#pls tell me someone has a better idea for a name

[bakawitch]

Ooh I'd love to know about Sunriseshipping :) (I actually googled to figure out what that ship is and couldn't find it, so now I am curious :D)

Ooh this is a good one!

So you couldn't have found this because I just kind of made up the ship name on the spot because the ship it is for doesn't exist according to all the ship lists I checked. I'd might wanna change it to something shorter, I just couldn't really find a good name yet, so I'm open to suggestions. The closest thing I could find to an official ship name was goldshipping, but that is already the ship name for one officially and another ship unofficially.

Sunriseshipping is: Pharaoh Atem X Malik Ishtar X Yami Malik X Thief King Bakura

The reason for that is all of them can be associated with it, like Bakura's name can be loosely translated to sunrise in middle egyptian, Atem is a Pharaoh which is often associated with sun gods, after leaving the tomb Malik prefers the sunlight to darkness and Yami Malik has Ra for a longish time.

Here's a quick, unedited excerpt from the chapter where Atem gets mysteriously resurrected:

As Atem finally made a move to get up it immediately became painstakingly obvious that he must have been laying there for quite some time. For the first time in what seemed like an eternity, a sudden ache shot through his spine.

Confused, he gritted his teeth and bore through it, finally managing to push himself up into a sitting position. Despite what he hoped for, the pain kept coursing through his back and shoulders as he quickly moved an arm behind himself to prevent his sore body from collapsing back onto the sand-covered ground.

He felt dizzy. None of this made sense... The pain, the tiredness, his sickly state, these should all be impossible to experience in the Field of Reeds...

Atem considered the idea of this all being a nightmare, but the growing migraine in his head, made him instantly abandon the mere thought of it. Something was very very wrong about this whole situation. He just couldn't figure out what.

Attempting to shake the ache out of his head without much of a success, Atem decided to take in a bit more from his surroundings.

[asahicore]

fast forward - pjs

pairing. jay x fem!reader

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

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

word count. 26.6k

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“And that’s your business, because…?”

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

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

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

“I never said that.”

“You didn’t need to.”

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

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

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

“I’m sorry?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I don’t-”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“At least you’re self-aware.”

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

“What are you-”

“Have you done the German homework for tomorrow?”

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

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

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

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

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

Then you see it.

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

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

Your heart sinks to your stomach.

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

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

“Y/N-” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

--

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

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

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

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

It belongs to none other than Park Jongseong.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“This is so good,” you mumble.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hm?”

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

“No. I have… things on my mind.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yeah.”

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

“...Jong?” you try.

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

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

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

“Will you be here in the morning?”

“Mh-hm. It’s Saturday tomorrow.”

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

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

You let out a shaky breath. “Okay.”

“I love you, Y/N.”

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

--

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

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

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

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

“What was it about?” Sunoo asks.

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

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

“Exactly!”

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

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

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

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

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

“Nowhere. Go on.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“None taken.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“She had a dream that she m—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

--

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And your friends wondered why you hated him?

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

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

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

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

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

“No. Stop.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Jong, your textbook.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

--

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You’re annoyed at how he makes you feel.

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

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

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

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

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

For now, you smile. “Get lost, Jong.”

--

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

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

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

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

you he’s not just another person!

sunoo okayyyyy i see you little miss repressed feelings

you i hate u

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

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

--

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You frown. “I don’t hate you.”

“Oh? That’s a recent development.”

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

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

“Back to hating.”

“Let’s start the assignment.”

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

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

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

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

“That’s not—”

“Let’s just focus on this.”

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

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

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

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

“Yes, sir,” you reply, embarrassed.

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

“Do you even know what chiaroscuro is?” 

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

“Well, maybe if you didn’t-”

“Y/N, Jay, final warning.”

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

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

--

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Sunoo, that’s disgusting.”

“Love? I know.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I never—When?!”

She shrugs. “The other day.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Dude…” Jongseong murmurs.

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

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

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

“Aren’t you cold?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I don’t wanna talk about it.”

--

sunoo jay and y/n almost kissed earlier

kazuha WHAAAAT

you KIM SUNOO.

kazuha WHEN?????

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

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

kazuha i can’t believe i missed this fml

you YOU DIDNT MISS ANYTHING NOTHING HAPPENED

sunoo be serious u guys we’re standing inches apart

you were* and no we weren’t

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

kazuha sunoo…?

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

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

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

you …

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

kazuha cuuuute

you i resent these accusations.

sunoo istg if u dont kiss him next time i will

kazuha ???

you SUNOO?

sunoo WHAT

--

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Y/N…”

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

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

--

jong so… guess who got a five-day suspension

you you idiot what did your parents say?

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

you boo-hoo

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

you … are you feeling better?

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

you oh did you ask chaewon to do that?

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

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

jong ykw maybe i should just ask chaewon

you i’ll see you tomorrow jong!!

jong :) see you tomorrow pretty 

 --

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You smile. “Never.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Give me five minutes!” you call back.

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

--

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

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

He’s still Jong.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

In any case, he’s hiding something.

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

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

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

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

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

Your heartbeat speeds up and you have to look away.

--

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Until you didn’t.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You said so yourself.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

--

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

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

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

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

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

“Did you guys sit next to each other?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Well, I thought I’d do it now.”

“Now?”

He takes a deep, shaky breath. “Now.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Really?” you repeat, and he chuckles.

“Really.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I think I did, too.”

“Yeah, you mentioned that in your letter.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Fifty years, huh?”

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

“I wasn’t planning to.”

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

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

--

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You smile. “I am.”

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[sliced-peaches]

hit it off right

Jeong Jaehyun x reader | 5.8k | friends to…?

After hearing about him for what seems like forever, you finally meet Jungwoo’s hot roommate. But it’s a lot more wholesome than anything else.

📀 now playing: say it - maggie rogers // decent - bas, amaarae // perfect places - lorde // dear to me - electric guest

a/n: seeing Jae getting drunk with YoungJi did something for me. I miss him and it’s really hard being a military wife. this is part of a larger collection coming soon, so nothing spicy. pls enjoy~

mentions of: other nct members, bff! Jungwoo, alcohol consumption, marijuana usage, light flirting, honestly tho everyone is just shy and cute and silly

A few days before the party, you’d asked Jungwoo what kind of wine his roommate liked. Since it was a celebration, you figured you should at least bring a gift.

“He told me to tell you to not bring anything.”

“How could he even know?” You whine, incredulous.

“Because I know you and your habit of balling out on people who are being celebrated.”

There’s not much you can say to that. You are known to bring a nice bottle of something that suits the taste of the one being celebrated. You love to see the joy on someone’s face when they get a tailored gift.

It’s the least you could do for someone when you notice their hard work. It feels good to appreciate someone, especially a friend like Jungwoo. It’s only natural you’d extend the perks to his roommate, right?

“You talk to your roomie about me?” You coo, poking his cheek. Setting his coffee cup down, he nods, seemingly pleased to share this piece of information with you.

“In passing. I told him you were coming, that I invited your coworker, too. I’ve gushed about her to him a few times. He just kinda smiled? Not in a weird way. Like… I don’t know. He just stared at me for a few seconds. Then he said he was happy to hear that. So-“

“Sounds like he’s in full support.”

Jungwoo smiles, bringing the cup back to his lips. Then he gives you a sly look over the rim before he speaks again.

“He also asked me about you.”

“What about me?”

“I guess I talk about you all the time, right? I told him about your art, all the art shows you’re in. I’m sure I’ve shown him a picture of you before, like from that time we went to the beach.”

“You showed your roommate my bikini photos?”

His eyes widen and he starts to immediately apologize when raise your hands to cut him off.

“Wait. Did he like them?”

“He… didn’t say much of anything if I’m being honest.”

“Oh.”

“Which doesn’t really mean anything, honestly. Sometimes he just doesn’t have anything to say.”

“…okay that’s a little better.”

It’s hard to imagine Jungwoo living with someone who doesn’t talk as much as he does.

The way you two often communicate is rapid-fire, dramatic, occasionally riffing off the other’s jokes. He likes to share his thoughts out loud and use you as a sounding board. You like to ramble about abstract art ideas and the special interest of the week.

Trying to picture your yap king living with someone who probably makes three facial expressions a year (says Jungwoo) makes you wish you could be a fly on the wall.

“How much have I told you about Jae? I know he’s always out, or at work so….”

His roommate’s name is Jaehyun. All you really know about him is that he’s close in age to Jungwoo, he used to be really competitive m, and that he has a cousin somewhere in Europe. Not much else past that.

“One time I was over you showed me a photo or two from when you guys were in high school. I’ve seen him in your stories too.”

“You said he was cute! I forgot about that.”

You recall a guy with dark hair and a cute bowl cut, wearing the same basketball jersey as Jungwoo. When you said cute, you were referring to their round faces and goofy hair cuts. The more recent pictures on Instagram were usually from an angle where you couldn’t really see his face, but he was always dressed nice from what you could tell.

“He was! Little cutie stranger man.”

There’s a beat.

“Okay, so about that. He’s was cute but now he’s, like, super handsome.”

“What do you mean?”

“Like, he’s hot. Bulked up, started dressing nicer, smells good. His jawline is insane. He should actually model. I didn’t know he was going to look like that when we grew up, you know?” He shakes his head in disbelief.

“Damn, you ever told him all that?”

“All the time, actually. He’s so sick of me. At this point I’m just saying something that’s objectively true. You’d be lying if you thought he was ugly. So that being said-“

He whips his head towards you, you watch a plot and scheme form in his brain. His lips curl into something devilish.

“Careful not to fall in love with my roommate, yeah?”

You blink at him, two times. Three times.

“Huh?”

His words sounded like a warning, but it feels like he very much would prefer you do the opposite.

“I just feel like he’s someone you’d fall for.”

“You’ve never seen me fall for anyone. Not once since you’ve known me.”

“Exactly. Which is why I’m saying… I think you guys will get along well.”

“Don’t hope too hard, but I’m sure he’s lovely.”

Sighing, Jungwoo offers you a sympathetic look. You ignore it and instead check for any emails from the art festival you’re vending at later in the month. It’s not much help, as you can still feel his eyes on you.

“I think he’d be good for you.”

“I don’t think playing matchmaker with your friends is that good of an idea,” you clipped.

Right before you met Jungwoo in senior year of college, you’d been in a relationship that ended pretty badly. You were in love, and you think he was, too. At one point at least.

But when things run their course, and you stay in them too long, they start to drain you of everything.

You’d lost a lot of time and energy trying to be pretty enough, interesting enough, desirable enough to keep the spark alive. To keep his attention. But to no avail. It was like he was just waiting for you to leave.

After a while, feeling empty and settling for whatever he could toss your way was too much to bear. It was just time to let go.

It was hard when at the end, you realized he just didn’t love you like you loved him. But was too scared himself to be honest with you about it.

Heartbreak was one thing, but grieving a relationship that wasn’t all that real was another. It took you a long time to move through that pain.

Jungwoo watched you put a lot of effort into rebuilding your personality, your self worth, your confidence. He was nothing but supportive, as were your other friends, dragging you to every show in the city, joining you at a new cafe or listening to your new ideas about art you’d been neglecting. And Jungwoo’s friends were a wonderful addition to your life, as well.

It was beyond being choosy- you’d taken yourself out of the dating game altogether, focusing on work, art, your friends. Yourself.

Now you were very careful not to let anyone in and disrupt that. It’s been a beautiful life to fall back into; you’d hate to lose it to the wrong person.

Jungwoo is nothing but understanding still, squeezing your arm instead of pushing any further.

“Well, regardless, I know you’ll get along well. Even as friends.”

You roll your eyes at him, a small smile creeping back onto your face.

“Don’t look into his eyes, though, seriously. He’s something else.”

On the trip over to Jungwoos apartment your friend tells you about her day, catching you up on some work gossip and her roommates string of interesting dates.

She laughs at how engrossed you are in her words, loving how excited you are to listen to the tea. You’re asking questions, connecting dots. The entertainment is delicious.

“I’m never on shit, so I’m living vicariously through you guys,” you sigh.

“We’re on shit tonight! I’m excited to party with Jungwoo.”

You flit your eyes over to her. “Yeah?”

“Girl, yes. He seems like a good person to party with. He’s always so bubbly and sweet when we go out for coffee, and always supportive of you so he’s good in my book.”

You wish she knew why you were smiling so big.

“He is a sweetheart, and a wonderful friend. I feel like you guys will get along well, I’m surprised we haven’t all gone out before.”

Pulling your phone out, you open your camera to check for a lipgloss reapplication when text from Jungwoo comes through.

woo-ah: 🎶 what’s ur ETA?🎵

“C-can I be honest with you?”

Immediately you lock your phone, adjusting your body to give her your full attention.

“Of course you can.”

She glances towards the driver, bringing her hand up to cover her mouth like she’s telling you a juicy secret.

“I think he’s gorgeous.” Her cute confession has you both giggling like schoolgirls in the back of the rideshare. “Don’t tell him, please!”

“Babe, your secret is safe with me.” You pinch your fingers together, pretending to zip your lips. “You wanna hear a secret?”

Her eyes widen in anticipation.

“I think he thinks you’re cute, too.”

“Shut up, no way!”

“Let’s just say I have insider info.”

“Your secret is safe with me.”

you: appx 4 min 🤠

woo-ah: 🪩🕺🫶🏼

You lock arms with your friend as you lead the way into the apartment building, being here enough times to know what floor and that the right elevator is faster than the left.

She’s talking about the book her roommate just recommended her as you get to Jungwoos floor. You even ask her to send you a text, saying that she should start a bookclub as you rap your knuckles on the door.

Jungwoo opens the door, moving to hug you both and welcome you into the apartment.

“Come in, come in!”

Music is playing from a speaker, and a chorus of voices comes from the living room.

You walk ahead of Jungwoo and your friend, who are exchanging thank you’s for invitations and gifts of alcohol, and a chorus of voices welcomes you in the living room.

Doyoung and Donghyuck practically race and slide around in their socks to hug you and kiss you on the forehead and you pull them in for a haphazard group hug.

“Long time no see!” Doyoung clasps his hands together. “It’s so nice to have us all together at one time.”

“What a mom, we’re here to get shitfaced.” Donghyuck teasing Doyoung is secretly something you live for, but you pretend to defend Doyoung from him.

“Let us get a few drinks in before you start shit talking him, damn!”

The guys make sure you’re introduced to the rest of their friends, the ones you haven’t had a chance to meet yet. You’ve heard all their names in conversation, usually when talking about some social event or fun times they had back in school. It was wonderful to finally put names to faces, and they were more than happy to do the same for you.

“Jungwoo finally brought you around!” Renjun and Jaemin cheer. “We’ve been wanting to meet you for so long.”

You blush under all the affection from them.

“I’m so glad to finally meet you guys.”

“Come on, you have to try the cocktail YangYang made.”

Dragging you into the kitchen, you’re flooded by more introductions, jokes and insanely loud laughter, and it feels like you’ve been doing this for years with them already.

YangYang passes you a glass, a sliced lemon garnishing the side and all. You take one sip, then immediately take another. “Wow, this is delicious. Thank you!”

“There are three kinds of liquors in there,” he says, shooting you an apologetic look. “All light, but they told me I had to get everyone drunk, so-“

Before he can even try to apologize, stop him.

“That’s my kind of drink, then!” And you propose a toast with whoever’s in the kitchen.

The cheers begin to die down when someone walks into the kitchen.

Jungwoo has a lot of attractive friends. You knew this from the jump. He’s a model, he had model friends, friends who were in entertainment and the arts. From seeing whoever was on his Instagram story every few weeks, to getting drinks with everyone else occasionally, you’d gotten very used to being surrounded by pretty men.

Jungwoo did not prepare you well enough for Jeong Jaehyun.

“It’s our boy! Congratulations!”

The kitchen erupts into more greetings and well wishes as the man of the hour had just arrived. You sit back as everyone moves into pat him on the back, hug him or, like Donghyuck, kiss him right on the cheek.

Everyone’s voices just turn into background noise as you take him in.

He smiles the most beautiful smile you’ve ever been blessed enough to witness, and you have to force yourself to take a large sip of your drink so not to gawk at him.

Renjun and Jaemin motion for you to come closer, and you use the one solid second you have to steel your nerves as you step closer to them.

Jaemin slings his arm around you. “Jae, have you met our girl yet?”

Renjun playfully shakes his arm. “Jungwoo has been keeping her from us for eons.”

Jaehyun takes a step closer to you. He’s tall, much taller than you, so you have to tilt your head back to fully look at him.

And what a sight to see.

Jaehyun smiles again, a little shy but just for you. His eyes crinkle at the corners, smile so sincere and kind like he’s smiling at someone he’s known for years.

Extending his hand out to you, he wants to greet you properly. Shakily you place your smaller hand in his. But instead of shaking your hand, he uses both hands to gently hold it.

“It’s nice to finally meet you.”

The baritone voice almost knocks you on your ass.

Taking take a moment to will some confidence, some chill to come through when you speak, you swallow and push your shoulders back.

“You as well, Jaehyun. It’s been a long time coming, yeah?”

It’s taking everything in you to sound normal and relaxed, unfazed by this man.

He cocks his head to the side and laughs, his nose crinkling and smile lines that resemble whiskers making themselves visible. The sight makes your head spin.

“A very long time.” He releases your hand, and you place it against the side of your glass hoping it will absorb some of the heat from the exchange. “Thank you for coming.”

