#sorry for the late gift! life was getting in the way for me but i hope you like this nonetheless :)

[what-have-i-unleashed]

hello @toffeebrews

Toffee adjusts the veil on her fluffy head, sniffling loudly. This is the worst day of her life.

The wedding venue is grand – a cathedral with gothic arches and ornate glass windows. The flowers decorating the place are all black, not because they’re dyed, but because they’re all dead from the presence of the groom.

The groom, right.

Nightmare.

Nightmare, whom Toffee categorically does not like.

Nightmare, who is exuding such a threatening aura, not in a sexy way, but in the join-my-cult-or-die way.

Toffee sobs even harder.

“Quit crying,” Nightmare mutters to her as she stepped onto the cursed altar, facing him. “It’s humiliating.”

“Humiliating?!” Toffee cries. “I’d rather be humiliated than married to you! I don’t even like you! Why are we even here?!”

“Political reasons,” Nightmare says, completely bored. “You're a valuable asset. This union will strengthen my influence. Plus, my subordinates suggested I should ‘get a life.’”

Toffee glares at the front row, where said subordinates – Killer, Murder, and Horror – are seated.

“Oh yeah, that was totally a joke,” Killer says, smiling innocently. “Didn’t think he’d go along with it.”

Murder leans back on the bench, bored out of his mind. “Whatever. I don’t care either way.”

Horror shrugs. “Eh, I don’t know. This is quite entertaining so far.”

Toffee swirls back to face Nightmare. “Your subordinates were joking!”

“And yet, here we are.” Nightmare gestures at the officiant, who is wearing a very ominous veil over their face. “Let’s move along.”

Toffee hiccups miserable. And then, somehow, it gets worse.

“Oh, sorry, I’m late!” A colorful skeleton pushes open the grand door and rushes towards the front row. “Did I miss anything?” He crouches down to give Killer a light peck.

“Nah, you’re just in time, Color,” Killer replies, his smile going from razor sharp to impossibly soft upon landing eyes on the new guest.

Color and Killer. Together.

Her crushes. Dating each other. Watching her having the worst day of her life. To be honest, she expects this from Killer. But not Color, who is such a sweetheart, whose laugh can heal her aching lovesick heart.

Toffee’s sobbing intensifies.

“Color!” she wails, pointing her finger at the lovebirds. “How could you betray me like this?!”

Color blinks. “Huh?”

“You’re dating Killer?! And I have to marry him?!” She gestures her paw at Nightmare, who rolls his eye.

“Stop being dramatic,” Nightmare says.

“You wouldn’t understand!” Toffee cries. “This is a tragedy! I should be with them, not you!”

From the front row, Color looks a little guilty. “Uh, we didn't know you liked us like that…”

Killer, however, is unfazed. “Yeah, also, not to rub salt in the wound, but have we even met before?”

Toffee sobs, drenching the bouquet in her hands that she’s holding on for dear life.

The officiant clears their throat loudly. “Ahem, if we could now move onto the vows?”

… Wait a minute. Toffee recognizes that voice.

“Leashed?!!” she shrieks. “You’re officiating this?!!”

Leashed, her so-called friend, shrugs. “Oh yeah, I’m not going to miss a chance to see you miserable, Toff. Also, they have unlimited rosé here – I just can’t resist.”

“I can’t believe you!”

“You should’ve expected this from me actually.”

Toffee turns to Color and Killer one last time, eyes shining with desperation. “You could still rescue me,” she sniffles. “Object to the union.”

Color and Killer look at each other, then at Nightmare, who stands ominously at the altar. Then at Leashed, who is humming a cheerful tune under their breath.

“… We will give you a nice housewarming gift?” Color hedges, then winces when Toffee bursts into tears again.

“Oh, this is the best wedding ever.” Leashed smiles, preparing to dramatically pronounce the newlyweds. They couldn’t wait to tell the others about this.

[clowningaroundmars]

손끝뿐만 아니라!

just boys being boys 🩷

a little gift to @heiibo for being an amazing punkflower artist and as thanks for the holiday gift! :)

i hope i got the korean hangul correct! i've never written any of those characters before ^^;

고마워요 보경! 새해 복 많�� 받으세요! 🎆

[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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[shysuccubusstuff]

Yandere! Caleb:

Content: Non proof-reader; Gaslight + Manipulation + Lying; Established relationship + Somnophilia + Masturbating with clothes + Possessiveness + Riding + Size difference + Praising + Dumbification + Overstimulation + Thigh riding.

Note: I have never been a Caleb hater, so of course I had to write something about this cutie... Have you all seen the trailer? What do you think about him? I'm actually quite glad that they added someone who better fits the role of a dark romance, as Sylus was just a green forest contrary to what he was presented as. Let me know if you want in comments/private messages!! Also, sorry if it seems a bit too short :((

SFW:

Yandere! Caleb, who has known you since childhood, thus it is only natural that he knows every single small detail about you. What do you mean by saying that it's not normal for him to know the exact measures of every single inch of your body? He has known you for over eleven years, it's only natural.

Yandere! Caleb who sometimes takes advantage of your kind heart, remarking just how close you are, gaslighting you into thinking that some of the stuff he does for you is completely normal between friends. I mean, of course friends tell each other where are they every single second, and of course they know all of their other friends.

Yandere! Caleb who also uses the advantage of being a bit older than you, so you just have to trust his advices. He knows best, and he loves you, so how could you even doubt him?

Yandere! Caleb who slowly makes sure to get rid of your other friends, specially those who seem a bit too eager to hangout with you. He does this by lying, asking you to help him searching for the perfect gift for grandma, as he wasn't completely sure if that would actuall suit her taste. Or maybe getting sick on purpose, bathing with freezing cold water, staying there for a few hours just to make sure you would refuse to leave him all alone.

Yandere! Caleb who overprotected you since he was young, always holding hands with you until you started to get shy about it. He was always leading you, his magnetic gaze making it impossible to refuse his requests.

Yandere! Caleb who starts to train late at night as a way to stop his own urges to chain you to him. Punching the training bag as he keeps reminding himself that if he does that it would mean breaking the façade he had spent so much time creating just for your entertainment.

Yandere! Caleb who buys you a beautiful necklace for your birthday, he smiles brightly as he helps you put it around your neck. You were still unaware, but this was just one of the most tame ways he came up with to show just how much he wanted you only for him.

NSFW:

Yandere! Caleb who sometimes makes his way inside your house late at night, the keys to it in his pockets as you had given them to him in case he ever needed a place to rest, or he simply wanted to pay a visit. He rummages around your drawers, searching for anything that has your scent, he presses it to his nose, smelling that sweet scent as he feels his erection grow under his pants. He bites his lips as a way to keep himself from undoing his belt and start to touch himself just from imagining your precious face smiling at him.

Yandere! Caleb who enjoys using his own body weight as he fucks your pretty pussy, making you whine and mewl each time he increases the pressure against your lower tummy causing his dick rubbing even more against your insides. Even despite you cling to the sheets for dear life as he plunges against you, he simply smiles sadistically, one of his hands petting your hair as he keeps watching you try to stop yourself from spilling out all those lewd moans by biting on the pillow. His mind rushing as he imagines all those damn "friends" hearing you melt under him just from him moving his hips a bit as he forces his way into you.

Yandere! Caleb who loves seeing the necklace he gave you recoiling against your chest each time he helped you to move up and down his cock, nails digging on his back as he kept hitting that sweet spot, kissing your neck as he whispered sweet nothings against your ear: "You're doing so good for me, yeah, keep moving your hips baby..." [...] "Are you getting tired, baby? Let me help you." Suddenly, his hands wrap around your hips, forcing his whole length on a single thrust, a squeal leaving your mouth as the tip of his cock suddenly hit against your cervix, eyes rolling back as he kept pressing his cock against you, mainting you completely still as he kept praising you. "Shh... You're doing so good for me, taking my whole cock inside you... So good baby, so good for me... Just a bit more, yeah? Gotta make sure you get all dumb and pretty for me, right?"

Yandere! Caleb who loves dirtying your face with his cum, allowing you to give him head, his fingers making their way into your lower half, using his rough fingertips to play with your clit as you started to spread soft kisses all over his length. By the time he finally cums, your mind was completely melted from cumming all over his fingers and mouth, sucking on his cock mindlessly as he moved his hips in a slow rythm, only increasing it as he came inside your mouth. When he opened his eyes, he found a precious sight, your mouth slightly open as a few strings of his cum escapep from your soft lips, your eyes looking at him as if you were dazed, glistening with a mixture of pure love and devotion. He quickly cleans it, kissing your lips as lets you rest on top of him, peppering soft kisses all over your face. "You did amazing, sweetheart. Such a good girl for me."

Yandere! Caleb, who sometimes becomes extra mean with you, making you mewl as he forces you to orgasm just from using his knee, having you ride them as he looks at you with an unamused look on his face. You keep rubbing against his clothed lower half, pleading between soft moans to get him to touch you, whispering things like: "Please, please, please, just the tip-- Can't take it anymore... Caleb please--". By the time he decides to get you to cum, you are already a panting mess, drool falling down your chin as your mind is already too far gone, tears falling down your face from the frustration. Before you are even able to realise, Caleb is already forcing you to cum all over your panties, his fingers rubbing against your clothed clit as you mumble a few words of gratitude.

