#i wish the x files only had episodes like this one

[fortycumber]

so the x files back at it again with the weird episodes and honestly THANK YOU GOD!

the war of coprophages' angrier? sibling

scully the supermodel™

scully on DO NOT DISTURB MODE- gets disturbed anyway

scully, once again, entering a grocery store only to find people in some kind of a mass hysteria

mulder FINALLY getting a taste of his own medicine aka getting the phone hung up on him, tnx scully <3

anabelle™ terrorizing the shit out of scully's vacation

"you do the hokey pokey--" I honestly never liked the damn song anyway

that little girl hysterically saying: "MOMMY" every single minute

I WANT TO PLAY, gurl shut up.

mulder watching some weird porn on full volume AT WORK(I swear I could read Alien Porn on the case? What? Guy's committed gotta hand it to him)

MULDER IN SHORTS?

mulder and his pencils: the love story, this summer, in theaters near you

that diabolically long lobster

stephen king co-wrote this with chris carter I read somewhere he initially planned to have mulder guide scully through this case, appearing to her in a literal psychotic vision?

"scully, marry me".

[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!

permanent taglist: @zreamy @sunghoonmybeloved @lalalalawon @sd211 @w3bqrl @raikea10 @wntrnghts @moonlighthoon @4imhry @rikisly @loves0ft @iamliacamila @theboingsuckerasseater9000 @chaechae-23 @baekhyuns-lipchain @hyuckslvr @vernonburger @amorbonbon @fluerz @jakeflvrz @enhastolemyheart (ask to be removed/added!)

[gtwscratch]

I JUST HAD A REALLY COOL IDEA FOR AN AU BASED ON THE NEW WILD LIFE EPISODE. HEAVY(?) ANGST UP AHEAD AND ALSO SPOILERS TO SESSION 7 SO BE WARNED!

LIFE SERIES MEMBERS BUT THEY GOT THEIR POWERS FROM LAB EXPERIMENTATION!!!!!

Okay I'm switching to lowercase so I'm not just screaming at you guys haha

[EDIT] Guess who’s fully elaborating on this AU with Subject files and a fic? :3

Project X Master Post

===============================

Imagine Martyn curled up in the corner of his cell, covering his ears bc he doesn't know how to block things out and everything is so loud.

Imagine Scott transforming from an aquatic creature back to his regular form, but he still has gills, and he panics when he can't breathe.

Imagine Jimmy turning in invisible for the first time and not knowing how to turn back, and he thinks he's stuck that way forever.

Imagine Ren transforming the first few times, but there's always something off about him. He looks eerie, like something from uncanny valley.

Imagine Scar not knowing his own strength and jokingly punching Mumbo, only to send him flying into the wall and causing his death.

Imagine Cleo trying so hard to get Mumbo and Skizz to act the way that they used to when she summons them, but it's never truly them. Something is always wrong.

Imagine BigB being terrified when he summons the creaking for the first time, not realizing they're on his side and thinking they'll attack him.

Imagine Gem astral projecting as an escapism, talking to Mumbo and Skizz and "leaving" the facility, but she can't truly leave.

Imagine Impulse and Tango nearly getting to escape with their powers, their friends cheering them on from inside their cells, and just when they're in the clear, Impulse gets tranquilized and falls unconscious. Tango can't bare to leave his buddy behind. They both get collars that block their abilities and heavy monitoring after that stunt.

Lizzie feels bad about her power. She's tried to escape as well, but when she realized the blindness affected her friends, it freaked her out so much that security was able to catch up to her and take her back to her cell.

Imagine Bdubs sleeping diligently through every night and dealing with nightmares of the hell they've all been put through so his friends don't.

Imagine Pearl wishing she could fly out in the open air, desperate for that kind of freedom that she knows she will never have.

Imagine Etho trying to bring down his mace to pretend to hit Bdubs, and when he move to the side to dodge, it actually puts him in the way of Etho's strike. The absolute terror that fills Etho is so bad that he never jokes like that again, even if it barely hurt him.

Imagine Joel looking around and analyzing the rooms, thinking of how he could scale the walls with his ability to escape through an air vent, but he can never bring himself to do it because he refuses to leave Lizzie.

Imagine Grian being physically and emotionally strained trying to learn everyone's powers and how to properly use them, wishing he just had one of his own instead.

Imagine Skizz and Mumbo both dying (Skizz due to the intense tests and Mumbo due to the effects the testing had on Scar) before they had a chance to gain powers of their own. Don't imagine those powers being just what the group needs to escape.

===============================

I think I might write each of these as a one shot. That would certainly be a LOT of fun :) lmk what you guys think please!

[d4yl1ghts]

I have a Mark Sloan x female reader fanfic

Mark is the chief for a day his friends are a little bit confused and jealous that he is the chief for the day. Mark is together with Meredith grey’s big sister, and she is surprised when her boyfriend is the chief for the day.

Y/n is the head of cardio, everyone loves her and the guys think that she is the hottest attending at the hospital.

Y/n and Mark Sloan has a one year old daughter together.

Something based on the episode when Mark is the chief, and maybe that involves Mark with his daughter and his girlfriend

chief

mark sloan x grey, fem!reader

summary: mark is selected as chief for the day and everyone is shocked that he was chosen

-

You were dropping your daughter, Evie, off at daycare for the day as you were head of cardio at Seattle Grace and your boyfriend was head of plastics. “Bye, sweetheart. I’ll pick you up at four, okay?”, you said as you kissed her head. She waved you off and you waved back at her as you drove off.

As you arrived, you didn’t see your boyfriend anywhere. It was like you jinxed it: he came cheerfully strutting down the corridor. “Oh, hey, baby.”, he said seductively. “Did Evie miss not saying goodbye to me today?”, he asked. “You wish. She didn’t even notice.”, you teased. “So, what’s got you so cheery today, hmm?”, you asked. “Well, the chief is off today and they chose me to take over for the day.”, he stated confidently with a smirk on his face. “Oh, well done!”, you said as you rubbed his arm. You wouldn’t say it out loud but you were slightly jealous as Mark could be irresponsible at times but you knew he would still do a good job and you were proud of him.

“Thank you, I have to go and do my chiefly duties, I’ll see you later.”, he kissed your cheek before walking off. Once he had disappeared past the corner, Derek approached you. “What’s he so happy about?”, he asked confused. “He’s been chosen to be chief for today because the chief is off.”, you stated. “Him? Out of everyone?”, he questioned. “Derek, I know he can be annoying and immature sometimes but this is a good opportunity for him, I think he’ll do well at it.”, you said. “Hmm, I guess so. I just wish I’d have a chance to be chief of surgery.”, he replied honestly. “Derek, I’m sure you will. I bet one day you’ll even be chief of surgery.”, you responded.

“I’ve got to go and prepare for a surgery, see you Derek.”, you walked away. Almost by chance, your sister Meredith came walking around the corner and bumped into you. “Sorry, Y/N.”, she said genuinely. “I’ve just seen Mark strutting around like he owns the place, any reason for that? Well, he already acts like he owns the place but…”, she added. “Everyone keeps asking me this, you know you could just ask him yourself.”, you replied. “This way I get to talk to my sister and Mark can be a bit… unbearable sometimes.”, she stated amusedly.

“The chief is off today and selected him to fill in as chief.”, you said. “Oh! Well done to him. I’m shocked that the chief would have chosen him out of everyone though.”, she replied as she looked through her files. “So am I, to be honest. He doesn’t have the best reputation but I’m happy he has a chance to outdo his reputation.”, you shared with her. “Yeah.”, she agreed. As you were about to walk off to get ready for your surgery, Cristina and your half-sister Lexie walked over in your direction. “I bet they’re going to be asking me about Mark as well.”, you sighed frustratedly. Meredith laughed at your over dramatic action.

“Hey, Y/N.”, Lexie said. “Hi, Lex and Cristina.”, you welcomed the two of them. “Are you also here to ask why Mark is so happy today?”, you questioned. “No, actually, but why is he so happy today?”, Cristina reciprocated. “He’s been selected as chief for the day.”, you repeated for like the fifth time today and you’d only been here for half an hour. Cristina’s jaw dropped wide open. You laughed at her expression as did Lexie and Meredith. “If you have a problem with it ask the chief when he’s back in.”, you said to her. “Okay, I have to prepare for surgery, bye!”, you ran off as Cristina looked ready to kill you. Your sisters laughed at your antics whilst Cristina was fuming.

It was now quarter to four and so you were getting ready to leave to pick your daughter up. “Hey, baby.”, Mark whispered. “Where did you come from?”, you asked. “The chief is back so I was wondering if you want me to pick up Evie with you because I don’t have anymore surgeries or consultations to do.”, he stated as he smiled down at you. “Of course.”, you smiled as you reached up to him for a kiss.

Mark offered to drive and you gladly let him. Soon, you arrived at the daycare and the both of you went to meet Evie. “Daddy!”, she screamed as she noticed Mark smiling at her. She only knew a few words but obviously ‘daddy’ was one of them. She waddled towards him and he picked her up. “Hi, gorgeous.”, he said to her as she nuzzled into him for warmth. He let her rest on him as he took her to the car. He strapped her in the back carefully, making sure it was safe.

Once you had began driving off, you said to Mark: “You were such a good chief, honey.”

“But you’re an even better dad.”, you added as he smiled to himself.

“You’re an even better mum.”, he said as he looked over at you quickly before turning back to the road.

[mulders-too-large-shirt]

my favorite scully and mulder moments from s3

mulder bursting into his apartment in episode 2 after actually returning from the dead, only to find scully and skinner holding each other at gunpoint. he immediately asks if she is okay and pulls HIS gun on skinner, too (yes, he WILL threaten to kill their boss for her, thank you very much)

(and then they have this moment where they reunite for real and she smiles at him- i thought they were going to kiss but they didn’t, but either way it was so precious and genuine it made me lose my mind)

this exchange in the disease center archives: “lots of files” “lots and lots of files” yeah <3

after they flee through the back exit of the archives escaping what seemed like the entire US military, they meet skinner at a little diner in maryland, with all things seemingly forgiven between them

how he holds her after she learns melissa passed away, and how they both agree that they need to get back to work in order to keep them from going mad with grief (they were both in mourning at the same time- his dad's death was still very recent- and it is so touching to me how they were there for each other at every step)

they way they glance at each other while the “psychic” stupendous yappi is making incredibly vague claims about the killer at the crime scene in episode 4 (omg... does anyone have this gif?)

(and when the psychic claims that mulder has “negative energy” and needs to leave the room, she leans in and says “i can’t take you anywhere)

later in the episode, he comes in with the news that the item at the crime scene was made of chantilly lace, and he says “you know how i like it” in reference to the song by the big bopper. she makes the FUNNIEST face!!! it's a momentary mixture of horror and disgust before she composes herself. it is hilarious, i’ll see if i can find it. then she slaps a file on his chest and wishes him good luck in observing bruckman.

also, he is nearly killed in that episode, and scully shoots his would-be murderer- then they have one of those “comforting each other on the floor after nearly dying moments” that are like catnip to me

“imagine if it were true, scully. imagine if you could come back and take out five people who had caused you to suffer. who would they be?” “i only get five?” “i remembered your birthday this year, didn’t i?” <3 (from episode 5)

in episode 7, scully noticed that mulder had been carrying dental x-ray plates throughout their whole investigation, but never bothered to ask why because they were at the point in their relationship where such things do not need to be discussed

scully learning in episode 9 that she is slowly dying from the tests they performed on her while she was taken, and breaking the news to mulder- how he softly says “but you’re fine, aren’t you scully?” because he cannot bear to lose her (AUGHHHHHHHH) (and she confesses that she doesn’t know if she really IS okay… why do they place so much sorrow on her shoulders?)

mulder trapped on a ticking time bomb of a train in episode 10, calling her to say “scully, let me tell you, you haven’t seen america til you’ve seen it from a train” “DAMN IT MULDER, WHAT HAPPENED?!” <- lmaooo he has this constant Need to diffuse tension with a quip

scully is going through A Lot of Emotions in episode 11, and when it is time for them to go, mulder holds out her jacket for her to put on <3 and then goes and does the statement by himself as per her request so she can go “run an errand” (confession for the first time in 6 years), which he obliges without question

so much of the episode 12 dialogue: “mulder, you’re not thinking about trespassing onto government property again, are you?” “it’s too late, i’m already inside” (incredibly deep scully sigh) “well, what’s going on? what do you see?” <- yeah that’s them. if you’re gonna break federal law, at least tell her about it in depth.

scully sleeping with her phone on her pillow, waiting for another of mulder’s calls. when it finally comes, he’s going on and on about bambi and she is clearly displeased. finally, he asks “scully, can i confess something to you?” and she VISIBLY winces, with pain in her voice, but pushes through and says “yeah sure, okay” (this one KILLED me because she did NOT want to hear about his love life but she wanted to be a good friend... scully is so kind)

(and all he had to say was that he hates insects lmao)

((and how the episode starts with the two of them making a planet of the apes reference, then ends with bambi and dr. ivanov flirting by making a different planet of the apes reference))

mulder is losing his damn mind in episode 14, hadn’t slept for days, and was sneaking out to a crime scene. scully is so worried she tells him to stay exactly where he is and that she will be there soon so they can “work this thing out together, okay?” trying to talk him back into being himself, making sure he is safe... that's partnership <3

in episode 16, mulder gets in a car crash, but wakes up to find scully next to him in the hospital. he has a bandage on his head looking all pathetic, and she greets him with a smile. i wanted to bottle this moment and drink it like fine champagne.

their drive to north dakota after scully confronted the man who shot skinner and her sister- how tense that ride had to have been. what did they say? anything at all? i need to know, i need 10 fics NOW

and their conversation at melissa’s grave- how they both bring flowers, how he touches her shoulder, the way she shares her father’s friend’s theory that the dead speak to you from beyond the grave, which is a conscious. and how he, the man who is always pondering the meanings of life and death and what comes between, says honestly “that’s interesting. i’ve never thought of it that way” 

her falling asleep on his shoulder during the stakeout in episode 17; how he lightly taps her face to wake her up and says “i think you drooled on me”, which prompts a very fast and very embarrassed apology (!!!!!!!!!)

