wet, glistening thumb circled around one of your rosy buds before he raised the same finger to his lips and had a taste.

You both groaned in union, your thighs squeezing together as you stared at him, his own eyes closed in bliss at the taste of you. Just as he had imagined…like honeydew.

He slid his hand underneath your neck so you could rest your head on his strong arm, the same hand coming down to cup one of your aching tits. Like in everything else; you were perfect for each other here. His hand had just the right size for you.

You eagerly spread your legs again as his other hand snaked down your body again, both his and your remaining clothes drenched by sweat, the room smelling of sex.

"I'm dying to know how you feel around my fingers, princess." He confessed and you bit your lip, trying to fight the urge to cross your eyes as his fingers ghosted over your wet clit again; and losing. "Can I? Can I have you like this, my love?"

What a dirty tongue your betrothed had…

If your mind had been any clearer and not as fucked out, you would've asked him if he also learned that in his books, but that was a conversation for another day.

"Yes." You gasped instead, bucking once again against his hand over you, cupping your core and squeezing your clit between two of his digits, making you moan brokenly. "Please, Jace, I need you to fuck me, please, fuck me-"

You knew he couldn't, you both couldn't, at least this much of both your composures remained. But there were other ways to find release and apparently, your sweet betrothed was an expert at executing them.

He raised himself a little, peeking over your shoulder so he could look at your heated face, rosy cheek and wet, parted lips just for him. Jace pulled you into a kiss, sweet and slow this time and you moaned right into his mouth at the taste of yourself on his tongue.

Your eyelashes fluttered against your cheeks and you were overwhelmed in the best possible way as Jace's finger slid through your juices once again before he entered you.

You could've sworn you heard his and your dragon roar triumphantly in the distance as he slid his finger into your drenched core, your moan loud enough to go beyond the walls of your room and raise questions - or brows at such distasteful actions behind closed doors. If they only knew.

He groaned at how tightly you squeezed his single digit, fantasizing how you'd feel around his cock. Jace twitched against your back and you held him only tighter, your hot walls eager to let him in. 

You were so wet, it was a slippery little affair and as he let you adjust, his thumb rubbed soothing circles on your clit, his rhythm reflected in the way your core clenched up deliciously.

You locked eyes with him, half-lidded and ready to die a sweet death at his hands, begging him softly: "You can move. It's okay, you won't hurt me." 

It was like you were playing your wedding night and he let out a shuddering breath, needing to stay in control before he threw it out of the window and deflowered you right here, in a bed and place that wasn't worthy of you. He'd never forgive himself if he would not make it special.

Slowly, he pushed forward and further into your heat, his finger quickly becoming wet and slippery and covered in you.

You let out a satisfied sigh, letting yourself be kissed as he oh so gently began to build up an easy rhythm, not brave enough yet to sink to the knuckle into you, but feeding your soaked cunt more and more of him, his mind alert to spot any discomfort in you and ready to stop and wait for you.

But you had wanted him for far too long to need any more caution from him.

And the sounds - gods, the sounds were driving you insane. You were so wet, your pussy was making slurping sounds at the intrusion of his finger and you bit your lip blissfully when he finally found his pace, light and easy on you, but no less hot and intense.

Only the rain splattering against the windows and your little moans and gasps could be heard as he fingered you gently, the pads of his finger dragging over your walls and trying to find the one tiny spot he had read about, enough to make a woman lose her mind and all final restraints if done right.

You were mewling, gripping his arm over your chest tightly and occasionally biting his skin softly to stop you from being too loud. 

"You are so beautiful." He slurred against your temple, keeping his eyes only on you to capture every one of your reactions and keep it in his mind.

You moaned wantonly, maybe because of the praise or because his thumb dragged over your pulsing clit, he didn't know. But oh, how he wanted to find out.

For just a moment, he stilled his movements and you looked at him with wide eyes, your hips trying to fuck yourself on his fingers, but him not letting you. 

Jace watched you closely, quickly kissing your quivering lips before his voice dropped low and he murmured: "Your cunt feels so good around my fingers, my love. You're squeezing me so tightly, ñuha jorrāeliarzy, you are the most beautiful thing in the whole realm and all mine."

"Yours." You echoed and whimpered, solely because of his words.

He couldn't help but smile besottedly, storing the effect of his words on you away for another time and  resuming to fingering you gently. 

Soon, after you whispered you were ready for one more, two of his fingers were now softly pumping in and out of you and you knew you could not last much longer under his sweet tormention.

Your hips had begun to move on their own and he watched you with both fascination and love as you rode on his fingers, your eyes closed and your lovely mouth opened in the sweetest o-shape. 

If he'd still now, he knew you'd continue to fuck yourself on him and god, how he wanted to see it, but there was still one ace up his sleeve and he couldn't wait any longer to try it.

He crooked both his fingers upwards and you tensed in his arms, moaning into his arm and losing yourself almost completely as he touched a part of you you didn't even know existed.

"Jacaerys, gods, I-" You whimpered as the pads of his fingers rubbed against that rough little spot in you, your hips twitching uncontrollably.

"Let go for me, princess." He encouraged you, kissing your cheek and nuzzling his face against yours sweetly. "I can feel you dripping around me, your perfect cunt weeping for me…"

You were floating, only held back by Jacaerys' arms around you, playing your body like a delicate instrument as one hand played with your tit while the other still rubbed against your sweet spot, eager to bring you to release.

His thumb came back onto your clit and your hips arched, pressing yourself forward against his sticky hand as he rubbed delicious circles on you.

"Come for me, my love, I need to see, need to feel you." He coaxed you further, smiling against your neck and adding in a whisper: "Let go for me, my sweet wife."

That was it.

You exploded, coming hard around his fingers, whimpering pitifully as tears of pleasure and overwhelm escaped your eyes. 

You rode your high, your hips helplessly bucking against Jacaerys as he kissed your tears away, softly talking you through it and soothing you down with gentle hands from a peak you had no idea how to recover from…

Jace watched you closely, fascinated and so, so in love, as he slowly slipped his fingers out of you, an obscene string connecting them to your wetness he could not see.

To make sure you would not feel too empty, his hand cupped your mound, keeping you warm and secure as little aftershocks ran through you and you were panting and peppering little kisses on his arm, clinging to him with all your might.

"You were so good…" Jace whispered lovingly, kissing whatever he could reach of you, his body keeping you warm and sated in the aftermath of both your actions. "So, so beautiful…"

You hummed, tired and thoroughly happy as you slowly calmed down, relishing the feeling of his warm hand still on you, carefully avoiding your spent parts so you wouldn't feel overstimulated.

Exhaustion clung to your bones, a mixture of the long day on dragonback and the oblivion of good sex, but you still felt Jacaerys hard against your back. He had not yet found his release and you were eager to give it to him.

You tried to turn around, to reach down between you and touch him, but he was not having it.

"Sh sh, this was only about you, my love." He shushed you, his strong arms efficiently stopping you from wriggling against him. He soothed his hands over your sides and kissed your temple. "When I take you to bed properly, it will be at Dragonstone where I can take care of you as a loving husband should."

You shivered at the promise, without any coldness left in your veins.

He smiled against your cheek, his fingers lightly drawing circles onto your hip bone as he leaned closer and whispered into your ear: "And then, I'm going to take my time with you, princess, learning how you taste on my tongue...ravishing that sweet little cunt of yours…"

Your core deliciously clenched up at the thought, but you were also sleepy, your eyelids already betraying your intentions as they drooped. You snuggled yourself closer against Jacaerys, stifling a yawn.

"Don't worry, we'll have all the time in the world…" Jace lulled you closer to sleep, the sweet nothings he whispered to you being like a warm blanket draping itself over you.

"Jacaerys…" You mumbled, feeling your grasp on staying awake slip further as his hands ran softly over you, making your mind hazy and blank. "Thank you...I- I'm very warm now…"

He laughed quietly, his chest blooming with happiness as he felt your body slump against his. 

Jace closed his own eyes, resting his chin on top of your head and holding you against him protectively. He was the luckiest prince of the realm tonight and forever if he only had you.

And you, his princess, were warm and sated and in the embrace of the one you belonged to.

And suddenly, as you drifted off into a long and peaceful slumber, flying back to Dragonstone in the morning did not look so dreadful anymore...

𐙚𓏲⋆ ִֶָ ๋𓂃

my taglist: @princesschimchim1325 @cecestea @jacesvelaryons @princessvelaryon @diannnnsss

[prettycottagequeer]

ok maybe I'm a little late to this BUT I'm gonna do a to-do list motivation thingy because I've had the worst two weeks since I started college :)

SO these I should start on asap:

50 I make the snack I really want but I haven't had the motivation to make

100 I clean my dorm. another thing I've been meaning to do for a week

150 I do the presentation about mid-victorian fashion I've been putting off (due Monday)

200 I start memorizing the monologue that was due a week ago (now due Tuesday)

these can wait longer:

300 I spend time outside. It's so nice but I'm getting stuck scrolling because I feel like shit. vicious cycle ect

500 I start setting a better weekend routine (aka getting up before noon)

1k I start working out again. I was doing a routine to get more masc and build muscle and I liked it but life hit me like Crowley driving the Bentley and I've missed like 3 weeks

2k I buy my first binder. I've been coping with sports bras for almost a year now and I haven't been able to justify spending $50+ on a binder even though I know I'd love it and use it everyday.

Do I tag people? I don't know but I'm going to. @the-globe-theatre-maggot @weirdly-specific-but-ok @howmanyholesinswisscheese

here's just some context if you want to read, feel free to skip. some of this I've talked about in the maggot server, some I haven't, but I really just need a place for this to go that's out of my head. tw homophobia, transphobia, car crash(??)

How I Have Been Run Over By The Bentley Going 90 In Central London What Feels Like 50 Times In The Last Two Weeks

I'm going to college about 4 hours away from my parents, and it's been really nice. They.. suck, to say the least. transphobic/homophobic ect, super traditional conservative catholic, racist, all of it. so i tried to move somewhere where I wouldn't have to think about them and I could be myself and do what I can to be happy. March 1st was the start of my spring break, which meant going home because the dorms close. I was already not excited, but I was prepared. the problem with being away from home is I forget just how bad they are. My optimism gets the better of me and I think maybe this time they'll be better. so I decided to not hide my septum piercing.

that was a mistake. it starts a whole fight where they say we know you're trans, you're actually a girl and you always will be, we have the bones argument, they think I'm being influenced by demons or something (if only they knew about crowley) because I want to change my name, and they tell me that going on t will completely ruin my body and give me cancer and other things. They're also mad about my dyed hair, septum, and general style, and say I'm setting a terrible example for my (5) younger siblings and make it a point to tell me just how much of a disappointment I am. I think I'm pretty cute and fun but y'know, whatever. very fun time. I lie so much, don't give them any more details about my identity, and say I'm not planning to go on t to save my ass. which is all on instinct which makes me feel worse because if I'm really trans I should be able to stand up for that, right? maybe I'm faking the dysphoria.

the next morning I wake up really sick, and spend the rest of the week sick and feeling like shit because I'm home and back in the same place and situation I was a year ago that I thought I escaped. at one point I pretty much lose my voice but also kind of get gender euphoria from it. it's weird.