[javierpena-inatacvest]

Merry Christmas, Baby

Summary: You're not sure what to get Javi for Christmas, until he gives you an idea for a gift you can't put under the tree

Word Count: 3.3K (I wrote this in two hours, the thots do be thotin)

Paring: Husband!Javi x Wife!reader

Warnings: SMUT (18+) unprotected p in v sex (whoops), breeding kink (I'll say it once and I'll say it again, you KNOW this man deserves 17 kids) vaginal fingering, creampie (big time), family planning, Javi gets so excited about the idea of another baby he literally can't control himself, terrible, sexual Christmas puns, cute and sweet Christmas fluff bc I love this family more than life and you know they give their kids the most magical Christmases 🥺

A/N: I'll take Javier Peña with a big fat breeding kink for a thousand, please!!! I was feeling in a writing rut, until I read @notjustjavierpena Husband Javi Christmas fic last night, and lord have MERCY, consider me inspired 🫡 I'll never shut up about the fact that this man wants a football team, and every Christmas will ask to put another baby in you as his only Christmas gift BYEEEEEEE I need to be institutionalized at this point sorry this is poorly beta'd, it's me, I'm allergic to editing!!!

Forever and Always Masterlist Never Too Late Masterlist

“Javier Peña, there has to be something you want for Christmas.” 

“As long as all my girls are happy, that’s all I want.” 

“Unfortunately, I can’t wrap your sappy sentiment, Javi.” 

There was nothing more that you enjoyed than showering Javi with gifts for the holidays. There were few people on earth you could imagine being more deserving than your husband- you’d find a way to wrap the moon and top it with a bow, if that’s what he wanted. Unfortunately for you, Javi was so sweet, it made buying gifts for him nearly impossible, considering there was rarely ever a tangible item on his wishlist. 

“I don’t need anything, baby.” Javi smiled, reaching for the roll of bright pink and sparkly wrapping paper in front of him to start covering the new Barbie Dream House Lucy had been begging for all year long. “Toss me the tape.” 

“Well obviously I have things for you, but I always wanna make sure I’m getting you things that you want.” You sighed, gently throwing the roll of Scotch tape you had been using over the pile of gifts between you and Javi you were working on wrapping while your daughters were asleep. 

After six Christmases under your belts, you and Javi had learned from the one grave mistake of waiting until Christmas Eve to wrap all your daughter’s presents, now taking a few nights before the big day to wrap and assemble any gifts being left under the tree for your own sanity. 

Now that your girls, Lucy, Elliot and Harper, were six, four and two, it made Christmas even more magical, knowing that they were beginning to understand the concept of what the holiday meant, and all the joyous anticipation that led up to the 25th of December. 

It also meant that there were a lot more presents to wrap- 1, because Lucy and Elliot knew that they could ask for gifts they wanted, and 2, because Javi would say he’d be done buying presents and then show up the next day after work with another toy for his girls. 

“Honey, you get great gifts, for me, but especially for the girls, too. Fuck, I forgot this needs batteries…” Javi mumbled to himself, carefully undoing the wrapping paper he had started working on, “You make a very good Santa.” 

“I think the girls like your version of Santa better, since that’s how they end up with double the gifts under the tree.” You giggled, playfully rolling your eyes at Javi before reaching for the next toy in the pile, “I’m being serious, Javi. I love spoiling those girls just as much as you, but you also deserve to be spoiled too, ya know.” 

“You’re my wife, gave me three beautiful daughters, and tolerate me on a daily basis. Baby, that’s plenty fucking spoiled, if you ask me.” Javi grinned, giving you a reassuring nod and little shrug of his shoulders. 

“You’re much more than tolerable, you goof.” You laughed, cheeks pink at the warmth of your husband’s words, never failing to make you melt a little more each day. “Will you please just tell me one thing you want? Then I’ll let it go, I promise.” 

Javi sat quietly for a moment, fiddling with the edges of the wrapping paper he was working on before a boyish smile began to creep into the corners of his cheeks. 

“Uh oh.” You laughed to yourself, immediately recognizing the goofy grin Javi was trying to contain, “What is it, Peña?” 

“You’re not gonna like it.” Javi snickered to himself, raising an eyebrow at you. 

“Jav, if it’s another dog, I told you, when the girls are older and-” 

“No, it’s not another dog.” He smirked, still softly laughing to himself as you tilted your head at him in confusion, trying to piece together what kind of gift Javi would want that would take any convincing from you, crossing your arms over your chest as you attempted to decipher the devious splayed across his face. 

It only took about two seconds and that look to figure out what Javi was in the market for.  

“Javi…” You sighed, your tone jokingly stern. 

“Osita?” He responded back, trying to downplay his giddiness now that you had figured out his gift suggestion. 

“Javi, four kids is a lot of kids. One more, and they’re doubling us in ranks.” 

You had always been on the fence about having a fourth baby. Not because you didn’t love having kids, or that you didn’t think you couldn’t handle it, mentally or financially, but because your brain worked in logistics- adding one more member to your family was getting you to the point where you’d have so many kids, you wouldn’t even all fit in Javi’s truck anymore, unless someone got demoted to the trunk, which, in all honesty, you were sure Elliot wouldn’t mind. 

For Javi, on the other hand, there was no need to worry about logistics- the two of you would figure it out sooner or later. The only logistics he was worried about was instigating the baby making process.  

“You asked what I wanted!” Javi replied, chuckling as he held his hands up in defense, “I think I’ve been a very good boy all year, if you ask me.” 

“What you’re asking for is definitely putting you on the naughty list.” You huffed, trying to distract yourself with finishing wrapping the present you were working on to hide the fact you were genuinely considering Javi’s present suggestion. “You really think we can handle four kids, Jav?” 

It took everything in you not to laugh at the way Javi instantly perked up when your first response to his gift idea wasn’t rejection, eyeing you up and down and gently biting down on his lower lip. 

“Mhmmm.” He nodded, slowly making his way around the pile of presents to scooch closer to you, “I’ll take care of everything, mi amor. You, the girls, the baby, I can ask for less hours at work so I can help around here, whatever you want, you know I’ll give it to you.” 

“You really want this baby, huh?” You giggled, smirking at Javi as he crawled next to you, hungry look in his eyes while he began to cage his body over yours, carefully laying you down on the floor beneath him. 

“Fuck, I wanna knock you up again so bad. You’re so fucking sexy when you’re pregnant.” Javi groaned, planking overtop you, his hot breath dancing across your skin in between his soft nips at your pulse point. “Let me fuck another baby into you, Osita. Please.” 

Any inhibitions you would have had in protest had completely flown out the window, arousal soaking the fabric of your underwear as Javi kissed up your neck and across your collarbone, softly palming at your breasts under one of his old sweatshirts you had thrown on. 

Truth be told, you and Javi had talked about baby number four enough that you were already leaning towards saying 'yes' anyways, but that wouldn’t stop you from having a little fun in seeing how badly Javi really wanted the Christmas gift he was asking you for. 

“Tell me how badly you want it, Javi. Tell me how much you wanna fuck another baby into me.” You devilishly whispered into his ear, smiling to yourself at the pathetic groan that rumbled from his chest in response. 

“Fuck me-” Javi moaned, hands feverishly groping your body, “Fuck, I want it so bad, quierda. Wanna fill you up ‘till it has no choice but to fucking take, fuck this pussy so full of me, let everyone know who it belongs to, watching you carry our baby. Please, Osita.” 

It was a good thing you were already prepared to be easily swayed, because even if you weren’t, listening to the way Javi was begging to put another baby in you would have easily been enough. 

“Okay. Merry Christmas, Papí.” 

Your green light was all Javi needed to spark something completely feral in him, practically ripping your clothes off you in the middle of the living room, sprawled out on the carpet. 

“Javi, we can go upstairs and-” 

“No. Fuck, I need to fuck you right now, just like this.” He grunted, shedding his clothes before his hand was cupping over your underwear, jaw going slack at how absolutely soaked the fabric was under the pads of his fingers. “Apparently you do too, huh, Momma? She’s so wet for me, isn’t she? Pretty pussy wants me to fill her up so bad.” 

Your stomach churned in arousal as Javi ripped your panties down your legs, revealing the puffy, glistening mess beneath. Javi had barely touched you, and you could already feel the way you’re dripping, admittedly just as turned on as him at the idea of letting him add another addition to your family. 

“Christ, baby.” Javi muttered, settling between your legs. Letting his hands run up the insides of your thighs, he took his thumbs and slid them between your folds, spreading you open to get a full view of the way your slick was coating your cunt. “Making a fucking mess for me already.” 

“I think I’m ovulating soon.” You sigh, doing some quick math in your head, trying to account for just how worked up you were, Javi’s eyes so going wide at the realization, you were worried they may just pop out of his skull. 

“Oh, fuck me.” Javi groaned, shaking his head in disbelief at his luck, “You’re right, Merry fuckin’ Christmas to me then.” 

Swirling the pads of his fingers against your clit, your back arched against the floor at the shockwaves the pleasure sent through your body, making you gasp so loud, you were worried you risked a real possibility of waking up your daughters. 

“F-Fuck, Javi-” You whimpered, already bucking your bottom half towards him as he sunk his two fingers into your cunt while the heel of his palm rubbed deliciously against your clit. Reaching up, your grasp wrapped around Javi’s bicep, muscles flexing with each pulse of his fingers as you left half-crescent moons in his skin. 