(also, pusher kept calling mulder "g-man" over the phone, so when they hang up he turns to her and calls her "g-woman" <3)

their very excellent coordination between scully grabbing the fire extinguisher and mulder using his jacket to douse the flames that episode

(and all the times in pusher they lean their heads together to share a phone <3)

when mulder has to go into the hospital to catch the pusher, he leaves his gun behind so he won’t hurt anybody- and he’s terrified and so is scully, so they look into each other’s eyes while holding hands before he departs

how she runs into action when he is in danger in the hospital; how she interrupts his game of russian roulette with pusher, and how she SCREAMS when he puts the gun to his head and pulls the trigger; that visceral "damn it, mulder!" filled with so much emotion in just a few words

how he fights the pusher’s mind control to prevent shooting her harder than he fought the mind control that made him fire at himself (!!!)

and after mulder escaped, having fired every round into pusher so he knew he wouldn’t hurt anyone else ever again, he watches as he is on life support. scully grabs his hand, having seen how terrified he had become, and tells him not to let this man take up any more of his time.

in episode 20, they receive roky’s fantastical report on his men in black encounter, which mulder reads aloud while scully lies on the bed of their hotel room, looking baffled (it is so CUTE!!!)

waking up to mulder in her room soon after that, having been under some mind control influence the night before, wondering why he was in there, and mulder trying to explain no, she actually invited him in!!

walking into the bait shop together in episode 22, sharing an umbrella while she holds the dog's leash <3

mulder offering to join her walking her dog, but she smiles and lifts up her jacket to show her gun and says she’ll be fine 

the whole conversation on the rock, but some highlights include “hey scully, do you think you could ever cannibalize someone?” and how she compares him to ahab (they’re both “so consumed by your personal vengeance against life, whether it be its inherent cruelties or its mysteries, that everything takes on a warped significance to fit your megalomaniacal cosmology”, which he responds to with “scully, are you coming onto me?”)

but then he gets very serious, talking about how he wishes it were enough to just Persist Despite It All and be free of expectations, how he loathes that “you’re actually expected to make something of your life- achieve something, earn a raise, wear a necktie”, and he is the antithesis of ahab because he might be happier with a pegleg. and god, that one makes me emotional.

(and then they both quote a line from the book <3)

oh, and i could not finish this list without this banger from episode 23: “he’s lied to me from the beginning. he’s never trusted me” “scully, you are the ONLY one i trust”

(cue tears as scully collapses into her mother's arms) (cue tears at mulder's dogged persistence he could bring her back, but it took a mother's love instead) (and cue tears that such love had been extended to him by mrs. scully, so much so that she knew he would never, ever threaten her baby)

[missadangel]

Little Bird in a Cage (Javier Peña x Reader)

Part 2 -Kidnapped Again-

Gifs by dinjarring - perotovar - djo

---------------------------- All episodes here ------------------------

The days continued to pass in the same monotonous way, but finally something new had happened. You were now allowed to walk inside the building. To being a good girl, Javi said.

So what it really meant was that you didn't try to escape anymore.

Fucking asshole.

The building was like an old military guesthouse, 2 flat with high and wide hallways, probably having more than 20 rooms. Javi and the others staying in these rooms, but spending their most time in the common area. In this area there was a TV, radio, 3 seater couch, and lots of ashtrays. Cigarette smoke was everywhere, even from a distance you could smell it.

On instinct you thought more than once how you could escape from the building, but it was almost impossible. The soldiers were everywhere.

You were tired of even thinking about it, so just wanted to let it go for now.

----

One morning when you left the room and went downstairs, Chris and Daniel were discussing something, there were a lot of photos and folders in front of them. It was like the case files the cops were going through.

Your eyes looked for Javi and as you looked around, noticed that he was talking on the phone -that you tried to call your father couple times but failed- a little further away, he noticed you immediately, but he lift the phone receiver up making gesture like saying “hey”.

You responded with a half smile and then he turned around, oh you wished he hadn't, he looked much more attractive from behind.

The tight jeans he was wearing showed off his great ass. Suddenly you realized that you flushed and you turned around afraid to caught by him. This kinda thoughts were getting into your head a lot lately and you cursed yourself for not being able to control it.

You looked at the photo Daniel holding.

"This is my house," you said quickly.

Daniel and Chris looked at each other.

"Yes, senorita," Daniel said, "well we..."

"It's okay, I know you followed me, didn’t mean to interrupt you guys," you said, but again someone's face looked very familiar in the photos.

"It's Jorge," you said surprisingly, and this time your voice rang like a silver bell all of the hallway.

Daniel and Chris looked at you curiously.

"Do you know him?"

You slowly nodded your head yes, but you were also worried about Jorge, as far as you knew he was a good guy.

"Okay, keep me posted.” Javi said before he hung up the phone and hurried coming close to you.

"Jorge is a good guy why do you have his photo?" you asked almost mumbling.

"Y/N, how do you know him?" Javi crossed his arms and sat on the arm of the couch where Daniel was sitting on.

You looked up at him, his brown eyes looking at you piercingly, you felt a little like you were being interrogated by this former agent.

"He came to our house a few times, he was nice to me, but, my dad used to talk to him in private. I have no idea what they were talking about but you're not going to do anything to him are you?"

When Javi saw you tense up, he sit beside you. There was a strange excitement in his eyes, but his piercing gaze was back and torturing you again.

"Of course nothing will happen, he's important for us like Cali's KGB," the honesty in his voice was palpable. "He's actually contacted us, but we're not sure if we can trust him yet or not."

"You can, I don't think he would lie, but of course I can't be sure, no one can be trusted these days anymore."

The sarcasm in your voice made Javi roll his eyes, he stood up but eyes locked on you again thinking about something.

"We were supposed to meet him tomorrow," Chris said, "after Gilberto, sir, this might be our only chance to catch his brother."

"Okay, let's do it," Javi said, can't stop smiling at your stubborn attitude though.

Chris and Daniel walked outside in a hurry.

“By the way,” Javi put his hands on waist.

"I'm going to see your dad tomorrow," he finally said.

You were excited for a moment, but then feeling down again, knowing that you wouldn't be able to see him.

"If I asked you to take me with you, you wouldn't, would you?" you asked desperately.

Javi shook his head as no.

"But soon you’re gonna see him again, I promise."

"I hope you keep your promise, Javi," you said without looking at him.

"I believe that we can get along with him," he said sincerely.

As he was about to leave, he plucked a red rose from the ivy that grew from outside through the window.

"Just hang in there little bird, you’ll be free soon" gives you the rose, he winking at you and walked out with that wonderful smile of his.

“’lll try,” smelling the rose he gave you.

It was weird that you can't get mad at him anymore.

---

As soon as Javi left the minister's office, he went downstairs and lit a cigarette. He had just been rewarded for the successful capture of Gilberto Rodriguez. As he enjoyed his cigarette, happy with his victory, he thought of you. He was happy that he was going to keep his promise, but there was something he has to do first.

As he walked into the DEA building, everyone who saw him was congratulating and cheering.

Agent Javier Peña is back.

After getting his gun and badge, he stayed there for a while to celebrate with Chris and Daniel over a drink.

Then when everyone there insisted on going to the bar, he couldn't resist them. They were all quite happy, celebrating and laughing, but also aware that they were just getting started. Javi was close to getting drunk when he saw a familiar face. He was wellknown at this bar so he knew almost all the waitresses.

"Javi," one of the girls said, put her tray on the table and wrapping her arms around his neck.

"Why don't we celebrate this together, like the old days," she smirked. "You haven't forgotten the wonderful moments we had, have you?"

When she reached up to kiss him, Javi stopped her and gently lifted her arms around his neck and pushed her away.

"Not tonight, sweetheart," he winked.

"Wow, normally you wouldn't say no to that, but whatever," she said and picked up the tray and move behind the bar, looking quite upset. All Javi could think about right now was you, and maybe this was the first time he'd ever missed an opportunity for sex.

------

By the time you were getting ready for bed, you wondered what was taking Javi so long, why he wouldn’t come, however you were tired of thinking and wanted to go to sleep.

When you pulled the cover of bed, you realized that a piece of paper had been pushed under the door. It was a letter.

With so many questions running through your head, your first thought was to open the door and look into the hallway. But no one was there.

You opened the letter in a hurry and curiously.

"You will see your father tonight, be ready."

Your heart raced, hands shaking. "What in the world,” you said to yourself.

Who could have sent it? Your first thought was Javi, but why would he write a letter?

No, it was probably someone else. But who. What if it was a trap? The possibilities were many, but time was short.

Who could you tell about this?

Finally you open the door slowly, looked down the corridor, the soldiers were still walking around. Was it one of them? You thought of calling Javi, but the soldiers were downstairs, watching over the phone specially because you had tried to call your father several times before.

You went back to the room and closed the door slowly, you body starting to shake. Was your father specially sending troops with the support of the army? Could it be?

"What should I do, what should I do,"  said to yourself as wondered if there was a traitor among the soldiers. Well, he or she wasn't a traitor to you, of course, but still, you couldn't trust anyone.

You get super impatient, opened the door of the room quietly again and looking around. It didn't feel right to wait quietly, so you wanted to try your best.

The soldiers were coming and going, two by two, counting how long it takes, and you had about 30 seconds to get yourself out somehow. Without thinking too much, you tiptoed down the corridor once the soldiers were on the other side. As soon as you heard the footsteps you hid behind the couch, and by the time they turned around for another round you had made it out. This was different from the last time you tried to escape. This time you didn't know what you were running from or where.

This was so stupid of you but you couldn't just sit and wait.

The soldiers outside were talking about something among themselves. This was good for you, first wanted to go to Don Berna who you believed was Javi's ally, can help you. Yes, he is the one who helped him to kidnap you too, but you had no choice, you trusted Javi, you trusted him to take you to your father one way or another.

It was just something doesn't right with that note.

You weren't sure where Don Berna was staying or even if he was here now, but you had to try. When you move forward you accidentally stepped on a piece of broken glass, fuck, then someone grabbed you from behind.

“What do we have here?”

A soldier grabbed your arm roughly, cocky smile on his face.

"I wasn't running away, really," you tried to convince him. "If you take me to Don Berna, I want to tell him--"

“Move,” he jerking your arm roughly heading to the dark green tent out front.

As soon as you entered the tent, you were shocked to see the commander pointing a gun at Don Berna's face. All the soldiers were also pointing their guns at the other men. You were confused, but this made you panicked even more.

"Ah, senorita, you couldn't wait, could you?" the commander laughed looking at you, without moving his hand.

"Fuckin motherfucker, I paid you generously, what the fuck is this? We had an agreement for fucks sake."

"I'm sorry Mr. Berna, but Miguel Rodriguez offered 5 times what you paid for this girl. So what could i do? we're mercenaries, right guys?"

All the soldiers nodded smirking.

"Yes, sir."

"And I have no faith in that fucking agent Peña to do what he promised," he added.