On Friday it's time for me to drive back 4 hours to school, and I make it about 3/4 of the way when google maps takes me on a random gravel road and I crash my car, really crash my car, like sideways-in-a-ditch-windows-broken-crawling-up-out-the-door crash it in the middle of nowhere. (I was fully paying attention to the road, it was raining and super slick) I call my parents because I have no one else to call and I sit in a Subway for 3 hours while they drive to get my car. when they get there they're (understandably) really mad, and they tell me that I'm not mature enough to be going to school so far away and I need to get my shit together and stop depending on them. which. is probably true. but made me feel even more stupid about the fact that I crashed my car. I get back to school and I'm still Very Sick with no energy or motivation to do anything. So I've spent the last week trying to get better and honestly to do anything. it hasn't really worked. I'm a lot better health-wise (Not emotionally), still sick but I have a lot of work due, so I really need a push to get started

[ellecdc]

Lexy!!! I've literally just thought of this so it might be awful, but I love the jegulus you've written and I think in most scenarios I see reader falling for James first because he's the more outgoing, ask-for-what-you-want type, but what if she first met regulus as a cat animagus? And she gets really attached to him, and he get really attached to her sweet-talking him all the time, and when eventually she gets to know him and James in-person he's just already so much more comfortable with her than he is with most people? Idk this could be a request if you like (but no pressure!) or just a ramble but I'd love your thoughts on it either way (again, if you feel like it!! no worries if not my love <3). Hope you're having a day as lovely as you are!

I don't write nearly enough for these two so I was more than happy to play around with this!! I think it also stems from Regulus being the type to (rather reluctantly) accept love than to pursue love, but after spending any amount of time with James, I could totally see him feeling capable of accepting it and perhaps giving it away too! so this was fun, thanks for the prompt, my love!!!!!

poly!jegulus x shy!reader who makes a little friend [2k words]

CW: fem!reader, reader is shy....I think that's it, OH reader thinks maybe people are making fun of her at one point but they're not so it's chill

Where James was all bravery (and a ceaseless amount of emphatic assertiveness), Regulus was cunning through and through. 

Was Regulus’ approach perhaps a bit understated? Sure. But was it also effective? Well, he certainly thought so. 

People like you required a softer approach; an approach James wasn’t well-practised in (nor well suited for). Someone as shy as you could handle James’ loud proclamations and brazen flirting even less than Regulus had.

Besides…they didn’t really have time for James’ approach, because if it took Regulus himself three years to come around to James’ advancements, well…they didn’t have three years. 

So, Regulus spent time with you the only way he knew he could that wouldn’t cause your shoulders to migrate to your ears or cause you to avoid eye contact with anyone within a 12 foot radius of yourself. As a cat.

As a very sleek and refined black cat with piercing grey eyes; what? Regulus wasn’t afraid to admit he was a particularly attractive little feline.

And you certainly didn’t seem to disagree.

“Oh there you are, sweetness!” You exclaimed as he trotted his way over to you; a little brrp escaping his mouth at the endearment rolling off your tongue so easily at the sight of him. “I was wondering when I’d see you again.”

Regulus spent some time rubbing along your shin and hip that he could reach thanks to the way you were currently seated with your back against an old oak tree. 

“Well aren’t you just so handsome, hm?” You cooed, and Regulus felt his heart thrum (or perhaps that was just the sensation of the dramatic purrs you were eliciting from his animagus form).

Regulus somehow found it far easier to give affection in this form; there was something far more vulnerable in offering Sirius a sincere hug, or even asking James to hold his hand than there was in stepping up onto your thigh with his little paws as he used his head to rub against your shoulder. 

That, and his feline form didn’t seem to get so caught up on such human feelings like vulnerability or abandonment issues.

“Such a sweet boy.” You murmured, rewarding him with chin scratches. “Where do you go after you say bye to me? Hm?” You asked him then, and Regulus actually found himself desperate to tell you. Desperate to say “I’m right here! I’m always here! I’m just usually accompanied by a great bumbling sod who is just as crazy about you as I am but is far less gracious about it!”

Regulus wondered then when he became the sort to admit to holding a flame for someone? Agreeing to go out with James had been a sort of relenting “oh shit, yeah, fuck, I’m sort of in love and wildly sexually attracted to my brother’s best friend, aren’t I? Damnit, well, alright then I guess.” 

But falling for you had been an active choice on Regulus’ part; he’d set up the playing field with strategic manoeuvres and expertly playing the hand he was dealt. He manipulated moments where he would get the chance to spend time with the unbridled you; the version of you perhaps only those closest to you ever got to see, and perhaps not even then.

The you that you were when you didn’t feel the need to perform for others. The you that you were when you were completely free to be yourself.

He hoped that the comfort and ease you found in his company like this would one day translate to comfort and ease in his company whilst in his human form, too.

It was official; Regulus had officially lost the plot. He’d become a lovesick fool and a complete sap planning moments for the two of you to meet and dreaming of the day he could tell you just how he felt.

He’d been spending too much time around Gryffindors, it was time to see a mind healer. 

You had been resting with your head back and face pointed towards the sky above you that was partially obstructed by the canopy of branches and leaves above you before you took a deep and definitive breath in. 

“It’s almost time for class, kitty.” You murmured softly, looking down at Regulus with a look of adoration and perhaps some regret that you had to leave his company. 

That’s sort of how Regulus imagined he and James looked every time you left the room, not that you’d ever noticed. 

But before Regulus could be particularly perturbed by that thought, you actually bent down and pressed a kiss to the space between Regulus’ ears. 

And with a grace and assuredness Regulus not often saw on you, you stood and headed towards the castle for your next class.

“Oh my Godric, she kissed you!” James squealed as he removed the invisibility cloak from his person.

Regulus let out a startled hiss and felt his tail poof up in an attempt to make him look far more intrepid than he actually was. 

“Awe, you’re so cute when you think you’re scary.” James cooed as he reached down to give Regulus a scritch only to be swatted away rather aggressively by his boyfriend.

“Regulus!” James chided as he held his hand protectively against his chest. “That was very rude.”

“There were no claws, you tosser.” Regulus muttered as he returned to his human form. “What were you even doing out here?”

James shrugged in nonchalance as he tilted his head up to the sky in much the same way you had but moments ago. “I was bored so checked the map to see where you were, and then saw you were here and wanted to see the magic in action.” 

“You’re so lucky you didn’t sneeze and blow the whole thing.” Regulus spat, though James was either ignorant to his boyfriends grumblings or choosing to ignore them.

“She’s so lovely, isn’t she?” 

Regulus hummed in agreement, ire quickly melting away as he looked longingly (like the lovesick sod he was) in the way you’d left.

As he moved to lean back against the tree beside James, his hand came into contact with something distinctly unnatural. 

“Oh?” He murmured as he pulled an open journal out from under him, the page currently resting on a beautiful sketch of…him?

“Merlin’s tits. Did she draw you?” James breathed out in disbelief as he pulled the journal closer to him.

“Don’t be ridiculous James.” Regulus chided as he tried to ignore the quickening of his heart. “That could be any cat.”

James hummed in clear disagreement as he adjusted his glasses. “‘I wish I could paint; there’s no way I can portray the beautiful grey of this cat's eyes’” He read from a small patch of scrawl beside the image with a little arrow pointing towards him.

“I think I just found our in, Jamie.” Regulus murmured quietly before looking at James with an arched eyebrow.

Yup, he’d definitely been spending too much time in the company of Gryffindors. 

°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°

You were fanning the tip of your quill against your lips as you stared off into space again. You couldn’t believe you lost your sketchbook. It wasn’t like you’d been drawing anything particularly crude or inappropriate, but somehow the thought of someone actually looking inside the little world you’d been building had you feeling naked. 

“Is this seat taken?” You heard from above you, causing you to straighten up so quickly that your knee met the bottom of the table with a painful thunk. 

It was Regulus who had asked the question, but it was James who asked “Shit, are you okay, love?”

“Sorry. No.” You mumbled quickly, face heating up to near painful temperatures. “Erm, I mean, no, that seat’s not taken, and sorry, I’m okay.” 

“You don’t have to apologise to me, angel, the victim was that poor knee of yours.” He continued as he took one of the two seats across from you, his furrowed brows pointed resolutely at the span of table you’d accosted moments ago. 

“What is it that you’re working on?” Regulus asked you then, nodding his head towards the blank parchment in front of you and the quill that had spent just about more time in your mouth than it had on paper. 

You felt your shoulders shrug nervously as you stared resolutely at the blank expanse before you. 

“Not much, it seems.” You admitted quietly. “I, erm, I’ve lost something recently.”

“Your sketchbook.” James and Regulus chorused, and you winced at the whiplash you nearly gave yourself in moving your gaze to them. 

“I…yes, my- how did you know I’ve lost it?”

Regulus shrugged calmly as he looked down at the table in front of you. “It’s odd seeing you without it, quite frankly.”

You hardly had a moment to feel horribly uncomfortable to realise that Regulus Black and James Potter had ever noticed anything about you before - let alone something that, for whatever, reason felt particularly sacred and personal to you - before Regulus pulled out your sketchbook from his bag. 

“You…had it?” You whispered, feeling disturbingly close to tears imagining this to be one of the Marauders pranks where they spent one evening flipping through the pages for a laugh.

“You forgot it…down by the oak tree on the grounds.” Regulus offered quietly as he carefully slid the closed book towards you. 

“We didn’t take it.” James added as if sensing your concern. 

“Did you look at it?” You asked quietly then; staring down at your long lost book now gripped tightly in your hand rather than at the two boys.

“Just one page.” James admitted as he shifted in his seat. “It was opened to that page when we found it.”

“I hope you don’t mind,” Regulus began, “but I may have added something to the page we found it on.” 

You looked up at him expecting to see some devious or malicious smile gracing his face, but you were only met with a look far softer than you ever imagined possible on the young Black’s face. It looked…dare you say, hopeful? 

You looked back down at the sketchbook to see a little tab sticking out about ¾’s of the way through and opened it carefully.

The parchment crinkled and groaned as you opened the book; protesting as if it had been subjected to water or rain only to be completely dehydrated again. 

And inside, the sketch of the little feline companion you’d come to love had been transformed into a beautiful water painting, the tail charmed to swish back and forth every so often as its - now the perfect shade of grey - eyes blinked at you. 

“I thought the sketch to be beautiful, but you wanted it painted and I wanted to do that for you.” He admitted quietly; voice no higher than a whisper. 

“You got the eyes just right.” You murmured in awe before your eyes flit up to…a matching pair. “They’re your eyes.” You amended disbelievingly. 

Regulus simply smirked, though even that appeared soft.

You looked back and forth between the two boys, neither seeming to know quite what to say, but neither seeming particularly inclined to leave your company. 

You realised then that they’d been with you like this - in your company, that is - before.

You looked down at your sketchbook and began flipping through the pages before stopping at the one you were looking for and handing it to James. 

James accepted your book and held it as if it was something precious as he smiled down at the page.