It took everything in you not to scream as a third finger joined the first two, stretching you out as he bumped against your g-spot, tension already beginning to build in your core. A sudden gasp escaped your chest, surprised by the newfound emptiness that had you clenching around nothing, looking up to see Javi reaching down to wrap his hand around his cock, stroking it a few times before lining it up with your entrance. 

“Fuck, I’m sorry, I need to fucking feel you, baby. Swear you’ve got me feeling like I’m about to bust like a fucking teenager.” Javi grunted, running his tip against your clit and down your cunt, collecting your arousal before thrusting himself inside you, filling you to the brim with every inch of him. 

Unless you were desperately pressed for time, Javi normally had a bare bones minimum of pulling at least one orgasm out of you before he fucked you, but seeing how worked up and needy he was to feel you wrapped around him, it was about as close to an orgasm you could get withtout actually having one. 

“Oh fuck, Javi!” you whined, feeling the tip of his head kiss your cervix as he began to thrust in and out of you, feeling dizzy from his fullness. You could tell he was trying to hold himself together, his hips slamming into you in deep, slow thrusts, breath hitching in the back of your throat every time he buries himself deeper inside you. 

“Fuck, you feel so good. So fucking tight. Fuck, I can’t wait to fill her up, give you every last fucking drop. Taking me so fucking well.” Javi moaned through gritted teeth, already scrunching his face in concentration through his pussy drunk babbling.  

Running his hands up the back of your thighs, Javi pushed your knees to your chest, pinning your legs in place against your stomach to stretch you out even further, letting him sink himself even deeper to hit the spot he knew drove you just as crazy as it drove him. 

Despite how lost in pleasure the two of you were, Javi was at least conscious enough to realize how loud you had gotten, quickly reaching up cup your mouth, catching your muffled moans in the palm of his hand. 

“I know, hermosa. Fuck, I love hearing you, but we gotta keep quiet enough, baby.” Javi huffed, snaking the hand covering your mouth between your bodies, circling at your clit, almost as if he was putting you through some sort of cruel test to see how far he could push you before he had you screaming at the top of your lungs. 

“Fuck- fuck, I know. You feel so good, Javi.” You whined, hand pressed against his bare chest, his warmth and weight pinning your body below him. 

You feel the way Javi’s thrusts become quicker and harsher, filling himself as deep as he could as your cunt began to clench around his length, sucking him in with your warmth and wetness. Your eyes had been scrunched, so lost in your own pleasure that you hadn’t even noticed the nearly pained look on Javi’s face, furrowing his brow in deep concentration with each slap of his hips against yours. 

“You okay, Javi?” You asked, panting out each word as he pounded into you, circling your clit faster and faster as his grip tightened around your thighs, trying to keep himself grounded. 

“Yeah, I- Fuck- fuck me, I’m trying so hard not to finish before you do. Pussy feels so fucking good. Wanna cum so fucking deep inside you.” Javi moaned, the rhythm of his hips already starting to falter thinking about his endgame. 

If you weren’t so lost in your own ecstasy, you probably would have giggled at Javi’s admission, giving him shit about how he couldn’t hold it together for even just a few minutes, knowing he could finally try to get you pregnant again. But right now, you’re just shocked you can even get any words to form coherent thoughts to string together, let alone tease him. 

“Put a baby in me, Javi. Fuck, want you to cum so deep inside me, please, baby.” 

You could barely finish the whimpers of your sentence before Javi’s pace became sloppy and erratic, hips stuttering before his jaw went slack, letting a low, long groan escape from his chest. 

“Oh, f-fuck-�� Javi stammered, flushing his hips against yours as you felt his warm spend coat your walls, pressed so deep inside you, you were convinced it’d have no choice but to stick, in a few weeks finding out baby number four would be on the way. 

Javi’s chest rose and fell, looking down at the way your bodies melted together beneath him, igniting something primal in him to see the mix of your arousal seeping around where the two of you met. His eyes darkened, looking down at you with a feral sort of smirk, not even giving you the chance to speak before his lips were crashing into yours again, hips slowly thrusting while his fingers rubbed at your sensitive bundle of nerves. 

“J-Javi, what are you-” You muttered, cut off by the messy dancing of tongues and teeth in your mouths. 

“I’m not done yet, Momma. Not until I fuck myself so deep in there we know it fucking takes. Wanna keep you stuffed so fucking full of me.” Javi grunted, rubbing your clit faster at the way he could feel the walls of your pussy starting to flutter around him, determined to make sure he wasn’t the only one who finished. “Cum for me, baby. I know you’re close. Can feel how tight she’s getting for me.” 

You knew just as well as he did that the tingle that had been building at the base of your spine had slowly begun to flow to every inch of your body, building up through your legs and into your core, clenching down harder and harder around Javi’s cock, knowing there was no doubt the mess between your legs was surley just as wet as it sounded as he slid in and out of you. 

“Oh fuck, Javi, oh fuck- fuck, fuckfuckfuck- ah!” 

It didn't take long before your orgasm crashed through you, lighting up every inch of you in radiating pleasure, your cunt clamping down so hard around Javi’s cock, it made him let out a strangled gasp as he choked out curses under his breath. 

“Jesus, fuck. Gonna squeeze every last fucking drop outta me, huh? My greedy fuckin’ girl.” Javi smirked, planting a soft kiss on your lips before he slumped on top of you, your chests rising and falling as one as you finished coming down from your high. 

The two of you laid there for a moment, catching your breaths and basking in bliss before Javi was pulling out of you with a hiss, one hand wrapped around his softening cock, the other scooping up the mix of your spend pooling between your legs before it dripped to the floor, carefully pushing it back inside you. 

“Fuck,” Javi laughed to himself quietly, sitting back on his haunches, admiring the slick, shiny mess your pussy had become, “Jesus, I can’t remember the last time I came that hard.” 

“Looks like Christmas came early this year… and so did you.” You giggled, making Javi roll his eyes, playfully shaking one of the legs still pressed to your chest. 

“Shut up.” He sighed, shaking his head at you before laying back down beside you, shifting so that his chest was pressed to your back, spooning you in his grasp. “Gotta make sure Santa’s not the only thing coming down the chimney this year.” 

“Jesus Christ, Javi.” You can’t help but snort, ashamed of how easily amused you are by his stupid puns. 

“What? You let me get my gift early, least I can do is stuff your stocking for you.” 

“Oh my god, you are the worst.” 

The two of you giggled, basking in your laughter as you laid together on the floor, only spurred on by the fact you realized how ridiculous it was that the two of you were completely naked in the middle of your living room, surrounded by a sea of wrapping paper and presents. 

“Speaking of stocking stuffers, we should finish wrapping the rest of these gifts we have out before we go to bed. At least some of these presents should be wrapped, because the one you just gave me was most definitely not.” You teased, craning your neck to pepper ticklish kisses across Javi’s jaw. 

“It’s the gift that keeps on giving. I’ll give it to you tomorrow too, if you let me.” Javi grinned, giving you a playful wink before pressing a kiss into your messy hair and patting your hip, reaching over you to grab the pile of clothes the two of you had left next to you. “Seriously though, thank you. You and our girls are the best gift I could ever have, but adding one more would make me so fucking happy. I love you, Osita.” 

“I love you too, Javi. You guys are the best gift I could ask for, too. Although, I will say, your gift also selfishly works in my favor, too. Some presents are just better unwrapped.”

@chaotic-iguana @rhoorl @bbiophiliaa @pertinentpostmortem @angelofsmalldeath-codeine

@pedrobaby @fatima-marisa @beboldbebravethings @poodlebae @kittenlittle24

@3sriracha @jungchloee @perennialdoll247 @prettyinpunk85 @raspberrybesitos

@partyofone3413 @harriedandharassed @pedrohoe04 @theorganasolo

@endlessthxxghts @beware-my-thorns @missladym1981 @milly-louise

@jay-zzle @the-one-with-the-grey-color @persephone-girl @bitchesuntitled

@pedropascallvr @millennial-teenybopper @vee-bees-blog

@hopplessilse @mxtokko @its-nebuleuse @mandoisapunk @msmorningstaarr

@amyispxnk @honeyedmiller @mountainsandmayhem @picketniffler @burningnerdchild

@copperhalfcent @theoraekenslover @bloodyinspirationaldemon @vee-bees-blog

@samgirl4life @pigeonmama @survivingandenduring @itsokbbygrl @javierpena-inatacvestnotifs

[awrkive]

tlp xmas special — jjk (m.)

hello awrkive nation!!! its late but merry christmas to those who celebrate!! sorry for being ia but heres a christmas gift from me to you 🫣 first of all i genuinely forgot abt the car s*x drabble that won that poll i made a few weeks ago which i promised you guys ISHDJDJ but here it is!! this drabble combines all of these three recurring requests for the tlp couple and this might also be the last drabble im doing for them (for now??) so do enjoy!!

pairing: tlp!jungkook x tlp!oc (main story)

summary: in which jungkook looks way too good carrying your sister's three-year old at her christmas eve party and you can't help but let your mind wander

w/c: 6k (ctfu)

warning/s: explicit sexual content (p in v s*x, car s*x, unprotected s*x, cre*mpie), oc having baby fever lol. genuinely not proofread sorry for any errors!

You find babies mesmerizing. They’re charming, they can be a handful, they’re irresistibly cute; so tiny, yet so loud. But to the core, they somehow manage to be a pure embodiment of joy.