"Miguel Rodriguez? But note you sent to my room were saying im gonna see my father," you yelled at him.

"If only you had waited in your room like you were told, senorita, you wouldn't have seen this part and you would keep thinking you were going to see your father, but what the hell, you'll suffer the consequences. What the fuck are you waiting for? Get her on the fuckin helicopter now!" he ordered his soldiers.

"No, let go," you screamed with all your might, but you were dragged into the helicopter anyway.

It was the second time this happening, you were kidnapping again, but this time you were more afraid of where you were going. You wished you could lost your consciousness again.

As tears falling down your cheeks, thinking about Javi, you would rather he kidnaps you instead.

-----

“FUCK!!!”

When Javi returned to the military base, he was so angry when he find out. He clenching his fists and banging them against the wall wanted to smash everything close.

He had never felt so angry and helpless. 

"We'll find her," Chris said, trying to calm him down.

Daniel added.

"So yes, you're officially an agent now, we can use all our powers to find her. Right?"

"Sure, lemme call the headquarters," Chris run towards to phone.

"We'll back you up," Don Berna said. "I'll do anything to end Cali. Motherfuckers. Miguel made a fool out of me, the fucking cartel king."

He spitting with anger while talking.

Javi walked inside without saying anything, all he could think about as he lit his cigarette was you, he had promised that you wouldn't get hurt, but how was he going to keep that promise now?

As the thoughts raced through his head looked at the red roses and promised to himself.

"I will find you and bring you back little bird, no matter what.”

-------

It was around 3 a.m. when the helicopter approached the helicopter landing area of a large mansion.

Armed men were everywhere, all dressed in civilian clothes, unlike the soldiers, but they all had guns just like them.

As soon as the helicopter landed, the commander grabbed you by the arm and pulled you. He helped you step down and kept pulling you towards a tall man in a suit waiting in the courtyard of the mansion.

"Here, sir, I brought her."

He pushed you forward towards the man. Fucking bastard.

The man in the suit clapped his hands happily.

"Great, now pay the commander and his unit and send them on their way,”

He made hand gesture to his men. “And you,” he looked at you.

“You come with me honey," he said calmly but commanding.  

Unlike the commander, the man didn't grab your arm, he offered his hand for you to take.

"My hand waiting, honey," he said in a threatening tone.

You had to take this stranger's hand even if this disgusts you, but of course you had a guess. This must be the man they called Miguel.

He began to introduce himself as he escorted you inside.

"I'm Miguel, and this is my personal living space, it's a bit of an insult to call it home, you understand right," he laughed to himself.

He was promoting the house like a real estate agent which was super weird.

"And you, sweet Y/N, welcome. You know, your father and I are kind of close friends."

"Then take me to my father." your voice was louder than you wanted it to be.

Miguel stopped and looked at you and you felt a shiver run down your spine. Because this man was looking calm and very threatening at the same time.

"Sweet Y/N, you're going to have to stay here for a while, until we work things out with your father, do you understand? hm?"

"Besides," he continued as he opened a door with golden ornaments on it," whatever you wanti your needs, will be done here, don't worry."

"I've heard that before," you muttered.

He laughed at your reaction.

"One more thing," said Miguel raising his indexfinger just like trying to warn you.

Also with one hand he brushes your hair which was in mess because of the helicopter ride.

Man, this motherfucker likes to touch.

"If you try to betray me, intent to leave or sneak out and somehow get to your friends from DEA, then you no longer will be my friend's daughter, but instead, you will be the most worthless person in the world to me, okay?"

He put his hands on your shoulder now which disgusts you badly. Looks like he wants to be sure about you understand him clearly. You gulped and nodded.

"Great! Good girl," he clapped his hands again.

"Good night, sweetie."

When the door closed your body collapsed on the floor, feeling exhausted, this night consumed you badly.

"Jesus! What a nightmare!"

----------------------------- All episodes here ------------------------

[mirkwoodshewolf]

Creepy crawlies; Jack Kline x reader

*Author’s note*

Okay so this is a cute little drabble/small fic requested to me just recently by an anon who wanted some Jack Kline fluff. Took me two days but I came to this idea in the end so I hope you enjoy it anon as well as the rest of my lovely readers.

Warnings: Fluff, bugs, mentions of SPN episode 1x08 BUGS (that episode STILL gives me the heebie-jeebies). 

Taglist:

@plethora-of-things​

@waddles03​

@psychosupernatural​

@jd-johndeacon-or-jackdaniels​

@queen-paladin​

@queensdivas​

@gay-and-ready-to-cry​

_________________________________________________________

It was that time of year, well the first time we ever had to deal with something like this.  And of course Sam and Dean had to bail out on a ‘case’ but I knew my brothers just wanted to get out of doing the one thing that everyone does.

Spring cleaning.

Ever since we found the Bunker and decided to make it our permanent home, this place needed a serious scrub down and clean up. Cobwebs, dust, new bed sheets, incense (mainly for me) to be put up to get rid of the ancient smell.  So every spring, I try to ensure that this bunker doesn’t end up like it was when we first found it.

Of course that means my brothers always try to get out of it (mainly Dean I just think Sam prefers to do the minor cleaning instead of what I have in mind).  And Cass…..well he chooses to go up to heaven every time I say it’s time clean up the bunker. The only person kind enough to help out around here is my beau Jack.

Using my powers, the bookshelf glowed blue and I lifted it up allowing Jack to vacuum underneath it while I brought in a swifer to swipe off each and every book from any dust bunnies.

“I don’t see why my brothers and Cas always try to bail out on Spring cleaning. I’m the one doing the heavy lifting.”

“I’ve noticed a trend that most people don’t enjoy spring cleaning because it’s so boring to do. That unlike normal cleaning, there’s an expectation for things to be so clean, that you’re supposed to see yourself in the floor. Which I don’t get.” Jack told me as he continued his vacuuming.

“I maybe a neat freak but I’m not Danny Tanner level of tidiness. All I want is to make sure we don’t neglect this place and end up in a dust field again. Seriously Jack you cannot begin to understand just how quickly my allergies began to act up when the guys and I first found this place. Bedridden for over a week, and that was before I got these powers.”

“I’m sorry baby. Had I been born yet, I would’ve stayed at your side to take care of you.”

“And that’s why I love you soo much Jackie-bear. You’re too sweet.” After dusting off the last book and once Jack was done vacuuming, he moved out of the way and I set the bookshelf back in it’s place.  I turned and with a snap of my fingers and all the books, notes, files and even Dean’s plates he had left since breakfast all raised up into the air and went to their original places.

“You’re like Mary Poppins.” He said with a smile.

“Well if I am, then that makes you my Burt. Come on, let’s head for the kitchen. Lord knows Dean forgot to do the dishes, again.” He followed behind me and right as we got to the kitchen, there I saw dishes upon dishes stacked in the sink, frying pans still on the oven covered in left over eggs and grease.  “That man never learns.”

“Why does he leave his dishes out like that?”

“Cause he’s lazy. Do you mind stacking the dishwasher while I deal with the grease pans and the oven?”

“Not at all baby.” I pecked his cheek while I walked over and wish a twist of my wrist, the frying pans lifted off the oven while the cleaning supplies came out from the top shelf cabinet on the island counter.  

While the spray bottle filled with Clorox bleach squirted out a few good sprays and the rag did a throughout wipe down, I focused my attention on cleaning the frying pans of the oils and grease from the bacon and sausages Dean had made for breakfast and tossed the leftover egg crumbs into the trash.

“Do you know when the last time Sam took the trash out?” I asked Jack.

“I believe I saw him collect all the trash last night.”

“Well at least he can keep up with the chores. I swear maybe I could use these powers to control Dean and make him scrub all the toilets in this bunker.”

“As funny as that would be to see, I know you’d never use your powers against your brothers.” He said as he dried off one of my good cups with a towel and set it alongside the rack we had for the special dishware.

“Yeah, yeah. But for real, he should at least have the decency to at least rinse off his pans after breakfast. Grease that sits out for too long stains these types of pans, and it’s a hassle to clean up later.”

“I believe you (Y/n).”

“But at least I’m getting it done, otherwise it’d never—” I paused mid-sentence as my body completely froze.  My heart raced and my eyes widened as I stared directly at it. It’s many legs all splayed out making it look like a living dust bunny on pointy legs.

The pots and cleaning supplies fell to the ground with a loud bang and I let out a scream and levitated myself into the air trying to get as far away from the little demon as possible.

“What?! What is it (Y/n)? Are you okay!?”

“Kill it quick!” I yelled at Jack.

“Kill what? Where is it? Is it a demon?”

“Yes now quickly before it gets away!”

“Where is it?”

“Over there!” Jack’s eyes soon glowed and he turned to where I was pointing but as he raised his hand, his eyes went back to normal color as he looked around confused.

“Where did you say it was?”

“What are you blind babe!? I told you over there on top of the oven! Kill it with your powers! Torch it! Torture it I don’t care just get rid of it!” he looked around until he seemed to have found what it was. He walked closer to it and he reached out his finger toward it.

“You mean this? But it looks like a dust bunny or a…..” but quickly it began to move and I let out another scream as I shot myself against the corner of the kitchen.

“Don’t touch it! Those bastards are fast now kill it hurry!”

“What is it exactly?” he asked me.

“A house centipede! Jack I’m not playing anymore please just kill it hurry!” I watched as the demonic centipede stopped crawling and was now just short of reaching a hiding spot behind the fridge.  Jack looked between me and the house centipede and a smile came across his face before he started to laugh.

He was laughing. My own boyfriend was laughing at my own misery!?

“Jack Kline stop laughing!” I demanded.

“I’m sorry. Really I am but…..(Y/n), you have fought against real demons, archangels, werewolves, vampires, even my own grandfather. And you’re terrified of a tiny little thing like him?”

“Tiny? Tiny!? Do you see the legs on that monstrosity!? Now for the last time get rid of it before it touches me!”

“Okay, okay.” He went over to grab a cup as well as paper towel.

“What are you doing?!” I hissed.

“Getting rid of it like you asked.”

“Not like that! You can’t show mercy to those little bastards! Use your powers and kill the son of a bitch!” I hissed quietly.

“But you told me that all living creatures deserve a chance at life, didn’t you?” I groaned.

“Well yes but that doesn’t include bugs, arachnids, snakes, or any other kind of creepy crawlies!” Jack rolled his eyes and successfully captured the house centipede and he left the kitchen with it between the cup and paper towel.

A few minutes later he came back and he told me it was gone.

“You sure?”

“Yes, yes, I even took him away from the bunker before releasing him. Now can you please come down?” I let out a soft whimper but lowered myself back to the ground.  He came over to me and wrapped his arms around me in a hug, allowing me to rest my head on his shoulder.  “I still can’t believe you’re scared of bugs. How did I not know of this?”

“Don’t mock me! Besides you weren’t even there when it happened.” I shuddered remembering that day all too well.

“When what happened?” I took in a shaky breath before telling him.

“A long time ago, long before we knew that angels and God were even real, my brothers and I took a case in some realtor development spot. A neighborhood was being built on sacred Native American grounds. Workers were being picked off one by one, at first we thought it was ghostly activity but it was far worse. The entire place was cursed, and the curse was affecting all the insects in the town. By night fall, a swarm of bees had surrounded the family that was responsible for building the neighborhood over the sacred lands. I—I had never seen so many bees in my life. We had no way of escaping, we were completely trapped and had to last the rest of the night being stung and swarmed by bees. Ever since that day, I even see the shape of an insect and I just go back to that day. A defenseless, frightened child being stung and swarmed by bees and no way of escaping.”

Jack listened intently at every word I had to say.  For months after that day, I had continuous nightmares of what happened. Even dreamt that it was other bugs attacking me from wasps, locusts, even spiders and ants.  Ever since then I’ve been absolutely terrified of any and every bug in the world.

“Wow, I—I had no idea. I’m so sorry that happened to you. And I’m sorry for teasing you about it. I promise I won’t ever bring it up again.”

“Thanks Jackie-babe.”

“Anything I can do to help you?”

“I could go for some ice cream with chocolate syrup and some cuddles on the couch while we watch the Princess Bride.”

“As you wish.” He said quoting the movie before giving me a peck on the nose.  I left the kitchen and brought out the blankets and changed my clothes to my comfy pjs while searching for the movie on one of the many streaming services we got.

When Jack came back with my ice cream, we cuddled up on the couch together, my back resting against his chest with his arms wrapped around my stomach and his head buried into my neck.  I ate the ice cream as the movie began, I even offered a couple of bites to Jack as we lay there and watched my favorite comfort movie.  Forgetting all about the demon-legged creature that traumatized me moments ago.