With your resolve expiring in seconds, you’re so thankful for Jungwoo making his way into the kitchen. While he introduces your work friend to Jaehyun, you shuffle out the kitchen alongside Renjun and Jaemin.

You sit on the armrest of the couch, listening to them bicker over what game the party should play first, remembering how to breathe.

Jaehyun quietly settles into a chair for one close to you, tuning into the commotion. He doesn’t make a move towards you, and you’re glad even if just for a moment. Out the corner of your eye, you take him in.

Handsome isn’t the right word to use, you think. He’s dressed clean and simple, nice jeans and a white t-shirt. The side profile is something unreal, perfect chiseled features but his face still soft and welcoming. His dark hair is slightly pushed back, a few stands falling over his forehead. He leans forward to tap Jaemin on the shoulder, complimenting him on ‘how big he’s gotten’ at the gym, with the younger preening under his praise.

Just in the short time in the same room, it’s clear that Jaehyun is like a big brother. And from what Jungwoo has told you is super sweet and caring. That alone makes you want to know him more, and makes him all the more attractive.

Looking over at you, he offers you a small smile which you mirror to avoid coming off as awkward. Noticing that you are both nursing the same drink, he raises his glass towards you for a small toast.

“To you and the summer,” you offer, raising your glass as you do so.

“I can drink to that.”

You take another large swig of your drink, hoping after the third your nerves can handle more than two sentences next time.

It’s silly, you think, to be this affected by a man. An attractive one, yes. But just a man. A friend of a friend, even.

Jungwoo’s words echo in the back of your mind, that he thought you and Jaehyun would get along well. Part of you doesn’t want to prove him right, but another part of you wonders if getting along with Jaehyun wouldn’t be such a bad thing.

So you try your best to start and make conversation.

“I heard about your promotion, congratulations!”

“Ah thank you,” he says, smiling into his cup. “It’s actually more of a career change.”

“Really? What are you going to be doing?”

He takes a minute to respond, and for a moment you wonder if he even heard in the first place. Before you can repeat yourself, however, he’s speaking again.

“I’m… writing music. Singing some, too. For me and for others.” He points over his shoulder with his thumb. “I’ll be working with Taeyong a lot, in his studio.”

Eyebrows raising, you lean in a bit.

“You sing, Jaehyun?”

“Sometimes.” He takes a drink. “I write stories on artists, interview people in music. Do some editing. The company I work for was really cool about letting me try different things, I really liked working for them.”

There’s a moment where you’re not sure if he’s going to speak again, and right when you think you should ask another question he continues.

“But I always wanted to sing my own songs, produce my own work. My current line of business has its perks, a lot of connections too. So I’ve been working on my own stuff on the side.”

You didn’t peg him as someone in performance- he’s so pretty you’re surprised he isn’t a model or an actor honestly. But he doesn’t seem to be anything anyone would think at first glance.

“That’s so exciting. Especially working with friends, I like Taeyongie’s music. And ’m really happy to hear you’re able to chase after your dream.”

“Thank you, I’m excited to share.”

He looks at you through his eyelashes as he takes another drink.

So we’re both trying to numb our nerves, you thought to yourself.

“I hope I get to hear some music from you soon.”

He casts another smile your way, and that’s when you know the liquor is kicking in because it doesn’t send you reeling this time.

“I hope you do, too. Soon.”

“Shots?”

Everyone gathers around in the living room, passing small glasses around to those partaking in alcoholic festivities tonight. You pass one to Jaehyun, who holds it up against the light.

“I haven’t taken a shot in a long time.”

“I got you the good shit, Jae.” Jungwoo holds up two expensive bottles. “Whiskey? Or gin?”

“Oh shit… let’s do the gin. Sticking with lights tonight.”

He asks for your preference, and you do the same.

Jungwoo opens the bottle of gin and pours the first round of shots for the night. After he pours his own, he holds his glass up for a toast.

“I know this is, like, the fourth toast of the night but it probably won’t be the last if I’m being honest.”

Taeyong groans. “I’m betting on at least seven in total.”

“Those are rookie numbers,” YangYang yells out, the younger boys cackling and suggesting higher numbers.

“Anyway!” Jungwoo bangs the gin bottle on the coffee table. “This is the emotional one. It’s the end of the summer and I hate to see her go. But we’re moving into fall, and falling into our new lives-“

Donghyuck pretends to yawn.

“Dude shut up, it’s just Jaehyun-”

“I’m not finished!” And he taps the bottle again, your head falling against the back of the couch in silent laughter. “Thank you all for being part of another summer and thank you guys for coming to celebrate one of my closest, oldest friends.”

“Literally.”

Doyoung throws a pillow at Donghyuck and motions for Jungwoo to continue.

Jungwoo turns to Jaehyun, who’s made his way onto the couch alongside you and your friend. “I’m happy to see you make your wildest dreams come true. I can’t wait to see you become the sexy superstar you were always meant to be. Cheers!”

The room is full of cheers and then groans from knocking back shots with no chasers, but it’s a pleasant burn as it slides down your throat.

You blow a kiss at Jungwoo, wiping a fake tear from your eye. “Your speech was beautiful. Very moving.”

The next hour is filled with mini beer pong (players had to sip water instead of alcohol, many thanks to Doyoung), stories about the boys time in school or how some of them met their partners, and shared soju.

The boys complain that he’ll cheat if he plays so instead Jaehyun shares a strong bottle of peach soju, his favorite, with you and your coworker.

At first, it’s very cute to just watch Jaehyun laugh at all of his friends antics. He enjoys listening, occasionally cracking a few jokes or making funny noises. But he’s more than happy to settle back into the couch and observe.

But he’s also big on being a good host, even if he’s the one being celebrated- if he isn’t offering you another drink he’s offering to grab something from the kitchen for you. They’re small but clear gestures to make sure his couch neighbors are as comfortable as he is.

He’s laid back and quiet but attentive- it has you swooning a bit. It’s a contrast to the rest of the men in the apartment, who are also sweet but characteristically loud and rambunctious. You love it, but it’s fascinating to watch Jaehyun hum and giggle to himself rather than dominate a conversation.

After you clear the second soju bottle and Jungwoo has wedged himself between you and your friend, you think you hear Jaehyun giggle beside you.

“What’s so funny?” You laugh, setting the empty bottle down on the coffee table.

He just shrugs, cheeks beginning to flush from the alcohol. He’s pretty like this, you think.

“Are you a silly drunk, Jae?” You tease, catching the attention of Donghyuck.

“Oh man, he’s gonna start getting real silly soon.” The younger man comes to sit on the armrest closest to Jaehyun, affectionately brushing his hair off his forehead. He weakly tries to swat Donghyucks hand away.

“I’m not silly,” he tries to argue, way too cute and whiny compared to the man you met just two hours ago.

“You’re sooo silly right now,” Donghyuck laughs. “She’s going to have to take care of you soon!”

His eyebrows shoot up and he tries to sit straighter, attempting to coolly settle against the back of the couch. “No, no. I’m fine. I’m-“

“Come get some air with us!” Jaemin and Donghyuck pull him up by his arms, with little to no resistance from Jaehyun. He just rolls his eyes as they pull him to his feet.

Jaemin cheers, pushing him towards the sliding door to the deck.

Looking over his shoulder, he nods at you. “Need anything while I’m up?”

You wave him off towards the door.

“No, I’m okay. Go get some air.”

With you beaming up at him, Jaehyun swears the room has gotten a few degrees hotter. The air will do him good.

Jaehyun finds you in the kitchen later, just finishing one of the cookies someone brought. You pass one to him and he finishes it in one bite.

“How many drinks in are you?”

“Shit… I’m at about four. Not including that shot.”

“I think I’m at about the same,” he says, shuffling closer to you at the kitchen island overlooking the living room.

There’s a moment of silence that you share, watching all of his and Jungwoos friends (and yours now) fill up the apartment with laughter (and some screaming- Renjun set Mario Kart up on the tv).

Your heart swells knowing how loved Jungwoo is, as well as Jaehyun.

But then it dawns on you that you haven’t seen Jungwoo or your friend in a while. Before you can mention that to Jaehyun, he bumps his hip against yours.

The alcohol might not have been enough to turn the alarms off in your brain yet, but your body is slow to react to him essentially snuggling into your side. He’s warm, and he smells warm too. Like a vanilla candle. There’s something else you can’t place, but it’s more than pleasant.

“I have to tell you a secret.” He whispers, and it’s cute and kind of whiny.

“A secret?” You say, barely over a whisper. He nods slowly, looking into the crowd.

He can’t see shit, in all honesty.

“I may or may not be a little crossed.”

“That’s what I smell on you?”

“Shit, is it bad?” Just like that, he’s a little more self conscious than he is silly. He smells his shirt in a few different places, earning a laugh from you.

“No, you’re fine. It’s because you’re so close that I can smell it.” He sighs and laughs almost at himself. “Is that where you and the boys went?”

“Yeah. I don’t usually smoke but it’s something like a special occasion.”

“Absolutely it is. You deserve it.”

He simply hums, letting a a few seconds pass before he speaks again.

“You smoke?”

“Weed? Rarely.”

“Cigs?”

“Not once in my life.”

“Good for you, we’re all nicotine addicts in here.”

“Vape away, I could never judge.”

At that you both turn towards the other at the same time, chests inches apart.

His eyes are low from the weed, the whites tinted red. He’s looking down at you, a silly, boyish grin on his lips. You can’t help but blush under his gaze, lips curving into a grin of their own.

“Thanks for coming tonight.” His voice is soft, barely audible. You feel yourself subconsciously leaning into him, wishing to hear him a little louder.

“Of course, I had to support the homie. And play wingman.”

He tilts his head back to glance around the room , the realization hitting him then.

“Oh shit, I haven’t seen them in a while.”

“Then I guess I did a good job. I barely did anything but whatever.”

He laughs, voice deep and rumbly. “You did great.”

He leans onto the counter, his arm resting closing to where your hip sits against the edge. He slowly shifts his eyes back over to you, looking over your frame. Just once, even his sluggish brain is careful not to get ahead of itself.

“I’m glad we finally got to meet.”

“I am too.” Your skin is on fire under his intense gaze. It’s not so much intense as it is just so warm, so amiable. You deflect to take some of the heat off of you, quite literally. “Jungwoo talks about you all the time.”

“Yeah? What does he say?”

That you’re so fucking handsome and I’d be stupid to lie and disagree.

“That you don’t say too much, but you’re a really good friend.”

A surprised look washed over his face, then he turns sheepish.

“He’s…… that’s sweet of him.” Jaehyun rubs the back of his neck, thinking on his next words as carefully as his crossed mind will allow him. “I’m glad you’re his friend. He needs someone like you.”

You tilt your head to the side.

“What do you mean?”

“Someone who isn’t as shy as him.”

“Haha, you think I don’t get shy?” It’s funny when you think back on how nerve wracking is was to shake his hand for the first time.

But he’s just giving you this knowing look now, a ghost of a smirk at the corner of his lips.

“If you do, you hide it well.” You could scream. Can he see right through you? “But seriously. You push him to do well.”

Jaehyun is slow to speak, but even inebriated he’s intentional. Something you’ve learned in just the past few hours about him is that it may take him a while to get his thoughts out, but it’s more than worth it to hear what he has to say.

You hang on to every pause like your life depends on it, eager to hear what comes out of his mouth next.

“Before you guys worked together, he was a lot more… reserved. And passive? Like, he’s good at everything he does. We know this. But… he never really sought recognition.”

“You’re right. But he deserves it.”

He nods while he thinks on his next words.

“Yeah. I remember in school he was just happy to pass and be included in things. Never attracted much attention to himself. Never wanted to be in the spotlight. But since working with you, he’s become proud of the work he does. His confidence has grown. He’s louder. Funnier. You pushed him a lot.”

“That’s all him, he works hard-“

“He does, you pushed him though. When he finally started modeling last year all he could do was say how thankful he was for you. How you encouraged him, helped him with headshots. Went shopping with him and made sure he felt good going into auditions. And it took off.”

Your breath catches in your throat.

“He… he said that? Really?”

“He did. You’ve been a very good friend to him.”

Blinking away the tears that started to pinprick behind your eyes, you smile at Jaehyun whose own eyes are filled with mirth. Even cross faded, Jaehyun’s words were so sincere and kind.

“Are you crying?”

You sniffle, using your thumbs to collect any tears in the corner of your eyes so not to ruin your makeup.

“I was gonna but I’m okay.”

He laughs that hearty laugh again and ruffles your hair. It’s such a small gesture, but so comfortable. Domestic even. Like you’ve been friends for years. It makes your heart even fuller than it already is and if he keeps it up, it’ll burst before the end of the night.

The alcohol coursing through you is doing nothing but spread this warmth, double time. Happiness feels good coursing through you.

“Let’s get some water, yeah?” He cocks his head toward the fridge. “Doyoung brought some sparkling water.”

You begin to follow him as he takes a few steps backwards. “What flavor?”

“We have…” He starts, opening the door to the fridge. “I can barely see. Wow.”

“Move, I’ll look.”

You hip check him out of the way, and hear someone come into the kitchen behind you.

“I’m no better, but this looks like ginger peach. And calamansi.”

“Pass me a calamansi, please? You want a sparkling water, Taeyong?”

“Do you think it’s a good mixer for gin?” He asks, loud enough for someone in the living room to hear.

Then, that someone yells out: “Another round of shots?”

Laughing, you hand Jaehyun his sparkling water, and pass a ginger and peach flavored water to Taeyong. “Let’s find out, yeah?”

More cheering is heard as you shuffle back into the living room and let Doyoung pour the next round of shots.

He’s a sweetheart and pours the shots right into you and Taeyongs cans, Jaehyun sneakily placing a sealed water bottle next to your foot.

It’s well into the night, the hour a single digit when the party starts to die down.

Jungwoo is in the loveseat for one and a half, your friend snuggled into his side.

You’ve found yourself back on the couch with Jaehyuns head resting on your shoulder and one of his legs swung over Taeyongs. Miraculously, Donghyuck has found a way to lay across you all comfortably.

“I’m going to order a ride home for us soon,” your friend says through a yawn. Donghyuck is already whining, earning some light smacks from the older boys under him.

“We’re so comfy, why would you want to mess up our cuddle pile?

“I’m not cuddling, I’m being leaned on,” you tease, grinning down at Jaehyun who can barely hold his eyes open. He’s trying his best to focus on one of your faces because he sees three, but he’s not complaining.

“Hm… my bad.” He moves to sit up, but Donghyuck just nestles into him even further, and Jaehyun can’t seem to muster up enough strength to (care) knock him into the floor. “I really… I really did try.”

Jaehyun has hit peak silly hours. From little hums and cute noises to the worst dad jokes you’ve heard in a while, you understand what Donghyuck meant earlier. Jaemin and Jungwoo even got him to cutely pose for drunk selfies earlier.

Laughing through your nose, you use the hand that’s free to reach around and pat his cheek affectionately. In this state he instinctually leans into your touch, humming in approval. You have to fight the urge to squeeze his cheeks. “Jae you gonna be alright?”

“I told you she was going to have to take care of you!” At that, he and Taeyong had enough and pushed him into the floor. He lets out a squawk as his body hits the ground with a light thud. “Fuck. It’s comfier down here anyway.”

Jungwoo slowly stands up, helping your friend to her feet. “So Donghyuck is sleeping here, literally right there. No blanket. I don’t want to see you using something weird as a replacement either.”

While the boys still present start to bicker some more, Jaehyun taps your knee to get your attention.

“I’ll be okay. Just got a little carried away.”

“You’re okay. Let’s get you to bed then?”

His eyes open a little wider, mouth parting to say something. You wait.

“Are you staying over?”

“No I’m going home tonight.”

He pouts, and it almost sends you to another dimension.

“Aw don’t make that face, I’ll be back soon.”

“Okay. Good.”

You call to Taeyong, who really isn’t that much better, but he does help you get Jaehyun off the couch and down the hall to his bedroom.

You let Taeyong handle the hard part of getting him out of his jeans and under the covers, heading to the kitchen to fill a glass of water. “Jungwoo, you have any painkiller?”

“In that drawer by the stove.” He stands beside you in the kitchen. “For Jae?”

“Yeah. You want any water?”

“Nah I was good tonight. I’ll be okay.” He purses his lips. “You’re sweet for that. Taking care of him.”

“I’m not doing anything I wouldn’t do for you.”

“I know… exactly what I mean.” You shake your head and walk to Jaehyun’s room, entering while Taeyong exits.

“He’s decent, just whiny.”

“Thank you, I’ll just leave this for him then.”

You approach the side of the bed where he’s sprawled out, eyes barely open but you can see them following you even in the dark.

“Brought you some water. And some painkiller. Take it when you can, yeah?”

“Hm. Tell Jungwoo to give Hyuck a blanket.”

You chuckle and ruffle his hair before moving to leave.

“Have a good night, Jaehyun.”

“Hmm…”

unknown number: hey it’s jaehyun

unknown number: jungwoo gave me your number. thanks for coming yesterday. don’t be a stranger!