It was a sketch of him laying on his back across one of the benches in the quidditch stands as he casually threw and caught a snitch - the snitch and his arm charmed to move. You hoped that wasn’t too creepy - having a drawing of him in your personal book - but you had been up there first before his friends came to hang around, and they hadn’t seemed particularly bothered by your company at the time.

“You’re very talented.” He said simply, and you felt your shoulders relax from the worry of him being uncomfortable. 

“Think you can paint that one, too?” You asked Regulus quietly, and you felt your heart stutter slightly when his face lit up into a beaming smile. 

“It’d be my honour, beautiful.” 

Oh gods…what did you just get yourself into?

[mbsneur]

5 in a row

Alexia Putellas x Reader

Summary: you give alexia what she wants after she wins the world championship

WC: 2,5

Warnings: Smut18+, Cunnilingus, multiple orgasmn , strap using- reader-receiving,rough sex,

My Masterlist

Hello, lovely readers! I hope you enjoy this story, even if it's not my best work. I'm always open to feedback, wishes, or questions, so please don't hesitate to write me a request. For more information, you can check my masterlist. I'm truly grateful to everyone who reads my work.

I have a feeling that not many people are seeing my work or my fics, and that they're not getting much attention. I've noticed this with several other writers, too. Do you know why that is? I'd love to hear your thoughts and ideas on how I can improve! And please, have fun reading! 😊

and that's how it is. spain is world champion. your girlfriend is world champion.

You party all night, you walk the streets of Australia, you haven't seen Alexia this happy in a long time.

You're happy for the chicas, it's what they wanted the most, so all the promises came true, and so your promise was "if you become world champion, I'm all yours" were your words, of course you belong to Alexia, but you meant it in a different way.

She was kept from keeping her promise most of the time you were partying and now you are all having lunch together most of you are tired and forced to be there.

When you finally wanted to leave, Alexia was stopped again: "You have a meeting to attend, ale lo siento, I don't want to stress you any more today, but it will be quick," her manager tells her expressively, and Alexia sighs and rolls her eyes: "How long will it take?" she asks annoyed, "an hour at the most," her manager replies, "I'll go first, please be right there," she adds.

Alexia turns to you and comes closer. "I'm gonna fuck you senseless. Don't worry, neña. I'll hurry," she whispers into your ear. You feel her warm breath on your pulse point and sigh against her. She moves away from you and winks at you before she leaves.

//

Time has passed, you saw with the others in the hotel lobby.

Alexia came.

"the superstar is back aye" oihane shouts across the room and alexia blushes slightly she comes over to you she leans down and gives you a soft kiss on the cheek "do you want to go upstairs?" she whispers as you walk past and you nod gently at her alexia starts to light up "The superstar is leaving, I have to do some things," she says playfully to Oihane and everyone looks at her as she pulls you up by your hand, "Do what you couldn't do with y/n for 3 weeks because she had to be able to walk somehow," Jenni shouts playfully and laughs out loud, She gets a playful slap from Misa.

alexia rolls her eyes slightly as you walk towards the elevator

//

alexia presses you against the door her lips are all over your neck your hands are tangled in her hair the air is thick alexia kisses you with so much hunger and lust

Her strong hands press firmly into your ribs, and you let out a deep, gasp. She nibbles at your skin, making sure she marks what belongs to her. Her tongue extends and licks a long strip from the end of your neck to your ear and licks at the shell of your ear. You squirm, and she giggles. "Use me, do what you want with me, but please let me forget my own name," you moan breathlessly.

Alexia stops nibbling on your neck to look at you, her pupils get bigger and she looks at you with her head tilted, her eyes full of fire, her hands literally itch because they miss your pussy so much "do you want that amore" she asks, her voice getting rough "yes please" you answer.

"I need you. I've missed you so much," you say, your head leaning against the door. Your eyes are small and glassy, and you are so wet. You're sure your underwear is ruined. She grabs you by your hips again and leads you to the bed. She sits down and taps her lap to make you realize that you should sit down.

As you sit on her lap, you put your hands on her neck and pull her towards you for an intimate kiss. She sucks on your tongue, your kisses are messy and wet. Her hands, move up to your tits and take them in her hand. You moan softly into her mouth and start rubbing yourself on her. Your hips rock against her, and her hands knead your tits.

She can feel your hard nipples through your bra, and it makes her whimper. You have a hard time kissing her back, One of her hands reaches your ass and gives you a light slap, and you moan out loud. You reach for her hand and guide it to your waistband. "Don't waste time," you say. "Please, Ale, I beg you. I need you so much." You moan, and Alexia's hand slides into your pants.

She teases your hole and you rock your hips against her hand. She has stopped kissing you and puts her forehead against yours. "Please don't tease me," you say, whimpering. Alexia gives you what you need and lets her finger slide into your hole. "fuck, you are so tight," she says, moaning and swallowing hard.

You are trying to block out the sounds that you are making by burying yourself in Alexia's neck.

She grabs your hair and yanks you forward, saying, "Stop hiding your noises. I don't care if everyone hears you." She then inserts another finger into your hole, making you moan and lean back as you ride her fingers.

"I've missed this so much," you say, and Alexia smiles at you. She speeds up with her fingers and hits your G-spot exactly. You kiss her neck, which makes her put her head to the side. You suck and lick her skin. Her fingers curl, and her palm hits your clitoris perfectly with every thrust.

"babe i'm getting closer," you whisper moaning against her sensitive skin "come whenever you need to," her words burst like fireworks in your belly, your teeth biting into her neck as your walls tighten around her thick fingers, your legs pressing tightly against her side and with a muffled whimper the orgasm you've been waiting for so long comes.

She turns you around so that you land on your back on the bed. She climbs on top of you and spreads little kisses on your face. "Put your arms over your head," she says in a soft voice, and you do as you are told. She pushes up your shirt and her eyes widen. She teases your belly by spreading wet kisses on it. Your skin twitches with every touch of her lips.

"You wanna be good?," she says against your stomach before coming up and pulling your shirt over your head, practically drooling at the sight of your hard nipples "I want to be your good girl," you say embarrassed and Alexia gives you a familiar smile and caresses your cheek lovingly.

Her hands ran along the waistband of your pants before she finally took them off completely. You helped her by kicking your pants off with your feet. Despite the stress she's been under, Alexia is relaxed. You've never seen her so relaxed during sex.

She knelt in front of the bed and took your thighs in her hands, pulling you closer to her. You were so wet that Alexia moaned at your smell. She moved her mouth to your core, sucking on your clitoris. "God ale," you moaned, looking down at her. She alternated between licking and sucking on your clitoris.

your hand reaches for her hair to pull her closer to you, your head dropped into your shoulder. Alexia let go of you with a popp "i said keep your hands above your head venga lie back down" she snapped at you, her forehead furrowed, and her eyebrows knitted together. You dropped down annoyed that you couldn't watch her "stop bitching" she added and her head went back to your pussy she teased your entrance before shooting her tongue inside you

Your back arches in response to her touch, and you perceive her smile against your skin. As she engages in oral intercourse with you, her nose makes contact with your clitoris, and her tongue moves in a rapid, deliberate manner. You experience a sensation of thickened blood in your veins, and the inability to move your hands intensifies your arousal.

your eyes roll back into your head as you feel the knot in your stomach again your legs close around her head and shake "fuck ale you're driving me crazy" you whimper feeling your pulse quicken, her tongue still in your hole she feels you coming closer your walls twitch around her tongue "you can cum I want to feel you baby" she says letting go of you for a moment

Your legs are moving and your back is bending throughout your orgasm. She's overstimulating you. You're trying to squirm, "A short break, please," but Alexia doesn't listen. Your body slides backwards to get away from her, but she gets up, grabs your legs, and pulls you to the edge of the bed. Two fingers poke into your hole, and her tongue lands right on your clit again.

You let out a scream and a few tears as she continues to pump into you at a relentless pace. Your legs are still shaking, and your clit is pressed tightly between her lips. She sucks with the expertise of a world champion, and your body shakes, your hips wiggle, and you moan, "Cumming again." You add, "Fuck,fuck" and claw at the bed.

you cum with a deep cry, you see stars. You haven't even noticed alexia let go of you, her lips swollen and wet, her fingers soaked in your cum, she laughs dazed.

"Ready for my strap," she grins mischievously and winks at you, "do I have a choice," you say sarcastically, "not really," she laughs back and gets up to go to her suitcase, she has brought the longest one, "for special occasions," she points out.

//

she climbed on top of you, "please" you blink at her you have recovered a bit from your previous orgasms. "please what?" she asks stupidly "fuck me" you say with rolling eyes

You look into her hazel eyes as she guides her cock to the perfect spot to penetrate you with a muffled moan. She's inside you now. She kisses you, your tongues playing with each other. Your cunt clutches her cock. You take her in completely.

"your cock feels so good babe" you grunt as alexia looks down to see the toy sliding into you. Your hands scratching her clothed back you moan into her neck you love this closeness her warmth

she accelerated and the sound of skin slapping echoed through the room, her hips dug into yours. Your breath caught, your throat constricted you moaned her name over and over. Her energy is so boundless she could pound you into the mattress all day like this

her breath is hot on your neck "i'm so close" you moan, as alexia looks at you "yeah? cum for me show me how much you want it" she says moaning as she gets faster lifting your legs over her shoulder to get deeper inside you, your moans become breathless. You feel like you are being kicked off you cum breathlessly and without a sound

alexia grabs your hips to pull you onto your stomach, she pulls you onto all fours. Your legs are shaking you can barely hold on „I can't fuck..." you cry as she pushes further into you "don't cry you can take another one I know you can" alexia says moaning grabbing your hips to pump harder into you

"that's it look at you such a slut for me aren't you? close again" she says after she circles your clitoris tightly you literally see stars

your head presses deeper into the mattress with each bump, the bed hits the wall. You are sure the whole hotel can hear "do you want to cum? shall I give you what you want?" she asks whimpering "words baby" she adds "yes please am so fucking close" you sputter out

"good girl cum for me" alexia says and after a few thrusts you come again alexia pushes you away so that you land on your back your face is all fucked up you can't think straight your vision is blurred all you can see is the mattress giving way as alexia kisses your torso

"you were so good baby I love you" she says caringly "can I get you something?" she adds "just stay with me“

„i love you too“

[bumblebeesfromvenus]

TF141 taking you on a picnic date 💐

─── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ────── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ───

They're a little very all over the place because I wrote all of them on different days lol

I hope you'll enjoy it anyway <3

Some NSFW for all of them, but it's just a little bit at the very end, the rest is sweet fluff!!

Lmk who you would go on a picnic date with!

─── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ────── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ───

─── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ────── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ───

John is such a romantic.

Maybe not the flashy kind, but in subtle and sincere ways. He would absolutely love to take you on a picnic date, he might even be more excited about it than you are.

You know how girls have those dreams of specific dates or scenarios??? Well, boys have that too, and this is John's. He finds the perfect spot, a secluded park with a field of wildflowers that bloom beautifully in the summer.

As ready as he was to organize the whole thing himself in the matter of a day, he'd adore to organize it with you. Write a grocery list, make some homemade goods, pack up the car. The domesticity makes his heart do flips.