[justanotherdrfan]

WELCOME ALL DANNY FANGIRLS TO YOUR INSTALMENT OF DANIEL RICCIARDO’S DTS BREAKDOWN! 🍯🦡

I’m leaving this one open since you all skipped straight to this episode! (I waited and I don’t know how)😂

S6E9 (Three’s a Crowd)

GIF by @arturleclerc

DANNNNNNNNYYY BOYYY 😍😍😍😍😍😍

He’s already laughing (god I love him)

‘Alright, what’s up?, Daniel Ricardo, this is season six drive to survive, and yes I’m back’ (fangirling HARD)

WAIT HE WAS IN SYDNEY, HE WAS IN FUCKING SYDNEY (why did no one tell me I would have called sick at work)

Daniel and Blake I really wish you went ahead with that podcast because you two are poetic chaos together

Cue another Daniel montage (they have his whole discography on file don’t they?)

He looks so fucking tried though

Logan and Alex talking about DTS frothing at the mouth about Daniel returning is the most factually, correct thing I’ve ever heard 😂

Logan: ‘All I know is the most excited people when Danny Ricciardo came back was Netflix.’

Alex: ‘I literally think they had to change their pants three times. I know the episode already. Let…let me run it through. Ready? Here we have Danny Ricciardo watching on the sidelines. “Yeah, it hurts to not be racing.” Then all of a sudden, pans to Nyck de Vries. Lock up. [imitates brakes screeching]. Off the track. Crash. Oh shit! Boom. Fast-forward. Silverstone. Test. Daniel Ricciardo. Super quick. [laughs] Danny looking at it like…big smile on his face. “It is what it is. You know?” [man]“I never left” “I never left. I’m back,baby. Honey Badger. Don’t give a shit.” (Hire him now DTS because he nailed that)

Fuck why they got to follow that shit with Zandvoort though

Daniel whoring about in his Enchante tattoo thigh high shorts

“Feels right. Feels good” (It sure does Danny is sure does)

EVERYONE LOVES DANIEL

And they get him straight to a photoshoot to whore him out

THEY DID NOT USE HIM WINKING IN THE INTRO (da fuck you lot doing? Give the people what they want)

Yes Christian 2025 prospect (he’s a shoe in ahh? See what I did there) 😉👟🍾

FUCK YOU MICAHEL ITALIANO (why is he getting air time) I’m glad he’s left F1

OHH NO OHH NO OHH NO NO NO NO NO NO

IM CRYING AGAIN. I CRIED WHEN IT HAPPENED AND IM CRYING AGAIN

Ohh they have his X-ray

Clairey bear

Cue Liam Lawson (I do love you but I missed Danny terribly)

The others telling Liam to be prepared (this is very welcome to our toxic work environment)

‘She doesn’t even go here’ (a Danica story)

Liam out qualifies all the red bull drivers (yes kiddo)

DANNY BACKS (SCREWS AND ALL) for engineering purposes only

Umm why are you hurting him? DONT TOUCH HIM! (Look yes I know it’s physiotherapy and he needs it. But I’ve broken my hand before the left one as well and driving a normal road car caused me to cry in pain so when I say don’t touch him I mean it)

I SWEAR TO GOD ZAK YOU STAY THEY HELL AWAY FROM HIM

Checo clips Yuki and he’s out (he probably thought it was Daniel trying to take his seat. It’s his in 2025 mate there’s no fighting it)

Ohh look Alpine with reliability issues (things you continue to see)

Yes DTS let’s show Russel’s crash from another angle 😂

POINTS FOR LIAM 🎉🥳

Are we positive he was in Sydney and not Perth?

Yes king SWEAT SWEAT SWEAT

Yuki GP time

Not Suzuka having Daniel, Yuki and Liam on all the banners

Poor Yuki being overwhelmed by the fans. I understand fans being excited but he’s cornered in the car and clearly doesn’t feel safe (and for Michael to be like it’s ok the fans are happy is actually the problem at hand. His and all the drivers safety has to come first and he point blank didn’t feel safe you arsehole Michael so it’s not okay)

Yuki honey it’s okay Liam not going to hit you

If we can’t have an Aussie a Kiwi will do

Liam finding out Daniel’s and Yuki are getting announced for 2024 🥺

Liam mate I’m sorry you deserve better

Mexi-coooooo

HES BACK BACK

Yes yes your P10 in the constructors (just you wait, just you fucking wait)

Checo out before turn 1 (its AUSGP all over again)

Ohh look another McLaren/Alpha Tauri incident 😤

No McLaren the plan is not to attack Daniel (haven’t you fucking done enough?)

P7 BABBYYYYYY

ENCHANTE, MON AMI

See your P8 now (told you to wait and see)

Yes Christian, Daniel did drive a good race (remember that and who didn’t)

Look at him and his little moustache

Will: ‘ I think this is only part one of a far wider story.’ (Yes 2024 season will be epic for Danny Ric)

[sagan-starstuff]

Secret Santa Gift Exchange Questionnaire

Starting broad, tell your Santa about your relationship to The X-Files. This could be how you got into The X-Files in the first place, what the show means to you, or just general information you think might be relevant for your Santa to know.

My mother was an X-Phile long before I was, she watched from the Pilot on. She was in chat rooms, on alt.tv.xfiles, in fic groups. I was afraid of the theme song at first, so much so that I made her mute it if I was still awake. I started watching in 1997, when I was 11 years old. I don't really remember my first episode - some time during the cancer arc. By the time the summer of 1997 was over, thanks to my mom's recorded episodes on VHS and re-runs on FX, I was fully caught up and 100% a shipper when Redux I premiered, and I've been obsessed ever since. I lived and breathed X-files, accumulated stacks of spiral notebooks full of bad tween fic and drawings, scrawled quotes and logos on the covers of my school binders. I was in chatrooms and on Haven, reading fic on Gossamer waaaaay too young, but everyone there still made me feel like I belonged. I was a weird, lonely tween/teen who had an incredibly hard time relating to my peers thanks to being skipped ahead a grade, but I could pretend Mulder and Scully were my friends. They were the smartest people in the room, they were outcasts, too. If they could be smart and strong, I could, too. The fandom gave me a community when middle school couldn't. I met my best friend in 1999 when she wore an X-Files shirt the first week of high school. I decided to become a doctor because Scully showed me that I could. I watched the way that Mulder and Scully loved each other with their minds and souls, and decided that I would never accept any less for myself.

I feel like I'm rambling, but I cannot understate the influence that The X-Files has had on my life. It was always a comfort for me, even when I was in college and the chatrooms and boards started to go dark. I lost connection with the fandom by the time IWTB came out, but I never loved the show any less. When my husband and I first started dating, I'd invite him over to watch X-Files with me...and we did, for a while, before we got up to other activities. He says I seduced him with The X-Files. It worked!

I reconnected with the fandom in 2023, and I wish so much that I'd known you all were out there this long. Finding other X-Philes, now in their 30's, 40's and beyond, has been such a treasure. As has been finding out that people in their teens and 20's love the show, too! I love seeing younger fans, people who may not even have been ALIVE for a lot of the original run. This is how we survive, how the show lives on.

I wear Mulder and Scully on my skin now. They'll be with me until I die.

2. Tell your Santa about your favorites! Favorite characters, favorite moments, favorite episodes, favorite seasons, favorite ships, etc.

This is so hard! My favorite will always be Scully but I love Mulder endlessly, even when he's an idiot. My favorite side character is Byers, though it's hard separating him from the rest of the Gunmen. My favorite moments...god, so many. But a moment I come back to again and again is Scully facing down the senate committee in Tunguska to protect Mulder. She displays strength, grace, and integrity that I can only aspire too. Every MSR moment is my favorite. My favorite seasons are 4-6, I cannot choose between them.

3. Tell your Santa about your LEAST favorites! We all love our show, but it also sucks sometimes. Which parts suck the most for you?

I hate season 9 - its like the writers forgot who these characters were. Mulder would never leave his new family after a lifetime of trauma from the loss of his old one. Scully would never give William up. Parts of season 8 are ok, though the way Mulder is written after his return is absolute character assassination, and I HAAAAAATE the secret brain disease. I don't even acknowledge it. I don't like IWTB much. I HAAAAAATE the My Struggles. I have...come to terms with the breakup, though I'll never like it. The Revival gave us a few great episodes and amazing moments. The parts of the show I rewatch most are season 1-7. Oh, and I hate Diana, but don't we all?

4. Tell your Santa your favorite tropes and genres! Only one bed? Friends to lovers? 5+1? Fluff, angst, hurt/comfort? You get the idea.

Ohhh I love first kiss/first time, I love love confessions, I love hurt/comfort. I like angst but only if it has a happy or hopeful ending. I looove Only One Bed, or huddling for warmth. I love fluff. I'm not a big AU fan unless it's a fix-it fic (like Mulder not leaving Scully and William, or Scully not giving Will up). I also love slice of life fic, seeing all their lost moments in rental cars and airports just...existing together.

5. Tell your Santa about tropes you tend to avoid.

Major Character Death, SA/Non-Con. I just want Mulder and Scully to be safe and loved.

6. For your Santa, but also just for fun, describe your ideal X-Files episode. Is it mythology? MotW? A literal porno? 

MOTW with an aspect that emotionally affects Mulder or Scully, with some nice MSR and evolution of feelings. I'm also down with a literal porno.

7. Speaking of pornography, tell your Santa what your spice preference is, using the following scale:

Salt only⁠ ⁠— No spice at all please! I.e. General audience rating.

Black pepper ⁠— A hint of spice. I.e. Teen rating.

Chili pepper ⁠— There’s a bit of a kick! I.e. Mature rating.

Habanero ⁠— Definitely spicy, but most spice lovers can handle it. I.e. Explicit rating.

✨Ghost pepper✨ ⁠— Only for the spiciest of spice lovers. I.e. VERY explicit/kink/POANG rating.

I will read anything Salt-Habanero, for Ghost Pepper it depends on the kink. Not into choking, non-consensual anything, nothing involving urine/feces, not a big anal fan, no physical or mental degradation of any kind. No feet.

8. Those are the most important things, but I want there to be ten questions because it’ll look better, so tell your Santa what ONE song you would pick to describe MSR. (Or if you’re not into MSR, pick a song for your favorite ship, or for TXF as a whole.)

The canonical MSR song is Walking After You by the Foo Fighters. Lovers in a Dangerous Time by the Barenaked ladies is also them in a nutshell.

9. Almost there. Pick your favorite TXF quote. 

"Please explain the scientific nature of The Whammy."

10. Aaaaand, ten. And the last question can be open ended: Is there anything else you think is important for your Santa to know? Put it here!

Thank you for being a part of the best fandom on the planet! Please feel free to reach out to me with questions or even just to chat!

[j1gsawz]

absolute win at the thrift store today!! they had every season of lost but i only got s1 & s2 in favor of also getting the first two seasons of the x-files. sadly txf s2 is missing a disc but oh well. also the lost boxsets are GORGEOUS and still had all the original pamphlets in them (see below cut). all this for only $14, 25 discs in total :) (would've been 26 without the missing x-files disc 💔)

the first two are just the episode guides for both seasons but the second one is so cool to me!! i wish shows still had official fanclubs and magazines and stuff like that (ik doctor who still has an official magazine which i LOVE and own a few issues of. i also have two copies of the official x-files magazine from when the show was still running!!)

[baizhoobies]

Fukuzawa x f!Reader - Mistakes and How to Fix Them

Request: Hello, I was very happy to see that your favorite BSD characters included Fukuzawa, I wish there was more content of him. you can take a request? I would like something kinky, where the s/o had a meeting (+18) with the president where he revealed a slightly crooked side that he was unaware of. The s/o can be whatever genre you like. Sorry for my bad english, I hope you understand my idea.

A/N: Hei!!! Thank you for the request, Fukuzawa is a personal fave of mine for sure and I hope that translates in this fic 🫣 he needs more content out there fr. I am so sorry this took so long, I had a long depressive episode and writers block. BUT WE ARE BACK BAY BEE!

Warnings: abuse of power, harsh blow job, rough sex, overstim, maybe ooc? 18+

Yukichi Fukuzawa was not a man that would often lose his composure, always calm and calculating with the upmost respect for his subordinates; the ideal leader for this kind of organisation.

He was not the type to let emotions get the better of him, but you were certainly testing him. He had never met someone so distracting whilst doing nothing more than be in his presence; and yet, he couldn't get enough. This was bad, you were a subordinate - the fact that you had this much of an effect on him gave him conflicted feelings, even considering firing you over it. No, he couldn't do that, it wasn't justified, the fault lies with him and his own unprofessional fantasies, you shouldn't get punished for it.