[berzahoes]

manifestation, baby! | tom blyth

summary: fans find out tom’s girlfriend has an old youtube channel where she reviewed the ballad of songbirds and snakes (and she definitely manifested her life)

an: the way i thought about this idea and quickly wrote it down so i didn’t forget it. i used to have an app that made those fake tweets but i’m just tired to make fake profiles 😭 maybe i’ll change it later idk

for the purpose of this imagine, let’s pretend tbosas book was published between 2017-2019

liked by zeglerslove, 444_bri and 35,377 others

tomblythxsnow apparently tom’s girlfriend has an old youtube channel where she reviews books and she reviewed the ballad of songbirds and snakes and she literally manifested her future 😭

lucymygf WHATTT WHATS HER CHANNEL NAME

tomblythxsnow it’s yn’s book corner. she hasn’t posted since 2019 ngl i need her to review a little life because that book destroyed me

nat76_ omg i used to watch her videos!! i’m still subscribed to her 😭 i remember only buying and reading the books she liked because i wanted to be her so bad

j4ckaszlol “if someone ever makes a movie adaptation of this book and casts someone attractive to play snow then i am sorry for the person i become” REALLLLL

graybairdsmockingjay dude the part where she said “i’m calling it now whoever plays young snow will be my boyfriend. movie studios always cast someone attractive as the younger version of a character!” MY JAW DROPPED SHE NEEDS TO TELL ME HER WAYS

“guess what rachel just sent me.” you heard tom say when he arrived to your shared apartment.

“wedding invitations?!” you gasped as you almost stood up from the sofa since you were watching reruns of criminal minds, but tom stopped you.

“no, it’s better!” tom sat beside you and showed you his phone. “why didn’t you tell me you had a youtube channel?” on his phone screen was your review of the ballad of songbirds and snakes, which had become a very popular video over the past couple of days.

you hid your face with a pillow and groaned. “don’t remind me. i just wanted to talk about my books and my family didn’t care. don’t watch it! it’s embarrassing!”

“i think it’s cute. aw look, your dog made a cameo!” he pointed at your old dog you used to have that walked into the frame.

“indi! no, come sit right here. oh . . . and she’s walking away. okay, anyways.” your younger self said in the video

“indi? why Indi?” tom asked you even though you were still hiding from embarrassment.

“after indiana jones. my dad and i loved those movies and he gifted me indi as a birthday present.” you confessed.

“love, don’t be embarrassed. i think it’s cute that you manifested your life according to the comments on instagram,” tom paused the video then cuddled up to you. “i won’t watch it if you don’t want me to.”

“it’s fine, i just didn’t think anyone would find it. we can watch it together.” you uncovered yourself and sat down properly to watch the video with tom. before he pressed the play button and together you watch your younger self review the book.

“i’ve read all the hunger games books at least four times and this one did not disappoint. but i do hope whoever ends up being cast as young snow is someone hot. i’m sorry it’s the rules! and they will be my boyfriend, i’m calling dibs.”

tom smirked at you. “if only younger you could see you now.”

“she would definitely think ‘wow, how did we pull this beautiful man?’ then be confused as to why the hunger games and fnaf is trending in 2023.”

liked by tomblyth, rachelzegler and 1,377,389 others

ynlovesbooks told ya. love you tomblyth ❤️

rachelzegler she is THAT girl

ynlovesbooks no u

everdeenx12 bestie he’s EVIL

ynlovesbooks he’s a walking red flag but my favorite color is red 😍

chamaletproblems pls tell me how you did this

ynlovesbooks i figured out who they were casting and kept him hostage until he agreed to be my bf

tomblyth true

[ilwonuu]

Can you write jealous/possessive jaehyun smut? not in a toxic way but a cute way if anything. 🫶🏼

YES OF COURSE!!!<3 thank u for the request. i am the biggest jaehyun girlie like he is one my favorite idols!!! also he is so fine i need him biblically 🥱

𒀭 ˖ ࣪ only yours. j.jaehyun

summary- you plan to go out on a friday with your friends planning to have the most fun ever. jaehyun has a better idea.

warnings- unprotected sex, slight jealousy, sweet jaehyun(pls save me jaehyun pls), soft sex, fingering, kissing, pet names(baby fem receiving, he gets called jae once), sweet love(ew)

authors note- i’m so happy someone requested a jaehyun fic because i literally was gonna write one anyways<3

you have started to get ready for your night out. you pick out your favorite black dress knowing it makes your body look great. “you look so pretty but you’re really gonna wear that out without me?” he says playfully but you know he isn’t joking deep down.

“jaehyun you knew i was going out with my friends tonight come on.” you look away from him finishing your final touches on your appearance. “i know i did but you just look so beautiful im nervous someone is gonna try to hit on you.” he slowly makes his way behind you wrapping his hands around your waist. “jaehyun no one is gonna hit on me. and if they do it doesn’t matter because im coming home every night to you.” you smile slightly as you turn around to face him. “i know i know im not trying to be crazy you know how i am. you’re too pretty i don’t want anyone else to see my pretty girl. you are just so beautiful.” he smiles pulling you into a deep kiss.

melting into the kiss for a quick second before pulling away. “jaehyun! you’re kisses are gonna mess up my makeup.” he just smiles again kissing your neck this time.

“you know.. you could stay home with me..” he nips at your neck making you shudder at his warm breath. “j-jaehyun you know i have plans i can’t just cancel.” he doesn’t stop kissing and biting your neck gently moving his hand to rub your thigh. “i mean you definitely can cancel and i really don’t want you to go.” he smiles at you. “jaehyun you keep asking me to cancel tho. they’re gonna think something is wrong.” he shakes his head. “just tell them im sick or something.” you roll your eyes pushing him back slowly. “you seriously don’t want me to go that bad? baby it will be okay.” you look at yourself in the mirror. “please? i just don’t want you to be looking so beautiful without me. i swear if you really want to go i will still be happy to drop you off.” he is practically begging you.

“fine. but next time i am not canceling and i mean that okay!” he smiles pulling you back to him to kiss you roughly. “mm i want to take this dress off you..” he pulls one of your straps off your shoulder. kissing from your shoulder up to your neck. “j-jaehyun..”

“huh? whats wrong?” he says pulling the other strap off before pushing the dress down your body. “t-touch me please.” you say with a desperate tone. “of course baby.” he moves his hand to between your legs rubbing your thigh slightly. “lets lay you down hm?” he says walking you back into the bed laying you down gently.

“you look so beautiful..” he says moving in between your legs slightly rubbing your clothed clit. “jaehyun please.” he laughs. “okay okay tell me what you want baby.”

“i want you to fuck me. please.” he nods. “let me prep you first okay?” he pulls your panties down your legs. “look at you. i can’t believe you were gonna go out this wet and this fucking beautiful.”

he rubs a finger over your folds before slowly pushing it in. “fuck you’re so wet.” he doesn’t take his eyes off your expression as he fucks his finger into you. “i need m-more jaehyun please.” he nods quickly fucking another finger into you. “like this?” he says with a sweet kiss against your head. “jaehyun please just fuck me i can take it..” he fucks his fingers into you a couple more times before pulling them out and immediately pulling his dick out of his pants. “tell me if it hurts okay?” you nod watching him line up his dick with your entrance slowly pushing in the tip. “you okay?” he looks at your face to see any signs of discomfort. “i’m fine just keep going..” you say pulling his face down to kiss him. he pushes his dick further inside you bottoming out.

“you feel- shit feel so tight.” he smiles at before thrusting into you shallowly. “s-shit you-fuck i can’t even think y/n.” he groans deeply as he continues to give slow thrusts. “harder jaehyun..” you say pushing your hips into him trying to meet his thrusts.

he does not need to be told twice as he fucks you at a deeper angle. “fuck! jaehyun please don’t stop.” he drills his hips deep into you. “i w-won’t baby don’t worry.” he moves some hair of your face.

he is fucking you the deepest he has ever fucked you. you can feel ever bit of his cock. you are drunk on the feeling of his dick getting lost in it. “feel good baby?” he asks. all you can give him is a moan as an answer.

“baby you are doing so well. gonna let me cum inside your pretty pussy?” he pulls you into a rough kiss making out with you as his dick twitches inside you. he pulls out slightly not wanting to cum before you. “fuck i cant believe i didn’t notice your bra was on. let me take that off for you.” he unclips your bra quickly going back to fucking you.

he doesn’t even give you enough time to think before you are creaming all over his dick. he just watches the mess that oozes out of you. his mouth open as you feel him cum deep inside you. “f-fuck baby.” he whimpers your name quietly before pulling out of you slowly. “shit baby im so sorry i came inside without asking.”

you shake your head. “it’s okay jae. i wanted you to..” you smile kissing his cheek. “fuck you’re gonna make me hard again.” you roll your eyes laughing at him.

“lets clean up and cuddle please?” you ask receiving a nod and a bunch of kisses around your face. “anything you want.”

[xo-cori]

it’s all a game to me anyway

pairing: abby anderson x fem!reader

summary: pining after athletes is never a good idea. that is, unless you’re good at getting your way.

warnings: smut (MDNI), hockey!abby, reader is lowkey a womanizer, choking, the knee thing™, thigh riding, power dynamic switcharoo, no aftercare but in a hot way

a/n: inspired by “music to watch boys to” by mother lana 🙏 if you’re a buff girl named abby anderson who plays hockey pls hit my line immediately. also read pt 2 here!!

“How’d you get in here?”

In any other scenario, her tone would’ve offended you. At least, you would’ve pretended it did. But this is a very special case; you’ve got Abby exactly where you want her, only because you know she feels the same.

It all started a few months ago during your first week of college. You’d developed a reputation around the school pretty quickly– you tend to pick girls up for a night just to leave them in the dust. It’s fulfilling, until it isn’t. Until you move onto the next, getting better and better at pretending you’d fallen head over heels just to take someone to bed. Now, just starting your second semester, you’d climbed up the social hierarchy pretty quickly, and you’ve been eyeing somebody in specific. After playing your tricks with half of her teammates, of course.

You stand in the empty locker room with her as she packs her bag. You can tell she’s fresh out of the shower and had just finished getting changed. You wonder if you could’ve sped this up by walking in a bit earlier.

“I snuck in,” you shrug. “Just noticed you never came out with your team– I wanted to say how sorry I am that you guys lost. You’re the captain, right? You could spread the message.”

Her eyes meet yours and she’s obviously unimpressed. “I could, but I won’t.” She quips.

You tilt your head. “How come?”

“Well, you’re… acquainted with most of them. Tell them yourself.” She says, setting her bag down on one of the benches so that she can face you. Her dirty blonde hair is still damp and, now that you think about it, this is the first time you’ve seen it out of that signature braid she always wears– and you’ve seen a lot of her.

It’s become a habit to show up to every game, every practice, intently watching her command her team and skate around on that ice like her life depends on it. You don’t know how hockey works. You honestly couldn’t care less, but you have more than enough reason to watch it, and you have your music to keep you company.

“Someone’s jealous.” You observe, taking a long step towards her.

Surprisingly, she doesn’t make any attempt to create some distance. She just raises her eyebrows at you. “Are you fuckin’ kidding me? You think I’m jealous?”

“Sounds like it.” You wrestle with a smile, not wanting to blow your one chance at this by pissing her off too much.

“Oh, really? And what’s there to be jealous of?” Abby questions, even if she has a pretty good idea what the answer will be.

“The winning team,” you take another step, “and… y’know, the fact that half of your team has had a turn with me. Not you, though. Not yet.”

The way her jaw tenses up makes your chest swell with pride. “Not yet?” She repeats. “You think I want a turn?”

“If you didn’t, you wouldn’t look at me the way you do. You like it when I watch you all practice, because you know I’m just watching you.” You tell her.

Abby knows there’s no way to argue with that, no matter how much she’d like to. She looks for you in the bleachers and, when she finds you, subconsciously makes a point of holding that eye contact. You always have both of your headphones in. You’re always looking her up and down, licking your lips like she’s nothing but a freshly prepared meal to you. Honestly, it makes her confidence skyrocket. She’s secure in her capabilities, but a little boost never hurt.

“Athletes like being watched. That’s kinda the whole point,” she replies, “doesn’t make you special.”

“But I am special.” Another step forward. At this point, you have to tilt your head up to keep eye contact. “I’ve gotta be. You know what I want, but you’ve never told your coach to make me fuck off.”

That’s true, too, Abby thinks. She’d never admit it, though. “Maybe I should.” She says.

“You won’t.” You grin. “Not until you get your turn, at least.”

She’s the one to take the next step forward. You can feel her breath fan across your face. She doesn’t trust her voice to speak; her hard exterior slowly crumbling under the heat of your gaze.

So, she grabs you by the throat and leans down to catch your lips between hers.

You gasp, shocked that she’d be the one to take the initiative. You weren’t even sure if she liked girls, and here she was, already shoving her tongue past your lips, which you happily accepted. Her chest presses to yours as she backs you up against one of the lockers. You opt to ignore how hard your head hit the metal, given how preoccupied you are by the way she grabs both of your wrists in her other hand and holds them above your head.

Then, she pulls back to look at you. You aren’t the one in control and you know it. Oddly enough, you kind of like it.

“Is this what you wanted?” Abby rasps, shoving her knee between your thighs and pressing up right where you needed her, causing you to let out a pleased sigh.

“Yeah,” you nod, “just didn’t think you’d be so easy.”

She finds it ironic that you of all people would call her easy, but she decides not to linger on it. Instead, she slightly tightens her grip around your throat, reveling in the way she only needs one hand to make your breath stutter. The lack of air gives you a head-rush and you find yourself grinding down onto her thigh. Normally, you wouldn’t let yourself be reduced to a submissive mess, but you’d been pining after her for months. You’d do whatever it takes to get her head between your legs.

Abby kisses you once more, totally ignoring the way your hands struggle against her grip only because you kiss her back with a fervor she’s never felt.

“Look at you,” she murmurs, “fucking yourself on my leg like a dog.”

You whine at the lack of her lips on yours. “I want you so bad, Abby– been waiting for this forever.” You admit, which is just another ego boost for her.

She lets go of your wrists and pulls your arms to wrap around her shoulders. “Go ahead, then. Make yourself cum like this.”

You’re taken aback by the demand. Is that even possible? Hell, just to impress her, you’ll make it possible.

You slowly get yourself into a rhythm, rolling your hips into hers, thighs trembling as you hold yourself up simply by her shoulders. Her muscles flex beneath your hands and it only makes you moan louder. Your head falls back against the locker once more, giving Abby an opening to dive into your neck. She kisses, licks, bites any skin available to her, leaving little marks and bruises in her path. Something for her to gawk at later when you show up to practice (because she knows you will). Her hands hold you by your waist, fingertips digging into your flesh so hard that it hurts.

It only takes another two minutes until you feel your climax boiling somewhere deep inside of you. Your legs are just barely working anymore and your hips move with an untamed rhythm, shamelessly seeking any pleasure you can get. “I’m close,” you whimper, “please, please let me–”

Before you can finish your plea, she’s grabbing onto your hips and holding you still. You groan in frustration, balling your hands into fists and whacking them against her chest. “You fucking bitch!” You whine, only made angrier by the shit-eating grin on her face (plus the way she isn’t phased at all by your punches).

“Sorry,” Abby says, moving in so close to your face that your noses are nearly touching, “just needed to vent all this frustration. You know, since I lost the big game and all.”

She presses another kiss to your lips, and you reach up to grab hold of her hair, trying to deepen it as much as possible. She doesn’t struggle at all to pull away, though. You’ve never loved and hated someone’s muscles so much.

“Let me make it better.” You breathe, trying to move one of your hands down between her legs but she quickly grabs it to restrain you. “Please, I’ll– I promise, I’ll make you forget about that stupid game.”

“That’s not a very tempting offer,” Abby sighs dramatically just to get a rise out of you, “don’t wanna be sore for practice tomorrow.”

You scrunch your nose in thought. Is that an invitation? It has to be. She knows you’ll be there regardless. You stare deep into her eyes with a fury, but this only seems to amuse her.

She lets go of your hips and steps away from you. “See you then.”

You remain pressed up against the locker, lips kiss-bitten and legs shaky. You don’t even want to think about what your neck looks like. Abby grabs her bag from the bench and doesn’t even spare you another glance before walking out of the same door you came in through.

Fuck this, you think. Two can play at that game.

[pombeom]

dear diary,

went to my best friends house and ended up with him fucking me so hard his dad yelled at us the next day. (its not my fault kais too big for me to stay quiet ;-;)

not my fault | kai fic (nsfw)

pairings: bsf! kai x reader, dom! kai x sub! reader warnings: slight exhibitionism?? (parents are in the house), blowjob, hard rough sex, name calling (he calls her a bitch once), nicknames, big dick kai, unprotected sex (wrap it up pls), creampie, loud moaning, angsty ending a/n: i’m so so sorry to the anon who requested this literal months ago! but better late than never right?? this was meant for my 100 bash but that never actually happened because i only received 2 requests :( but i loved this idea so much i still wanted to write it and only managed to do it now.

Dear Diary, 

I said my final goodbye to my best friend today. We let ourselves get carried away in the heat of the moment and now we’re both paying the consequences. 

Kai, my best friend of 5 years, has been with me through thick and thin. From the day we met as flatmates at university, we’ve spent almost every waking hour together. I’m always at him place or he’s always at mine. On this particular occasion, I went over to Kai’s family home for our weekly movie-dinner night. Being the film fanatics we are, each week was one to look forward to. Usually, we’d be at Kai’s apartment but he’s visiting his family for the week and so instead of skipping movie night, he suggested I meet him at his parents’ place instead. Whilst I had met his parents before, we were never particularly close and so you can imagine how nervous I was to be meeting him there. 

I threw on a pair of pyjama shorts and and a T-shirt before heading over to Kai’s. Considering how I usually ended up sleeping over, I’d stopped bothering packing extra pyjamas and always went wearing my night clothes, to which Kai always accommodated to by also wearing his. 