"Do you reckon champagne would be too over the top?"

"John, honey, we're going on a picnic."

"Touchè."

And it's 100% fool proof.

This man has something planned for every single scenario because nothing will ruin this for him. He'll hold your umbrella while he gets soaked if he has to.

He hasn't asked you to marry him yet, but this seals the deal for him. He's already imagining going on a picnic like this on every single anniversary until you're physically unable to.

Did he overdo it a bit with the outfit? Maybe, but he couldn't care less about potential grass stains when his white button-down shirt and his beige slacks basically make you drool.

John insisted on a classic picnic basket, but he'll accept input regarding the pattern of the blanket. He's so utterly in love with you it's ridiculous. And when you come down the stairs in a flowy and floral sundress the blood in his body doesn't know where to rush first, his heart or his cock.

"Fucking hell, dove. You look divine."

He makes heart eyes at you but also has a raging hard on. What can he say? You keep him balanced.

John has to try so hard not to drop to his knees in front of you and beg. For what? He doesn't even know. It just feels like the right thing to do with you looking like a goddess. He loves it when he can press his nose against your soft mound all while his forehead rests on your pudgy tummy and your fingers card through his hair.

The drive there is lovely. The sun is out, it's a comfortable temperature, and the mood is high. The windows are rolled down, and you both sing along to music while his hand is planted firmly in yours. The location is even more beautiful than you thought. There's willow trees and all kinds of sweet smelling flowers accompanied by the symphony of busy bees and chirping birds.

After everything is set up, it's the best day of your life, probably. It's so so so nice.

And yes, he did bring the champagne.

Your head is in his lap while he strokes your hair and feeds you bits of cake. It's so romantic that it's sickening. SICKENING, I say. He's just so perfect. You talk and laugh, and it's so fun. T

he day goes by in the blink of an eye, and suddenly, it's golden hour, and John swears you're heaven on earth. You're so pretty, and he wants nothing more than to kiss you silly, frankly.

So he does.

Just bristly and sloppy kisses wherever he can reach, your cheeks, jaw, neck. You shift your position, you're now lying down on the blanket, facing each other. The tips of your noses touch, and you're a tangled mess of limbs.

John wants to fuck you more than he ever wanted anything in his life, but he's a man of style, so rubbing you through your panties until your hips buck away from his hand will have to do until you get home and he can take care of you properly <3

.·:*¨༺ ༻¨*:·.

Johnny only wants to spend time with you. He doesn't care how.

He'll do anything to be by your side. Such a clingy bastard but we all love him for that. He loves being outside, and now he gets to let out his romantic side, too???? He's sold.

I'm also firmly convinced that he listened in on what his sisters gushed about in books or movies, and he uses that as his guideline for dates.

He makes sure there's a variety of different foods. Let's be honest he probably packed way too much, but he just wants to have options! Frankly, Johnny's is positively buzzing with excitement to get to spend such a lovely day with you.

As much as he loves to laze around with you on the couch, he needs air to breathe. So anything that's outside is an immediate yes from him. He's so so so excited that he doesn't shut up about it for days before the actual date.

Johnny is 100% one to overpack. He takes absolutely EVERYTHING, and you end up not even using half of it.

"I- Johnny??"

"Yeah, bonnie?"

"Why, for the love of God, did you bring a hazmat suit???"

"Ya never know!"

He will pack so many outdoor activities, like frisbee, badminton, a football, literally so much but you don't end up using any of it because he'll doze off as the sun shines down on the both of you.

He just can't help it! Your pudgy tummy is such a nice pillow, and the way your fingers rake through his mohawk and over his scalp nearly make his eyes roll into the back of his head.

He doesn't notice the smiles and nice looks the pair of you get from bypassers, but you can't help but giggle. It makes your belly jiggle, which in turn makes Johnny smile, still face down in your soft fat.

After he wakes up, though, there's a lot of talking that you'll happily listen to.

Corny jokes, overexaggerated stories from missions or his family, and from time to time, he'll get distracted by your pretty face with all its soft edges and kiss you.

Constant snacking. I mean, we all know the boys can EAT, but Johnny is such a foodie. Will eat everything and anything.

He also LOVES Irn Bru. It's definitely more of an... acquired taste, shall we say, but I think it's also very nostalgic for him.

He doesn't care what you wear. However, there are some things that get him feral. Sundresses are obviously on the list, but he adores long skirts. He likes how they flow when there's a nice breeze, and he thinks they make you look very elegant.

He will play into the whole Princess charade with long skirts or dresses.

"There's ma princess. Are ya ready to depart, m'lady?"

He will also bow very dramatically.

Undoubtedly, his favorite part of those skirts is when he gets to push them up your plush thighs and bury is face in your sweet cunt while the fabric is bunched up around your wide hips and fiddles with the hem because his goal is to bring you to bliss with his tongue only <3

.·:*¨༺ ༻¨*:·.

Kyle loves the water.

I don't know why, but I feel it in my bones. From streams and lakes all the way to the great big ocean. His casual style in the summer would definitely be coastal grandson, too.

So your picnic date would obviously take place in the vinicty of water. It's somewhere in a small park that has a nice big lake with lilypads and ducks swimming across it.

You'd be right by the shore, feet in the shallow water while you enjoy your lunch. Kyle is so sweet and considerate!

He'd bring you a bouquet of daisies and lovingly hold your hand in his. If it gets a little too breezy, he'll tuck you into his side and stretch his jacket over the both of you as much as he can.

He always brings you a new rock from that lake when he comes home from his morning run, and when you two are at the beach, he'll collect seashells with you.

It's all about balance and teamwork with Kyle. He makes the sandwiches while you whip up a quick sweet treat. You carry the basket while he has the blanket slung over his shoulder and your drinks in the other hand!

I feel like he'd really enjoy picnics, but they're not his favorite activity. He likes to explore a bit, just sitting around isn't quite his style. But it's nice to just sit and breathe sometimes.

For dates, he prefers the classic going out to dinner. Getting to see you all dressed up in the gentle atmosphere of a cozy restaurant makes his heart swell. But he won't ever deny you anything. Definitely not something as simple as a picnic.

A big smile stretches across his cheeks when he sees a little duck family waddling along the shore before they glide into the water.

"You think we'll have little ducklings of our own one day?"

You can only match his smile as you follow his line of sight.

"Who knows, maybe."

He pulls you close and presses a kiss to your temple. The picnic is starting to grow on him.

"... did you mean actual ducklings, or was it a metaphor for kids?"

"Both?"

As badly as you want to call him ridiculous, the mental image of Kyle with a duckling or a baby makes your heart beat with affection.

Also does not care what you wear, but he, too, has a weakness for sundresses as all men do. The way it hugs your ass, your tummy, and your supple tits makes him want to sink his teeth into your soft flesh.

An absolute sucker for a square neckline. No, I can not elaborate. You'll just have to take my word for it.

You watch the sunset together, the park becoming emptier as the light fades. He loves how you look during the golden hour and will gently hold your face to admire all your pretty features. Kyle likes that the park now only has the both of you and a pair of swans that swim over the lake like lovers.

What he loves even more is making you ride his slender fingers while the only sounds that fill the air is the chirping of cicadas and your heavenly moans while the remnants of the golden sun shine down on you making you look like a dream come true <3

.·:*¨༺ ༻¨*:·.

Simon isn't thrilled, let's say.

When he thinks of picnics he thinks of big open spaces, obnoxious people with annoying kids and uncomfortable wooden benches. Of which none are his cup of tea.

So you make compromises. Talk about it and ask what he would be okay with. He isn't the biggest fan of PDA, he's stuck between wanting to show off his love for you to the whole world and keeping it close to his heart like the sacred thing that it is.

But Simon perks up when you mention something about a lovely forest that's pretty secluded. Now that he can work with. Even though he's a born city boy, he'd much rather take a walk in a forest or on a little trail than on the busy streets of Manchester or London.

So he agrees, deciding that your excited reaction and thank you kisses were already worth it. He watches as you prepare the lunch you're taking with you, answering all your questions on what he'd prefer.

The truth, he'd eat rocks if your lovely hands prepared them.

He packs up the car and drives to the car park nearby, grumbling over the fee before it all melts away when he sees your smile.

The walk there on its own is nice. Holding your hand and listening to the birdsong that echoes along the tall trees. Of course, he's carrying everything.

You will never ever have to carry anything with him around, not on his watch. It's his way of repaying you for taking care of him and loving him. He would've carried you as well if you weren't so fussy about it.

When you set up the blanket and just lay down, it's the first time you think you've ever seen his shoulders untense on their own.

Simon's eyes even flutter shut, and his breath evens out.

It's just the two of you in a little glade with the vast green of the woods making your own little sanctuary.

Your head is on his shoulder, and his nose is buried in your hair.

"This.. this is nice."

He speaks so softly as if not to disturb the peace of nature. You can't help but smile and press a kiss to his cheek.

"I'm glad you think so. It is really nice."

It's mostly pleasant silence after that with the occasional short conversation, but that's how you like it best.

When you hand him his lovingly prepared sandwich, he catches your chin between his fingers and kisses you so softly that you melt right into his touch.

"You're so patient with me, love. I appreciate it."

"Of course. A few compromises aren't the end of the world if it means you're happy."

He's a fucking goner, okay.

He loves it when you wear one of his sweat jackets or flannels over a nice dress. It's so obviously not yours which signals to other people that you're taken.

And considering the size and color of the thing, it's safe to assume it belongs to that hunk of a man always by your side.

He lays back onto the soft blanket and pulls you onto his chest, wrapping his arms around you. There are a few sun spots shining through the thick canopy of leaves, warming your skin.

You're half asleep, dozing off, ignoring the way he fiddles with his trousers until he pushes your panties to the side and sinks his thick cock into your pussy, having you warm his length. It makes him feel so impossibly close to you and his brain melts and before you know it, he's snoring beneath you, his dick buried inside of you <3

─── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ────── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ───

I hope you liked it! <3

More CoD and other works -> 💫

[livelaughlovesubs]

Hiya I have a request if they're open?? I don't see the status rn so if they're closed feel free to ignore <3

Chuuya x ability user reader who can copy abilities and uses his own ability against him by using gravity manipulation to fuck him harder pls and tyyy!!

I’ve written one where chuuya used his own ability to make reader fuck him harder haha, that was fun >:)

Dom!AbilityUser!reader x sub!chuuya

Warning: chuuya tries to dom, pegging (I use dick), teasing, brat taming (?), dacryphilia

Sometimes you two would change positions and you’d let him top you, just to fed into his ego. And more often than not you’d also tease him until he succumbs, eyes teary as he lets you take over. Not today, he didn’t want things to go your way again.

That’s why he straddled your lap, binding your wrists together behind his waist, pinning you to the bed while looking all smug. “This time, you have to match my pace.” He snarled, thinking he got the upper hand and was in charge. What could you do in such a situation anyway? Tied up with no way to move, since he’s using his body weight on you. It might not be much, but it’s still pretty difficult if he’s pressing down on your stomach.