Before Nayeon got pregnant, she shared something about having a “baby fever”. Of course you knew what it meant – but you never really felt it yourself. She said it was something about Minhyuk being such a good husband that she couldn’t wait for him to be a father. Well, you related to that specific part, at least; about your own husband being such a good husband. However, for the past year you’ve become a married couple, you never really thought about having babies. Or him being a father. Or you being a mother. 

It’s not like you don’t want to become a mother, like ever, or have a family with him. It’s just you thought you’re still way too young to be having babies. So you kind of just… gloss or skip over that idea – and for the record, Jungkook’s never brought it up, either. 

It’s not until your sister got pregnant for the second time, though, that you got yourself thinking. Seokjin and her had babies almost four years into their marriage, but it’s not very long until they decided to try again after Nari and now your sister is carrying her baby boy for seven months. 

It brings you here, gathered at their house for Christmas Eve. Your families haven’t arrived yet, but you and Jungkook decided to go earlier than the agreed time to help out with the – admittedly, big preparation. And currently, Jungkook’s got Nari – Seokjin and your sister’s 3-year-old – in his arms, asking for raspberries because Jungkook’s her favorite uncle. (Why wouldn’t he be? He spoils her a lot and carries her around when you come over.) He insisted on looking after her so Seokjin can help your sister out in the kitchen while you’re over at the counter island making some charcuterie.

Seokjin’s helping your sister take out the pies they’ve both prepared, with him guarding her and being extra with it because “my wife is pregnant and I’m growing white hairs because she wouldn’t just let me do everything”. Your sister is just so done chastising him for his overbearing antics, but you guess it’s cute, at the core of it all. You’ve always looked up to their relationship all these years. In fact, you kind of see Seokjin in Jungkook sometimes. Seokjin loves your sister the way Jungkook loves you. 

And then, the thought passes over your head like some form of looming possibility, unsettling yet intriguing. It lingers for a moment, uninvited but persistent, as if life is quietly hinting at something you’ve never truly considered before. The idea of a baby, of parenthood, feels distant but somehow more tangible now—like a door you never saw, now standing slightly ajar, waiting for you to decide whether to step through.

Would Jungkook be just as (lovingly) overbearing if you were pregnant? You imagine he’d be even more annoying about it. It’s rare for you to get sick, but when you do, Jungkook practically flips the house upside down just to make sure you don’t have to lift a finger. Takes care of you so seriously, as if the illness would never go away on its own in a few days. So what would it be like if you were carrying his child? Would he act like Seokjin does now, always hovering with a hand on your back, supporting your every move, scolding you if you try to do anything that requires even a little bit of effort?

The thought makes your lips curl. Because he probably would. You know he will. 

And as you look at him from across the room, carrying Nari around effortlessly against his body with one arm, with his red long-sleeve polo shirt pushed up to his forearms, white slacks, and freshly cut hair slicked to perfection for tonight’s occasion, he looks… delectable. 

Like a DILF. 

Except he isn’t a dad. 

But god, would you really, really like to fuck him. 

(And would he look way hotter if he – say – gave you a child?)

“Is it done?” Your sister interrupts your thoughts – thankfully, might you add. Because it’s going in a direction that’s way too inappropriate for a family occasion like this, and you need to be family friendly tonight for this Christmas party. 

When you turn around to see if she was talking to you, you find her looking at her husband instead, and with her stance and the tone of her voice, you know it doesn’t sound good. 

“Yeah. I think I just need to add a little more—” 

“Jin,” she says, sounding a little distressed. “Hurry. And make sure it’s perfect, okay? Everyone’s arriving in fifteen, and this is the first time I’m hosting Christmas and I really, really don’t want to disappoint your family and Jungkook’s parents and mom and—” 

“Hey,” You see Seokjin put a hand on the lower part of your sister’s back, effectively cutting her off. Gently, he tells her, “Everything’s perfect, alright?” 

Soft tunes of Christmas songs are playing all over the huge open space of their house, and you know you’re not supposed to listen in to the conversation given that they’re spoken in an almost hushed manner as some sort of discretion, but you can’t help but notice when she turns to Seokjin to give him a downturned smile.

“I just really want to give this my all…” 

He smiles down at her reassuringly. “You have, honey. Let’s not stress, okay? Not good for baby, remember?” Then, he begins to rub her protruding belly, and you see her visibly relaxing to his touch. 

You turn around quickly to not get caught watching, only to be welcomed with Jungkook making a beeline towards you, with Nari still in his arms. 

“Hi, baby,” Your sister automatically greets Nari, cooing at her, mood immediately picking up. The bright-eyed little girl lights up at the sight of her mommy, making grabby hands instantly. Laughing, Jungkook hands her to Seokjin, who receives his daughter and kisses her chubby cheeks with a smack. 

“What were you up to with uncle JK, little missy?” Seokjin says, swaying her side to side. 

Jungkook leans his elbow on the island while looking at the pair, smiling widely.

“Uncle JK said he’s giving me three presents! Three! I wanna open them!” She holds up three fingers, and you giggle at her cuteness.

Your sister softly laughs in response. “Your uncle likes to spoil you, sweetie. But we’ll open them later, okay?”

“Why not now?” She whines, and you smile at how seriously she takes it. “I want three presents!”

“Don’t worry,” Seokjin laughs, “You’ll have lots of surprises when the grandmas and grandpas get here. But we need to change into your dress first.”

Nari giggles. “You? You’re gonna wear a dress too?”

Seokjin raises an eyebrow. “Yeah, why not?”

She shakes her head, still giggling, her pigtails swaying as she does so. God, she looks like a combination of Seokjin and your sister that it’s so uncanny sometimes.

“You’re so silly, daddy.”

Seokjin feigns shock. “Silly? Just wait, Uncle JK and I are going to be Ariel and Belle for New Year’s! Right, Jungkook?” He looks over at Jungkook, who widens his eyes comically.

You laugh, and Jungkook adds, “Well, I wanted to be Cinderella, but sure, I’ll be Belle.”

Nari gasps dramatically, putting her hand over her mouth. “But she’s my favorite, Uncle JK! You can’t be her!”

She’s such a cute kid – and you know everybody in the room agrees. No doubt her mom and dad think so, but when you look over at Jungkook, he’s cheesing really hard – with his nose scrunched into that expression of cute aggression. 

“These two boys are silly.” Your sister interrupts with a playful roll of her eyes. She looks at her husband Nari, “Honey, take Nari upstairs and dress her up, please.”

“I can wear my new dress now?!” Nari shrieks, excitement showing with the way she wiggles in her father’s hold.

“Absolutely, baby, and the sparkly white shoes, too,” Seokjin nods. You all coo when Nari lets out an adorable, delighted “yay!” at the words, already leaning towards the direction of the stairs and telling her father to hurry. With a chuckle, Seojin turns to you. “Alright. And Jungkook, please help her with the food.” Seokjin’s gaze falls to your sister, a reminder before he goes completely.

“She’s so cute, I can’t.” Jungkook chuckles.

“Right… my sister was definitely not that cute when we were younger.” you tease, earning an arched brow to your way from your sister. 

“I was the cuter one between us, it’s an established fact,” she rolls her eyes. “When you two get a kid, it better look like Jungkook.” 

Maybe the remark sounded like such a throw-away comment that Jungkook just laughs it off as if it isn’t the first time somebody hinted at you two starting a family. Or maybe he just thinks it isn’t a big deal. Or maybe… maybe he likes the idea? 

You’re about to say something when your sister turns to you.

“You,” she takes you by the shoulders and you look back at her. “You might want to retouch your make-up. Party’s starting soon. And this charcuterie looks—” she looks to the side as if to check if Nari is still around, and when she deems she isn’t at all, she continues to say, “fucking perfect. I love you.” 

“Duh.” you reply, cockily showing off the board to her and to Jungkook who intriguingly looks at your work. 

“I knew you should have been a chef.” Jungkook comments proudly, grinning at you.

“Alright, man,” your sister says in a flat tone, making Jungkook and you laugh. “Jungkook, can help me transfer these to the dining table, please?” She points to the trays of food and Jungkook rounds the counter so he can do just as she requested. 

Before you can head to the powder room, Jungkook brushes past your waist – just one of the candid things he does to have some sort of physical contact with you when you’re not necessarily talking together or close to each other.

It puts a smile on your face as you enter the powder room. 

Inside, you make quick work of putting another layer of lipstick and pressing powder on your face, checking your hair before you stand upright and look at your reflection in the mirror.

You step backwards enough to see half of your body, and from there, you can see how beautiful you look in the outfit you’ve chosen for tonight. It’s a satin red dress with a halter neckline, the gathered drape cascading gracefully around your neck, exposing your shoulders. The silhouette fits at the waist and flows into a straight skirt that stops inches below your knees, and Jungkook may have had a hard time letting you go in your bedroom before you drove to your sister’s place – but you promised him a good time when you get back home so in the end, he had to tuck in a semi on the way from here.

Poor Jungkook. 

Though… you’re beginning to think poor you, instead.

Because you’re thinking about it again. Him in his outfit tonight; the silk polo so he can match yours, and the way he looked so good with a baby girl in his strong arms. 

You can already picture how good he'd look with his own child. He’d be the type of dad who looks effortlessly hot with a baby carrier, showers his kids with gifts because he can’t help himself, and simply excels at being a wonderful father because he’s Jeon Jungkook and he excels in everything he sets his mind to.