I shake off any nerves and walk up to the front door of his house. It was much larger than I expected but the building was painted a modest cream with the door being a rich navy blue contrasting the lightness off the walls.  I could tell his parents valued interior decor. I knock on the door, awaiting someone to open the door. That someone ended up being his dad who welcomed me in with a gentle smile which I felt had stern undertones. I shook of that feeling upon seeing Kai peer out from the top of the stairs. 

He instantly gave me him usual hug and dragged me upstairs to his room, out of his dad’s disconcerting sight. His childhood bedroom, in contrast to the rest of his house, was exactly like how I’d imagined it to be. With a mixture of greyish blues, white and pops of orange, the style of the room matched his personality. I’m guessing he hasn’t really changed much since he was a kid, which I find really fascinating. 

I take my time to observe each and every detail of his room, scanning my eyes past his bookshelf filled with music books and manga. His drum set took up a significant sector of the space whilst his double bed is pushed against the wall in the corner.

After spending some time catching up, we get to the task at hand and head down to his living room to pick out a movie. I only had to beg for about 5 minutes before Kai gave in and let me pick “The Notebook” as our film for the week. It was either that or his choice “No one gets out” which I definitely wasn’t feeling up to. 

The next bit, I’m going to try and describe as best as I can but the moment was so fuzzy I might end up missing bits out. 

I’ve been infatuated by Kai for about a year now and my skittish feelings for him only grow with the more time we spend together. The way his presence just fills the room was all consuming. I loved having him around and I especially loved his witty comments during our movie nights. Most importantly, would always be moments when I’d catch him staring at me instead of the TV or our fingers and knees would occasionally brush causing little fizzles of electricity. But tonight something was different about him. He seemed to be a little bit more held back than he usually was. I’d assumed that being in his family home meant he was a little more reserved with his actions towards me. 

The movie progressed and I was intently watching Ally and Noah’s relationship grow. Toxic but desperate. Deep yet somehow shallow. Then came the awaited sex scene. Well not awaited exactly but you know what I mean… 

That scene got us both fidgeting. We tended to avoid any movies with such explicit content but this almost seemed to come out of nowhere and having not watched it before, we did not know what to expect. Kai grew even quieter, his words seeming to get stuck. The awkwardness stiffened the air so in order to resolve it, I decided to speak up. 

“So…how are you liking the movie so far?” I questioned, turning my head to face him completely. 

“Yeah, it’s good so far…Just wasn’t expecting to be watching a sex scene with you…” 

He was almost too honest because I’m pretty sure I turned red immediately. 

“Me neither.” I respond quickly, trying not to show my embarrassment. 

“I guess this sort of thing should be normal between friend though, right?” 

“Yeah I guess. Why would it not be?” 

At this point, we’d both drowned out the sound from the TV and we were almost lost in each other’s gaze. 

“Well if you want it to be normal, we can make it happen.” 

“Huh? What!” He reacted to my exclamation with a raised eyebrow, showing confusion at my extreme surprise. 

“What? Did I say something wrong?” 

“No, I just misunderstood what you meant… It was my fault.” 

“Misunderstand? What did you think K meant?” 

“It doesn’t matter. Leave it.” I try brushing it off but he was very obviously curious and once Kai was curious, there was no stopping him. 

“No, tell me. I want to know.” He kept pushing for an answer as he inched closer to me. 

“I just thought you said something about sex becoming normal between us…but then I realised the context and realised you meant us watching sex scenes in movies,” I whispered not wanting to be heard. But from his smirk, I knew he did. 

“I see. Well, do you want sex to be normal between us?” 

“What? Did I hear you right?”

“You heard me.” His suddenly emerged sense of confidence threw me off a little but Kai has such a dynamic personality, you never really know what to expect with him. 

“Umm…” 

“You’re hesitating? So does that means you’re considering it?”

“No! I was just thinking about how to answer your question.”

“It’s a simple question. Do you want sex to be normal between us? Yes. Or, no?” 

Mentally, I had thoughts racing through my head. I thought back on all the times of our lingering accidental touches or his gaze that falls upon me when he thinks I don’t notice. I wanted him then and I want him now. Definitely in a more than friends way. 

“Is it wrong that I want to say yes…” I barely finished the sentence before he cages me in between his arms and the couch, his breath now hitting my face. 

“So you wanna fuck me?” 

“Kai… I-“ 

His lips came crashing down onto mine as his hand pulls my face closer to his, deepening the kiss. It was filled with lust from the start. Not a pure innocent intention in sight. He devoured me and I let him. His tongue slid in and out as his other hand appears in my waist, squeezing it with his huge hands. 

When he pulls away, his sultry eyes settle on mine. I had never seen this side of him before. It was so new, but I liked it. 

“Let’s go upstairs or my parents will catch us. There’s still so much more I want to do with you.” 

His hand grabbed my wrist as he pulls me up to his room, pushing me against the door, as he closes it behind us. 

He interlocked his lips with mine once again, pressing me against the door whilst lifting my leg around his waist. The mere inches between us closed as I felt his body against me, his lower region in particular. 

I slid my hands up his white shirt, feeling his skin and muscles. Soon enough, I pull his shirt over his head as he follows and does the same with me. 

He pulled me over to his bed, pushing me down at the end of his bed whilst he towered over me ensuring I made eye contact his clothed crotch. I untied his plaid pyjama bottoms, pulling them down with his boxers  in one move, as his hard dick sprung onto his bare stomach. I’m certain I started drooling at the sight. He was long and extremely thick, the veins on his dick leading up to his swollen pink tip. 

“Wanna suck me off?” 

My head nodded automatically, all sense of shyness thrown out the window. I needed to taste him and that was all that mattered. 

I began by licking the slit on his tip, tasting his oozing pre-cum. 

“Fuck, stop reading and suck me off you bitch.” It was a name he only ever called me jokingly when we mess around but hearing him say it now had the slick dripping from in between my legs. 

Holding the base of his cock, I take his length in my mouth. He was too big to fit, hence my hands stroking him up and down to stimulate him more. 

“Mhm yes. That’s a good girl. You’re taking me so well.”

His hands wrapped around my hair, fisting it into a ponytale, using it to guide my mouth faster along his girthy dick. 

“Fuck yes! I’m gonna cum if you keep going like that.” 

I felt his cock twitch in my mouth and I prepare to take his load on my tongue, but instead he pulled out, depriving himself of his release. 

“I wanna feel inside you. Now pull your tiny ass shorts down and spread your legs open.”

I obeyed his words exactly, stripping myself of my shorts and opening my legs for him. My panties were absolutely soaked and the slick had ended up dripping down my leg. Before I could even finish processing this, I heard a sharp rip as a bolt of cold air hits my needy clit. He held up my ripped panties, dangling them in front of me as if it were his prize. 

He soon started moving his dick along my folds, collecting the wetness before slamming into me, hitting my g-spot immediately. I had to physically stop myself from letting out a moan by covering my mouth with my own hand. 

“Look at you. Scared you’re gonna wake up my parents with your slutty little moans?” 

“Kai please. Keep going.”

“Someone’s not as scared as she makes out to be then.” He teased, but he listened. 

Pounding into me as if he were some dog in a rut, each push had my eyes rolling into the back of my head. 

Somewhere down the line, I gave up on my attempts at silencing my moans, screaming as he thrusted sharply into my throbbing core. It’s not my fault he was too big for me.

“Your pussy is so tight. You’re taking me so well.” 

“Kai- fuck! You’re so big!” 

It must have boosted his ego because he began pounding into me as my moan escaped freely, my nails clawing at his back for some sense of relief from the overwhelming pleasure. My back arched moving me closer to his body and gave his better access for hitting even deeper. 

“Kai, I’m gonna cum! Please- keep going.” 

“Cum with me angel. 3, 2, 1, cum.”

I let go of my release, as  my orgasm rippled through my body as I shook vigorously. Our mixed cum leaked out from my pussy onto his sheets, making an even bigger mess. 

“Fuck. Kai. That was the best sex I’ve ever had. I don’t think I can give myself to anyone else but you,” my words came out amidst the huffing and puffing. 

“I’m guessing the sex is gonna become normal between us then. Just like you wanted it to.” 

“Pretty sure you wanted it to. Or else this wouldn’t have happened.” I said pointing to the mess in between my legs. 

Without any notice, he stuck his fingers between my pussy lips, gathering up our cum, bringing it up to my lips and he shoves them into my mouth. The sweet taste had me moaning against his fingers. I wanted him to have a taste too so I use my own fingers to get some cum, presenting it in front of him. He hand held mine, and he brought it closer to his mouth before taking my fingers into his mouth, licking them clean. 

He then cleaned up and changed the sheets. I felt a little guilty that I wasn’t much help but my legs were so shaky that I could barely suffice to stand properly. Once his bed was clean, we both hopped in, cuddling each other to sleep. 

The screech of his bedroom door awakened the both of us, my fuzzy vision taking time to adjust to the brightness of the room. I could see clearly again but I wish I didn’t. His dad stood at the end of the bed, arms crossed as his face burnt with fury. Fuck. We were screwed. 

“How dare you! I am disgusted by the both of you! Do you really think fucking a girl in the same house as your parents was the wisest move Kai Kamal Huening?! That is fucking disrespectful and utterly disgusting behaviour from both of you! If I ever see you two hanging out again, I may have to take more extreme measures. I will not have my son fucking around with a girl especially when I am in the house! Do you understand?! Now leave!” His yelling echoed throughout the room, only enhancing the effects of his anger. 

His dad turns around, expecting my indecency as I get out of bed, wearing only Kai’s T-shirt. I abandoned my ripped panties and go commando by putting on my shorts and grabbing my own top. I looked back at Kai’s face once last time before grabbing my phone and basically sprinted out the house. I was embarrassed and felt as though I had been tormented by my worst nightmares. But, I knew Kai had it worst. I should have tried harder to stay quiet. I shouldn’t even started the conversation about the sex scene in the first place. And I definitely shouldn’t have encouraged him to make a move on me. I got in my car and raced home so I could go cry in the comfort of my own bed. 

Diary, whatever am I supposed to do now. I’d had the most incredible sex with Kai, but now it seems like all of it was pointless. Why did his dad have to hear us and call us out? Why did he choose to punish us like this? Have I really lost Kai because I chose to let my emotions control me? 

I’m so lost and confused. But at the same time, I keep replaying moments of last night. I can’t get over it. I can’t get over him. It was as if he was made for me and I, him. 

Maybe his dad will choose to forgive us. I’m going to hope. I won’t lose Kai forever. I’m going to find a way to make things right again. 

That’s all for now. I will write again if anything changes (for the better, hopefully).

-Xoxo, Y/n

[mistywaves98]

Hi meena! This is my first time requesting so pls lmk if I didnt meet your request standard/ I need to fix smt from my req 🫶🏻

I think I'd just like to request wanderer x fem reader and the kinks wanderer has!

My bad if this gets kinda self indulgent..

✧･ﾟ:* ->Wanderer's Kinks!

✧･ﾟ:* ->¡Warnings!: NSFW, Degrading, Fingering, Riding, Dom! Character, Sub! Reader!, Biting, Hair Pulling, Oral (f. receiving)!

✧･ﾟ:* ->Smut written by a minor!

>Degradation

Wanderer just adores the way you clench around his cock whenever he whispers phrases and names of belittlement into your ears, topped with the slightest praise. That mixed with the combination of hushed curses and grunts or moans was just so hot. It always made you squirt for him, and he doesn't hesitate to make fun of you for it too. Though if you ever thought he went too far with the degrading, he'll try to tone it down a bit even if it's a bit difficult for him considering his normally sharp-tongued personality.

"Fuck— ... You masochistic bitch. You like it when I call you my pretty little slut, don't ya?.. Shit, just when I thought your whorish pussy couldn't get any fucking tighter.. God— keep squeezing me like that, pretty thing. I want to see your slutty cunt cum hard around my cock."

>Fingering

He isn't stupid. He's seen the way you practically drool over his hands, or more specifically, those perfect fucking fingers. Wanderer would be lying if he said he didn't take pride in seeing his slender fingers pump in and out of your pussy. His favourite thing to do when fingering you is having you face the mirror as you sit on his lap, back against his chest. That way, you can get a clear view of his fingers moving in and out of your walls.

"What did I tell you about looking away, hm? If you look away one more time, you're not getting to orgasm tonight." Wanderer's free hand came to grab your face, squeezing your cheeks so that your lips are puckered. He forces your head in the direction of the mirror, where you see his long middle and ring finger knuckle deep in your pussy, thrusting in and out at an even pace. Lewd squelches filled the room along with your moans, making him smirk,"See that? See how your greedy cunt sucks in my fingers so eagerly? I know you're on the verge of cumming, so do it. Cum for me."

>Riding

Wanderer absolutely adores the sight of you bouncing on his cock, hands gripping his shoulders tightly for leverage. It's so much fun to see you moaning and crying like a sweet little submissive for him even when you're on top, desperately trying to reach your high. He almost feels bad for just laying back with a sadistic grin on his face, letting you do all the work. But the way your breasts move up and down is so irresistible, he can never stop himself from reaching his hand up to toy with one of them, as his mouth engulfs the other.

His hand comes up to grab your waist as his lips wrap around your right nipple, his other hand reaching up to toy with the other. You gasp when you feel him give it a hard pinch, causing the bud to become slightly swollen. "You look so cute moaning like a whore for me. Can't get enough of my cock penetrating your tight little pussy, can ya?" Suddenly, he pulls his mouth away from your breast and the hand playing with your left nipple goes down to grasp your hips as he begins to bounce you on his cock himself. Sweet mewls of his name fall from your parted lips with every thrust as you feel your climax rapidly approaching.

>Biting/Marking

He is a very possessive person and doesn't appreciate the idea of someone trying to take what's his. So what better way to deter them than showing that you're taken? Your body is like his personal canvas, hickeys are everywhere, especially on your inner thighs and neck. If the marks ever show any sign of fading, he'll be very quick to pounce on you and ensure that your neck is all colours of the rainbow by the time he's done.

Wanderer's teeth sink into the soft flesh of a faded bite mark in a vampiric fashion, the slight pinch of his unnaturally sharp canines not really doing much to lessen the effect. His arms wrap around you from behind, one around your stomach and the other delicately tracing the purplish skin,"These marks are getting to light for my liking. Let's fix that, shall we?" He begins to suck on the fold of skin in his mouth, his teeth simultaneously chewing and nibbling on the flesh slightly till it turns a deep purple mixed with dashes of red,"That's better, now let's move onto the other spots..."

>Hair Pulling

This could go either way, he loves having his hair pulled as much as he likes pulling yours. if you ever have your hair done up in a ponytail, prepare to be feeling a lot of random tugging throughout the day. He loves using your hair as a way to tilt your head in whatever direction he wants you to face. Like pulling it back to tilt it up so your neck is exposed, or to pull your face out of the pillows while he's taking you from behind. When receiving, he adores the way your fingers entangle themselves in his indigo locks whenever he's eating you out, desperately begging him for more.

You lay back on the bed, thighs spread apart as Wanderer practically smothers his face with your pussy. His hands move up to your hips to hold you in place as his sharp eyes glance up to meet your squinted ones,"Stay still." A moan falls from your lips in response as he begins to suck on your throbbing clit, making you throw your head back in bliss. Your hands find their way to the back of his head, fingers carding through his locks before grasping them and attempting to pull him closer. This elicits a pleased groan from him, which vibrates against your clit and makes your toes curl in. "Fuck...pull on my hair like that again and I'll make sure to ravage this greedy pussy—"

[sheisjoeschateau]

"Oh, so we DO love Steve..." | PART I

Steve Harrington x Bauman!fem!reader enemies to lovers, heavy angst, hurt/comfort, upside down mayhem, S2-S4, post S4 universe hot-take, end-of-the-world / dystopian setting, ugly fights turned smut (...but with hella plot). 18+

WHEN THE UNEXPECTED NIECE OF MURRAY BAUMAN GETS THROWN IN THE MIX, THE GANG HAS NO IDEA JUST WHAT THEY'RE IN FOR. SCRATCH THAT - STEVE DOESN'T KNOW. YOU GET ALONG WITH EVERYONE WELL. YOU BANTER WITH THE ADULTS, WHO APPRECIATE YOUR HELP. THE KIDS LOVE AND WORSHIP YOU. YOU'RE HELPFUL ALL AROUND. BUT AS FAR AS STEVE IS CONCERNED, YOU'RE JUST NUISANCE. AFTER ALL, YOU'RE THE REASON HE LOST THE LOVE OF HIS LIFE AND MISSED OUT ON A LIFE THAT "COULD'VE BEEN." IF YOU HAD JUST KEPT YOUR SORRY ASS OUT OF THE PICTURE... IF YOU HAD NEVER GONE WITH NANCY AND JONATHAN AFTER THEY LEFT YOUR WHACK-JOB UNCLE, MURRAY BAUMAN'S, BUNKER? HE WOULD BE HAPPY. SO F*CKING HAPPY. BUT HERE YOU WERE. YOU WERE BASICALLY THE COOLER (...AND SURE, MUCH MORE ATTRACTIVE) FEMALE VERSION OF MURRAY BAUMAN. YOU WERE SARCASTIC, QUICK-WITTED, TOO SMART FOR YOUR OWN GOOD, AND APPARENTLY BUILT FOR THE WAR. SURE, YOU WEREN'T AS BRASH AS YOUR UNCLE. BUT IN STEVE'S EYES, YOU WERE SOMEHOW FAR MORE OBNOXIOUS. HE DOWNRIGHT HATED YOU. HE WILL FOREVER HATE YOU... BUT WILL HE?

DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT GIVE PERMISSION FOR MY WORK TO BE COPIED AND/OR REPOSTED ON HERE OR ANY OTHER PLATFORM, OR PUT INTO ANY AI PROGRAMS. THIS IS AN 18+ BLOG, MDNI.

An original fanfiction series, written by Misha St. James.

⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆ SERIES MASTERLIST ⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆

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I did not proof-read this after Tumblr gave me hell trying to share. So pls excuse possible typos. hehe

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Let's just get to the point, shall we?

Once upon a time, a young boy named Will Byers went missing. Later, he was found in an alternate dimension by the world's #1 mom and a cynical cop turned hero. A girl with a shaved head had telekinetic superpowers, befriend's Will's four loyal friends along the way and helping them track down their missing party member. Then, whatever the hell was on the other side - whatever was in this...upside down...took back Eleven. She'd been missing ever since that dreadful winter.

Fast forward to now: you're sitting in your uncle's bunker, looking at his wild display of efforts.  Papers, files, whiteboards covered in multiple words, arrows, sketches - all in different colored markers. Murray Bauman was on a mission, and he would be damned if that grumpy, cynical smart-ass known as Jim Hopper honestly thought that he could dismantle his efforts.  Nice try, chum. Game on. Thankfully, you'd gone to school with Barbara Holland. That's whose parents had assigned the task of searching for her to your uncle. Murray was asking you tons of questions, and you were glad to help. It meant spending time with the only family member you cared for, despite his wackiness. You guys got each other. Bantered well. Got shit done. Honestly, it was also a great way of drinking safely and not with a bunch of rowdy teenagers at some stupid party. You got along just fine with everyone at school. But damn, they could all be annoying.  ...especially Steve fucking Harrington, who was now the topic of conversation. You know, given that his house is where Barbara was last seen. "It just isn't making sense," your uncle huffed, raking his hands through his oily dark hair.  You sipped on the glass of vodka that your uncle had poured you, hissing at the strong taste. Leaning across the coffee table, seated on his couch, you tried to connect the dots with him. "I'm telling you, someone in that group of teens knows what's up. Or at least has an idea." Your uncle swigged at his vodka, defeated but ruthlessly trying to piece together his clusterfuck of scattered evidence across his wall. "Well then, guess we better grill 'em."

And that's how you come into the picture. When Nancy and Jonathan came to seek out Murray. And when they arrive, they're surprised to see you. They recognize you from school. Jonathan took several classes with you. In fact, the two of you got along well at Hawkins High. No, you weren't close. But you both were cool. Nancy, on the other hand, didn't know anything about you. Just that you took political science with Barbara, and got straight A's across the board. You could've been class valedictorian. But you were not looking for any sort of title that demanded pressure or attention. At least not in high school. Career wise? Sure. Not here, though. Not Hawkins. "Your timeline is wrong," Nancy is saying, making you and Bauman freeze.  Nancy is telling you that the girl with the buzzed hair is not Russian. She is, in fact, from Hawkins lab. And her name is...Eleven? So they do know something. And something turns out to be everything.

Jonathan sits you both down to relay everything to you both. And woof, does it give you guys a headache. Strangely, though... it makes a whole lot more sense than some mundane explanation of sorts. Obviously though, that puts you all in a tough spot where you'll all need to put your heads together. So the two classmates of yours stay, sharing in chilled Smirnoff and having to endure the hilarity that ensues between you and your uncle. You and Murray both banter well with the two of them. Jonathan finds you to be hilarious. Nancy finds you intimidating. Very intimidating. You’re quick witted, darkly humored and independent. But there is a reserved, mysterious sort of feminine energy to you, despite your more masculine strengths and bluntness. Over glasses of stiff vodka, you all come to the conclusion on how to go about exposing the truth about Barbara Holland's disappearance: water it down.

At the end of the night, you're all winding down -- you and your uncle having convinced the two lovebirds to stay. But when you're telling them they can take your uncle's guest room while you take the couch, Jonathan's asking if he can take the couch. You blink. Huh? ...surely Nancy is not still with --

"Okay, I'm confused," your uncle's saying. "What's going on here? Lovers quarrel?"

You cock an eyebrow, leaning back into the loveseat.

But Jonathan and Nancy are then talking over each other with weird, flustered excuses...saying they're just friends.

You and your uncle bust out laughing. And then you're shrinking back in your seat, knowing what's coming: one of your Uncle Murray's lovebird witchdoctor speeches that he barrels into anytime that two delusional people have convinced themselves that they aren't in love. Or at the very least, not into each other. 

Uncle Murray is breaking them down, one at a time. He's reading Jonathan like an angsty teen novel, seeing right through him and his brooding, mysterious energy.  Trust issues, thanks to daddy issues. Yikes, that makes you sip some more drink.

And then he's onto Nancy, saying that she's harder to read. But he manages anyway.  It's the Bauman way.

He's telling her that she's likely like everyone else, "afraid of what would happen if you accepted yourself for you who you really are." He looks at you. "Am I in the right ballpark?"

You nod, swallowing the last drop of vodka in your cup. "That...and afraid of that might happen if she didn't retreat back to the safety of someone familiar."

Nancy looks bewildered. But more than that, she looks caught. 

"Name?" your uncle is prodding, snapping his fingers.  "Name."

You and Jonathan both say it. "Steve."

Uncle Murray's face is priceless. He feigns adoration, putting on a baby voice as he repeats the name. "Dawh. Steve. We like Steve."

"Yes," Nancy laughs nervously.  Eek, you think.

"But we don't love Steve..." Your uncle's words floor Nancy.

And when Nancy's saying something about still being with Steve, insisting that she loves him, you roll your eyes. Even scoffing, getting her attention. Maybe if the vodka weren't in your system, you wouldn't be so bold. But Jonathan's mopey look just gives you more confidence.

"Boom, ladies and gents," you say with a grin. "Second lie of the evening." "The hell was the first one?" Jonathan asks, blinking. "You guys being just friends." You and your uncle say something along the same lines, simultaneously. You both laugh together, clinking glasses. The two not lovebirds just squirm awkwardly in their seats. Finally, you sigh. "Look. You guys don't wanna give up the ghost? Be my guest. I'll happily keep my bed." You stand up, ready to turn in. But not until casting them one last work, pointing a finger. "But if I were you two? I'd cut the bullshit and just share the damn bed." Murray snorts, rising to stand as well. He stretches. "Welllllp. I'm turning in for the night." You begin mounting the stairs, hollering: "Better act fast, kiddos. At least before this poison in my system knocks me out cold. Don't worry, Nancy, I don't snore. So if you do choose me, you're safe." "But that's so lame," Murray adds to that wryly, heading off to his room. You both tell each other goodnight, leaving the two angsty teens to decide their fate. All you know is that Nancy ends up walking out and not coming back, at one point in the night.  Yeah, thought so. Breakfast the next morning is even more hilarious. You and your uncle ask every single question that drips with innuendo that you ever possibly could. And it's worth every fucking minute.

Murray's gonna need to keep that couch cleaned. To your surprise, Murray sends you off with Nancy and Jonathan, but given that you want to go and see it all for yourself you don't mind. You’re basically his little spy.  Most uncles send off their nieces and nephews with some good advice, maybe a packed lunchbox or snacks, and a warm hug. 

Yours, however, sends you off with a full bottle of vodka, a thick wad of cash and some fun sarcastic banter. But he headlocks you in for a hug, and you cackle. He really is a nutcase, and man you can't help but love him. He is so not the parental type. Yet somehow, he's practically raised you. And in your opinion, you're pretty well-prepared for the world. More than most, in Murray's opinion. So off you go with Nancy Wheeler and Jonathan Buyers, and they both honestly enjoy your company. It helps them get past their umm...well...awkward new reality. That new reality that comes post-sex, after a long ass time of playing the tip-toe game. The sexual tension between them is hysterical to you. But you keep your thoughts to yourself for now. The vodka did most of the talking for you last night.

When you both arrive at wherever the hell your destination is, it's dark outside. And if you're being honest, it's pretty creepy. You're somewhere near the woods, and as you all walk closer you're beginning to see lights approaching you...along with a handful of shadowed figures. 

Fuck, you literally just got here.

But then, after a tense several moments... Nancy and Jonathan call out to them. You jump, startled at the fact that they do it so confidently. But the name that they call out suddenly makes it all make sense. "STEVE?" "NANCY...?" And that's how you became a crucial part of the most royal pain in the ass, King Steve's, life.

[utilitycaster]

feel free to ignore if you feel like it's too theoretical/parasocial/etc. but: I see how the campaign as a whole is off because of how lack of prep influenced the cast to create somewhat unfit characters, but as someone who got immensely annoyed by this episode, I'm wondering why has that throughline carried out for so long. why haven't the cast decided to start playing their characters in a way that leads to a more cohesive and satisfying story? is the hesitation and bizzare opinions on gods a very dedicated RP choice or do you think the players themselves are also at a loss? I'm honestly very confused about that, given how driven and decisive they played VM and M9 during their oneshots. I don't want to feel like I'm singling anyone out to hate but e.g. the way taliesin plays caduceus vs ashton is particularly puzzling to me.

Hey anon,

This is all highly speculative (as, to be fair, was the original idea the cast was given very little information, and that turned out to be right) but I think it's the far-reaching consequences of that initial lack of prep combined with the fact that it's been a very central-plot focused campaign that failed to allow the characters to develop into more decisive people. It also, I think, centers the Ruidusborn such that I suspect a lot of the rest of the table is taking their lead.

The Mighty Nein, we know, involved a lot of prep with Matt specifically offering feedback and vetoing certain aspects. Every character came in with pretty clear goals, and because it was a character-driven campaign we got to see those goals change as they learned more: Caleb and Fjord notably abandon their original goals in favor of new ones. Veth and Caduceus achieve theirs; Jester as well, and she develops new ones as she becomes less sheltered. Beau and Yasha's exact goals were much more nebulous, but they have the opportunity to confront their pasts at length and find new purpose and peace throughout the narrative. I don't think it's productive to rehash everything every time but: lack of pre-existing long-term relationships and more work on the short-term friendships that existed, the fact that Beau and usually Molly due to Yasha's absences (and later Caduceus) were free agents who didn't know anyone prior to their meeting, and the fact that the party had like 2 gold to their name and had to double up in odd configurations plus their willingness to engage in conflicts led to a fairly quick and deep bond, which also influenced their goals and dynamics.

Vox Machina were initially very generally sketched out characters, but after they began doing more there was a similar effort put into to backstories, and I think going back after they'd already played a bit meant they knew more about who they wanted these characters to be. The pre-stream plot, as we can tell from the origins comics, was also heavily backstory focused; the Briarwoods arc is when most people feel the streamed campaign really takes off.

We have seen the backstories of the characters of Bells Hells, but a lot of them are deeply tied into a long-running main plot that doesn't really allow for the same development over time. Like, Percy, for example, actually does his "plot" about quarter of the way into the campaign; but this kickstarts his development. Fjord is rather similar; he learns the source of his powers quite early on, but grapples with them until the halfway point and then the rest of the campaign is him embracing something new. To compare, I suspect Laura envisoned Imogen's story as being not dissimilar in the sense of "learn what my powers come from, find a way to better control or perhaps get rid of them" and so upon finding out this is the lynchpin of the entire plot, Imogen never has that post-resolution time to cook, essentially. Even for those who had slightly more rewarding plot beats they kind of felt like "let's address this problem so we can get back to the moon stuff" (Chetney, Laudna) and in some cases, I think it felt to the players, rightly or wrongly, like those plots were actively rushed to the point that they couldn't explore them (I suspect this happened for Ashton during the solstice split). There's been a hurry-up-and-wait sense of urgency over the whole campaign because it's a plot that was introduced very early and has never let up. There's been no "what do we do" type breaks and I'd be shocked if there are. We've sort of run out of plot because we've speed run everything that would have been a plot in a different campaign.

So I think the players don't know how to evolve their characters because there's been no in-world impetus to evolve, really. Now, as someone who prefers to play people who are already decisive, the fact that most of the cast went for kind of indecisive/impulsive types isn't my bag, but that is valid; but it means no one's really had the chance to organically move from that.

I also think that the fact that there's one big plot that really centers the ruidusborn is another factor. Even if Orym, for example, were the type to shut down the party, what is one person who can't reasonably stop two spellcasters from going into the Hallowed Cage going to do? I think this post makes a good point; I think putting the pressure very heavily on two players who (very understandably! for a number of reasons!) are among the most averse to making a hard and potentially alienating or unpopular choice has sort of prevented anyone else from taking a wild swing. The other campaigns had a much more even distribution of who could make decisions within the party, and I think that reflects that. I also think this is uniquely an issue for longform campaigns; I haven't seen this hesitancy from Laura nor Ashley in Candela, Downfall, nor in the various Daggerheart one-shots and miniseries, since you have to swing big there.

I do want to cover one point specifically, which is that I actually find Ashton to be one of the better played characters. I disagree with them, to be sure, but like, Caduceus is a character who can be arrogant in his fairly limited worldview, but who is also consistently very empathetic and kind. Ashton has that arrogance, but without those priorities. Caduceus isn't really invested in hurting those who hurt him; he's interested in stopping those who would hurt his home, family, or friends, and if that requires hurting them he's okay with that. Ashton really does want to beat up those they deem responsible for their own pain, justified or not. I think taking the shard was a great move and stand by that [though, admittedly, it and the bit about Predathos needing a vessel just now have me like. the consequences have been conveyed in a crystal clear manner to ME and somehow the cast is not getting Matt flat-out saying in game THIS IS WHAT WILL HAPPEN, so idk what's up with THAT.] and my issues stem specifically from his decision to claim to speak for the weak and then immediately accept the titans saying that a remade world in which only the strong survive is fine. Like, I don't think there is a problem in how Caduceus is played vs. Ashton, in that I think they are both internally consistent as characters; I think it's just. Caduceus is someone who tries to make decisions that minimize broad harm to that which he deems good, and Ashton is often, by their own admission (episode 78), selfish and conceited. Like, Taliesin is just. Playing someone who is often not a great person this time. And that's a valid choice. But I think it's in a narrative that didn't really permit enough time and space for characters to change meaningfully so Ashton is a bit stuck there whereas, while Caduceus didn't have nearly as much of a gap between who he already was and the hero he needed to be, he had far, far more room to grow.

[weirdsht]

Heya!! Can I request a tcf x reader fic from where the reader is teenager and got teleported there? Somehow they can see the dreams of the future and knew about tcf novel while also being a full on simp for the main characters?(But also the thing that the young reader was someone who has been to various worlds and was in a loop, repeating things but without the memory of them doing so each time. They get glimpses ofcourse but it was just their past self trying to give out signals to not repeat any mistakes)

Definitions - Cale & Teen! Reader

notes: sorry anon i couldn't reflect all of your ideas because i found some of them hard to combine when i started writing. also this plot is better suited for a long fic/series but i don't have that time and energy huhu

tags: gender-neutral reader, mentions of death and dying (can be a little graphic but nothing too bad), teenager reader, nightmares

English isn’t my first language so there will be grammatical errors

Pls don't repost my work anywhere without my permission

Constructive criticisms and any kind of interaction are more than welcome

Requests are open and welcome (for a limited time)

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“You should be more careful, this is uncharted territory.”

The look-a-like caressed your face softly as they spoke. Eyes filled with concern and uncertainty bore into you.

You may look alike but there’s something different about them.

Maybe it’s their mature aura. Perhaps it could be the tired look in their eyes. As though they have been suffering for eternity and want everything to end.

Whether they long for peace or eternal rest even you do not know.

“Still… this is a good opportunity and something we haven’t tried yet. Maybe you’ll be safer under his watch.”

“What do you mean by that? Who are you?”

You spoke for the first time since being transported in this weird abyss.

Being transmigrated into a novel like a lousy isekai protagonist was already confusing, but now you have to add weird dreams on top of that.

However, it beats trying to survive in that place you used to call home.

Between being endlessly confused and going back there… you’d choose the former any time of the day.

“I am you, well a part of you at least. As for what I mean… let’s just say this is for your own good.”

The supposed “you” paused briefly as they rested their hand on their chin. Probably thinking about how much they can disclose. Once they made up their mind their fingers caressed your head.

You may not know what’s happening, but you can tell they’re trying to provide comfort.

And it’s probably for the arduous path waiting beyond this dream.

“We’ve been through this many times, and each time you forget… I do not know if god has forsaken us or is playing a cruel joke…”

The look-a-like sighed before hugging you tightly. You meant to reciprocate, however, before you could raise your arms a sharp pain went through your neck.

“AGH! IT HURTS!”

It really does. It feels as though someone’s digging a knife through your neck, Trying to separate your head from your body.

When you manage to come back to your senses the other you are gone. The only thing left in the abyss is your and your throbbing neck.

…And wouldn’t you know, the moment you looked at your hands that were previously clutching your neck… all you could see was blood.

“-[me]”

“-[me]!”

“[Name]!”

“[Name] wake up!”

You jolt up as the familiar voice wakes you up from your dream. That’s right, you are currently under Cale Henituse’s wing after being transmigrated inside the novel you were reading. You have momentarily forgotten such a fact.

Clutching your throbbing neck, you tried to look at the redhead through your tears. Not that you are succeeding at the moment. However, you think you could see a slightly startled look on the young master’s usually calm face.

“Young master..?”

You asked, unsure of everything as your mind is still hazy. Still trying to get out of dreamland.