“You want to ride me? Go on then, pretty boy.” You appeared nonchalant, as if all this didn’t bother you. Instead, you grabbed his butt and leaned closer. Chuuya gritted his teeth, yelping when he felt you squeeze his ass. “Stop it, don’t do anything. I tell you what to do.” Then he slapped your hand away, face heating up while he slowly lowers himself into your lap. “Oh my, feisty. Alright, I’ll be obedient then.” You joked, laughing a little. He didn’t take that joke well, frowning as he grabbed your collar, groaning, “You better be.”

It took a moment until he managed to press your dick against his rim, and it took even longer until he got the tip in. “Nghh… w-would you look at that, feeling nervous already?” The boy taunted you, grinning and arching his back. His hands clutched your shoulders for support then he slowly sat down. “Should I be?” You said, then tried to move his body around to no avail. “H-hah..! See? I’m in control now.” He commented and took the entire length in. ”mhm..! Damn it.” Chuuya gasped, clenching around you tightly. He has taken you countless times, but his hole still needs time to get used to it. “Do you have difficulties? I can always take over.” You reminded him, smiling innocently. Those advances you make are signs that you have no cards up your sleeves anymore, it’s a good thing. Even so… Is this how you feel whenever he acts out with you or talk back? Was he as annoying as you right now?

“No need, I can get off on my own.” He proudly proclaimed and moved his hips, riding you diligently. No matter what you say, he wasn’t going to let your words sway him. As things progressed, his moans got louder and higher each time he bounces on top of you. He also didn’t hold his voice back, as if to rub more salt into the Injurie, basically telling you that he was doing just fine without your help. What a childish boy, should you entertain him some more or finally get to business?

The way he was so proud, as if he just achieved something amazing was adorable. You were looking forward to the face he’d make once the tables turn. Curiosity got the best of you and you grabbed his butt again while he has mid-air. The male immediately stopped moving and furrowed his brows, scoffing, “are you trying that same trick again?” He had a faint blush on his cheeks, otherwise he wasn’t that ruined yet.

”no, rather, I’m showing you a little trick.” You chuckled and leaned over to his face. For a moment he thought you were going to kiss him, instead you looked over his shoulder and pushed. He didn’t know what happened, but he instantly slumped back in your lap. The tip hit a sweet spot inside him, causing him to whine loudly, “ahHGhHnn..!! W-wait, stop!” Chuuya yelled, crying out from the pleasure. “What did you d-do..?!” This wasn’t good, you were messing up his plans again.

With a swift movement, you easily raised him up and down. Manhandling him with no troubles even though you were still tied up. He couldn’t do anything but groan and whine while you continued to make him ride you. “NghHh.. f-fuck, ah, feels good- no, wait! Y-y/n.?!” Tears were rolling down his cheeks now, and his gaze was filled with desperation. He was begging you quietly. “What is? Oh, perhaps you don’t need my help?” You said, despite knowing what he wanted the most in that moment. “I-I… how did you hmMnhg d-do that anyway..?” Chuuya stayed resilient while drool flowed down his chin, at the same time his body was still getting toyed with by you. “Did you forgot about my ability? My, I expected a bit more from you, sweetheart.” You teased, then rest your chin on the nook of his shoulder. He was arching his back and leaned back, while you kept leaning closer to him. Ability, you said. Was there something importan- yea, there was. You had a copy ability, one that allows you to copy another ability user’s ability for a set time limit. So you must have copied his ability. Is that why it feels so intense whenever you fuck into him, are these the effects of gravity manipulation? “T-that’s cheating… hahH~” He mumbled, looking to the side due to the humiliation. How could he miscalculate so bad to forget about that? Next time he should get some nullifying handcuffs.

“Oh dear, are you sure about that?” You asked him while continuously bucking up into him, or making him go up and down on you. That previously arrogant and confident attitude soon got swayed away and replaced with a helpless one. Your cock repeatedly hit his prostate, enough to make the strength leave his body and causing him to slump against your chest.

Each time you buried yourself deep inside him he’d let out a high pitched yelp, glaring at you before avoiding eye contact again. “What’s this? Surrendering already?” Now you were the one to tease him, reminding him of these embarrassing things. “I’m n-not. You… nGhhh, enjoy while you c-can hmNHgg!!” Even though it was a threat, you laughed through it. For you all of this was only empty promises and games anyway.

Then you looked over his shoulder, staring at his butt and how your hands are guiding his body. Something about watching your dick appear and disappear was so erotic that you couldn’t stop. His cries filled the room, echoing in your head, showing you who much he actually likes it if he wasn’t putting on a show. That pretty face of his was all red and wet with tears, eyes rolling back whenever you fuck him especially hard. His hair also bounced around with every thrust, more and more lewd moans slipping from those rosy lips.

It was fun watching him change up like that, which is why you whispered into his ear, “I’m looking forward to your next antics.”

[astonmartinii]

bite the hand | max verstappen social media au

pairing: max verstappen x fem musician!reader [face claim: clairo + clairo, boygenius and taylor swift music]

having fans are great, but sometimes it goes to far and you have to bite the hands that feed you

MASTERLIST | TIPS

yourusername

liked by danielricciardo, maxverstappen1 and 913,551 others

tagged: beabadoobee

yourusername: howdy ladies, gentlemen and all that's in between, it's single release day. i had so much fun on this track with bea and getting to pour all of my love for maxy onto such a cute melody... hope you all enjoy my loves x

view all comments

user1: YES THANK YOU MOM THIS IS JUST WHAT I NEEDED TODAY

landonorris: how many letters in devoured?

yourusername: ATE 💅

landonorris: ate and left NO crumbs

maxverstappen1: why oh why did i ever introduce you two

yourusername: because you love us both?

maxverstappen1: i sure love you, jury is out on lando

landonorris: boooooooooo

user2: ugh if y/n had to date an f1 driver why couldn't she go for one of the hot ones like lando or charles?

user3: for real like bro he just drags her down

user4: you can't be serious? he's a professional athlete at the top of his sport and by what they show us a massive softy who loves y/n? why would we want anything else for her?

liked by yourusername

user5: y/n will NOT stand for any max bashing idk why you guys try it every time

maxverstappen1: so unbelievably talented and the artist of her generation

yourusername: maybe it's because i have a top notch muse ?

maxverstappen1: NO NO IT'S ALL YOU YOU ARE THE ARTIST I AM JUST LUCKY TO BE IN YOUR VICINITY

yourusername: i am the lucky one baby

danielricciardo: leave your cute shit offline i already have to hear it all of the time let me be on instagram

yourusername: nope love my boyfriend too much

maxverstappen1: nope love my girlfriend too much

user6: they're so insufferable i love them

user7: this song bangs so much more when you pretend it's not about ... him

user8: bro is acting like max verstappen ran over his puppy

user7: sorry i don't want a GREAT artist and BEAUTIFUL woman being dragged down by THAT

user9: you are insane, you do not know y/n, you enjoy her music, that doesn't give you the right to have power over things in her personal life

user10: you people are why this fanbase has a bad name and before long y/n will get fed up too

maxverstappen1

liked by charles_leclerc, yourusername and 829,043 others

tagged: yourusername

maxverstappen1: the off weekend spent right

view all comments

user13: i need a man so obsessed with me that all he does is post my face

user14: crazy that all this guy does is wax lyrical about how much he loves her and she's like never at his races ... interesting

user15: and her weirdly entitled fanbase say he doesn't deserve her when she clearly doesn't support him as much as he supports her

yourusername: i love you and our soft little weekends, i wanna do it all the time :(

maxverstappen1: gosh our day jobs are really quite unconventional i guess we should just retire to a remote island to live on a small farm?

yourusername: you said it not me i just wanna be anywhere with you

maxverstappen1: i love you <3

user16: RETIRE TO A REMOTE ISLAND? SOMEONE TELL THIS RAT THAT IF HE IS THE REASON WE DON'T GET MUSIC WE WILL RIDE AT DAWN

user17: babe have you ever thought that maybe the reason he said that he wants to retire away from everyone because you people stick your noses in all the time

danielricciardo: @yourusername a soft weekend you say? how many hours did max spend on the sim?

yourusername: a solid ten but he even let me have a go

danielricciardo: oh wow that man really is in love

maxverstappen1: i think she'd rival a couple of you with some practice, i'm working on getting her to join redline

user18: ugh this is so annoying... preaching like you like spending time with your girlfriend and then spend it all playing a video game and letting her have one go?

user19: the sim is something f1 drivers use to train? if anything max probably shouldn't have let y/n have a go she could've accidentally changed the set up or other things

user20: i'm seeing charles and lewis training this off weekend and he just lies in bed with this girl? he really needs to ditch her to stay at the top

user21: literally two comments up is them talking about him training on the sim the jealousy is insane from both fans at this point

maxverstappen1

liked by landonorris, yourusername and 893,442 others

tagged: yourusername

maxverstappen1: happy to take home another win in mexico, i love this track and am forever thankful to this team and my loved ones.

view all comments

user25: holy shit idk what f1 can do but the paddock looked insane today there's no way that is safe for the drivers and personnel.

user26: there's so many videos of people rushing max and although some of them look like max fans who are just excited but there were a lot of very rude rival fans trying to get too close for comfort

yourusername: forever proud of you !! you're like jimmy and sassy with zoomies on crack <3

maxverstappen1: that is the highest of the high compliment thank you my love

yourusername: champagne is on me girlypops no expense spared for the love of my life

redbullracing: do we all qualify as girlypops ???

yourusername: of course !! don't think i didn't notice the supply of vegan pizza rolls you truly are the lactose intolerant allies of the grid

user27: can she stop spending all her hard earned money on this scrub that just uses her

user28: bro makes millions in a year he doesn't NEED her but that doesn't mean he can't want her? you guys are crazy

user29: some of these fans need to do some serious evaluation, drivers are not zoo animals, they are people and deserve respect and that includes respect to their personal space.

user30: for real like why was brad basically having to act as a body guard for max and y/n

user31: this was such a dangerous event for max and y/n. they're both very famous individuals and should be able to move around the paddock without being in danger.

user32: max joked about getting a body guard for this weekend but i think he should seriously consider it especially is y/n is coming to more races while she's not touring

danielricciardo: it has been brought to my attention that y/n has stated that she will spare no expense, i am making a formal enquiry into whether this will cover my bar tab?

yourusername: i will within reason but only because your bffs with maxy and will drink the fruity lil cocktails with me

danielricciardo: REAL men drink cocktails

maxverstappen1: do NOT disrespect the humble gin and tonic on my post

user33: i'm glad they're in high spirits after the shenanigans in the paddock today and the booing towards max :(

yourusername

liked by taylorswift, maxverstappen1 and 1,442,776 others

tagged: maxverstappen1

yourusername: there is no full way to articulate my feelings right now. my fans have to respect my personal relationships and my boundaries. i appreciate your support but you have to understand that i am not your personal friend and you do not have the right to my personal life. i also understand that in sport, there are a lot of heightened emotions, but drivers do not owe you their safety. this is something i have felt for a long time since max and i became a public couple and the onslaught of hate came for him. you may say that it comes from a good place, or for my best interests, but the manner in which some 'fans' have expressed their 'worries' is unacceptable. i do not want to bite the hand that feeds me, but there's only so many slaps me and my loved ones can take from the hand.