He needed to keep his distance, for his own sake. Instead of one-to-one, he’d purposefully arrange group meetings to talk to you, instead of handing you case files, he would get his clerk Haruno to give you them. There were however times where avoiding you was, well for lack of a better word unavoidable. Each time this happened, it had chipped away at his evasion, getting harder and harder to resist the temptation of only admiring you from afar.

"You called for me, sir?" You knocked on his office door nervously, breaking Fukuzawa away from his thoughts. Despite your sudden appearance, the president's face never changes; his stern eyes ghost over you almost apathetically with an air of authority. Memories of why you were brought to the office come flooding back, you were in trouble.

"Sit” was all he said, you obeyed and took the opposite seat from his desk. Although he was a man of few words, he was never like that with anyone lest they had done something wrong; something you recognised and became visibly wary of.

“You made an error with the reports"

"I'm sorry sir I-"

"Stop."

Your lips instantly shut, your entire being shook with embarrassment, like you were some naughty school girl getting a scolding. Subconsciously you bit your lip, admittedly out of nerves, but Fukuzawa noticed, he noticed everything about your demeanour. There was this sick pleasure within him that enjoyed the sight of you trembling. Despite the war of emotions that raged in his mind, he found it increasingly difficult to deny his urges.

"Do you take your job seriously?" He asks, you are taken aback by the question but nodded.

"Yes I do" you spoke bluntly, trying your best to sound professional.

“Perhaps not seriously enough” Fukuzawa went into what errors you made, the consequences of said errors, and he wasn’t holding back on the criticism. Although he is a stern man, his harshness towards you are more of a projection of his own sexual frustrations towards you. Maybe this is an excuse to be rid of you from the Agency, no more you, no more distractions.

Fearing for your job, there was only one thing that you thought to do, though it was risky, it was worth a shot.

“Then I have no choice but to-” Fukuzawa’s words lost him when he saw you unbuttoning your shirt. “What are you doing?”

Realising your mistake, you fumble to do the buttons back up “I’m so sorry sir I-”

“Stop”

Your hands stopped mid buttoning, he took this moment to watch your nervous expression, eyes falling to your cleavage. You swore if you looked hard enough you could see red flush his cheeks. Oh this triggered something nasty within him and after a few seconds of contemplation, Fukuzawa saw this as an opportunity to fulfil his fantasies. You didn’t even beg to stay before jumping straight to undressing and seducing him, could this be something you wanted too? Whatever the reason, it was enough for him to give in.

“You really wish to keep your job here with us…with me?”

“More than anything sir”

“Fine” Fukuzawa leans back in his chair and looks you dead in the eye “Paperwork is exhausting enough, but correcting an incompetent subordinate’s errors is even more tiresome. I will solve this issue… if you do this one thing”

You nod in response, knowing where this is leading to.

“Good, now come here” He pulls his chair out and points to the floor. You do as you’re told, legs buckling as you knelt down in front of him. There wasn't much desk space for you, but you did your best to crouch down and get into position, it became even more cramped as Fukuzawa propped his chair closer to you. The banging of the chair legs against the hard wooden floor rang your ears.

He stills when he comes unbearably close to you, a hand reaches for your cheeks, squeezing them a little and forcing you to look up at him. You can barely see his face until you allowed his hand to lead your face from under the desk, without looking, you could sense how close you were to his crotch, your stomach fluttered when you finally met his unyielding eyes.

"I hope you know I will not be gentle with you, though being a member of the agency, you should already be used to rough work”

All you could do was nod, or at least as much as you could considering his hand still gripping your face.

"Good. I will push you, and if you perform and withstand well enough, consider your mistake forgiven and forgotten. But first… unbutton your shirt completely"

You nod again, letting out a little agreeable hum all the while your doe eyes look up at him. Without facing away, your hands once again undo the buttons of your shirt, slipping it off to reveal a lace bra. The president exhales through his nose with satisfaction and his cock twitches.

"As much as I would enjoy the sight, I cannot have you pass out on me. If necessary, you must tap me three times and I will release you. But that is IF necessary, I will know if you aren't making the effort. Take that as a mercy and a warning, for it's the only one you will get. Do you understand?"

"Yes sir"

"Good, now proceed" he ordered, you obeyed. His gaze turns to your paperwork, acting as if you weren’t under his desk and slipping a shaken hand through his Yakata. Your fingers fumble nervously until you reach his his underwear, noticing the great tent that was his erection. He was larger than you had anticipated, not that you had expected any short than average but… that was ridiculous. You shuddered at the idea of taking his entire length in your mouth, but it was either suck his cock or get fired; and considering your year long infatuation with your boss, you weren't about to pass up on the opportunity. 

Fukuawa's breath hitches when you spring his cock from his boxers, slapping against his tummy as you do so. 8 inches at least, thick too with a prominent vein - it looked like one you would see in a porno. Your eyes widen as you marvel at it, it turned you on as much as it intimidated you. How were you supposed to take it all in? Your throat ached at the thought of it.

Swallowing your nerves, your hands move to grasp it at the base and experimentally tugged at it as you angle it towards your face. You hear a low rumble in your boss' chest, not quite enough for a moan but more a pleasurable acknowledgment. As much as he wishes to look down at you, to savour the sight, he was far too busy, at least until you took him into your mouth.

A gasp leaves his lips as you kiss his tip, licking from the banjo string and over his slit. You held back a smile upon hearing this, gaining the confidence to open your mouth and take the head in and start licking and sucking. Your tongue travels up and down the shaft, making sure to give every inch some well needed attention before taking more of his length into your mouth,but not quite down your throat in fear of gagging. Whatever inches you couldn’t take, you held with your hand, pumping it in hopes that it’s enough to please your boss.

As much as he was lightly moaning and enjoying you toying with his cock, you were being too soft, too gentle on him. No no, that wont do at all. Whilst one hand types away at the computer, his other digs into your scalp, lightly grasping at your hair and encouraging you to take more and more of him in. He wasn't aggressive about it (at least for now), but you took this as a strong hint for you to work for your forgiveness. Hollowing out your cheeks and clenching your fists, you take him gradually down your throat, tongue working the base of his shaft as you bob your head.

Fukuzawa was not one for being vocal, so any little groans, hums and grumbles only egged you on further, each time you pushed him deeper into your throat; it stung as it stretched you but you didn’t care, you were becoming more and more lost in the moment. As time went on, the president struggled to concentrate, your little distraction had made this paperwork ever so hard to edit. Since you had began he had hardly edited any of it, and yet there was so much to be corrected; he cursed you over and over in his mind, subconsciously gripping your head even harder. The way you took him in was intoxicating. He needed more, the darkness in his psyche had taken over, and he finally pushed your head down, fully sheathing himself into you. Your nose pressed harshly against his pubis, you could barely even breath let alone yelping out. He held you there, pushed down and unable to move, you couldn't even lift your head up even 0.1 of an inch, his grip was like a vice and unforgiving. All you could do was remain there, cock buried in your throat and your hands gripping his thighs. The president lets out a harsh yet satisfied sigh, bucking his hips into you as much as he can, feeling your tight throat so impossibly full of him.

It could have been moments, minutes even but he kept you there, your scalp felt sore from the immense grip he had on your hair as he continued to fix your corrections. You felt light headed, the lack of oxygen had sent you dizzy and losing grip on reality, you could have at any moment panicked and slapped his knee to remove yourself from him, however there was something in you that pushed you to persevere. In this frenzy, you had brought a hand down between your legs, under your skirt and circling furiously at your clothed pussy. You felt your wetness even through the fabric, as your fingers brushed against your clit you managed to let out a muffled moan, sending vibrations down your boss’ cock.

This pleased Fukuzawa greatly, not only did you feel godly on his cock, but he was impressed with the way you were holding up. Though this alone didn't completely satisfy his need to completely ruin you. He eventually let go of your head and allowed you to pull away, gasping desperately for air. As Fukuzawa looked down, he saw your fucked out face, it was a picture of pure euphoria. He was about to compliment your efforts until his eyes drifted south, seeing where your hand was.

His hand returns to your face, squeezing your cheeks to remain eye contact with him

“Go on then, finish”

Once more, you couldn’t move your face, his grasp on you made breaking free an impossibility. What made this whole situation worse was that you were caught and could not look away from his steel eyes.

Obeying him, you pushed your panties to the side and managed to press your fingers to your clit, desperately rubbing it. You were well aware that he had already lost patience with you, so your desires to cum were more than to chase your own satisfaction, but for you to quickly escape this incredibly intimate and intimidating stare down.

‘Come on, come on, come on’ you screamed in your mind, your circumstance was both anxiety inducing and stupidly arousing, your view was so hot; this was everything you wanted, his handsome, stoic face watching you as you bring yourself to release. But the moment your mind reminds itself of who you are with, how precarious this whole thing is, made your attempts to cum a struggle. You found yourself in a loop of constantly edging yourself until you managed to push out the logic from your mind and let go.

You were thankful that Fukuzawa was merciful and allowed you the time to finish. You mewed and cried into his hand as your cunt pulsated and twitched against your fingers. Despite your body shaking tremendously, you were still able to keep your eyes on Fukuzawa through each wave of pleasure.

“There’s a good girl” despite his low and husky voice, his eyes looked down at you affectionately, one could even say impressed. After wiping away your tears, Fukuzawa finally lets go of your face. He leans back in his chair and pulling away, he taps his desk. “On your hands and knees, now”

Without question or hesitation you obey, getting into position on his desk, you raise your hips up and your back arches to exaggerate your ass. The president hummed at the sight, stroking your flesh before giving it a wicked smack, and another and then another. Your pussy quivered at the sudden impact, especially when Fukuzawa removed your skirt and underwear; observing your bare cunt sent his mind into a spin. There you were, the object of his dreams in position and read for him.

“Do you still want this?” Your boss asks, circling his digits against your sopping folds. Your walls instinctively tighten as you feel him getting aquatinted with your pussy, its still so sensitive from your previous orgasm.

“I do…please…”

“Please what?”

“Please fuck me, I need you” You turn to face him, he’s already in position to take you, your entire being trembles at the thought of taking him in completely.

“As you wish”

Before entering, Fukuzawa brushed the tip of his cock at your cunt, stroking along your folds as he lets out a pleasured exhale. You bit your lip in anticipation, for someone so hungry to ravish you, he was taking his sweet time to relish the feeling of your throbbing pussy. A few drawn out moments pass and the president finally inches into you, hissing as he fills you; you felt so warm and so wet for him.

He allowed you to adjust to his size, kissing your back almost in a manner of tenderness and care. Though this did not last long.

With one hand, the president reaches around and uncups your breast from your bra and harshly pinches it, you yelp out in response, followed by a louder shriek as your boss harshly ruts into your cunt at full speed and power.

“You-” Fukuzawa interrupted himself with a sharp groan “ You should really be thanking me for solving this mess for you"

"Y-yes sir, thank you sir" you could just make out as his cock stretched you out so deliciously at an unforgivable pace. After thanking him, he grasped onto your hair and pushed your head down to the desk and bringing your hips up even higher. The new angle was electric, almost painful; his cock abused your cervix, and you loved every minute of it.

This new position almost made him bust then and there, but he pushed on, he needed to force another orgasm out of you before he can have his own. From your breast, he moved his hand south and brushed the pads of his fingers over your extremely sensitive clit earning a chorus of high-pitched moans. Fukuzawa felt your walls tightening to the new sensation, he grunted with satisfaction as he continued to toy with your aching nub.

“Sir p-please I can’t” you cry, attempting to focus on your clenching fists to ground you, but you fear that its too late, too far gone for you to keep coherent thought. The build up in your tummy was hot and intense and the familiar light headedness returned.

“Yes. You. Can” using your hair, he pulls your head up and lean forward so his face comes close to your ear, your back is arched impossibly so and your face covered in sweat and tears. “One more, come on now”

As if on queue, your entire being tightened and released like a spring, a long pained whine left your lips as your walls clamped down onto his cock. The utter bliss you felt as this fingers remained on you, stringing you along through your orgasm.

“Good girl” he whispered before resuming his thrusts into you. He pushed your head back down and increased both pace and strength. If you weren’t only just coming down for your euphoric high, it would have probably hurt like hell. His fingers dug into your flesh, bruises were sure to form from them. The way your pussy was gripping onto his dick like a vice, sucking his dick back in was something he was determined to never forget.