Now your brain’s going on a haywire. 

Because now it’s just Jungkook. Hot Jungkook. Jungkook with a baby. Jungkook looking smoking hot carrying his own baby – your baby. 

And wouldn’t it be nice? To carry a being formed by your mutual love? To have someone as adorable and smart and sassy as Nari? God. You hope she’d look like you, but have Jungkook’s eyes because they are your favorite part of him, and then his nose, maybe? And… and maybe have the mole under his lip too, if that was possible. Jungkook had a lot of hair when he came out of his mom’s womb, would your daughter have a lot of hair as well when you give birth to her? 

And why are you already thinking of the gender of your non-existent child? 

You think you’ve gone nuts, but the indulgent little devil on your shoulder is insisting that Jungkook would look so good with a baby girl because you know he’d be such a girl dad. There’s just absolutely no doubt about it, given how he treats Nari. 

You stare at yourself in the mirror again, and absentmindedly, you turn to the side, noting the very clear absence of a bump on your stomach unlike your sister’s. 

Would you carry a baby as gracefully as her? You know her struggles… but… maybe you won’t mind it with a husband like Jungkook… right? Just like she doesn’t mind with a husband like Seokjin. Because Jungkook takes really good care of you. He’d probably panic more than you about certain things. Be extra careful for the both of you. Fetch you your cravings. Love you more than he does now. 

You remember Seokjin rubbing a gentle hand over your sister’s bump, and it brings your own to caress the flat of your stomach over the smooth fabric of your dress. 

Obviously no baby there. But… just imagine. You with a baby bump.

Hah. 

Weird, because it’s the first time the idea’s planted in your head and you kind of like it more than you thought. 

You nibble on your bottom lip as you continue to caress your tummy, not noticing the knock that came from outside. 

“Oh my—” 

“Baby?” 

“Jungkook.” Your hands retreat back to your sides. When you look at Jungkook, standing on the doorway, you let one hand clutch at your chest as you tell him, “You scared me.” 

The door clicks as he locks it behind him. Your husband arches his brow as he goes over to you. “What are you so jumpy for?” 

You ignore the question, looking back to the mirror again to fix your dress. But as you do so, you see his reflection – and you catch how he intently stares at you through the glass as well, walking behind you closer and pressing himself against you. His proximity suddenly makes you nervous.

“You should’ve knocked.” 

“I did. You didn’t answer.” 

“I didn’t hear.” When you turn around, Jungkook takes a curled strand of hair over your face and tucks it behind your ear. 

“You look beautiful. So gorgeous.” He says before he wraps his arms around your waist and presses a kiss to your lips, one that you welcome fully even though you just reapplied your lipstick. When you break away, you see some remnants on his lips… and realize you picked the wrong lipstick for tonight. You should’ve brought the kiss-proof lippy instead.

You wipe it off and Jungkook smiles before he ducks down, not caring, and kisses your cheek for good measure before he speaks again, “What were you doing in here?” He wiggles his eyebrows, as if he knows you were up to something before he barged in. 

You avoid his gaze and turn back around. 

“Nothing,” You say, trying to busy yourself with your hair again. But Jungkook can be really annoying when he wants to be, so of course he pushes, quite literally and figuratively. 

“What was it? I saw you…” He teases, pushing his nose in the juncture of your neck and shoulder, tightening his hold around you. 

“What did you�� Jungkook!” You half-snort and scoff when Jungkook bites your neck playfully. You turn around to push him, but he’s insistent on keeping the nonexistent space between you and cages you in his big presence instead, trapping you in between the edge of the sink and the heat of his body. 

“This damn dress…” Jungkook whispers as he splays his hand over your stomach, which makes your breath hitch. 

Did he really see? See you pretending to have a baby bump at the thought of him impregnating you? 

But Jungkook doesn’t really say anything further, just lets an idle finger run over the curve of your hips up to your waist, until it stops at the exposed skin of your shoulder. 

“Can’t wait to fuck you in this.” He whispers in your ear, eyes meeting your gaze in the mirror, not subtle in the way he checks out your body after. 

You huff out a scoff, giving a little more force into the push that you give him this time. His more relaxed hold on you makes him stumble a little bit backwards, chuckling when you roll your eyes at him once again. 

“You’re not even gonna take it off me?” You ask as your turn on the tap, arching your brow at Jungkook’s reflection in the mirror. 

A sly smirk makes an appearance on his lips. “I don’t need to take anything off to make you cum, baby.” 

You turn around, leaning on the sink. “So you’re saying you’re not interested at all about my very elaborate choice of underwear tonight, then?” 

That catches him off guard, his brows furrowed in confusion and then realization.

“You minx.” 

You chuckle, swatting his hand away when he tries to touch you. When he whines, you take a step forward and wrap your arms around his neck, and Jungkook’s predictably eager to encircle your waist in his arms back again. 

“Later. We have to keep it PG for at least three hours tonight. And you can—” you push at his chest for leverage so you can lean down a little to ride your dress up your thighs. Looking at Jungkook, you watch as he stares at you closely, intently, but oblivious to what you’re doing. He clearly enjoys it, though, judging from the hint of a smile on his lips and the shine in his eyes when more of your skin gets revealed. 

Especially when he catches a glimpse of your white lace underwear that he bought for you himself.

He whistles, and you roll your eyes at the predictable reaction. Taking one of his hands off you, you guide it in between your thighs, earning an involuntary moan from you because Jungkook’s palm automatically cups your heat when he gets close. 

“Ah…” 

“Fuck…” Jungkook looks down where his hand meets your core. “Goddamn,” He says, then you feel him push your panties to the side, dipping the tip of his finger in your pussy. “Why the fuck are you so wet, baby?”

“Y-yeah…” You whine against his chest, gripping his wrist when he attempts to move again. “Kook, don’t.” 

Jungkook halts. He looks at you. Then, he nods. “Alright. Alright. Stop this here?” 

“Hm.” 

He looks down at you with an arched brow. “You started it, though.” 

“You were being flirty.” You say as Jungkook brings your underwear back in place, but not without squeezing your ass first. You nibble on your bottom lip as he rides down the dress, letting it dangle on your knees back again, smoothing the front for you to get rid of the wrinkles. 

“Not my fault you’re hot,” he snorts. “Fuck.” 

“What?” 

“I’m kinda hard…” He says, and you both look down to the bump on his white slacks. Certainly not his full potential (like… you’d know), but it’s still apparent in the light color of his trouser. 

“Poor baby,” you say, can’t help but pat it a little condescendingly which earns a chuckle from Jungkook, him playfully swatting your hand away. 

“You’re so…” 

“I’m so what.” 

Jungkook’s face is a mixture of frustration and amusement. “You always do this shit.” 

You giggle, knowing exactly what he means. But you act like you have no clue. “What?” 

“Get me horny then leave.” He shakes his head, then pokes your waist. 

Chuckling, you kiss him on the cheek quickly, making a beeline to the door quickly lest he tries to kiss you again (and you’ll have no choice but to make out in your sister’s powder room, during her big Christmas party, mind you) and then give him a wink before you go.

 

The ride on the way home felt like it took sixty five years, and it might just be true especially when you’re horny as hell and you got a husband behind the steering wheel looking effortlessly hot in his element. 

You’ve been hot and bothered for hours, and maybe it’s the champagne – probably has gotten in your brain or whatever – but Jungkook was not even done parking when you made a move to palm him over the console. 

“Fuck,” Jungkook hissed, clearly not expecting it at all. He had that wide-eyed look when he frantically turned off the engine, staring at you while your hand grew heavy on his crotch. “Here?” You bit on your bottom lip as you nodded your head. He looked beyond conflicted. “But baby, we’re just ten floors away from our u–”

“Please?” 

And what was he supposed to say? No? 

Absolutely not. Not when your glassy eyes looked so pleading the way they did.   

He just makes your insides churn, especially when you look at him. And for the past few hours, you couldn’t stop thinking about his dick inside you and most especially his cum. (Translation: You can’t stop thinking about him fucking a baby into you).

But… the thing was, you’ve only ever fucked in a car once.

Jungkook’s way too pesky about stuff like that, and somehow, even though he’s already been made aware of your exhibitionist tendencies (cue unprompted sex in public areas like that one time in the beach, window sex at a Ritz hotel back in London and… admittedly many more…) car sex was just… a least favorite. The first and only time you did it was when you were still fresh into dating; at a drive-thru cinema, but it was kind of a whack in both your opinions because it was too cramped up and you bumped your head and you almost got caught which is way too embarrassing of a memory to ever revisit. 

But now maybe that really doesn't matter anymore.

Not when your husband looks like that.

And bottomline is: you just really, really want him to cum in you. 

Oh god. What is wrong with your head tonight? 

“Baby, fuuuck,” Jungkook hisses as you speed up your rhythm up and down his cock. His boxers and slacks are pushed down to the middle of his thighs while his shirt is all but buttoned. Meanwhile, your dress is bunched up in your mid-section. 

You’re near tears on his lap at this point, already feeling your thighs straining at the force you’re exerting in every bounce – but you couldn’t care less. 

“Oh my god, baby– you feel so good,” you moan, eyes shutting close at the feel of his tip hitting that spot inside you whenever you go down.