bite the hand is out on all streaming platforms. please listen closely a re-evaluate your relationships with your favourite artists, thank you.

comments are not available on this post.

maxverstappen1

liked by danielricciardo, yourusername and 1,220,664 others

tagged: yourusername

maxverstappen1: i love you and i will never let other people tell me when i'm not enough get in my head again. we both appreciate our support and acknowledge that we would be nowhere without it. but our relationships are ours, please respect this.

comments are not available on this post

yourusername

liked by charles_leclerc, maxverstappen1 and 1,344,229 others

tagged: maxverstappen1

yourusername: okay sad songs are important but it's now time for me to sing my wee little heart out about how much i love you and how i know we were always made for each other.

i love you maxy, invisible string is all about my muse. out now.

view all comments

user41: IT BANGS I LOVE THEM SO MUCH

user42: ffs i guess we're stuck with this man for life now ...

user43: LISTEN TO BITE THE HAND AND BANG YOUR HEAD AGAINST THE WALL AND HEAR THE PINBALLS OF YOUR BRAIN GOING CRAZU

user44: speak your truth sis

maxverstappen1: ISN'T IT JUST SO PRETTY TO THINK THAT ALL ALONG THERE WAS SOME INVISIBLE STRING TYING YOU TO ME

maxverstappen1: so true, you make me believe in soulmates YOU ARE MY SOULMATE I LOVE YOU

yourusername: i love you to the moon and to saturn for real

yourusername: and that thread of gold is made from all of your trophies LET'S GO RAHHHHHHHH I'M SO PROUD OF YOU

maxverstappen1: the gold of that grammy @thegrammys yall heard bags?

user45: the way they're each others wags and completely embrace it

user46: i love that they're still their goofy asses they don't give a shit abou t yall

user47: y/n dropped a heart wrenching track and immediately went ... but hey i'm SUPER happy and that's all you're going to hear

landonorris: so like can y/n remix the dutch anthem so we can actually bop every weekend

yourusername: i kinda wanna marry the king of the netherlands so maybe not

landonorris: you broke up ?????

yourusername: no you dumbass max is the king of the netherlands

maxverstappen1: not factually but i do have a medal from the royal family so same thing

landonorris: why do you guys have to clown on me every time

yourusername: you're like our baby brother it's our duty

maxverstappen1: sorry not sorry

user48: you could never make me hate them they're made for each other

user49: finally bite the hand shamed the crazy bitches into finally shutting the fuck up

note: i love bite the hand i actually fear it might be my fave boygenius song and i recommend it to everyone. i actually did my university dissertation on parasocial relationships with athletes so like i feel like a good couple of sports fans could do with a listen to bite the hand. hope yall enjoyed and had a good weekend !! (chelsea gave me a heart attack but what's new, even though i was too sick to go to the game:()

[luveline]

Helllloooo :) if at all possible, could I request a fic for when stripper!reader realizes that Spencer actually like-likes her? Maybe he finally makes a real move or plans a “fancy” date to show her how much she means to him? She definitely wouldn’t believe him at first/think she deserves it, but if it could be a happy ending, I’d appreciate it so much. 🥺🥺

🐈‍⬛ thank youuuu

ty for requesting <3 fem

He smells like coffee. 

"Hi!" you say, bending under the weight of his hug. 

"What are you," —he drags his face against your cheek— "doing here, I thought you were," —his hand cups your neck as he pulls away— "going to Moira's for the weekend?" 

"You sound so happy," you say, nonplussed. 

"Yeah I'm happy. Do you wanna stay over? We can go to the movies, or we can get takeout, we can do both." Spencer beams at you. "Sorry, I'm– I'm rushing. I'm just happy. Is everything okay? What happened to house sitting?" 

"Oh, nothing, she missed her flight," you say. "Can I come in?" 

Spencer ushers you inside. His apartment is cleaner than usual. He's actually had time to clean, it seems, the faint scent of disinfectant alive in the kitchen and fresh laundry folded on the table behind the couch. He follows your eyes. "I did the stuff you left, last time. But I ended up with like, three pairs of your socks? How did that happen?" 

"You didn't have to." 

"Why wouldn't I?" He goes to walk off but stops, twisting around to give you another hug from the side. "Tea?" 

Your face feels hot. "Yes, please." 

Spencer takes to the kitchen to make tea, one of your shared routines. He grabs the kettle from the cabinet, two mugs, and two teabags. You don't know why you stay in the living room as he fills the kettle. He's putting it on the stove when he says, "Oh, hey, I got you, uh– you liked my soap, right? The chamomile? So I got you some. It's in my room, and I got you some of your chocolates from Leaven." 

"You did?" 

You fail to hide your excitement. Spencer waves you away without looking. "They're with the soap."  

You laugh to yourself, leaning down to pull your sneakers off of your heels. You leave them by the couch and slip over the hardwood into his room, where your promised soap and chocolate sit on one of his desks. He calls them your chocolates, but you only ever tried them because he saw you looking at them one time and bought them as a surprise. You've been hooked on them ever since. 

You're thinking about what joke you can make to hear him laugh. Something on the nose about him ruining your future career aspirations or a flirty nothing, maybe. You just want me to fall out of shape so I can't work. 

The suitcase on the bed distracts you. Open, half packed. 

"Are you going somewhere?" you ask him, chocolates and soap held loosely to your stomach. 

Spencer takes the kettle off of the heat, bringing it to the two mugs to top them one at a time. "What?" 

"Your suitcase?" 

His shoulders tighten just so. "Well, there's this convention happening but I hate driving in the dark, so I figured I'd stay up there." 

"When, tonight?" 

"Yeah." He picks up the mugs and shoots you a smile. "But obviously I'm not going now." 

Obviously? Spencer rounds the side of the couch to sit down, murmuring for you to come and sit with him. You follow his order without question, setting yourself on the couch cushion beside him, and find there's little resistance in you to leave space between your thighs. He leans into you as soon as he's able and hands you your mug. 

There's something in his eyes. A warmth. A real affection. "I'd definitely rather be with you here than without you there. Even if there's a guest speaker who's actually managed to split shared arteries between conjoined twins while they're still in the womb." 

"You're interested in that stuff?" 

"Just for fun." He doesn't drink his tea. He probably didn't want any, a coffee mug already on the table, but he always makes two cups. You think it might be so you don't feel like you're an imposition. He's that special brand of thoughtful. 

"Can I ask you something?" you ask, your heartbeat a tangible thump under your skin. It's a silly question guided by a stupid thought, but you have to ask. You've always wanted to see other people's hands, so to speak, uncomfortable with the unknown. 

"Anything." 

You've exposed the most private parts of you and still it's hard to be vulnerable. It's easier knowing you're with Spencer, but not easy. "Do you like me?" 

Spencer doesn't do either of you the disservice of pretending he doesn't know what you mean. His voice is measured but shyness creeps in, an almost questioning lilt to his words as he says, "Well, yeah. I thought you already knew that." 

"I thought you… appreciated the aesthetic of me." 

"I do." He looks at your forehead rather than your eyes. "You know you're pretty, and your dancing, it's– it's pretty too. I think you're beautiful, but that's really not the only thing about you. You've been remarkably easy to fall for." 

His cheeks are suddenly red. A blotchy staining under his cheekbones and up over the bridge of his nose. He wouldn't lie, but the blush cements that he's telling the truth. Spencer really, truly likes you, enough to buy you the gifts that sit in your lap and to cancel trips. He'd rather stay home with you and drink tea on the couch than be anywhere else. 

"Spence, if you think it was easy for you, you have no idea what it's been like for me," you say quietly. That draws his eyeline back to your face. You smile at him gently. "No idea." 

He puts his mug down on the table to hug you. "Careful of your tea," he says, his smile audible.

You hug his arm to your chest with one hand. When he kisses the side of your head, you're pleasantly shocked. 

"I didn't realise," you say. "Sorry, Spence, I never–" Never thought you'd like me like that. "I didn't know." 

"I was just waiting for you to catch up." 

[steddiealltheway]

(Happy happy birthday Noelle (@frankenstein-ate-my-left-shoe) thank you for all your amazing fun facts which are the source for this little ficlet. I hope you enjoy <3)

For some reason, The Party had decided to rent Friday the 13th for their upcoming movie night at Steve's house. With all the shit they've been through, Steve thinks that maybe it's a strange choice, but he knows better than to question the kids.

"What a nice choice," Robin says sarcastically as she looks over Steve's shoulder at the tape. She hasn't quite grasped how defensive the teens can get, but they seem to respect her more than they respect Steve. Figures.

"Isn't it?" Dustin snarks back as he grabs the tape from the counter.

Max rolls her eyes and adds, "I said the same thing."

"Yeah, because you want to watch some shit like Cinderella," Mike whines.

"Does it ever hurt your tiny, sexist brain to think of those weak insults?" Max asks with her eyebrows raised.

Lucas tries to hide a laugh as Mike glares at him.

"Alright, alright, this is the Family Video. Take it outside if you guys are going to bicker," Steve says with a sigh as he moves to restack some tapes Dustin had nudged just to be annoying.

"You and Robin bicker all the time," Dustin says defensively.

Steve gives him a look. "Do you want to lose Harrington house privileges?"

Dustin sighs, looking like he really wants to argue before he turns around to the group and announces defeatedly, "Alright, let's get snacks before tonight."

As they're filing out the door, Dustin runs back to the counter and adds, "I almost forgot. Is it fine if Eddie comes?"

Steve shrugs, trying to look unphased by the question. "Sure," he says, voice cracking a bit.

Dustin instantly lights up. "Great! I already invited him, so that would've been awkward. See you later!"

Robin comes up to him and lightly shoves his shoulder. "Sure," she mocks him. "You're so smooth."

"Shut up," Steve says with a sigh. God, Robin will never let him live down what he thought to be his deathbed confession of his crush on Eddie. In reality, he was just put on so many painkillers in the hospital that he had gotten confused when he woke up in a hospital room.

And yeah, maybe the crush still hasn't gone away and Robin definitely knows, but he refuses to acknowledge it.

"You're going to be at the movie night, right?" Steve asks.

Robin groans. "I've already told you, I have my parent's anniversary dinner tonight."

"So, you'll be at my house tonight," Steve jokes.

"I wish."

Steve nudges her shoulder. He's already seen the obnoxious pictures of Robin and her parents from every year of their wedding anniversaries lining the walls of one particular hallway. It's endearing really, but Robin hates it.

"You better call me later if anything new develops between you and Eddie," Robin whispers although there's no one in the room.

Steve just nods, feeling the blood rise to his cheeks as he still refuses to verbally acknowledge the ridiculous crush that maybe fills his stomach with butterflies and all those obnoxious things.

He sighs and turns to Robin. "How am I going to survive tonight without you?"

"The world may never know," she says dramatically.

And really, the world may never know. At least, that's how Steve feels.

-:-:-:-:-:-

Okay, maybe Steve is a little bit of a mess.

Sure, Eddie has shown up, and Steve has been playing it cool, but it's like he can't take his eyes off him. He's made so much eye contact, he's sure that he's creeping Eddie out a bit or giving away his huge crush.