“You were screaming and crying in your sleep.”

Cale stated calmly as if he wasn’t panicking a minute ago. Still, his eyes roamed around you several times to double-check if there was anything wrong.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

The redhead asks as he gently wipes your tears and pry your hands away from your neck.

“I’m sorry young master. I don’t think I can for I don’t remember the contents of my dream… All I could remember was that there was a searing pain in my neck. It-it felt so real. As though I was in the middle of the battlefield and someone was sawing their sword back-and-forth on my neck…”

You tried to explain to the best of your abilities. You didn’t want to lie to the man that you considered your saviour.

Both when you were reading the novel and when you transmigrated.

In every form, fictional character or not, Cale Henituse has always been your saviour in one way or another. And thus you hold deep respect for the man.

“Don’t push yourself. Sometimes forgetting and never remembering is better than being reminded constantly.”

Ah, he must be referring to his record ability. A blessing and a curse indeed…

“Still, if you feel unwell or anything come to me. I took a kid like you in so I must take responsibility for you till the very end.”

Cale Henituse probably doesn’t know the impact of his words. Just how much you have longed to hear such things.

No, perhaps he does. Perhaps more than anyone, Kim Rok Soo has been the one longing to hear those words since he was a child.

“I’ll keep that in mind…”

With that, Cale stepped out for a moment to ask a servant to fetch a glass of warm milk. After doing so he returned to your side, sitting on the side of your bed. He looks unwilling to leave you, despite having three younger children waiting for him in his bedroom.

“Don’t hold back, have you seen me holding back from doing and saying whatever I want? You don’t have to push yourself to act like a grownup around me. I’m the adult, those things are for me to bear.”

Cale’s words suddenly found their way to your memory when you were about to urge him to go back to On, Hong, and Raon. That combined with the redhead’s determined gaze to not leave your side has you clamping your mouth shut.

Soon enough a maid delivered the glass of milk to your room and you drank it to your heart’s content. Then the morning after that you could feel the children averaging 7 years old sleeping beside you.

The weeks following that are peaceful. Well as peaceful as Cale’s life could get at least. Not that it says much since he has the tendency to meddle in things that will only jeopardize his slacker life.

Despite that, your days are looking better. After that night you didn’t seem to experience excruciating nightmares anymore. You also seemed to have opened up to the rest of the crew.

Perhaps that’s why Cale became complacent, causing him to lower his guard.

And perhaps that’s also why his face hardens 10x more than it would have weeks ago. His anger soars through the sky, reaching the gods even, as he hears the heartbroken sobs you utter on your lips after waking up from a nightmare.

“Am I such a bad child for the gods to do this to me? Have they forsaken me? What did I do that was so wrong that warrants this kind of suffering?”

You sobbed on the young’s master chest. You look so out of it. Eyes glazed over as if you’re not with Cale despite being in his embrace. You continued to wail, continued to curse the world for putting you in a type of pain that not even Cale can comprehend.

“I’m tired, I’m so tired. How many times has it been? I’ve tried my best… I always did, but I don’t know what the gods want.”

As you looked up at the ceiling, perhaps trying to directly ask the gods, Cale could finally clearly see your eyes.

They were filled with pain and suffering. Such young eyes carry the weight of the world.

It did not belong to the teen who was laughing and playing around with the kids and Choi Han.

It was still you, but it wasn’t the you that Cale is currently raising.

The meddlesome transmigrator couldn’t understand it himself, but he was sure of this feeling that he had about you.

Hence why when you finally passed out he immediately ordered someone to summon Cage and Saint Jack.

Cale Henituse might be a piece of trash but he always sees through his promises.

Even if he has to fight every god out there to fulfil it.

Because for Cale Henituse, that’s what it means to be a guardian.

[heartsforseo]

Strawhats with a member who likes Sanrio

A/n: I LOVE Sanrio sm and used to have a Keroppi mirror and Hello Kitty plush (now I have more >:)). The Skincare fic did better than I thought tbh. And I ws brainstorming what fic to write since I ws bored. So pls request :(( also maybe a bit oc??

⭑Luffy wouldn't understand why you like Sanrio and what's the hype about it.

⭑Yeah, he heard about it from Makino and got a shirt that's Kitty, but that's that.

⭑When you ramble about Sanrio to him, he'd just laugh about it and say, "You really know so much about this, Y/n!"

⭑Especially about your fav character(s), he'd just listen to you, smiling and looking right at you. Though he might doze off from time to time.

⭑And if he ever remembers, he'd tell you about the Hello Kitty shirt he got from Makino.

⭑And if he ever figures out that he had that merch before you, he'd boost about it and talk about it until dinner arrives.

⭑But now whenever you guys stop on a new island, he'd race you on the Sanrio merchandise and steal buy one for you and him.

⭑Zoro, the best man, would stare at you like you just escaped from the mental asylum.

⭑He really doesn't know anything about Sanrio. He thought that it was some booze at first based on how much you'd talk about it.

⭑But when you finally explained what it was to him he was like://

⭑He noticed your gloomy expression and he suddenly started panicking.

⭑Would try to tell you what he heard from your rambling, but all you could hear were some loud stutterings.

⭑It was honestly laughable how hard he tried. So extra credit for him.

⭑You told him how he acts like Badzt and he was like, "Is he cool?"

⭑But now whenever you guys would stop by a new island, he'd somehow reach the Sanrio stall first.

⭑Nami would gasp, someone actually knows Sanrio???

⭑When Nami was young, she'd see it on one of the newspaper pages. She'd always look forward to the new chapters to be released.

⭑She'd also hear some of it from Bellemere and would get hand-me-downs from Nojiko.

⭑So when she overhears you ramble about Sanrio to someone she'd butt in and share her opinion.

⭑After the conversation, she'd start noticing how many references and merch you have of your favorite character.

⭑Now, whenever you guys stop on a new island, she'd happen to buy you clothes for your favorite character.

⭑Say your thanks and she might buy you more. (But don't abuse it or make her angry, she'll pull up the bills.)

⭑Sanji also knows a lot about Sanrio.

⭑Working at Baratie as a server and cook, he'd seen a lot of girls wearing Sanrio bracelets or necklaces.

⭑He'd even gift Sanrio cut flowers with a letter (the dedication of this man goes crazy).

⭑So when he finds out you like Sanrio, he immediately shows you his pile of plushies, posters, cards, stickers, etc.. you name it.

⭑Every day, you gotta expect a gift from him.

⭑And it doesn't help that he gets more creative--day by day. For example, he'd first give you small gifts then start getting bolder and bolder.

⭑He’d also make you a sanrio-themed food/dessert/drink.

⭑Whenever you guys would go to a new island, he'd add a "gift for Y/n" to the list.

⭑And when you all would set sail, the cycle returns.

⭑Ussopp is also one of the people who knows a lot about Sanrio.

⭑He was just skimming the newspaper and saw Sanrio, now he looks forward to the stories and maybe even gets some inspiration for his stories.

⭑When you told him that you love Sanrio, he told you about his stories and that he met the creator of Sanrio. Even meeting KeroKeroppi.

⭑But fr though, he probably made a weapon inspired by Sanrio.

⭑Ooh, speaking of weapons. He has an inspired Sanrio attack and name.

⭑Now whenever you guys boarded off, he'd look for gunpowder and get some ideas and critiques from you.

⭑Chopper has heard of Sanrio from the townsfolk and Dr. Hiriluk.

⭑When you told him you like Sanrio he was happy.

⭑He starts talking about things from the past that link with Sanrio.

⭑When you told him that his animal form is like Deery-Lou, he'd whine and say, "I'm a reindeer, not a deer!"

⭑All jokes aside, he likes getting praised and being told by strangers that he looks like a Sanrio character.

⭑He likes sweets so when he saw a Sanrio-themed lollipop he'd start squealing and run over to buy one.

⭑Now whenever you have to go to a new island, you'll see Chopper with 2-3 Sanrio-themed lollipops.

⭑Robin would also know what Sanrio is

⭑Looking at other children having those kinds of stuff, I'm sure she must have dreamt of having at least one merch before.

⭑But when she was still Ms. All Sunday, I'm sure she kept track of the storyline in the newspapers.

⭑When you tell her about your love for Sanrio she'll say, "Is that so? I have some fair share about it."

⭑She collects the little kinds of stuff. For example, she has a keychain of kuromi and Aggressive Retsuko (it reminds her of Chopper).

⭑Now whenever you guys get off to a new island, she'll maybe buy you a keychain and match with her (if she has time, especially since she's looking for poneyglyphs).

⭑Franky has heard of Sanrio before.

⭑Especially from Tom-san.

⭑He honestly likes Sanrio. He even tried to make one before, when he was young.

⭑When you told him 'bout your love for Sanrio, he immediately thought of building you one.

⭑AND HE ACTUALLY DIDD!!! It was a life-size Pochacco statue!

⭑If you didn't like the character or have other commissions, Franky would happily do them!

⭑Now, whenever you guys settle to a new island, you don't have to worry about getting the limited's since Franky could make them.

⭑Hands down, Brook probably knows the owner☠︎︎

⭑This guy is so old he may even helped with the soundtrack.

⭑All jokes aside tho, I'll say that Sanrio wasn't really known when he was still alive. And considering he has been wandering on his own for 50 years, he had definitely missed much of it.

⭑You'll have to tell him what the latest chapter is and what he missed (He's in the corner, crying cuz he missed so much).

⭑He'd probably play a soundtrack he remembers when he first watched it 50 years ago.

⭑But once you fill him in on the latest news, he'll also be fangirling with you!! (Yoohoo new buddy!!)

⭑Now, whenever you guys would settle on a new island, you both would hang out and discuss the latest episode.

⭑Jimbei I'd say would know the basics

⭑I mean, he has been a fighter so I'd say he hasn't gotten some time for relaxation.

⭑he reminds me of Hangyodon sm :(((

⭑I mean, he's a nice guy who likes the best for others.

⭑When you told him about your love for Sanrio, he'd be like, "Oh I know some of that." but he'd prefer to listen to you.

⭑When you tell him about his similarities to Hangyodon, he'll probably try to learn more about him.

⭑Hangyodon would probably be one of his favorites. Especially since he's the first one he knows a lot about.

⭑Now whenever you guys would leave for the next island, you'd give him some small stickers and ties.

A/n: Okokokokok so ofc I don't know MUCH about Jimbei yet. And I just got into the backstory of the sun pirates. I'm at like 536. But anyway, I finally finished this fic after 23 hours. Ofc I was bored again so I wrote. My next fic would be the Gaming one unless someone sent a request. ALSO MAYBE OOC

[lyneytricks]

Come on, won't you tell me more? (Sethoscara) | dividers by cafekitsune

Word count- 3040 words | not proofread, pls tell me if there's any mistakes (if you actually read all this lol)

Sethos has feelings for Wanderer but hasn't realized it yet. This fic is kinda about how his curiosity for the eccentric turns into a meeting and then to infatuation something something etc. Lowkey im just talking and its disguised as a character study disguised as a fic. Wanderer knows Sethos likes him, he doesn't do anything about it (ALSO hasn't realized he likes Sethos) | Also very very brief suggestion of sethos fantazising ab wanderer innapropriately

Sethos is naturally curious. He wants to see, to know and live and experience anything and everything, to touch everything he can afford to have in his grasp. 

That is, perhaps, a reason why he is so insistent on knowing more of The Wanderer. Perhaps it is simply his nature to want to come closer to the unknown. 

And unknown he is, that man, practically a walking enigma.  

Wanderer, Sethos has come to realize, is everything but clear.  

His attire is Inazuman, customs and features reminiscent of the nation, as well, even if he does not acknowledge it in a way that is substantial. He speaks of it as if it will burn his tongue, layer of hatred overlayed through his words so thin you can barely notice. For all anyone knows, Sumeru is his home, as always has been, though his ways of speaking betray him. The Snezhnayan accent he has adapted over the years as thick as the snow upon its land, as the walls of the Temple of Silence. 

Ah, and his attitude, of course. Sethos tries only to be honest when he says he is unique, and not in a good way, precisely. Though, he has seen the way the other treats children and elders, those young and weak and in need, how he is so kind it shocks even himself. 

Wanderer pretends he does not show kindness. That he is not soft, as humans are. 

Perhaps, is his final thought, that is why he is so curious, why he finds himself looking and trying over and over. Again and again, he searches until he is exhausted and spent and sore, in search of a glance, a conversation, anything he can get. 

Sethos looks and looks, finds himself looking up, up to the now-familiar voice he has filed in his head as “Hat Guy” (Quite silly, isn’t it? That such a serious man, someone of such mystery has such a ‘name’? That the idea he finds himself besotted with has such an unserious title?) 

There is a flash of white and blue and the movement of every article of clothing, shadow cast from the ornate and intricate hat the Wanderer wears, and Sethos looks, the giddy smile he is sure is on his face contrasting the Wanderer’s own.  

The anemo user tells him something, some teasing comment that the other is meant to react to, meant to hate or like or answer to (It is masked as mocking, though Sethos knows better by now). There is, however, a small truth in his words (“I’d say you are no errand boy at all,”)  

He does not, only offering to spend time together with a small truth of his own, (“I’d say you are no student either,”) and the Wanderer is gone, flash of white and blue and no longer a shadow to be noticed. 

The Wanderer always finds himself leaving, vanishing from these encounters without a trace (he is exceptionally skilled in being gone, of not being seen when he wishes not to). Sethos, he finds, is honest with him. Too vulnerable, is his first conclusion, though he soon notices the electro user is simply emotional in what he chooses to share. He will not bare open his heart for the Wanderer to see, not at first glance, and it makes the Wanderer curious. Because, of course, the forbidden makes one want. 

During their first meetings, the puppet thought Sethos to be nothing more than a pesky bug, a fly he must swat away before it is attached to him. He could not bear to think of the idea of companionship, not with a human. Not with someone he will have to face the thought of losing. 

He has found companionship. In Buer, the Traveller (and their annoying pest of a travel companion) 

Two of those three he is certain are not mortal, that they will not die unless killed, like he. This, he can manage, this he lets himself, because even though he is not as he once was, he is still as scared and weak for those he finds himself close to.  

Loss is not a thing he could handle, and yet. 

And yet he finds himself looking, as well, searching out of the corner of his eye for Sethos, finds himself waiting for a voice that never comes at the slightest flash of yellow clothing. He finds he does not run anymore, be it by his own curiosity, or by, Archons forbid, affection. 

He holds conversations with the boy (An adult, technically, though he is so young Wanderer cringes at the thought of calling him a man), a back-and-forth fuelled by mutual curiosity that neither Sethos nor he can help but fall for, even if they know every question is a careful ruse.  

The Wanderer, Sethos quickly realises, knows how to make himself interesting, how to be alluring. He knows and understands the inner wonders of every mind but his own, uses them in his favour to gain an advantage, to have an upper hand that Sethos is exceptionally weak to. 

It is natural, then, that the green-eyed boy takes Wanderer to see things, to watch and experience and know, things Sethos would have liked to be shown by someone he likes (Selfishly, foolishly, Sethos hopes the Wanderer likes him. He reasons that the eccentric does, enough for him to accompany Sethos in these outings, enough for him to appreciate these moments. Right? He dares not ask) 

These things, of course, Wanderer has seen before Sethos was even conceived, before he was but an idea in his mother’s dreams and a hope in his father’s mind (before even that, still, though he wishes not to think too much. The idea makes his stomach churn, like he is doing something he should not by entertaining Sethos), and he is so amused by the idea that he cannot help but laugh. A human, trying to teach him things he has all but memorized centuries ago. His voice is an honest, quiet thing. The most sincerity he has let himself show this far, the most he has let himself show that he cares. 

“You humans are impressed by anything” He mutters, and even though the sentence alone would sound condescending, the tone in which the Wanderer speaks seems far too vulnerable to be true. (In truth, the puppet is envious of this, the ease in which Sethos is content with nothing and impressed by everything. He, too, was as young and excitable and easy to please as he claims Sethos to be. The memory is bitter, tainted by time and change and knowledge, though he wonders if he will ever be as happy as he was then.)  

Sethos, in turn, does not question why the other uses the word ‘Human’ (he is one too, is he not?), offering a grin and an oddly cheeky comment about appreciating beauty. The electro user shoots Wanderer a glare when saying this, and the aforementioned man simply laughs.  

He understands what that means. He notices what Sethos’ curiosity has blossomed into, what his lingering stares mean. He knows.  

How could he not? The eccentric has lived and seen, experienced far too much not to.  

Wanderer thinks, briefly, that he should not let it happen. He should tell Sethos off, crush his hope before it takes root and blooms, before he thinks he may have a chance. He should stop himself before he lets himself hope too much, as well. 

He does not.  

The puppet realises, then, that he has become incredibly soft. He had once called this behaviour weak, though he now knows it is not (Buer has become horribly insistent on changing his view on emotion, since taking him under his wing). The anemo user does not answer.  

He cannot bring himself to, and Sethos notices. He notices, and yet, he says nothing more until it is his hour to part. 

The boy says something, then, and though Wanderer’s first reflex is to pull away, he does not. He offers Sethos company during the walk, because the night is dangerous even in the city, and pretends not to notice the flush in Sethos’ face when he agrees.  

He is being disgustingly honest.  

Why?  

He wonders if this is because how he has changed over his time in Sumeru, or because of Sethos. Is someone’s mere presence enough to do such a thing? 

Sethos is surprisingly quiet during the walk back, so unlike himself that the Wanderer considers asking. He does not ask, of course, because that is something he cannot let himself, and so he thinks about it for himself instead.  