For the first few minutes, Jungkook took it upon himself to guide your hips in every movement just like he always does when you ride him like this, pounding into you from underneath, but he eventually let you control the pace, leaning way back to the reclined seat and watches you work instead. He stares at you with hooded eyes as you push yourself up and down on his hardened cock, stiletto heels digging the side of his thighs occasionally.

While you pleasure yourself on him, he slides your dress up further, gets a little frustrated that it’s tight on the waist so he can’t push it past your tits. So he feels for your nape to find the zipper because he knows it’s there – he zipped you up in this dress before you drove to your sister’s place – and he delights when he finds the small, cold material, pulling it down blindly until you noticed and help him get yourself out of it. 

Jungkook sighs when the top comes down, snapping the clip of your sleeveless bra and getting it out of the way before he greedily fondles your now bare breasts in his huge palms. 

“Ohh,” you moan when Jungkook flicks your nipples, getting them even harder. You push yourself back, leaning into one elbow on the steering wheel as you begin to rock against him in a back and forth motion,

“Fuck—” Jungkook lets out a guttural groan, squeezing your tits tighter that makes you keen in want. “So fucking sexy, baby. Shit – damn – l-love you.” 

“I-I love you too,” you say, more like a whine, chasing a high he knows is impending. 

Jungkook looks up at you with hooded eyes. Your hair that was once tidy and neat three hours ago is now all over the place, the high bun loosening and some strands falling off your pretty face. Your lipstick smudged and he’s sure the remnants are on his lips, and with your mouth agaped in that erotic o-shape while you pleasure yourself on his cock, Jungkook feels like exploding. 

“Ah– shit,” he groans, feeling the warm crevice of your wet pussy swallow him whole. When you climbed over his lap a while ago after he fingered you, he was gonna take out a condom from the glove compartment but you insisted to not use it, and the picture of you looking down while he pushed your panties to the side and looked into each other’s eyes as you sank down on him is still playing in his head like a broken record.

God fuck damn, you’re just so unreal. The love of his life. His wife. 

He wipes your tear-stained cheeks, torn because he doesn’t like seeing you cry but he does like it when it’s because you’re so eager to bounce on his cock that even though you know you’re pushing it, you continue to do so.

Jungkook lets his hand travel from a boob to linger on your cheek, and he keens on the way you purr when you lean into his touch, smiling slightly when you open your mouth as his thumb nears it. 

You eagerly suck it as if verbally prompted, opening your eyes just so you can stare at his as you lewdly slobber over his finger while you expertly move against his cock, breasts jiggling up and down right in front of his face – the obscene squelches of your lovemaking filling the air of his cramped up benz. 

“You’re so perfect, baby,” Jungkook whispers. “Perfect girl. You love bouncing on my cock, love? Just couldn’t wait until we get home? Hm?” His tone is a bit condescending and cocky. 

When Jungkook takes out his finger from your mouth, you bite your lip as you nod, resuming your up and down motion again. Slamming down on his dick, your hands come up to grip his shoulders tight. 

“We are home.” 

Jungkook chuckles, a rich and dark sound that sends shivers down your spine. A snarky remark gets buried in your throat when you feel a certain zap of electricity coming from your toes to your spine, the hot coil in your stomach edging to burst.

“I’m cumming– oh my god, Jungkook– baby I’m cumming—” You say, speeding up your pace once again. 

With your breasts bouncing in front of his face like that, he couldn’t help but dive right into it, wrapping his lips around one nipple, nipping and sucking and licking, while he busies one hand with fondling the other. He alternated in between both tits, groaning and grunting when your pussy tightens around him, and one more slam on his cock gets you spiraling as you finally cum. 

Jungkook closes his eyes when he feels you gush around him, and he really wishes that he could lay you down, spread you out, and eat the slick right out of you just like how he likes it.

“That’s it, baby – fuck. Good girl, good girl.” 

A long, drawl-out moan slips past your lips, and Jungkook takes it upon himself to keep you bouncing on his cock when your energy dwindles down, rocking his hips upwards, just as eager to reach his high as well. 

You try to pick up your pace to help him, planting your palms on his bare chest to meet his thrusts. 

“Fuck baby, I’m cumming, I’m cumming,” Jungkook says in a hushed whisper, groaning, squeezing your ass tight that you know will leave marks the next day. 

“I know, baby – cum for me,” You lean down to capture his lips, whimpering when you feel yourself still coming down from your high.

“Ohh fuuck—” Jungkook moans, a tell-tale sign of his orgasm. “Fuck, I’m cumming—” 

It’s almost second nature the way he looks down on your crotch, hand going over to where you meet – and you almost panic when you realize what he’s about to do. 

“Jungkook, no,” you stop his hand, and he looks at you with utter confusion, rightfully so. Biting your lip, you stare into his eyes as you say, “I want you to come inside me.” 

You watch as his eyes widen, then, “You sure?” He says with furrowed brows.

You nod your head frantically. “Please come in me. I want your come in me. Please, please—” 

“Jesus fuck—” Jungkook’s hips stutter, his grip on yours tightening, gaze darkening as he processes your words. “Fuck. Okay, baby. No need to beg, okay? Fuck. I’ll come inside you.” 

You speed up your pace and you can feel yourself getting there for a second time, and maybe it’s the heat of the moment, but your next words fall from your lips without much thought: “Yeah, yeah –give it to me, Kook. Want your– ah– want your babies.” 

“Shit.” Jungkook hisses, taken aback by your words. “Fuuuck…” He looks up at you, grabs your waist and makes you lean closer. “You mean that?” 

You nod your head, jumping on his cock up and down like your life depends on it. “Want your babies. Want you to cum in me.” 

“Shiiitt,” Jungkook sighs, and you feel him getting harder by the second. “Gonna– gonna fuck a baby in you, baby. Fuck. You don’t know what you do to me– shit, I’m cumming.” 

You both moan in unison when Jungkook finally releases inside you the same time you do so, his cock hardening in your walls, throbbing when you settle down on his lap with him still buried inside you. When the seconds pass, you feel the exhaustion wrapping around you, and you let Jungkook trail kisses up your shoulders and neck at the post-coital momentum. 

“Fuck, that was so hot.” He whispers against your lips, kissing your parted mouth. You sigh against it, all sweaty and fucked out. 

“Oh, baby…” You moan when Jungkook lifts you up and you feel yourself dripping from your cum. 

“Fucking hell, so beautiful baby...” Jungkook trails off, squeezing your breasts before pushing you gently to lean back on the steering wheel. You look down as you watch with a gasp when he slides his cock out from your heat, covered in white and slick, moaning lewdly when he pumps it out for more. 

Some of it spurts on your pussy, and you stare in awe when Jungkook inserts the tip once again in your heat, your eyes rolling to the back of your head at the blurred lines between pleasure and overstimulation. 

“Goddammit.” Jungkook sighs, gratified, tapping his cock on your pussy a few times before he grabs your hips again so he can kiss you on the mouth. It almost gives you whiplash when he looks at you with such sincere and genuine eyes as he says, “I love you.” 

“Love you,” you say, closing your eyes when his kisses trail to your jaw and his hands come up to fondle your tits again. His favorite fixation – his words, not yours. “Kook.” 

“Hm.” 

“Sticky.” 

He hums again. You keep your position like that for a few more seconds before Jungkook helps put your panties and dress back in place, picking you up slightly as you climb over the passenger seat. 

You watch as he pulls his boxers and pants back up, buckling his belt around the waist. He hasn’t fixed the unbuttoned state of his shirt yet before he looks at you again with a smile.

“Come here, you,” He says, beckoning you to come closer with his arm around your seat. You grin, crossing the console again to meet the kiss he gives your mouth. Then, Jungkook breaks the contact, caressing your cheek as he speaks. “Babies, huh?” He brings up, eyes so bright; delighted, excited. He has that unshakeable grin. 

And you can’t help but mirror it. 

“Do you want to?” You ask instead. Nibbling on your bottom lip, you nervously wait for his answer that doesn’t really take that long. 

“Fuck, yeah. If you want to, then I want to,” he responds. Then, he adds, “And I really, really want to.”

“Okay…” you say, biting your lip to keep yourself from smiling too much. “But it doesn’t have to be now. Or I don’t know. I know it’s only been a year since we got married and all that—” 

“Baby, stop,” Jungkook says before you can finish your thought. “Doesn’t matter if we were one month into the marriage. As long as you’re ready, then I’m ready. Are you ready?”

A few beats. 

It was your horny-adled brain that got you in this position in the first place – but you think about how life with Jungkook would be like with kids added in the equation in the near future.

It would be so far from bad. 

The past year had been nothing short of bliss since you married him, and as you watched Jungkook, a thought warmed your heart: he’d be an incredible dad. The way he loves you, so deeply and selflessly, leaves no doubt in your mind that he’d go above and beyond for your child—or children. You’re certain he’d love them as much as he loves you, perhaps even more.

A smile spreads across your face, and you nod to his question.

“I want a family with you, Kook.”

Jungkook’s face lights up with a delighted smile, mirroring yours. “So, we’re doing this?”

You nod again, biting your lip to temper your excitement.

“Thank you,” he says softly.

You blink at him in surprise. “Why are you thanking me?”

He shakes his head with a gentle smile and leans in to kiss you again. “Just… thank you.”

You furrow your brows, squinting at him in playful confusion. Before you can say more, he leans forward and nips the tip of your nose.