After a few feral moments Fukuzawa lets out long drawn out groan from his chest as he pushed himself into you, balls deep and head kissing your cervix. He filled you to the brim with his seed, you could feel his cock twitch inside you.

Though gritted teeth, Fukuzawa pulled out of you with a hiss and watched his spent leak out of you before pushing it back in with his fingers. He mumbled something under his breath, something about how gorgeous your pussy looked whilst dribbling out his cum, but your consciousness wavered, being too fucked out to think or hear anything.

The president falls back into his chair, motioning you to come sit in his lap, which you somehow managed to do. You lay yourself across his chest as he holds you, one hand playing lazily with your breast as the both of you come down from your highs. Both of your eyes are closed, your breaths almost in sync as you just hold each other in the after glow.

The two of you now had an unspoken mutual understanding that this must be kept a secret, but that you should and will be doing this again.

“Does…does this mean I can stay?” You asked, your tone almost pained at the thought of being let off

“You are needed more than ever. Consider your mistakes forgotten”

“Till the next time?”

Fukuzawa opens an eye to look at you with a smirk before closing it, he lets out a small, amused chuckle.

“Yes but please, no more errors. I will not be so easily swayed to keep you”

“You sure about that?”

The only response you got was a tighter hug and a hum, it was all the answer you needed.

[discordantwords]

20 questions for fic writers

I was tagged by @khorazir and @raina-at. Thanks so much for tagging me!

1. How many works do you have on AO3? 47 (how is it that many?!) 29 for BBC Sherlock 18 for The X-Files

2. What's your total A03 word count? 897,533

3. What fandoms do you write for? Currently only BBC Sherlock

4. What are your top five fics by kudos?

(Never) Turn Your Back to the Sea

White Knight

Incidents with Dogs, Curious and Otherwise

Another Auld Lang Syne

The Dead Detective

5. Do you respond to comments? Why or why not? I try to! I'm not always the best at keeping up, especially lately as my schedule has been erratic and I can only steal a few minutes here and there for fandom activities. But even when I don't have a chance to reply, I do read and treasure each and every comment.

6. What's the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending? I guess maybe The Pillar upon which England Rests has the saddest ending of anything that I've ever written, but I don't really consider it a sad story. It's set immediately post Reichenbach, told mostly through flashbacks as Mrs Hudson shares the story of how she met Sherlock with John. Sherlock is still "dead" when the story comes to a close, and John and Mrs Hudson are both grieving, though we as the reader know their loss is temporary.

I have a few shorter fics with ambiguous endings that lean in the angsty direction:

Nothing Happened in Belarus deals with accidental time travel, with grief-stricken S4 Sherlock finding himself briefly in the care of S1 John. Alas, the reprieve is a short one, as neither Sherlock nor John become aware of what is happening in time to take advantage of the opportunity.

At the end of Leaves Sherlock and John have either triumphed over the hallucinogenic vines that have invaded 221B… or they haven't. (I have my own theory, but you are free to interpret the ending however you choose.)

In EXECUTE John inadvertently deletes Mary from existence. He gets his happy ending, but has to live with the uncomfortable knowledge of the choices he's made.

7. What's the fic you wrote with the happiest ending? Most of my fics have happy or at least hopeful endings. I like leaving the boys in a good place. I guess it depends on the flavor of happy you're looking for. But I'd say that these are probably the happiest:

(Never) Turn Your Back to the Sea

Inscrutable to the Last

White Knight

Another Auld Lang Syne

Whirlwind

8. Do you get hate on fics? Thankfully, no. A few weird comments here and there, but nothing too bad. The vast majority of my interaction with others in the fandom has been absolutely wonderful.

9. Do you write smut? Most of my sex scenes stay in R rated territory. But I tend to roll with whatever the plot demands of me.

10. Do you write crossovers? I've done quite a few fusion fics, but not crossovers. Crossovers aren't usually my cup of tea.

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen? Once, sort of, but I don't believe it was done maliciously and I don't wish to call attention to it.

12. Have you ever had a fic translated? Yes! I'm always flattered by requests to translate my writing.

13. Have you ever co-written a fic before? A friend and I used to write together quite a bit in high school, but nothing that has made it out into the world.

14. What's your all-time favourite ship? Sherlock & John and Mulder & Scully.

15. What's the WIP you want to finish but doubt you ever will? Crime Writer is a Sherlock/Knight Rider fusion that ran out of steam a while back (although it was intended to be episodic and IMO doesn't feel too horribly unresolved where it ends, so don't let the unfinished nature of it put you off if you're inclined to read it).

I'm still optimistic about most of the WIPs in my WIP folder, heh. I guess we'll see what next year brings.

16. What are your writing strengths? I like to think I'm good at writing complicated people with complicated feelings that don't always resolve neatly.

17. What are your writing weaknesses? I don't think my smut is particularly inspired. And I have a very hard time writing fluff or domestic situations without having some angst to drive the plot.

18. Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language for a fic? I personally wouldn't attempt it. I'm not fluent in any other languages and there's far too much nuance to leave in the hands of Google Translate. :)

19. First fandom you wrote for? X-Files! (Unless you count unrefined and unposted scribblings from my younger years, I definitely went through a phase where I was trying to fix the Terminator time loop in a way that allowed Sarah Connor and Kyle Reese to live happily ever after.)

20. Favourite fic you've ever written? Oh, this is always such a hard question to answer. The Pillar upon Which England Rests is the first fic I wrote for the Sherlock fandom, so it has a special place in my heart. I'm really proud of the cases and complex plot in Out There. (Never) Turn Your Back to the Sea is the one that seems to resonate with the most people. And White Knight is the fic I'd most like to see turned into an episode of the show. :D

I'll tag @thetimemoves @insistentbass @lololollywrites @arwamachine @naefelldaurk @clueless-mp4 @totallysilvergirl and anyone else who would like to play along!

[flowerandthesongstress]

Hi I'm dropping by to share an opinion that might be controversial, but might just as well be common and widespread among the 'loved this show as a child, rewatched as an adult' crowd. I'm not sure. I'm always out of the loop. All of the loops.

Anyway.

Recently I'd learned that my SO never watched the X-Files, the show that was my favorite when growing up (yes, I should not have been watching it, but oh well...frankly, I had much worse sources of childhood trauma in my life) and we decided to amend the fact.

Over the course of a few months, we went through approximately 85 to 90% of the episodes. We skipped a few insignificant ones. With insects.

Some short remarks first. One: all of my favorite episodes still hold up and some go twice as hard and Clyde Bruckman goes ten times as hard. Two: Mark Snow might have been in an abusive and mutually codependent relationship with an oboe. Three: "Everything Was Inspired By The X-Files" seriously, so much media in the last two decades has just been 'a person who watched the x-files when growing up is now writing stuff' and I'm not immune ... Four: this video essay that I found after we'd gotten to 'JS's from OS' and I was like "waaaaait I minute, this is... postpomo? in 1996? released around the time Infinite Jest was published? when metamodernism still was little more than a concept in DFW's head? what the heck?" and looked it up to see if my brain was wishful-hallucinating, and found this video essay. Five: when watching the show for the first time, I only knew three names: Anderson, Duchovny, Carter. Like, 'Hello yes this a cool scary TV program with The Anderson and The Duchovny as my Mom and Dad, and all of this program in its entirety is made by The Carter'. That was it. Because only those three names were translated in the credits.

And now I'm going to ask you to please don't kill me. Please. I'm going to die, I promise, I just don't want to be killed right now because of a possibly controversial X-files opinion. This is just a personal opinion. You are free to not share it, you are free to hate me, but could we please avoid conflict and arguments? I love you. I was drugged.

Anyway x 2.

Here's the most important thing I realized now that I'd rewatched the show in English as an adult who'd loved the X-Files as a minor (and watched it dubbed), and then went on to receive a university education that very specifically gives her a shmauthority to determine if a writer is actually a crap writer...

...Chris Carter is actually a crap writer.

He's uuuhm. He's bad at writing. Wait, no, that's unfair. He is what I like to call 'painfully mediocre'. Slightly paraphrasing a quote from my other favorite American show: he's every kid on the playground that didn't get picked on. He's a business casual potted plant, a human white sale. He's VH1, Robocop 2, and Back to the Future 3. He's the center slice of a square cheese pizza. Actually, that sounds delicious. Vince Gilligan is the center slice of a square cheese pizza. He's Jim Belushi.

He's just so. painfully. mediocre as a writer. Some of his choices were BAFFLING. Not just bafflingly bad, but simply baffling in a 'how and why and why would anyone ever think this is a compelling idea' sense. Some moments made me wonder if there's zero self-awareness or negative self-awareness.

Chris Carter would hardly make you mad with how bad he is. He's seldom bad in a memorable way. He was cliche when those cliches weren't yet cliches. When the TV tropes website didn't exist. When metamodernism still was little more than a concept in one bandana-covered, troubled head.

He attempted three other shows. All of them were canceled. Two of them he had to wrap up in the X-Files, and he wrapped them up with as much poise as I wrap burritos when high. One was canceled before airing, but he put a piece of it into an X-Files episode: a minor character in the cold open watches and praises this show, so enraptured that he doesn't hear his daughter being kidnapped by a serial killer or abducted by aliens or neither or both, tbh I'm still not 100% sure what happened and what didn't happen, because that episode was written by Chris Carter. The highest rated episode out of all the episodes in all of the three canceled shows has Darin Morgan's writing credit, and it's a sequel of an X-Files episode. Where Jose Chung just goes 'you know what? this sucks' and dies.

Yes, I did enjoy The Lone Gunmen, but guess who has the most writing credit? Yes, Vince Gilligan. Perhaps, executives didn't really understand and didn't bother looking into why X-Files was such a popular and beloved show? And kept on greenlighting Carter's pet projects and then going: Wait, Where Money? Probably. That's how I imagine the reason. Thing is, the X-Files was so beloved and popular not because of Carter's obsession with Christian symbolism and conspiracies and apocalypse and ambiguity so vague and lazy and full of itself that I felt vicarious embarrassment, not because of his narcissism God complex that is manifested on screen in such a way that watching it feels exactly and very specifically like grinding your teeth while there's a bit of slightly wet sand on them, and not because people ached to learn how aliens would colonize Earth. Characters. We loved the characters. We loved the relationships in the show. And we loved the CRAZY and the over-the-top. And all of the Human, all the Silly, and the Funny, and the Tragically Funny.

Every single episode I remember loving the most, and every single episode that tops every single 'bestest X-Files episodes evah' list, has the writing credit of either Darin Morgan (Humbug, Clyde Bruckman's Final Repose, Jose Chung's From Outer Space, War of the Coprophages), or Vince Gilligan (Soft Light, Pusher, Bad Blood, Small Potatoes, Paper Hearts, Meme— you know what, this is easier), or Glen Morgan + James Wong (Squeeze, The Field Where I Died, Never Again, Musings of the Cigarette-Smoking Man). Not Carter. Although according to a WaPo article I read, Carter was insanely controlling and everything had to go through him. Duh. :-\ Not to mention, his entire writing room was a sausage fest, apparently? And Gillian Anderson finally got to write an episode only in season seven, when the show was about to be foreclosed by Fox and turned into a movie franchise (never happened, alas), and around the 'f*ck it who cares anymore we're rich and uncancellable' time when Gilligan was allowed to write the episode where Mulder solved existential nihilism via freeing a genie? Not surprised.

Meanwhile, Carter himself had written the episodes I was looking forward to the least during this rewatch. And my SO would be like: wow, you're rolling your eyes so hard I'm worried about your vision, should we maybe skip this one..? And I'd be like: no-no imma just do some chores, I really wanna do some chores, I'll be nearby, yes please keep on watching babe, no need to pause, I'll keep the bathroom door open to hear everything while I do my favorite very entertaining things like clean the toilet and scrub the shower and wash the litterbox.

Hmmm? What's that? Post-modern Prometheus is highly rated? Hoo boy :-| Can we please not go there... Also, even without all of the problematic aspects of PMP: 1) even a broken clock can do postmodernism is right twice a day, 2) no, it is not a well written episode; it's loved because of its subtly familiar nostalgic visuals and because it attempts to imitate Darin Morgan's signature style with about as much success as I had while trying to imitate Lovecraft when my English was at ~C1 level and then I started crying and went to Postmodernism and told him 'please mister postmodernism sir, please save me by making it all into a long setup to a punchline'.

Anyway x 11:21.

This whole realization made me dislike the Auteur theory even more. My relationship with it was already so hostile that we've been sending each other death threats every month since I was seventeen.