But he’s Steve Harrington. Like Steve “The Hair” Harrington. Inventor of the Harrington charm. All that stuff. And… Eddie has absolutely melted him into a puddle of goo. Christ.

By the time the movie starts, Steve’s head is practically buzzing with all his thoughts of Eddie is sitting next to me. What do I do? The kids are here, so I can’t make a move. But I don’t even know if he likes me.

Then, Max’s question breaks through the thoughts as she asks, “When is the next Friday the 13th this year?”

“Well, fun fact, any month that starts on a Sunday will have a Friday the 13th,” Eddie says with a proud grin.

Steve ignores the kids’ responses asking when that month is and the subsequent response from Eddie saying he doesn’t know, but he just knows the fact.

But for some reason, the fact is absolutely blowing Steve’s mind.

And yes, maybe it’s because it came from Eddie, but truly, when Steve associates fact with something, it is never fun. But this truly is a… fun fact.

He must have a look on his face because Eddie eyes him and asks, “What?”

Steve just shrugs and says, “I just… really thought the fact was… fun.” Jesus, did his Harrington charm just evaporate or something?

But he thinks the honesty of it works for Eddie who smiles softly at him. “Yeah?”

“Yeah, how did you know that?”

Eddie swings an arm casually over the back of the couch and leans in. “I’m full of fun facts, Harrington.” He gives him a winks before leaning back.

Steve leans into his space, trying to close some of the distance between them. “Tell me another one.”

Eddie laughs, “I’m going to max out my fun fact limit to one a day.”

“That doesn’t seem fair.”

Eddie tilts his head toward him. “It’s fair if it gives me an excuse to talk to you every day.”

Okay, yeah. That was blatant flirting. Which Steve is about to match, until the kids decide now is the best time to interrupt and yell at them to be quiet as the movie starts.

As the movie goes on, Eddie and Steve drift closer together while trying to remain as inconspicuous as possible in front of the kids. They haven’t talked about it, of course, but Steve’s pretty sure neither of them want to scar the kids. Or maybe, Steve just doesn’t want the kids to very accurately point out his feelings for Eddie and force him to deal with them.

Unfortunately, this also means that Steve doesn’t get a moment alone with Eddie to further flirt with him or try to push him for another fact. But maybe it’s not such a bad thing. Especially since Eddie gave him an excuse to talk to him tomorrow.

-:-:-:-:-:-

“What’s another fun fact?” Steve asks as soon as he hears Eddie on the other line.

“Christ, I just woke up. Give my brain a few seconds,” Eddie groans into the phone, voice rough with sleep.

Steve smiles. “Good morning by the way,” he says sweetly.

“Good morning,” Eddie replies back, sounding a bit less grumpy. There’s a bit of shuffling on his side of the phone before he says, “It’s illegal to feed pigeons on the streets of San Francisco.”

Steve’s jaw drops. “There’s no way!”

“Go ahead and feed a pigeon there then,” Eddie says with a laugh.

“Maybe I will. If you come with me and promise to bail me out.”

Eddie hums on the other line. “I don’t know. I think it would be fun to spend a night in a jail cell with you. Maybe I’ll join you in your crime.”

“Scratch that, I’m bailing you out.”

“That’s sounds about right, Bonnie.”

“Bonnie?” Steve questions, feeling like he’s missed something.

Eddie gasps on the other line. “Like Bonnie and Clyde!”

Steve doesn’t respond, waiting for Eddie to fill him in.

“Okay, this doesn’t count as a fun fact because this is just a story of one of the greatest crime couples to ever exist,” Eddie says excitedly, rambling on about the two.

Steve sits back, cheeks hurting from smiling a little too hard as he listens to Eddie and tries not to linger too much on the fact he compared the two of them to a real life couple.

-:-:-:-:-:-

The phone calls continue every day, but the fun facts really are just a starting point to a long drawn out conversation about whatever’s on their mind.

Robin has pretended to get tired whenever Steve calls her right after Eddie has to hang up or spends hours talking about Eddie during their shift at the Family Video. But he knows she’s secretly just as enthralled about the fun facts as he is.

“Did you know that the Statue of Liberty wears a size eight hundred seventy nine shoe?” Steve asks Robin, still in disbelief over the fact.

“Sounds like you’re talking about me,” Eddie says, somehow coming into the store without Steve noticing.

Steve’s heart beats a little harder as he turns to him. “All good things of course,” Steve says with a wink.

“I was scared you were passing off my facts to Buckley as if they were your own for a second there,” Eddie says, leaning across the the counter.

“And what if I was?” Steve challenges, leaning on the counter.

“Then, I would have to revoke my daily fun fact.”

Steve’s jaw drops. “You’d never.”

Eddie shrugs. “Maybe you’ll just have to see.”

Steve just laughs and shoves his shoulder lightly. “What are you doing here though? Coming to deliver my fun fact in person?”

Eddie blushes and looks down. “No, I was actually just… wondering if you wanted to hang out tonight.”

“Sounds good,” Steve says automatically, not even stopping to think if he has any other plans.

“I’ll see you after your shift then?” Eddie asks, tilting his head a bit.

“I’ll see you then,” Steve confirms with a smile.

Eddie nods and turns to leave.

“Oh, wait!” Steve calls out.

Eddie turns around.

“You haven’t told me your fun fact for today.”

Eddie smiles. “You’ll just have to wait until tonight. After all, it’s a pretty good excuse to make sure you come over.”

Steve scoffs, “As if that’s the only reason.”

Eddie just pulls his hair in front of his face as his smile gets a little wider. “See you soon.”

“Bye,” Steve says, waggling his fingers at him.

“Holy shit,” Robin says, startling Steve. “I thought you said your crush was hopeless.”

Steve just shrugs. “It’s Eddie, he flirts with everyone.”

“Not like that.”

Steve pauses and thinks back on their conversation and all the flirtatious banter leading up to this moment. Maybe she’s right, but also he remembers… “Did you know that bubble wrap was invented by accident?”

Robin runs a hand over her face and says, “You two are going to be the death of me, I can already tell.”

Steve just smiles and thinks maybe they will be.

-:-:-:-:-:-

A few hours later, he shows up at Eddie’s, trying not to overthink things too much.

They were just hanging out. Just… two people… hanging out… alone… who flirt all the time…. And one definitely has a major crush on the other.

Eddie opens the door to the trailer immediately after Steve knocks only a single time. “I heard your car pull up,” he explains as soon as the door is open.

“Been lingering at the door for long?” Steve teases.

“Hours,” Eddie replies dramatically. But there’s a hint of nervous energy that Steve can’t help but pick up on. “Come on in.”

Steve steps inside and is hit with the smell of spaghetti and breadsticks. “Did you make dinner?”

“Nah, I picked it up from Enzo’s,” Eddie says with a smile before closing the door behind him and gesturing to the couch where two plates are laid out. “I thought we could… watch a movie while we ate or… something.”

“Yeah, I’d like that,” Steve replies with a smile, noticing the way his response relieves some of the nervous energy that is consuming Eddie.

“Perfect, right this way madam,” he jokes as he leads Steve to the couch with his hand resting on the dip of his lower back.

Steve sits down and can’t help but ask, “So, what fun fact did you make me wait for?”

Eddie freezes and curses, “Shit, you were supposed to ask that after all of this.”

Steve’s eyebrows furrow. “Why?” He asks nervously.

Eddie fidgets with his rings and mumbles, “Okay, you can do it.” Then, he turns back to Steve and says, “Fun fact… I’ve been dying to ask you out for a while now, and… I was hoping that this could be a date? And further fun fact, I will absolutely shut up forever if I read things wrong, and I’m so sorry if I did. Oh shit. Did I? Because really, I thought-”

“Eddie,” Steve interrupts him quickly, placing a hand over his. “I think it’s finally time that I share a fun fact with you.”

Eddie nods, eyes wide and scared.

“Fun fact,” Steve says and takes a deep breath, “I’m really upset that you beat me to asking you out because I’m a damn chicken. And fun fact, I’ve liked you since I saw you interacting with Dustin for the first time. And you can confirm the fact with Robin who I told while I thought I was on my deathbed.”

Eddie’s expression slowly morphs from fear to relief to happiness. “And that’s really all a fact?”

“Yes. Fun ones I hope.”

“Very very fun,” Eddie says with a laugh. He worries his bottom lip before saying, “Fun fact, I really want to kiss you.”

“Fun fact,” Steve echoes cheesily. “I would love to kiss you.”

And he does exactly that.

(Later on, Steve calls Robin from Eddie’s house and yells, “Fun fact, I just kissed Eddie!” Into the phone so loudly that Robin complains that his “fun fact” is giving her ear damage. But she also lets him know that she’s happy for him, as long as he doesn’t keeps phrasing everything as a fun fact.

Only, Steve can’t help it, when everything involving Eddie becomes the best facts he knows.)

[eggcats]

Radioapple fic, where after it's revealed that Pentious was redeemed, Heaven sends some angels (including some of Lucifer's own family) down to check out this Hazbin Hotel. (common fic theme)

And Lucifer is STRESSED. He hasn't seen any of his family in millennia, and they absolutely did not part on good terms. Especially because now he has to make as good of an impression as he can because he will NOT be the cause of Charlie's dreams failing.

Anyway, one of Lucifer’s estranged family arrives and they have absolutely NOTHING good to say about the hotel, it's people, or even hell itself. Insulting the decor, how it looks, being like "You got kicked out for free will and THIS is what they do with it? Ugh." and the like.

Lucifer is trying to keep himself together for Charlie's sake. (He's only had 3 breakdowns today, he's doing good!)

However, the last thing he expects is Alastor coming to his defense. Alastor looks at this shitty relative of Lucifer’s and is immediately like, "How DARE you? Antagonizing this angel is MY JOB, and I don't send him into hysterics, I send him into MUSICAL NUMBERS. Get out of my hotel immediately." But, obviously, he can't SAY that (for many reasons, the least of which is that Charlie needs them here for her redemption project).

So instead, he just picks at everything they say. "Hmmmmm, yes, but we at least chose to do this with this, free will you're insulting. What's your excuse for that eyesore youre wearing, hmmm?"

Alastor goes as far as to defend Lucifer’s choices in decor in the hotel, and Lucifer is completely confused because he and Alastor literally fought the day before about that SAME decor??

(The second the angel leaves Alastor turns to him and goes "They're right, you know, that is the ugliest interior design I've ever seen," and then DISAPPEARS before Lucifer can even respond. What the hell?!)

Alastor is not ignorant of toxic family dynamics, and while part of his initial issues with Lucifer stemmed from his belief in him being a deadbeat father, actually knowing him kind of changes his thoughts on this. It's a little telling that Charlie has been (apparently) attempting to contact her mother during her 7 year disappearance and has heard nothing, but the father who (she believed) thinks she's a failure shows up within an hour of her calling him ONCE. And then he does whatever he can to help her dreams, and the second she implies she wants him around more, he MOVES IN. It's kind of hard to continue thinking that LUCIFER is the toxic parent in the family dynamic, after all this.