“Ow!” you exclaim, laughing.

“You’re cute,” Jungkook teases. “But we’ve gotta clean up and head home. Then, we can keep practicing putting my baby in you—on a nice, comfortable bed this time.” He winks, pecking your cheek as he buttons his shirt and unbuckles his seatbelt.

You snort, rolling your eyes as you do the same. “Admit it, you like car sex.”

Jungkook hums nonchalantly, his cheeky grin giving him away. You chuckle, shaking your head at him, love radiating in every moment between you.

[dollishmehrayan]

# “MRS. WAYNE I THINK THIS IS FOR YOU!” ── .✦ ( bruce wayne wife headcannons )

a/n: this was request by a anon (here) so yeah but anyways I Lowkey used to be OBSESSED with like batmom stories but like I genuinely then lost all care for liking anything bruce wayne but this might just like help me (jason todd girly converts into a batmom Stan😭) tags: (bruce wayne x fem!reader)

CHAOTIC HEADCANNONS ── .✦

“No, Bruce. That’s Not a Normal Thing to Do.”

You frequently have to remind him that billionaire habits don’t translate to normal life.

Bruce: “I thought I’d buy out the café you like so you wouldn’t have to wait in line.”

You: “Bruce, we’re just getting lattes. Calm down.”

The expensive car Dilemma: He’s tried picking you up in one of his expensive cars once, and you’ve never let him live it down.

“Bruce, we’re not running a car dealership we’re going to Target.”

Tech Mishaps: Bruce likes to show off his gadgets, but they always malfunction around you. Once, the Batcomputer locked him out because you accidentally spilled coffee near it. You took a picture of his shocked face and made it your phone wallpaper for weeks.

The Disastrous Cooking Attempts: Bruce insists he can cook. The truth? Alfred banned him from the kitchen after he tried to “surprise” you with pancakes and set the stovetop on fire.

“I’m Batman, but I can’t handle pancake batter.”

OVERPROTECTIVE HUSBAND™ ── .✦

He’ll interrogate any new friends you bring around like they’re suspects in a heist.

Bruce, shaking someone’s hand firmly: “And what do you do for a living?”

You, glaring: “Bruce, they’re not applying to join the Justice League.”

GOSSIP FINAL BOSS ── .✦

He pretends not to care about gossip, but he secretly listens to you rant about gala drama. Sometimes, he’ll even chime in with hilariously accurate observations.

You: “That woman was glaring at me all night.”

Bruce: “Because she kept seeing her husband looking at you’re instagram posts. Trust me, Alfred told me.”

ROMANTIC HCS ── .✦

Constant Gentleman Mode: Bruce is always opening doors for you, carrying your bags, or pulling out your chair. You tease him about being old-fashioned, but it’s clear he loves taking care of you.

Private Dance Lessons in the Manor: When you’re stressed, Bruce will put on some music in the empty ballroom and sweep you into an impromptu dance. He’s a surprisingly good dancer, but the way he looks at you mid-spin? That’s what makes your heart race.

Personal Love Notes: Bruce doesn’t text much, but he leaves little handwritten notes around the house.

“Don’t forget, you’re the best part of my day.”

“Coffee’s ready downstairs. So is your husband, who can’t stop thinking about you.”

The ‘I’m Watching You’ Look: At galas, Bruce can’t stop staring at you. When you catch him, he gives that little smirk that says, Yeah, you caught me, but I’m not sorry.

Soft Batman Moments: Even in the Batcave, he has moments where he’s just your Bruce. When he sees you waiting up for him late at night, he’ll silently take off his cowl, walk over, and hold you like he’s afraid you’ll disappear.

Protective, but Not Controlling: He worries, of course, but he respects your independence. If you’re ever in trouble, though, the Bat is out faster than you can blink. “No one touches my wife.”

Gift Giving Expert: He puts serious thought into gifts. One time, he recreated your childhood bedroom in the manor when you were feeling homesick. “I just wanted you to feel at home,” he said, completely nonchalant.

The Morning Ritual: He wakes up early to watch you sleep for a few minutes (in the least creepy way possible) because it’s his quiet reminder of how lucky he is. When you stir awake, he presses a kiss to your forehead and whispers, “Good morning, love.”

Subtle Public Affection: In public, his affection is subtle—hand on the small of your back, thumb grazing your hand, or an almost imperceptible wink across the room. But behind closed doors? He’s all cuddles and kisses.

Always Puts You First: Whether it’s cutting a patrol short to spend time with you or risking everything to keep you safe, Bruce’s priority will always be you. “The city can wait. You can’t.”

MIX OF CHAOS AND ROMANCE ── .✦

When Bruce tries to be romantic but Alfred bringing him back to reality: Bruce, holding your hand: “You’re the light in my dark world.”

Alfred, walking in: “Sir, you said that to the last woman, too. Shall I fetch your script?”

You once jokingly wore a bat-symbol T-shirt to tease him. Bruce didn’t say anything, but later that week, he wore a matching shirt that said, “I <3 My Wife.”

[hoe4hotchner]

Hiii!! Could you do another non bau rich fem!reader where she gave Aaron lots of designer stuff and he starts wearing them to work? Like maybe ties, cuff links, and like an LV duffel bag and the team is just like “??? Woah dude where’d you get that??”

Subtle flex | [A.H]

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x rich fem!reader| WC: 0.9k | CW: nothing

Aaron Hotchner was usually not one for excess. His wardrobe was practical and professional, his tastes minimalistic, and his life, outside of Jack, revolved around efficiency and exuding authority on the job. Sure he had splurged occasionally on a stray high-quality tie here and there as well as his Rolex watch. At least that was until you entered his life.  

The first gift was a tie — a deep navy one in silk with subtle pinstripes. It came in a sleek wrapped box with some designer brand he had never even heard of before. You’d handed it to him with a casual smile, brushing off his initial protests with a light, “Aaron, I saw it and thought of you. Let me spoil you for once.”  

He wore it the next day, paired with his standard black suit, and noticed how it caught the light in the mirror. “Looks good,” he muttered to himself, brushing his hand over it. As hesitant as he had been to accept it, he was thankful for the present and happy that you'd chosen one that wasn't smothered in logos or brand names.

Then came the cuff links. They were sterling silver and engraved with his initials. He opened the box late one evening after you handed it to him over dinner. “You didn’t have to,” he said softly, though his smile betrayed how much he loved them.  

“Of course, I didn’t have to,” you replied, leaning in to press a kiss to his temple. “But you deserve nice things, Aaron. You do so much good without even expecting a thanks.”  

And so it continued. A Louis Vuitton duffel bag for his work trips, a black leather wallet that somehow managed to look even more professional than the one he’d carried for years, and a collection of even more ties that were understated yet undeniably luxurious and seemed to multiply in his closet every so often.  

At first, he rotated the items slowly into his everyday wardrobe, unsure if they would draw attention. But one particularly chaotic morning, he grabbed the LV duffel, clipped on the cuff links, and shrugged into a jacket before heading into the office having gotten an urgent notification for a case.  

It didn’t take long for the team to notice.  

“Uh… Hotch?” Morgan’s voice cut through the usual buzz in the conference room as Hotch entered. “Is that a Louis Vuitton bag you’re carrying?”  

Hotch glanced at him briefly, setting the duffel down by the door before striding towards the front of the room to grab the file Garcia was holding outstretched for him. “Yes. Why?”  

Morgan blinked. “Why? Man, you’ve been holding out on us. Since when do you roll up looking like you just stepped out of GQ Magazine?”  

Emily leaned back in her chair, eyebrows raised. “Is that a new tie, too? That’s at least Tom Ford.”  

Hotch adjusted his tie instinctively. “It’s not. It’s Brioni.”  

“Oh, excuse us,” JJ chimed in throwing her hands up and exchanging an amused glance with Emily.  

“I’m sorry,” Spencer Reid piped up, pushing his glasses up his nose. “Are those cuff links monogrammed?”  

“Okay, seriously,” Morgan said, crossing his arms. “What’s going on, Hotch? You win the lottery or something? Cause if your salary is high enough for those purchases Imma have to talk to Strauss about a raise.”  

Hotch, shrugged lightly as he opened his case file. “No. My girlfriend has… a habit of giving gifts.”  

The room fell silent for a beat before Emily’s jaw dropped. “Wait, girlfriend? You’ve been holding out on us in more ways than one!”

"Who is she I need details," Garcia cut into the conversation, her excitement starting to bubble over.

JJ smirked. “Are you telling me she just gives you designer gifts casually? I agree with Garcia, who is this woman?”  

Hotch allowed himself the smallest of smiles as he glanced up from his paperwork. “Someone who insists I deserve the finer things.”  

“Damn,” Morgan muttered, shaking his head. “Where can I find one of those?”  

“Maybe start with charm school,” Emily teased.  

As the team bantered, Hotch’s phone buzzed on his desk. A message from you:  

Miss you already. Hope you’re putting the cuff links to good use. Dinner at my place when you get back?

He smiled quickly at his phone before typing back a quick reply.  

Always. I’ll bring the wine.  

When he looked up, the team was staring at him, curious. “What?” he asked, his tone amused, knowing fully well that they wouldn't stop bothering him about you until he eventually agreed to let them meet you.  

“Nothing,” Emily said, though her grin suggested otherwise. “Just trying to imagine Aaron Hotchner in love with a rich fashionista.”  