Yes, I should be fair(er). Chris Carter's primary role is NOT that of a writer, but a producer and director and *cringes* shOwRuNnEr. He was the one who pitched the show to Fox, was rejected, and fought for it until they agreed. Without him, the X-Files would not have existed at all. And all bad jokes aside, this show helped me a lot when I had no one and nothing else to help me. I was indeed in a parasocial relationship with its leads. They were my TV parents. Thing is, everything you love about the X-Files' writing... like me, any other casual viewer might discover that all of these things were not done by Carter. Yet he was getting all of the credit.

This is a very important, and seemingly obvious but not really, factoid that applies to a lot of shows and movies. The person you give credit for a thing is often not the person who should be getting it. If you're rolling your eyes right now and calling me agent Obvious: may I remind you, I'm permanently out of the loop about everything. EVERYTHING.

I'm not going to devolve this into a rant about Auteur theory...Because then I'd be here all day or until I start foaming at the mouth. And I'm sure everything has been said without me and before me, anyway. I'm not even going to write a more detailed analysis to defend my views regarding the 'painfully average'. Shmviews.

I've said what I wanted to say.

This rewatch was an interesting experience.

"Skinner wants our report in one hour. What are you going to tell him?" — "What do you mean what am I going to tell him? I'm going to tell him exactly what I saw. What are you going to tell him?" — "I'll tell him exactly what I saw".

[lazystar]

Black Cat Energy

Himbo!Changbin x BlackCat!Reader

Office Spin Off

WC: 3.6K

A/N: if you are of drinking age take a shot for every disney reference I make lmfao A MASSIVE MASSIVE thank you to @yourfavbinerdgf for being my beta reader and editor for all of my work ilysm bby! Our reader is v closed off and tbh a mood, we stan Bin

CW: Alcohol consumption, Reader is harassed whilst intoxicated, Iris is the name of Y/N from Jeongin’s fic!

Most people would characterize someone who worked as a receptionist or secretary to be bright and bubbly. Someone who had a similar personality to characters like Erin or Kelly from The Office. You however, were much more aloof, blunt, sometimes even standoffish. You focused on ensuring everyone had what they needed, that calls were transferred correctly, files were sent out to the right recipients, and your ever growing hatred for the copier for always jamming.

You often received the comparison to the black cat personality archetype. At first you were a bit confused as to how that fit you, until your friend Iris from sales explained the meme to you one night over wine. Her boyfriend Jeongin was out with friends so girls night was held at their shared apartment. As the two of you applied your clay face masks and sipped your zinfandels she went into heavy detail about how you perfectly embodied the classic “black cat gf” personality type.

“Come on Y/N! It perfectly sums you up, you’re antisocial except around people you care about, you can be very closed off when upset, you literally own a black cat, you are perpetually exhausted, you have trust issues, you—”

“Okay, okay, okay! Shit I didn’t expect you to read me like a fucking therapist!” You laughed and smacked her arm whilst she tried to keep expanding on how you were so like Raven from Teen Titans. “Also why did you bring my baby Byeol into this?!” she gave you a side eye stare in response. The two of you continued to joke around and finish your girls night skincare routines until the front door opened and the loud raucous laughs of the boys broke the ambiance of the living room. Piling in was Jeongin, Hyunjin, Minho, and Changbin. The four were clearly a little drunk and they locked eyes with you and Iris who had been sitting on the couch in your fluffy robes, adorned with matching Kuromi and My Melody headbands, sheet masks, and watching the latest episodes of some drama that one of the other girls in the office recommended with high praise for the male lead actor’s visuals and performance.

“WAITTT IT WAS GIRLS NIGHT AND SPA NIGHT?! WHY WASN’T I INVITED?!!!” Changbin whined and stomped over to you and Iris. You looked over at your dear friend with an eye roll, kiss to your teeth and an expression that read ‘who’s gonna tell him?’. She laughed and shooed him away with a ‘next time maybe okay?’ and this satisfied the brawny male. However her promise-not-promise stuck in his head more than you wish it did.

Being the marketing department’s receptionist-secretary, it unfortunately gave Changbin easy access to constantly harass you about girls night. It was almost comical how he begged and pleaded to know when he could waltz over to your apartment to sit in a fluffy robe, with his Sanrio headband, and sip a cocktail alongside you and Iris. He wanted to spend time with you and brighten the cloudy aura you carried, turn your cold expression into a smile. Which he surprisingly succeeded at several times before, only for you to catch yourself and return to your resting bitch face. Changbin found your icy personality insanely attractive, he liked how assertive you were, how you had this aloof air of ‘I could care less’ about you. He wanted to break your walls down and get to know you, but getting you to trust him would be a challenge. But Changbin loved a good challenge.

It started with him coming in early to leave a note on your desk. An anonymous compliment about your ability to keep the ship that was the marketing department afloat. Anonymous compliments about the way you took care of others, compliments regarding your emphasis on boundaries, compliments about how organized you were, silly little memes here and there, and as his confidence grew he started leaving clues in his notes that it was him.

“Oooo new note from your admirer? What does it say?!” Iris cooed as she walked with you to your desk, she had a meeting first thing with the marketing team handling one of her clients’ latest campaigns so she chose to hunker down with you until it began.

“Well it’s a longer one today and ooo they even left me a coffee and pastry. Ugh they really do get me! Hmm okay it says ‘Y/N, check some of the notes from the past few weeks! If you can match up the clues you might just figure out who I may be. If you need to find out where to start just follow your HEART, if it seems to lead you astray take a step back and look again for the KEY, good luck my dear and remember, you are brighter than any STAR in the sky.’ subtlety is definitely not mister admirer’s strong suit. Okay so ‘heart, key, star….” you had set aside all of the notes and had picked up on the patterns he had drawn on each of them. Sure enough you found the three notes he had indicated and on the back of them were the letters C H A… but when you looked at the other ones he had left there were no more letters on the back. You were stumped and honestly sad, you had hoped that it would reveal that the goofy, beefy, sweet, team lead who had basically given up on crashing girls night was your admirer. But, CHA could be honestly anyone, far too many names began with those three letters, but all you wanted it to be was Changbin. Changbin with his blatant flirting, adorable clumsiness, infectious laugh, face illuminating grin, and other qualities that had made you smile when nobody was watching, the man had started to win you over. He reminded you oddly enough of Kronk from Emperor’s New Groove. He was passionate about his hobbies, beefy, not always the brightest, but damn did he care for those he adored. You hoped he still adored you even though you kept up your icy facade, you didn’t like letting people in, it made you uncomfortable. Changbin however, he had made you feel a bit more comfortable with allowing yourself to be open.

You shook your head from your office crush filled thoughts and looked over at your partner in crime Iris as you two analyzed the clues.

“C…H…A…? Girl that could be anyone!” Iris looked over at you with a raised brow and matching ‘WTF’ expression. She noticed your sagging shoulders and longing gaze over at Changbin who was animatedly talking to the new girl on the team, sure your boss Chan was there supervising but Iris saw the way your gaze flitted to your black pumps and the pilling carpet. “It could be anyone but let me guess, you wish it was Gaston huh?” She said almost pityingly.

“Pffft no, and come on isn’t it obvious he’s so much more of a Kronk or Kristoff than a Gaston. I mean look at him, he would so give his pet their own voice any chance he could!” You gently elbowed her and smiled before quickly fixing your expression to your classic slight glare and nudged her out of your desk area. “Now shoo shoo your meeting is in 10 minutes and I have shit to do.” Iris laughed, covertly flipped you off and texted Jeongin a quick message about their operation to get their friends together. Jeongin was sick of Changbin’s pining after you, and Iris wanted you to be happy. So of course the couple just HAD to play Cupid, Changbin had been getting advice on his love notes to you from the pair and so far so good. That is until a few days later when you saw his excitement when talking with the new girl, a sweet, bubbly, young lady named Hana. She was the exact opposite of you, she matched Changbin’s energy perfectly, she was who you wish you were. She was like the sun, whereas you were like the moon and unfortunately you didn’t realize that Changbin preferred the gentler light the moon provided.

You began to just set aside the notes, not even bothering to solve the puzzle. You also pushed away the treats and gifts left for you on your desk. You began to close yourself off again, ignoring invitations to get drinks and meals after work, ignoring karaoke invitations. You would come in, work, then go home to be with Byeol. Changbin noticed the change the moment it began, he was confused, hurt,

and scared you were silently rejecting him. Hana, his new friend who had heard all about you from him, even said that you might just not know what to do with the information that he is your admirer. But Changbin knew you better than Hana,

something was wrong.

This revelation led Changbin to your front door. He was in his work clothes, carrying a tote bag holding a matching set of new robes, matching headbands, new skincare, and a lot of your favorite snacks. He anxiously rocked back and forth on his feet as he knocked on your door.

“UGH IRIS I SAID I DIDN'T WANT— Oh! Uh, hi? Changbin?” you laughed embarrassed at him hearing your annoyed shouting. You crossed your arms and popped your hip as you looked at him expectantly. Your quirked brow and questioning gaze conveyed your confusion at his presence. He sheepishly smiled at you and held up the shopping bags in his hands.

“Sorry, I’m no Iris and it’s not Friday but I thought maybe we could have our own girls night? You’ve seemed a bit down and I thought you could use a little cheer up!” His awkward smile made you internally sigh with admiration at him. He looked so handsome with the flush on his face, you couldn’t fight back a matching shy smile and gestured for him to come inside.

“Changbin you sweetheart I would love to have a girls night with you.” That sentence lead to where you are now, drunkenly cuddling up to your crush in matching fluffy robes and singing along to “Love is an Open Door.” from Frozen. “Binnie, you are such a Kristoff! You know that?” You giggled was the movie played on in the background, you couldn’t help but focus on his face as you leaned on his shoulder.

“Gee Y/N that’s such a compliment! He’s like the best character!”

“See that’s where you are wrong it’s obviously Olaf like helloooo he basically carries the story on his back!”

“I don’t think snowmen have backs?”

“You are so lucky you are cute because honey you surely aren’t serious right now.” You shushed his protests and gave him a look that told him not to argue with you. His breath caught in his chest as he was caught up in the sensation of you burrowing further into his hold as the movie played on.

Not even ten minutes later you look up at him, wine clouding your mind as you let another smile grace your face, “Bin? What Disney character am I most like?”

“Meg from Hercules, easily one of the best!” Without another prompt you both turned on the classic film’s soundtrack and sang your hearts out. As you both sang you pointed out his similarities to the namesake character and this oddly stuck with you, maybe your own Hunkules as the Muses would say was right in front of you? But like Meg you did not want to admit that you were in love, but come check the grin you are at least in the crushing stage.

As spring warmed into summer campaign season encroached like a tiger. This was when marketing and advertising was swamped with planning for the upcoming year, analyzing trends, looking at numbers. The office became everyone’s second home as the coffee machine was constantly being refilled with water and grounds, and the most busy people even brought sleeping mats to their desks. It was the chaos you found yourself thriving in, fielding calls, fixing printer jams, checking spreadsheets, you were at your prime in the fast paced rush of the workday. Busy seasons like the holidays and summers brought you some serenity as they were a distraction from your perpetual state of internal turmoil. You worked best under pressure as it cleansed your mind like a soft rain cleansed the earth.

One mild summer Friday you found yourself slumped over a bar counter, your third margarita of the night on its last dregs as you began to work yourself into another classic Y/N existential crisis. Iris as per usual by your side lamenting in her texts to Jeongin about how you needed to stop being so blind to the reality around you. A rough week of lost files, annoying clients, rude phone calls, etc. lead you two into the bar along with a few other coworkers. The rest of the crowd had left a bit ago to turn in for the night and your dear friend had sobered up and had turned into your babysitter as the alcohol turned off your usual cold front.

“Iris, I-UGH! I don’t know what to do, I like him genuinely but like he’s the complete opposite of me! There’s girls like Hana that make so much more sense. He’s gonna leave as soon as he realizes I’m a mess and I’m—”

“Y/N baby love with all due adoration and respect please shut the FUCK UP!” She bops you upside the head and laughs as you whine about how it hurt. “I gotta go gorgeous. I have brunch with my planner for Jeongin and I’s big day.” You pathetically nod and flag the bartender for another drink, then another, and one more until you’re cut off. Your drunk thoughts began to wander to how lucky your best friend was, she was engaged to her soulmate! Yet here you were drunkenly pining over a man who had gone out of his way to make you smile and laugh, but that’s just who he was; he was better suited for the more outgoing girl with fewer walls built around her heart.

A sigh left your lips as you stumbled toward the bar door, pulling out your phone to text the only person you knew wasn’t busy. Sadly for you it was the man you were lamenting over, Changbin.