He thinks, for a long time, watching the road. He comes to a conclusion, eventually, that now that the other’s curiosity has been sated, he wants nothing more out of this. That the errand boy will not bother him anymore, as he now knows what is behind the idea of the Vahumana student everyone seems to know the puppet as.  

He does not know why the thought makes him slightly bitter, why the idea is difficult to accept. 

Quickly the thought vanishes from his mind, perhaps as quickly as it came. He stares as discreetly as he has learnt how to and notices something, finds traces of emotion in the boy’s face that he recognises. 

Sethos is quiet because of hesitance. It is the same look the puppet once wore, sitting between bladesmiths and drinking tea because he did not know how to do anything else, cup after cup after cup. Perhaps the boy cannot bring himself to speak, as he once did, or perhaps he cannot find the words.  

Regardless, the eccentric lets it happen, lets Sethos squirm and twiddle his thumbs until he finds the courage to speak, while walking beside him, when the Wanderer stands at his doorstep (Cyno’s, though Sethos is staying for now) “I’ve been wondering, what’s your name?” The boy asks, tone as cheerful as it is hesitant (Wanderer has always questioned how Sethos can be so happy every single time they speak. Maybe it is only because of who he is speaking to) 

At that, Wanderer laughs. It is not mocking, because the question is so absurd to him that he cannot help but laugh. The amusement rolls off his tone in a way that is almost contagious, and Sethos finds it that he, too, finds the question absurd. Because why wouldn’t it be? This is what made him anxious? It is ridiculous, in a sense “I have no name. Call me what you wish”  

Sethos looks unamused, at best. Wanderer finds his expression horribly amusing, brows furrowed and lips pouty (Like a child throwing a tantrum, like an animal searching for mercy. If the eccentric did not know better, he would think that Sethos’ eyes are wet with unshed tears. That is not the case, he thinks, because how could the boy be so affected by Wanderer’s words?)  

“That’s… Not what I’m searching for,” the boy says, tone and words and everything about him so honest, so straightforward. It is overwhelming, being able to know so much about another, someone else letting him see so much. He will ruin this boy’s good will, if not for his personality but for his nature. Everything he is allowed to touch is doomed to rot, and it is fear that almost keeps him from hearing what the other man says to him “everyone seems to call you by some sort of nickname, what exactly is your name?” 

The electro wielder speaks as if that will change the answer he is given. It is somewhat pathetic, like watching a deer try to get up. It sparks an emotion in the eccentric’s mind that he cannot place, this specific sort of pity that he feels when watching this display.  

The Wanderer, in turn, decides to offer Sethos mercy. A promise for information, knowledge presented right within arms’ reach.  

Of course, Wanderer dares not present the name that the boy so deeply yearns for, will not lay bare his ‘heart’ for the other to see so quickly, not without push and pull and struggle and teeth.  

“You can ask the Traveller for the name they call me by, I care not for what name I am called. Do not ask me this again next time.” Is the answer he finds himself giving, words carefully calculated in its cadence and tone. (As always, are they not? Wanderer never finds himself being truly honest, even when he claims to.) 

The conversation fizzles out eventually, words becoming fewer and fewer and more spread out inbetween the silence of Sumeru’s night, until there is nothing left of it but a memory of each other's voice and a wish to hear it again, rekindle the conversation. 

Eventually, Sethos gives off a polite goodbye, and though Wanderer scowls at the affection in the boy’s eyes, he gives a goodbye of his own. The boy is not at fault for his feelings, Wanderer reminds himself. Sethos has no choice but to be human, with all the horrible consequences being one takes. 

The puppet pretends, then, as he reaches the Sanctuary of Surasthana, that he does not hear Buer’s incessant questions. (“Aw, you made a new friend, Hat Guy! What’s he like? When did you meet him? Where?”) She looks out for him, though he cannot convince himself to enjoy the treatment. He feels like a child, being coddled in such a manner. It makes him overwhelmed from the affection, the thought that anyone could ever wish to treat him in the manner Buer does without having an ulterior motive. The fact that she does not, then, is one of the reasons why he is so confused over these actions. He wishes not to, and will not, dwell over his emotions any more than he already has for today. 

Sethos does ignore his company, as well, though it is easier for him to avoid Cyno. Smart and good at interrogating as the General Mahamatra may be, he cannot read someone’s mind, does not possess the power the Lesser Lord does.  

It is easier to ignore questioning when the one being questioned cannot be bothered to think about who is speaking to them. Sethos’ mind loops over and over and over again over the promise of a next time, the thought as appealing as it makes him dizzy. Wanderer’s mere presence makes him horribly tense, and still, he reaches for the feeling anyway. He wonders how much more he can take before falling apart at the seams. 

Sleep does not come easy to him, then, anticipation building in his being until it threatens to burst out of him as if he were a rope stretched far too wide. Sethos has to get up a lot, he finds, to calm his overactive head and beating heart, doing and organizing and making in the guest room Cyno has so very kindly let him use during the times he wishes to stay in Sumeru City. 

And so, the next morning he is off before sunrise, a flash in Cyno’s peripheral vision and the sound of keys rustling so familiar that the General does not question it until the boy is outside, running as if he was being chased. Cyno can see it, the flash of yellow and a quick spark of electro right at the corner of the window, just barely enough for the General to notice it (he was planning to play Genius Invokation TCG with Sethos during his idle time... Oh well, he’ll just have to ask later.) 

Sethos searches like a man starved, as if the knowledge of a name he will barely bring himself to use will be his salvation. If he was anyone else, Sethos would have thought himself to look silly, searching like that. The Traveller is that, a traveller. What chance is there that he will find them in Sumeru at all, let alone in the city? 

He eats outside, while he walks (even if the elders in the streets tell him that he should not), because the fear of missing out on meeting who he is in search for when he is indoors makes Sethos’ stomach churn, bargaining with street vendors and eating while he searches, looking and looking and looking over and over again. 

He finally finds what he is looking for as the sun sets, watching the Traveller speak to their travel companion with some type of bittersweet joy in their expression. (The Traveller always looks like that, like they are never truly happy. It makes Sethos as curious as it makes him sad. They do not deserve to be as bitter as they are, Sethos believes. Not when they have done so much good) 

He makes polite conversation with them, then (even if he feels guilty for interrupting), until finally he gets what he desires, the knowledge he has been in search for the entirety of the day. He hears the Traveller pronounce it in such a robotically mastered Inazuman that it makes Sethos surprised, and he tries it over and over on his own lips until it stops having meaning.  

He always does that, exhaust any new incentive as soon as he lays hand on it. Perhaps it is because of his previously sheltered life, that every new thing he acquires is something he wishes to try and learn as soon as he can. Perhaps, though this new knowledge does not tire him. It does not become bland and tasteless after he repeats it, does not lose its appeal.  

Sethos would wager it becomes more enchanting, with how even the mere vision of blue makes him flush and stammer, stop in his tracks and look until he sees nothing, until he finds that what he is searching for never comes. 

He feels ashamed for what he thinks, then, the thoughts that swirl in his head as he tries to fall into slumber. Sethos has always thought these things to be normal, these desires, though he has thought of his feelings towards the Wanderer to be nothing more than curiosity up until now.  

Perhaps it is, then, that this curiosity is giving him more than he bargained for. 

[star-girl69]

do you have any headcannons for reading getting prego?😲

like how the family navigates and etc. or how the baby would lookkk

My Heart Never Knows

(Headcannons)

a/n: i’ve gotten a few requests for these so i’m just gonna loop them all into one

if anyone has anymore ideas for this au pls send an ask!!

warnings: mentions of blood, crying, swearing, pregancy, mentions of giving birth

—-

ok each characters reaction to finding out:

jake:

like absolutely mind blown

didn’t think he would have any more kids

totally lifts you up and spins you around

if you’re feeling dizzy or have morning sickness and told him, he’d set you down immediately

“i’m sorry, baby, so sorry, i just- just can’t…”

i’m a big believer in the headcannon that he would drop to his knees immediately and just start kissing your stomach, even if you weren’t showing

talking to the baby immediately

laughing bc he’s trying to describe like the entire world to the baby and you’re like literally a month along

neytiri:

probably starts crying but like in a good way

places her hands on your stomach

“our baby will be strong, and fierce.”

kisses all over your face and tells you how perfect you are

neteyam:

his initial reaction is: what

i mean he kinda expected it bc… reasons…

but still it’s a shock

takes after his dad, gets down onto his knees and introduces himself to the baby

“hi, baby. i’m your big brother, neteyam”

genuinely just so sweet and exited

(he’s secretly hoping for a sister, he’s long since accepted that girls have taken over the family)

lo’ak:

hugs you so tight and then gets scared and asks if he killed the baby

almost crying tears of relief when you tell him no

talks to you for literal hours about he is going to be the best big brother

(is hoping for a boy)

kiri:

gasps so loudly and grabs your hands and does a little happy dance with you

also starts introducing herself to the baby

immediately starts talking about names

you cry a little when she suggests something similar to grace if it’s a girl

starts a seashell collection

is obviously hoping for a girl (she’s a firm believer that they need to outnumber the boys)

tuk:

is the type to poke your belly and ask

“are you SURE there’s a baby in there?”

is kinda sad when she realizes she won’t be the littlest one anymore

it’s makes it worse when you tell her she’ll always be your baby, she just has to share you a little bit

you tell her she can talk to the baby and then she’s all smiles again

all in all she’s a little sad but you tell her that she will basically have a built in friend for life closer to her age and she’s ecstatic at that

doesn’t really care if it’s a boy or a girl as long as she has a new friend

what they’re like when you’re farther along and actually snowing, having symptoms and such:

jake:

scared out of his mind

“let me help you with that” and you’re like carrying a literal feather

CANNOT fall asleep unless his hand is on your stomach

squeals like a little girl when the baby kicks

judges your cravings so hard

once you cried bc yk… hormones… and he literally almost started crying too

“i’m so sorry sweetheart i was just joking”

“I HATE YOU JAKE”

neytiri:

is also scared out of her mind but is a little more practical about it

actually knows what’s it’s like to be pregnant so she lets you vent to her about all the struggles

rubs your feet if they’re swollen no complaints

tries not to judge your cravings but she totally does

also squeals when the baby kicks but is a lot better at hiding it

neteyam:

does not let you lift a finger

“oh! i forgot to grab this from the market or whatever”

“let me grab it for you mom i’ll be right back”

*sprints to the market and back* (it was not time sensitive)

smiles so wide when he feels the baby kick

LOVES talking to the baby it’s his favorite past time

lo’ak:

all of a sudden you’re HIS baby

will not rub your feet but will tell neytiri that you need someone to rub your feet

so protective

once someone bumped into you when you were walking around

you placed your hand on your bump on instinct

he started hissing at the poor person and you had to drag him away

he’s a guard dog actually

like ao’nung throwing a ball that landed by your feet and lo’ak fantasized about punching him

doesn’t though bc he doesn’t want to cause his mama any extra stress

when you told him to lay your head on his stomach to hear the baby kick he almost cried he just felt so loved

kiri:

the seashell collection is out of control

breakfast conversation is her daily ranking of the baby names

“ok i know i said that yesterday i was sure about *** but now my number one is ***”

randomly pokes your stomach as if to make sure the baby is still in there

always catches the baby at a bad time so she’s only felt it kick a few times

randomly places her hand on your stomach as if to surprise the baby into kicking

one day it will work she swears

tuk:

new fav thing to do is to listen to the baby

talk to the baby

look at your bump

she’s obsessed

also becomes a little protective

it kinda clicks that yes, there is actually a baby in there, and she’s like

“omg it’s so defenseless”

hisses at anyone who comes close when you’re out and about

even hissed at jake once he was so offended

“that’s literally my child in there”

“ITS MY BABY SIBLING HISSSSS”

when you’re in labor:

jake:

STRESSING so hard

ronal and neytiri kicked him out bc his “bad energy was in the air”

punches the wall a few times when you scream in pain

literally someone check this man’s heart he is STRESSING

neytiri:

holds your hand the entire time

is also stressing

wants to cry a little but manages to hold back her tears

keeps brushing the hair from your face and kissing your temples

whenever ronal speaks she’s like dead silent

(she’s terrified she’s gonna say somethings wrong)

neteyam:

this entire family is just stressing tbh

watches his dad punch the wall and is just like “are you good…”

is just praying that the both of you are happy and healthy

when you’re silent for a few moments his heart stops until he hears you again

lo’ak:

did i mention that this entire family is just stressing so hard

thinks about what his life will be like if you weren’t there

HATES IT

tries to come into the room bc he’s scared and wants to make sure you’re not dying

doesn’t get let in the door but at least he tried

kiri:

reorganizes the seashell collection to distract herself

it only partially works

helps take care of tuk

makes everyone get into a prayer circle and no one complains bc they’re all scared as heck

tuk:

all she knows is that her mama is in pain

literally starts crying

just wants to see you

has a basic understanding of death and she knows that it would be absolutely horrible if anything bad happened to you

is excited for her new friend though!

meeting the baby

i’m sorry y’all it’s a girl anways

jake:

cries so hard

literally cannot believe it

kisses your forehead

“you’re the most amazing woman on this planet, y/n, i swear”

is absolutely ecstatic that it’s a girl (he really just wanted a healthy baby but still. he’s such a girl dad)

neytiri:

cries

she thought she wouldn’t cry, she wanted to be strong, but then she just saw you and the baby and she broke down

also in absolute disbelief that her life could be this amazing

literally thinks you are eywa herself like she is just so amazed

neteyam:

sees a bloody cloth or sheet or something and almost passes out

says that the baby is the cutest he’s ever seen

tuk gets mad and he quickly says that it’s actually a tie

he’s such a gentlemen he probably says that you still look beautiful even though you just pushed out a whole baby

lo’ak:

just wants to see his mama

hugs you and puts his head against your chest

has to lay there for a while and listen to your heartbeat

when he holds the baby he’s in absolute shock like oh eywa she looks so much like you too

has learned from neteyam and says the baby is tied with tuk for the cutest

kiri:

demands to see the baby as soon as she walks in

stares for a few moments before saying

“mhm definitely a ***”

you love the name and cry a little, she hugs you and gets a little choked up too

is so excited to present the seashell collection

tuk:

is also just so happy to see her mama

holds the baby and says she looks weird

everyone is too happy to scold her

“THIS WAS IN YOUR TUMMY???”

[sh1-n0bu]

Hello! Hope you are having a good day/evening.

I saw that your requests are open so i wanted to see if i could request, a headcanon(or one shot what ever you think would be better for the idea) + angst for scara, childe and diluc [add any character you have ideas pls :) ].

I was thinking of how would they react if reader just disapeard for a period of time, and they maybe though reader was dead. Until they came back (or they saw them somewhere like in other city after long time). [idk why reader decapered-] . I wanted to know if they would let reader in or ignore them for the rest of times.

(im sorry for making this so long- if you dont understand the idea or dont want to make it i complitly understand.)

✿ 𝙢𝙞𝙨𝙪𝙣𝙙𝙚𝙧𝙨𝙩𝙖𝙣𝙙𝙞𝙣𝙜𝙨 ✿

characters: scaramouche, childe and diluc x nb!reader

warnings: angst (me likey), reverse comfort, verbal fighting, takes place after scaramouche’s defeat, mentions of blood and injury (not too graphic), reader disappears for some time but dw nothing bad happens

notes: it’s alright hun, i understand dw too much abt anything! also you can def tell who’s my favorite lmao

since his loss as the false god of sumeru, the irmunsul incident, his mentality was slowly getting better

slowly starting to heal from all his trauma, loss, betrayals and suffering in the hands of the second fatui harbinger

but that doesn’t mean some bad habits just won’t immediately disappear

you and wanderer’s relationship has been going well. silly little dates here and there, holding hands and he was even slowly starting to open up to you about his past as well!

however lately you’ve been going out meeting someone named “kaveh” a lot lately. not really having time to explain to your lover that kaveh was your work partner and that you two had a deadline coming soon of an expensive and famous museum

and that was all it took for wanderer to start doubting the relationship between you two

did you truly love him like all the time you said you do? was it a lie? who was this kaveh anyways? perhaps this was a bad idea. maybe he never should’ve took nahida’s suggestion and confessed to you. maybe it was all better if he were to just push you away like he always have with people before

after 2 weeks of hard work with barely no sleep, full meal or even being able to see your loving boyfriend again, the architecture of the museum was finally finished and you and your best friend can finally catch some well deserved break

stepping into your shared little cottage at 2 in the morning, you yawned walking into your shared bedroom with your lover, not entirely surprised to see him still wide awake, sitting on your bed seemingly mulling over something

hugging his smaller body and nuzzling into his neck, you sighed in content. finally happy to be able to spend some time with your darling

that was until he stood up suddenly harshly tearing of your hands that was wrapped around his middle

“darling? what’s wrong?”

“don’t you dare ask me what’s wrong when you KNOW what the answer is. what finally got tired of that kaveh guy you’ve been seeing? finally got tired of him so now you come crawling back to me?!”