(He still fights him, though, because it's fun to tell the most powerful being in hell his choice of interior design is ugly. If Alastor kind of doesn't go for the throat in all of Lucifer’s insecurities anymore, no one needs to acknowledge that.)

So, during the entire Heaven tour, Alastor is strongly in the "form a united front" boat. He can and WILL come out of the shadows for a sarcastic quip that simultaneously shuts them down AND makes Lucifer feel better.

(Alastor will NOT acknowledge the anger that goes through him at the idea of someone other than him picking at Lucifer, especially when they are CLEARLY trying to send him into a breakdown. How dare they. *cough* Anyway.)

So the whole ordeal winds up not as stressful as Lucifer was dreading, because somehow he has an antagonistic cannibal deer defending him the entire time. And Lucifer has no idea HOW that happened, but it does kind of make him feel better. (And Alastor's form of mocking him does, too, somehow.)

When they're alone, however, Alastor still picks at him so they can fight. (And Lucifer didn't notice until now how much FUN he has fighting with Alastor, and that Alastor insulting him makes him want to do better and prove him wrong, unlike his visiting family that makes him want to lock himself away for a decade.)

The tour ends, and Alastor and Lucifer go back to how they were before. (Sort of. Lucifer might be re-evaluating every interaction they've ever had and might send himself into a mild crisis.)

[imababblekat]

Ways The TmnT Boy's Annoy Their S/O; Hc's

Anon request, "hello I love your work and I hope you are well I wanted to ask you for a fic with the turtles and a fem!reader, about things they do to jokingly annoy their girlfriend because its funny for them. <3"

~xXx~

Leonardo:

Leo doesn't normally try to annoy his s/o, but occasionally he does feel a bit cheeky and decides to pester them if they're in a decent mood

the thing he does most often in these small occurrences is randomly poke at their side, and when they ask what he needs he'll pretend to not know what he just did

loves doing it if they're working at something and he's wanting attention

you know that thing dad's do where they pretend to lick their hand and then try to gross you out by putting said hand in your space? well he does that too

will chase his s/o around either the lair or their place, mischievously grinning as they run away screeching at him to not even dare!

Leo never pushes his s/o past annoyance, and will always end his shenanigans with gentle laughter and apology kisses

Raphael:

this man has messed with his s/o before they were even his s/o; he knows all the right buttons to push and to what limit as to not go so far as to actually anger them

he can't help it, it's so adorable how they get all red and puffed up when he mildly irritates them

absolutely calls his s/o shorty and other ridiculous nicknames when he's being a butt

his favorite thing to do that always gets his s/o rolling their eyes is when they ask him for help with something such as opening a pickle jar, and he dramatically flexes his muscles while wagging his brow, stating that if they wanted to see him at work, all they had to do was ask

will also purposely man spread where ever they're seated so his s/o is basically forced to sit either between his lap or on it

Raphaels messing around is always in good fun, and he knows when enough is enough, even if your death glare is the cutest thing he's ever seen

Donatello:

his favorite way of annoying his s/o is honestly so adorable that it's hard for his s/o to stay mad about it for very long

his s/o will ask him for something like a snack, and before they can grab it from his hand he quickly holds it up above his head

will wink and state they have to pay the bae toll first, and despite all their groaning, his s/o will tip toe to give him a sweet kiss

will sometimes place things in a high place so his s/o has to ask him to get it, but more often than not they know he purposely placed it there and will try to jungle gym their way up to get it

he'll stand to the side with a smug smirk and ask them if they're sure they don't need his help, finding their determination to get whatever object themselves very adorable

whether or not they say yes, he's always read to catch them if they happen to slip or fall, in which case he'll hold off on putting their stuff high up for a while

Michelangelo:

most the time when he feels like annoying his s/o it's because he's either bored, wants attention, or both

his favorite way of doing so is playing the "gravity game", much to his s/o's dismay

Mikey will locate his s/o to find them keeling over some work that can honestly wait a day or two to be done, and if he can't bribe them to step away for a break with cuddles, he'll let out the biggest sigh, an indication of what he's got planned

his s/o will shoot him a knowing glare and tell him he better not, but it's too late, Mikey has already trudged his way over to where they're seated or standing and groans loudly about how heavy the Earth is, practically leaning all of his weight onto his flustered s/o

won't put his entire weight into it because he obviously doesn't want to crush them, but Mikey also won't let up till his s/o agrees to finally take a break and spend some time with him, to which he will act victorious and act suddenly weightless as he practically floats off with his blushing s/o for some quality time

~xXx~

[love-belle]

yeah my boyfriend's pretty cool !!!

*ੈ✩‧₊˚ in which they're living the childhood best friends to lovers trope.

or

for when you just can't help falling in love. ˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚

social media au // charles leclerc x fem!reader

warnings - language

author's note - just had the most amazing idea for a daniel social media au omg!!! anyways i hope u like this i love you thank you for reading <3

≡;- ꒰ °instagram ꒱

liked by lewishamilton, carmenmmundt, charles_leclerc and 896,525 others

yourusername they say home is where the heart is

7,826 comments

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lilymhe chuckles knowingly

*liked by yourusername*

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≡;- ꒰ °instagram ꒱

liked by maxverstappen1, landonorris, yourusername and 936,685 others

charles_leclerc eyes like sinking ships on waters so inviting i almost jump in

8,627 comments

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*liked by charles_leclerc*

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≡;- ꒰ °instagram ꒱

liked by f1wags_, chxrleslxclxrc, hearts4y/n and 78,637 others

paddock.news charles leclerc and y/n gasly spark dating rumors after "soft launching" simultaneously on various social media platforms. rumors have always surrounded the pair through the years, but this time we believe that they're not just rumors. they have also been spotted out on "dates" as y/n has been attending various grand prix to support her brothers and friend and now apparently, boyfriend. they've also been posting each other on their instagram stories a lot lately. neither of the parties have made a comment about this, though we are rooting for them. for more details, click on the link in our bio.

5,267 comments

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≡;- ꒰ °instagram ꒱

liked by yourusername, pierregasly, carmenmmundt and 892,915 others

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tagged yourusername

8,156 comments

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≡;- ꒰ °instagram ꒱

liked by lewishamilton, carmenmmundt, charles_leclerc and 916,628 others

yourusername yeah my boyfriend's pretty cool but he's not as cool as me argue in the comments

tagged charles_leclerc

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[atydblack]

"plaything"

james potter x reader

masterlist (requests open)

summary: you started dating james who was 3 years above you when you were in hogwarts, tensions rise when he re-introduces you to his friendship group that includes his ex girlfriend lily evans

no cws this is just pure angst/fluff

lmk what you guys think!

-

"You'll be fine, princess." James presses a soft kiss to your temple as you walk up to his friends flat.

Your cheeks blushed as he could clearly tell you were nervous. Of course you knew of his friendship group when you were in school, everybody did. But being 3 years younger meant that they definitely had no idea who you were.

James hadn't so much as looked at you twice at Hogwarts, but you always had a crush on him. When your paths crossed again a few months ago, it was him who had eyes for you.

"I know." You smile up at him, trying to shake your nerves. "Just promise they're not gonna hate me."

"Of course they won't hate you." He chuckles. "They have to love you because I love you."

"I love you too." You sigh, reaching up to press a kiss to his lips.

You make your way inside and into the kitchen, James quickly starts to introduce you.

"This is Sirius and Remus." He smirks, pointing at the two boys who are leaning against the kitchen counter. "And this is y/n"

Sirius immediately comes forward and gives you a tight hug, Remus soon copied his actions.

"Merlin, James how've you managed to bag that!" Sirius poked at James, causing James to swiftly shove his shoulder.

"It's nice to finally meet you, y/n." Remus smiles. "We've heard lots about you."

James guides you through to the lounge where Mary and Lily sat.

"You must be y/n!" Mary gushed, standing to her feet to give you a hug. "I'm Mary, and this is Lily." She gestured toward Lily who sat on the sofa with a smug grin.

"I'll leave you here to get to know the girls, baby."

"Baby?" Lily scoffed, making fun of James' choice of pet names.

"Oh shut up, Lil. Just because you're not getting any." James poked back, rolling his eyes. Lily sticks her middle finger up at James as he walks away.

You take a seat on the sofa and take a big gulp of the wine Sirius poured for you. Lily and Mary sat opposite and Mary quickly started quizzing you about your life.

"I can't believe we never met in school!" Mary gushes. "You were a Gryffindor too right?"

You nod, trying to hide the nervous blush reaching your cheeks.

"And you never spoke to James in school either?" Mary's eyebrows furrowed.

"Nope." You laugh softly.

"Thats kind of sweet." She smiles.

"So how young are you again?" Lily butts in.

"I'm 21."

"Godric, that's even younger than the last one." Lily scoffs, making your breath hitch in your throat. Lily had been the one you were most nervous to meet, every one knew they were an item in school.

All you did was smile in response, Mary elbowed Lily in the ribs to shut her up.

"What? It's not like he won't have a new plaything in a few months anyway." Lily whispered to Mary, but something to you she wanted to make sure you could still hear her.

You glanced over at James, he was leaning against the counter with a bottle of beer in his hands. You desperately wanted him to get you out of this conversation.

"So have you met James' parents yet?" Lily continued to quiz you.

"I-uh, not yet." You try to act interested in the conversation.

"They're so nice." She smirks. "I have lunch dates with Euphemia all the time."

Merlin she's irritating you thought to yourself as Lily stared at you with a smug look. All you could do was smile in response, unsure of what she was expecting you to say.

You take a big swig of your drink, finishing off the glass.

"I'm just gonna grab another drink." You excuse yourself, making your way over to James in the kitchen.

His eyes light up as he sees you walking towards him.

"Hi, baby." James smiles, turning away from Sirius and Remus to kiss your forehead. "How you getting on with the girls?"

"Fine." You say bluntly, not wanting to cause a scene but his eyebrows furrow instantly, he knew something was up.

"Wanna come with me outside for a smoke?" He asks and you nod.

He grabs your hand and guides you to the balcony attached to the flat, pulling out a cigarette and lighting it swiftly.

"What's up, princess?" He questions you.

"It's nothing." You sigh, trying to avoid his gaze.

"I don't care if it's nothing." James grabs your chin and turns your head so you're looking at him. "It's clearly bothering you."

"Lily has just said some... interesting things." You mumble and he immediatly rolls his eyes, taking a long drag from his cigarette.

"I should have warned you about her." He laughs. "She's just a bit weird with new people joining the group... she did the same thing when Sirius brought a girl round a few weeks ago."

"But that's different." You pout. "She's your ex girlfriend."

"Yeah, from when we were 16." He chuckles. "Is my baby jealous?"

"No!" You huff, crossing your arms over your chest. "She called me your plaything"

He was laughing now, making your cheeks grow red as you realised how silly it was that you were upset.

"It's not funny, Jamie." You whine. He takes one last drag of his cigarette before throwing it to the ground and taking a step towards you.

"I know, I know." He grabs your face again as you lean against the wall. "You're not my plaything, you're my princess."

"Promise?" You look up at him with wide eyes.

"Promise." He presses a soft kiss to your lips and you can feel his smirk as he still clearly finds the situation amusing.