Y/N: Binnnieeee mdrubk at thebrar! Can yougettmeeee!!!

BinBin: Oh God you’re wasted aren’t you? Send me your location princess. I'm on my way.

*Y/N began sharing location!*

Y/N: Thabj yuu BinBin lobe yoi!

In his apartment Changbin clutched his phone tighter to his chest. Lobe yoi filled his vision, he knew you meant to type “love you” which could be a platonic sign of affection but it could also mean you returned his feelings. As he gathered his keys with a new pep in his step and hope in his heart he hoped sober Y/N would admit the truth even if it broke his heart.

You slumped on a bench just outside the bar and waited for Changbin to pick you up. He has let you know he was about ten minutes away and to stay out under the street lamps so he could see you. You sat on your phone and had gotten comfortable on the bench, that was until a group of drunken twenty-somethings crossed your path and set their sights on you.

“Hey gorgeous! What’s ya name?” One called out as he swaggered towards you. You saw the soju bottle in his hands and glowered at his arrogant approach. You hated drunken entitled men more than you hated how the interns jammed the printers every day.

“What’s it to ya?” You spit out and looked at your phone, Changbin was about three minutes away according to his last text from a red light.

“Well my friends and I hate the idea of a beautiful lady such as yourself out here in these dangerous streets alone! Join us for some ramen honey!” He smirked and held his hand out towards you. You were growing more annoyed by the second and just flipped him off and told him to get lost. His smirk changed to a sneer as he grasped your wrist and tugged you upwards to stand in front of him. His friends began to circle in around you. “You really should be kinder to strangers sweetheart, you’re playing a dangerous game.” You sobered up and began to panic when you heard a car door slam shut behind you. Your worst fear of being kidnapped was about to come true, you scrambled for your phone and bag as the men grew closer. Your heart pounded with a roar of blood flow flooding your ears.

“Y/N! Baby I was so worried!” Changbin’s voice brought a wave of comfort over you as he wrenched your wrist from the other male’s grip. Your head whipped toward him and tears flooded your eyes. He wrapped his arms around you and placed a comforting kiss on your temple. “Play along.” He whispered into your hair. “Don’t run off like that again angel, you had me worried sick! I know the cat outside the bar was cute but we don’t just go off to pet it.” You glare at him with an expression that screamed “are you fucking kidding me?” but chose to stamp your foot and begin sadly playing along.You wanted to kick his shin and curse him out. Instead you acted like the ditzy girlfriend to the caring and cautious boyfriend Changbin portrayed to the group of leering drunk men. The group of men tried to make some derogatory remarks about you being out for the taking but Changbin subtly flexed as he grabbed your waist to hold you close as he played the role of comforting boyfriend. As soon as the group of men had wandered off he brought you to the car and made sure you were unharmed. He buckled you in, wiped the tears that had unknowingly fallen from your eyes. He reached across the console of the car and smiled at you as you put some music on the radio and sent him a thankful smile. It took several assurances that you were alright before he began to drive toward your apartment building.

“Y/Nnie, would you like some food before I get you home?” He asks over the music filling in as background noise to the ride home. You nod and demand the most comforting meal of all, McDonalds. Soon enough a bag is housed on the console between you both as you split nuggets, fries, and sodas. You start to sober up and feel a grin crossing your features as you look at him. You can’t help but notice how your heart thumps against your chest, how you smile every time he’s near, the curve of his jaw, his nose bridge, his petal shaped lips, his twinkling eyes, just how beautiful he is.

“Do I have french fry on my face?” He asked with genuine concern.

“Oh no! You’re just so pretty.” You slap a hand over your lips and he chuckles at your embarrassment. “I said that out loud didn’t I”

“You did beautiful girl, you did just say that outloud.” He waggled his eyebrows toward you trying to defuse the tension.

“Beautiful girl? Me? Huh?” You point to yourself and give him a look of astonishment and shake your head. “You sure you’re not the drunk one Bin?”

“I am as sober as ever. Now my angel, let's try this all again tomorrow when you are sober, if you mean what you said I’ll take you on the best date of your life.” He smiles and escorts you to your door, refusing to leave until you give him a playful glare filled kiss on the cheek.

The following morning you find yourself spending time on your daily routine, and spending more time on your makeup and hair than you usually would. One call from Changbin later and you are sitting at a table mimosa in hand, blushing at every single compliment he gives you. He cleans the whole secret admirer debacle and house and really just wanted a chance to get to know you beyond your mutual friendship with Iris and work environment. Soon enough brunch turns into lunch, turns into dinner, and it was only when your very irritated waiter informs you both that the restaurant is about to close that you finally leave. The two of you continue to go on similar dates where they seem to last forever. All the while Iris is delighted that you have finally found some sort of happiness. You and your resident Hercules become sort of a powerhouse couple among your coworkers, your scary glares work well to defend your work family from irrational clients and Changbin’s angelic smile does well to ease these clients into a proper meeting dynamic. Your dichotomy of your begrudging smiles and his over the top declarations of adoration make those around you chuckle. Iris and Jeongin couldn’t help but smile at the two of you, knowing their friends had found their perfect match. Unfortunately for your bosses though, Changbin was less apt to complete his work insisting he was now your assistant and was “helping” you but in reality he would lean over your shoulder and admire you as you worked.

But, for what it’s worth at least out loud you would say you were in love. Your hero didn’t need to slay a hydra to win your heart nor did he have to pull you from the River Styx he just had to be himself and help you break down your walls.

The End

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Other information: SKZ and other idols I write about (future other groups to come as I get into their dynamics more) are not to be characterized by the personalities in the pieces I write nor should their actions in my works reflect any actions they may take IRL. Think of their names and likenesses being used as a face and name claim to a fictional character.

Please remember I do not want anything I write to be translated or posted onto other platforms! If you want to translate my work contact me directly for permission and give me credit.

[b0oker18]

Booker’s X Files Rewatch: Season 1

I haven’t watched season 1 in chronological order since I did a rewatch about a year before season 10 aired and man, I forgot how good season 1 is. At least most of the time…

First and foremost there’s a certain mood that The X Files set from scene one/episode one and beyond that has never been replicated since imo. Maybe it’s the rainy and cold Vancouver atmosphere or the lack of proper lighting, but it’s a vibe that I don’t think we will ever see again.

I had also forgotten how many “mythology lite” episodes this season had, and they are all wonderful! I wish The X Files did this with every season but unfortunately the show became extremely formulaic, hardly ever going outside its bubble from season 2 onward.

In terms of acting, GA slays the entire season. I can’t think of a single line of dialogue that didn’t sound like Scully or phoned in. DD is a slightly different story. In no way would I call his acting bad, but there are some lines that just felt awkward and bad. In his defense, I think it took a little longer to find Mulder’s voice. Mulder is a character who has all sorts of crazy beliefs, is self deprecating and has a dry yet witty sense of humor. I’m not sure if there ever was a character written quite like Mulder on TV yet. Id say by the episode “Jersey Devil” DD found Mulder’s voice and did a great job there after (save a few crummy lines here and there).

In the past I’ve put season 1 way down the list on my favorite seasons but I may reconsider and put it higher when I finish my rewatch. I had a great time watching season one from start to finish again!

Here’s my list of good and bad episodes:

Good: pilot, deep throat, squeeze, conduit, Jersey devil, shadows, ice, fallen angel, beyond the sea, young at heart, E.B.E, miracle man, darkness falls, tooms, the erlenmayer flask

Bad: ghost is the machine, space, eve, fire, gender bender, Lazarus, shapes, born again, Roland

**a few notes**

There are hundreds of in depth reviews for every episode of every season all over this website. I don’t intend for this to be one. It’s too time consuming 😂

“Bad” episodes don’t necessarily mean that they are bad, it usually just means I don’t particularly love them, or look forward to watching them again anytime soon.

I’m only doing a rewatch of the original series and both movies. I tried rewatching the revival a few years ago and I did not enjoy it, at all. I may change my mind but I there’s a like a .5% of that happening.

Season 2 next!

[carefulfears]

Thoughts on the X Files Revelations episode and what it brought to the mulder x scully relationship?

okay i just rewatched this one so y'all are gonna get some exhausted bullet-point rambles from me <3 much love

1/

the first thing that i noticed while rewatching is that when mulder and scully are speaking with "saint owen" in the attic, mulder is standing with them and engaged in the conversation until it turns to scully's personal religion.

when owen points out her cross necklace, mulder turns to face the wall while they discuss it, only barely peeking back for his smartass church joke.

this almost reminds me of the way he tends to freeze and avert from loss (his mother's hospital room in herrenvolk, scully in the ICU in redux ii, emily's coffin, the little girl's body in paper hearts, etc); he often tries to avoid realities that he isn't prepared for, as though he's surprised and bowled over every time.

in this moment here with owen, he's being avoidant and catty, but it similarly appears that scully's faith is something he's taken aback by, even just in evasion.

2/

after owen is killed, scully begins the autopsy, and mulder continues his comedy routine/bible lecture.

when scully says that she believes in miracles, she believes that god's hand can be witnessed, mulder asks, "even if science can't explain them?"

this is really the core conflict of episodes like this, that center around faith or religion. neither of them know how to move forward outside of their roles, and so much of scully's position depends on only adhering to what science can prove. it's what she's told him so many times over the years in response to his own theories, and both of them waver in the loss of that absolutism.

a couple of episodes earlier, in nisei, she told him that believing is the easy part, that she needs proof, and he had responded, "you think believing is easy?"

part of what makes faith-centered cases difficult for them both is that mulder doesn't have it, and believing is easy for scully.

mulder spends his whole life wanting to believe in something that would allow the kind of comfort people find in faith. it isn't easy for him. it's hard to always be seeking.

he needs proof in order to believe too, but scully has her beliefs without the science that she holds him to, without the burden.

later, in gethsemane, she tells him that proving extraterrestrial life is not her dying wish. and he asks, what if you could prove the existence of god? wouldn't you try, like i try?

she says no. that god can't be proven or disproven, and it doesn't matter to her.

in revelations, he shuts down her claims of faith, and doesn't consider her point of view. when he leaves on another bad joke, the pause that she takes before returning to her work is so telling. this isn't how they interact with each other. something is different, with this case, with this topic.

the look on her face and the way she squares her jaw is almost of someone who's ashamed/afraid to speak up, who's biting her tongue. this isn't what she does, with him, either. and it has a different connotation on rewatch, with the things she says later in the series about authority.

3/

in conversation at the motel, things haven't changed. mulder is still a laugh-factory, dismissing any explanation with religious connotations. scully is still watching him and learning from him, as she has been since day one.

when she finally just snaps and asks, "how is it that you're willing to go out on a limb whenever you see a light in the sky, but you're unwilling to accept the possibility of a miracle?"

he responds instantly, "i wait for a miracle every day. but what i've seen here has only tested my patience, not my faith."

he waits for a miracle every day. it wasn't that long ago that we saw him weep in a church.

"well, what about what i've seen?"

what about what she's seen? what about what she believes? what about her experience?

4/

in the end, mulder's being a sweetie, bringing her coat and asking if she's okay. it worries him when she's not being logical. when she's acting like him.

he says it, in all souls, another faith-based role reversal: "i’ve never seen you more vulnerable or susceptible or more easily manipulated and it scares me because i don’t know why."

i hate to see people call him hypocritical for this; they both do it. they adhere to their roles so strictly, and there's something uneasy for them that comes with watching the other stray from what they find solidity in, whether that's belief or rationalism.

this scene captures the intent of the script so well, it is sad. this is a sad episode. she's watching him and learning from him and she knows that she cannot share this experience she's having with him.

5/

in one of the series' most affecting scenes, scully goes to confession for the first time in years. not to confess, but to confide. the language in this scene is so specific and emotional, as she tells the priest that normally she can talk to her friend about things but she cannot talk to him about this.

that's such an isolating place to be in, for your closest person and your most pressing struggle to be so at odds.

she tells the priest that she believes she saw things that helped her to save a life, but she wonders if she even saw them at all, because her partner didn't see them. he didn't believe. and usually he believes in everything.

that's such an isolating place to be in, for your hopeful seeker to turn a blind eye.

this isn't the last time that scully will be in this position, so alone in what she experiences, wondering if it's even real if mulder doesn't see it too.

and this scene sets the tone for so much of her character, as she confesses that she is afraid. that maybe god is speaking, and no one is listening.

i know this one is less thought-out than usual, if there's anything here y'all want to chat more about/go into deeper just shoot me an ask. kisses.

scully in this episode is something i've dabbled around with a bit in my writing before here.