“… honey i don’t understand what you mean. i think you got it all wrong”

“don’t you dare call me those names! i knew you were a liar and a manipulator. always going around wearing that sickeningly sweet smile as if nothing’s wrong! you’re no better than him. no in fact, you’re worse!”

the fight escalated from there. at first you tried to calm him down and explain to him about everything but you were just too tired, too exhausted, too lonely

soon enough wanderer and you were just shouting at each other. calling each other names, jabbing at traumas, stabbing old wounds

the breaking point for you was when he shouted one thing you wish you would never hear coming from someone so dear to you

“I WISH YOU NEVER EXISTED AT ALL!”

deafening silence

no one moved, no one spoke, just silently staring into each other’s faces until you grimaced

he immediately regretted it. but he won’t show it because his pride is always too much. always too high. always above everyone. always destroying any human contact he sought after

quietly shaking your head, you picked up your coat again before stepping out of the once shared home with your lover, shutting the door gently. you were never one to slam doors after all

he wanted to get out and chase after you. hold your hand, cling to you, begging for forgiveness

but his pride won’t allow it

a few days have passed and he has yet to run into you. you’ve been gone without a single trace of where you went to or who you’re with

it’s as if his words came true…

it has been a week already. no signs of you and wanderer is going to lose his mind

he went to nahida to ask for her help, he asked about you from the traveler and paimon, he even went around asking about the person named kaveh

another day, another failure in finding you

sobbing in his bed, clinging tightly to your pillow he only wished for one thing. he just wanted you back

snapping out of his misery when the front door knob jingled, he nearly tripped over his own legs when jumping out of bed

and there you were, standing on the front door of your shared home, wearing the exact same clothes, facial expressions as the day you left

the short male didn’t care about how he looked, how messy his home was or even much of his pride. throwing himself into your chest, clinging to you like a lifeline, sobbing out apologies after apologies

forgiveness is a hard thing. especially to prideful people like wanderer but he will soon learn to apologize if he keeps practicing make sure to disappear more to teach him a lesson reader-chin👍

it has been some time since the ginger menace has seen his lover. that’s because you have been away on a long time commission on dragonspine. something about multiple frostarm lawachurl going haywire. of course him being himself, immediately offered to go as well if it weren’t for you bonking him on the head with all his piled up harbinger paper work

he knows you’re strong - even though you lack a vision - and he has great faith and earnest trust in you! he truly does! however the gnawing of dark thoughts, worry filled mindless pacing and the creeping presence of nightmares just won’t let him go no matter how much the harbinger throws himself into his piles upon piles of work

it took one utterance of your name to slip past ekaterina’s mouth that snaps him back to life, away from the insecurities and terror looming over him

were you finally back? it took a whole 2 weeks! he can’t wait to see you, hold you in his arms, trail kisses on your scars, to just be in your presence again!

just the simple thought of your face is enough to have him kicking his feet, giggling with sheer and utter joy

but that giggles stopped abruptly when ekaterina showed him a piece of ripped cloth. your cloth. a ripped part of the coat you wear whenever you’re called to dragonspine…

with a bated breath and shaking hands, childe asked “… they’re not here, are they?”

when the fatui gave a hesitant nod, tartaglia bolted out of the northland bank, running straight towards the icy peak - which always stirred warmth within his heart, reminding him of his homeland - now filled with a painful, nerve wracking cold

when he had arrived at the place you mentioned before seeing off, there were blood stains everywhere on the snow

the sight always used to make his eyes widen with excitement but now, with an unshakable fear

“[name]? [name] are you here! honey-bun please answer me!”

digging through all the wreckage, running around all over the place, searching for you, yelling your name. he just needed one little sign. just one little sign, please

and his pleas were answered with a grunt. a pained groan

quickly dashing over to where the sound had come from, he found you under a small wreckage pile of carts and tattered cloths with a hastily wrapped bandage around your bleeding torso

“haha… is it a bad time to say hi, big boy?” shakily laughing and cocking your eyebrow, you shot him a teasing grin

if you weren’t injured he probably would’ve bonked you over the head nicely but for now a nice 24 hours of lecture and scolding sounded better to ajax

it all started when your beloved significant other kept coming back home way past midnight, bruised and bleeding and leaving the next morning before the sun could even crack through the darkness of the night

at first you were worried, then you soon got used to it but patience can only run for so long until it breaks

“WHY CAN’T YOU SEE THINGS FROM MY PERSPECTIVE FOR ONCE DILUC?! YOU ALWAYS COME BACK INJURED, SOMETIMES EVEN ON THE VERGE OF DEATH AND YET YOU STILL LEAVE IN THE MORNING WITHOUT EVEN LETTING YOUR OPEN WOUNDS CLOSE!”

“i’ve been doing this for years [name]. so stop being clingy and let it be! i’m strong enough to handle myself.”

meanwhile elzer and adelinde looked at each other in worry. furrowing rheir brows, biting their lips and anxiously messing with their hands

the manor has never been this loud, ever since the fight between their young master and his brother kaeya of course

the fight started with a simple curt sentences being thrown but now it was slowly losing it’s meanings, turning into a shouting contest. a fight to see who has more pride than the other

“STOP BEING SO DAMN OVERPROTECTIVE! I’M STRONG ENOUGH TO HANDLE MYSELF AND YOUR WORRYING IS NOT NEEDED!”

that was the final straw for you to leave the manor with a loud slam of the front door

diluc tried to chase after you, realizing his mistake, wanting to apologize sadly the whole shouting re-opened his wounds, causing the young master’s sleeping tunic to get dirtied with blood

since that nasty fight with your dear boyfriend, you’ve been staying at his brother’s place for the time being. kaeya was more than understanding. after all, he too was once cast out by his loved one from his home

it had already been 4 days since the uncrowned king of mondstadt had seen his beloved and things were not going smoothly. he keeps messing up the order’s at the bar, letting fatui or some enemies get out of sight only to be reminded of that with a new wound, spending sleepless hours just tightly clutching at your pillow in your once-shared bed

on the fifth night of your sudden disappearance, diluc has had enough. mentally broken and physically exhausted, he sobbed silently, holding onto your pillow tightly

the red head was too caught up in his mental breakdown, he didn’t even hear your voice calling out his name

jolting violently and swiftly turning back - ready to summon his claymore - only to fall silent once he realizes it’s your hand holding his shoulder, your voice calling him sweet, cheesy nicknames, you standing before him in the flesh

“… darling? is that you…?”

you hated how broken he sounded. how devastated yet relieved he looked. how his voice shook with so mich hesitation and fear

gently cradling his head to rest upon your heart, you shushed his cries and begs of forgiveness

cuddles? …that sounds nice

[seokgyuu]

→ PAIRING: Jihoon/Woozi x Reader.

→ GENRE: Smut MDNI!!

→ SYNOPSIS: When Jihoon video calls you from the gym in a very specific angle, there isn’t much else to do than drive to the gym and take what you want.

→ WARNINGS: reader has female anatomy, gendered terms (good girl) basically public sex, blowjob, soft!dom jihoon, degradation (name calling: slut, whore, reader gets called pathetic) face-fucking, multiple orgasms, cum eating, mentions of cockwarming, masturbation (f), pussy slapping, unprotected sex (stay safe everyone!!!) mirror sex, creampie (if there is something I missed pls lmk!!)

→ WORDCOUNT: 2.4k

a/n: hii guys, i watched yesterday’s live and it altered my brain so pls take this and enjoy <3. credit for the header go to my beloved @playmetheclassics & a special shout-out goes to @angelwoozi for reading this through and giving me the best comments ever 🫶🏻

Your boyfriend wasn’t exactly someone with the biggest rizz. The fact you even got together had been entirely your effort in the beginning. Not because he hadn’t been interested but because he couldn’t exactly read the room properly. Your flirting was mistaken as friendliness. Your touches were mistaken as something you just did sometimes. You had to literally spell it out for him to understand and even then it had taken him two full days to muster up the courage to come to your apartment and claim you as his.

Now, a year into the relationship, he still didn’t have much rizz - or at least not on purpose. He also still didn’t know how to read the room. Perhaps it had gotten slightly better, but not to an extent you could actually describe as aware of his surroundings and situations.

That was why right now, as you just finished another day of work, your phone propped in the holder in you car, you stared at Jihoon with your mouth slightly dropped. He had called you from the gym, the phone positioned in a way you usually knew from being in between his legs, his cock buried down your throat. His fluffy hair was looking extra cute today, which was in stark contrast to the way he sat on the bench press, legs spread and arms on display. He was just telling you about his day, about how one of the kids he taught at the local middle school had told him he sounded like an old man and how he now felt like an old man.

You had started your car and began driving to his gym the second he had shown up on your screen and he had absolutely no idea. You held the conversation, your thighs pressing together at every stop sign, every red light. Your underwear was sticking to your core because, fuck, did he look hot and, fuck, did you need to be in the place of his phone right now, having him destroy your throat.

“Anyways. Will you come to my place later tonight?” He asked as you pulled into the parking lot of the gym which, for whatever reason, he did not register at all. You chuckled, looking for a spot.

“Sure, babe.” You finally parked, grabbing your phone and purse, Jihoon now talking to one of his friends, Hyungwon, which meant he wasn’t paying attention to his screen. Convenient.

Five minutes later you were inside the gym, your phone and keys in your purse, Jihoon and you hanging up a minute ago. You had just told him you’d call him back which was technically a lie, but what you had planned would make up for it. You saw him sitting on the spot he had called you in, Hyungwon nowhere to be seen - and so was no one else. You were surprised, considering it was only 8pm, but you weren’t going to complain. You stopped in your tracks, teeth sinking into your bottom lip as you watched your boyfriend do some weight exercises, flexing his arms as he did them and, god, did you want to fuck him right now. Looking around, you saw that even the reception was empty, a sign saying “be right back!” and so you did the only thing that seemed valid right now. You walked through the milky glass door that was usually open at all times (you had watched Jihoon from still outside of the main gym room) and let it fall shut behind you, the loud bang making your boyfriend look up from where he was sitting.

The second he spotted you, his eyes widened in surprise, the weight he had lifted with his right hand falling onto the floor.

“Y/N? What-,” but he didn’t get any further than that because you reached him, your hands on his cheek, leaning down to kiss him feverishly. The surprise grew, but he wasn’t complaining about his girlfriend surprising him at the gym. He kissed you back, hands on the back of your thighs, a part he could reach comfortably as he sat on the bench. Instead of parting, you deepened the kiss and soon enough you found yourself straddling his hips, Jihoon shocked at the wetness he felt once you led his hand to your sopping core.

“Shit, why are you so wet, babe?” He groaned, his free hand in your hair.

“Are you kidding? Do you see yourself, Jihoon? You’re so fucking hot, needed you the second you called me. Propping the phone like that… don’t tell me you didn’t want me to come here and suck your cock.”

As if to underline your statement, your hand reached down, pressing down onto his growing erection. Jihoon’s cheeks turned red, but he couldn’t stop the moan when he felt you grind on him. He kissed you again, pressing you closer to his body, hips automatically meeting yours. While a part of him was worried someone might walk in, another part just really wanted you to go down on your knees and bring truth to what you had said.

“Fuck, babe, you’re driving me crazy,” he breathed against your lips and you giggled, letting your hand slip fully into his sweats, feeling his perfect big cock harden against your palm. Jihoon now bit down on your bottom lip, causing you to moan, his hand on your core moving to shove your panties to the side, fingers gliding through your wet folds. Your hips moved again, your hand fully wrapped around his cock now, jerking him off slowly.

“I need your cock in my mouth, Jihoonie, can I please suck your cock?” Your voice was dripping in want and Jihoon nodded, letting his fingers glide through your lips one more time before letting go of you, sucking his fingers into his mouth, drowning in your sweet taste.

“Get on your knees, baby. Show me what a good slut you are. How much you want my cock, common.”

His words shot straight to your pussy, clenching around nothing as you slipped down, hands setting his cock free from his sweats and briefs and without any teasing you let your mouth sink down on him. His moans and the hand on the back of your neck spurred you on even more, your free hand reaching between your legs, thumb on your clit as you got yourself off whilst sucking all of his length into your hungry mouth.

“Yeah, like that, I know you can take it all, baby,” he pushed your head down softly, helping you take all of him into your mouth and once your nose hit his abdomen he groaned, his head thrown back. Your mouth felt heavenly around him, always did. He could never get enough of it. He had you under the table while he worked, just warming his cock with your mouth. Had you in the car, you leaned over as he drove to the shop. You loved sucking his cock, loved letting him fuck your face, loved when he painted your cheeks white, when he had you keep his cum in his mouth to show him after. He was crazy about your hunger for his cock and he would never ever get tired of it.

Coughing around him, tears streaming down your face already, you dared to look up at him, his hooded eyes making you rub your clit even harder. Jihoon licked over his lips, positioning his hands on the sides of your head.

“Good girl, taking all of my cock down her perfect slutty throat. Ready for me to fuck it?” When you nodded, he immediately did his first thrust, a droplet of sweat already running down his forehead. He was deep down your throat, probably visible to an outsider. Thinking about someone walking in, seeing the way his cock looked inside of your used throat… it had you moaning around him. The vibrations made Jihoon thrust again, harder this time. And that was when he couldn’t hold back anymore. His pace became quicker, his cock showing you no mercy as he drilled it into your wet mouth, his chest heaving as he lost all sense of control.

Spit was dripping down your chin, your eyes almost crossed at this point, feeling like you were on cloud nine, your boyfriend using you to get off, always making you squirm. You kept on moaning around him, making him spiral, his orgasm so close and yet so far. He knew he needed to be quick, as much fun as this was, he would most probably get kicked out for fucking his girlfriend in the gym and whilst he loved the thrill, he did love this gym too.

“Such a horny slut, couldn’t even wait to get home, had to have my cock down her throat right away. Should probably punish you later for being so impatient, don’t you think?”

Your eyes rolled back and you nodded to the best of your ability with him still fucking down your throat. When you hollowed out your cheeks even more, the glide suddenly a bit easier, Jihoon couldn’t help the guttural moan of your name, his movements becoming sloppier. You could feel that he was close, your pussy clenching around nothing once more as you thought about his sweet cum shooting down your throat.

“F-fuck, yeah, such a good toy for me, such a whore, so, so good,” he stumbled over his words as he finally came, pushing your head all the way to his abdomen again, cum shooting down your throat in warm spurts as you tried to swallow it all, his cock twitching on your tongue over and over again. Yet, when he was finished, he was still rock solid. You felt your pussy flutter.

“Shit,” he mumbled, pulling you off his cock to instead shove up your skirt and rip the useless panties off of you, his eyes still full of hunger. He then turned around, sitting on the bench like he had during the phone call and only now did you register the huge mirror on the wall, right in front of the bench. Jihoon grabbed your waist and turned you around skilfully, placing you on his lap in reverse, his hard cock pressing against your ass as he looked at you through the mirror.

“Gotta be quick, baby,” he mumbled, and you nodded, lifting your ass and grabbing his cock to finally sink down on him. You were so extremely wet there was almost no resistance at all.

“God, so fucking wet, fuck,” Jihoon proceeded to kiss your shoulder, bottoming out a second later. His eyes stared into yours through the mirror, one hand on your hip, the other now on your thigh, moving towards your throbbing clit.

“Ngh, Jihoon- pl-please fuck me, touch me, anything,” you whined hips wiggling, feeling so full and yet so unsatisfied. Jihoon chuckled, thumb now harshly pressing down on your clit.

“Do you see yourself, baby? See what a fucking slut you are? So desperate for my cock, to get fucked in the middle of a public gym? Breaking probably a thousand rules?” As if to punish you, his hand shot up, only to fall back down, slapping your clit and making you jump. His cock slid out of you then and he groaned, grabbing your hips to position you back on his cock. And then he began to, again, show no signs of mercy. He began thrusting up, both hands on your hips now as you leaned back, your head on his shoulder.

“Look at yourself, watch how I fuck you pathetic little whore,” Jihoon groaned, his cock twitching inside of you as you clenched around him, your walls closing in on him more and more. He moaned your name, fingers digging so deep they were probably going to leave bruises for you to admire later.

“Y-yes, I am s-so pathetic, couldn’t wait for you to fuck me!” You cried out, trying your best to keep your eyes open and moaning in pain and pleasure when he slapped down on your clit again once your eyes fell shut for a second.

“I told you to look at yourself, fuck,” He changed positions now, a yelp escaping you as you found yourself bent over, legs on either side of the bench, arms stretched to hold you up and Jihoon behind you, standing upright, his hips fucking into you at godsspeed. He looked at you through the mirror, watched how incredibly hot you looked, lips swollen and red from the way he had fucked your mouth earlier, drool and small bits of cum on your chin and, fuck, did he twitch at the realisation. He picked up his pace once more, not able to keep his eyes off of you as he felt you clench again, your tight perfect pussy vibrating around him as you came, your eyes rolling back at the feeling of your orgasm, his name like a mantra on your lips.

“Good girl, coming on my cock so prettily,” he slapped your ass once, squeezing the flesh after, only for his own orgasm to hit, cum shooting inside your spent cunt that was happily taking it all in. He fucked you through your orgasms, his cock finally softening and pulling out after, catching you in his arms. You both needed a second before you were able to breathe normally again, your chests heaving, hearts beating at triple it’s usual speed. You felt like he had fucked all the life out of you and you wouldn’t have wanted it any other way.

“You’re so cute,” he whispered into your ear then, kissing the spot underneath it. He had slipped back into his boxers and sweats and you were adjusting your skirt again.

You looked at him questioningly.

“What do you mean?” You asked then. He grinned, grabbing the disinfectant and some paper towels from the wall.

“You really think I didn’t know what position I placed my phone in? Silly baby. I might have started our relationship with zero rizz. But I would say, thanks to you, I am at a hundred percent rizz now.”

Speechless, you stared at him for a few seconds before laughing out loud.

“You’re gonna be the death of me, Lee Jihoon.”