“Not just a fashionista,” Morgan added, gesturing toward the duffel. “An angel sent from the heavens, apparently.”  

Hotch shook his head, lifting his file up in the air in a quick and smooth motion as if to remind them why they were there. “Focus, everyone. We have a case.”  

A few days later, when you saw Aaron again, he mentioned the team’s reaction with a mix of exasperation and amusement.  

“I think they’re more interested in my wardrobe than the case,” he said, loosening his tie as he sat beside you on the couch.  

You laughed softly, running a hand through his hair. “Let them wonder. They’ll get used to it eventually.”  

“I’m not sure they ever will,” he muttered, leaning into your touch.  

“Good,” you teased, leaning in to kiss him. “I like keeping them on their toes.”  

[suiana]

yandere! harpy who tries offering you his mating feather because he just loves you so much! he wants you to be his and what better way than to make you his mate?

he had met you a few months back after you got lost in the forest. his part of the forest of course. the harpy was a little confused by the appearance of some random human in the dead of the night. what were you doing here?

unfortunately he never found out. but that didn't matter. if you didn't wanna share that's totally fine. (you were passed out and couldn't talk)

he's worried that you might die if he let you be though, so he decided to watch over you while you fell asleep on the floor of his cave. aw, you're so cute! humans are adorable! you'd probably scream and try to get away from him when you woke up so he'll hide away.

....what he didn't expect was to get smothered by you...

"eh? what are you-"

"fluffy birdman."

"ahahah.... yeah..."

and just like that, a beautiful friendship was formed. and he found out that you were actually looking for the harpy (him). he was... flattered? embarrassed? a human was looking for him? why?

"cause birds are cool. and you're a bird so why not? also, i'm a researcher :3"

"um... ahaha..."

you came back to visit him again and again after that encounter. bearing gifts, talking to him, sharing about your life, asking about his life... the harpy was beginning to become a little more than just protective over you. you gave him gifts! surely this must be some sort of mating ritual for humans!

how could a bird like him distinguish between pure interest and love?

and you realized that too. unfortunately by the time you noticed his change in personality, it was too late.

"will you accept my mating feather?"

his big round eyes, plagued with obsession as his cheeks flush a beautiful red. you could only step back in horror as the harpy flashed a deceivingly innocent smile.

"sorry..."

silence filled the air as the harpy's smile dropped. ah. you rejected him?

"w-why? was my feather not pretty enough? should i pick another one?"

the harpy's chirps soon turned frantic as e grabs you by the arms and stares right into your very soul. why, why, why? weren't you interested in him? you're his mate aren't you? you love him!

no, someone must've tried to steal you away from him.

"is there someone else? someone tried to take my mate from me?"

you could only let out a shaky whimper as you stared at how his expression did a 180. no longer was he smiling or staring at you like a lovesick fool. no, now he was... looking right into your very being like you belonged to him.

"must be some other human... no worries, i'll just keep you with me. you should be with me anyway. my mate."

oops. looks like you fucked with the wrong bird.

[cinnamorollcrybaby]

Werewolf // Cinna’s Monstertober Writing Challenge

Tags: Werewolf!Geto x Fem!Reader, Alpha!Geto x Omega!Reader, A/B/O mechanics, marking, scenting, nesting, fated mates, description of violence including murder, NSFW, MDNI

Synopsis: Suguru knew you were his before you even presented as an omega, but the pack elders did not take too kindly to him marking you at such a young age. He kills anyone who gets in his way to you.

An: If you don’t like a/b/o or omegaverse, skip this one :3. If you’re a freak like me, enjoy! Also, this was my first time making my own banner in Canva.. what are we thinking?? I am also so sorry that this one is so late.

“Satoru… I’m going to kill them. I’m going to murder them all. I can’t do this anymore. She needs me.”

Let’s rewind, shall we?

Living in a small pack has its perks. Everyone is protective over one another and will always offer to help no matter what. Pack relations are strongest when the pack is smaller, and the pack is more likely to survive.

There are, of course, some cons as well. Everyone knows your business, and everyone wants a say in how you live your life.

For the longest you can remember, Suguru has been by your side. You two would spend a lot of time down at the creek together as kids. You two practically learned everything together: how to hunt, fish, trap, and forage.

He was your insistent shadow, and the pack elders thought it was adorable when you two were younger. He would without fail abandon the other small children to always go hang out with you. The two of you were like little partners in crime together.

Though their adoration turned to concern when Suguru never quite left your side. In fact, it was getting worse as he grew older. By the time he turned 13, He was abandoning hunting trips early to come home to you. He’d sneak out of his tent to go to yours late at night. Your parents would have to kick him out every morning, chastising both of you.

Though, the straw that broke the camel’s back wasn’t simple sleepovers and abandoned hunting trips. It was when he presented as an alpha. Everyone knew he would with how physically gifted he was as a young teen. He was also too damn protective for his own good, going as far as to breaking another kid’s nose for simply grabbing your wrist.

You were only a few months younger than Suguru, but you hadn’t presented yet. When he presented first, your parents forbade him from sleeping over. They were just trying their best to protect you. You two were “too old” and “not old enough” at the same time to be sleeping together.

Suguru, given that he now had the talk from his parents, knew what your parents were suggesting, but he hated it. He didn’t understand how your parents could think so lowly of him overnight just from presenting.

He lasted three nights. Three whole nights of not snuggling against you, not smelling your hair while you two drifted off to sleep, not hearing your soft snores in the dead of night. It was three sleepless nights.

Suguru always had an inkling that you were his. It was a rather strange feeling of possession, like he shouldn’t have to listen to your parents’ rules because you weren’t theirs. You were his.

His frustration only heightened when the pack started to impose longer hunting trips on him. Shorter hunting trips were reserved for those who hadn’t presented and mated alphas. Since they were mated, they couldn’t be away from their mate for too long; thus, getting the smaller trips.

All these things led him to the conclusion: you’re his mate, and he needed to mark you to prove it.

After a particularly taxing hunting trip, Suguru’s eyes filtered through the camp. Everyone was as painfully jovial as usual: sitting around doing absolutely fuck all. His eyes landed on you, and he could feel the tension melting away from him almost instantaneously. You were in charge of looking after the small children, even though you yourself were still a child.

His feet stomped over toward you without a second thought, and his hand wrapped around your arm tightly, pulling you along behind him.

“Ah- Sugu. Where are we going? I’m working-!” You shout as he continues to drag you along silently. “Sugu- The kids…” You murmur as the two of you head further into the forest.

“They’ll be fine for a few minutes.” He responded calmly before he glanced behind him. The camp was far enough away now. No one would be able to see the two of you unless they were specifically looking for you.

“What are we doing, Sugu?” You asked with a small nervous smile. You had started to have to look up at him these days. It was as if he was growing taller overnight. No longer just a boy.

He also started to stink — well, it wasn’t like a smelly smell, but it was unfamiliar. Your parents had explained pheromones. You didn’t particularly like them since you hadn’t presented yet.

“I need you to sit still, and don’t scream.” He instructed before he dipped his head between your shoulder and jaw. He experimentally sniffed at your neck — completely scentless. The only smell coming from you was your strawberry shampoo that he had grown accustomed to.

“Why would I-“ His large hand covered your mouth before you could get out another word, and he opened his mouth before clamping down on your neck. His K9’s punctured your skin, allowing for blood to trickle down your skin.

A pained cry fled your mouth, but it was muffled by his hand. Suguru felt his heart begin to race. It was happening. You were finally officially his. No one could tell him otherwise ��� not even your silly parents.

He calmly reassured you that you were okay while you softly wept. Your hand covered the bloody mark on your neck. He was just marking you. You know, like it was no big deal.

After sweetly kissing your tears away, he proudly walked you back to camp once you had calmed down from crying, satisfied with himself. Your hands were laced together like true mates.

The first to immediately notice was Satoru, another alpha who was barely a year older than Suguru. His eyes widened as he caught a glimpse of your marked neck.

“Suguru, what did you do?” He asks like a mother scolding her son. Usually, this was the other way around. Satoru would’ve never expected Suguru to do something as reckless as this.

“Don’t be so dramatic, Satoru. I just marked her.” He shrugs nonchalantly, still so proud of himself.

“You don’t understand. She hasn’t presented. This isn’t good. We need to-“

Your face was flushed a bright red, and Satoru could see your breath becoming more and more labored with each passing second. He frantically looked around, trying to think of what to do. Suguru probably didn’t even know that he just inadvertently forced your body to present. Having been marked, your body was now plummeting itself into a heat.

Suguru could feel you gently tugging on his hand, trying to get his attention. When he looked back at you, his eyes widened. He could tell what your body was going through, but he was just a boy. He didn’t know how to handle it.

“What are you three up to? Why aren’t the children being tended to-“ A clan elder asked after seeing the small children running around without you to watch them. His eyes landed on you, and he immediately tensed up at the scene. “What- How… Geto.”

*** *** ***

“He’s just a boy!” Suguru’s mom pleaded with tears in her eyes. Her hands clasped the young boy’s shoulders. “He has a whole life ahead of him! Don’t do this to him.”

“You’re right. He is just a boy, so it was your responsibility to teach him about these things.” A pack elder spoke.

“He’s an alpha. Even if they taught him those things, he would’ve acted on his own volition anyways.” Another spoke.

“Who even allowed him to be around her? He was suppose to be on a hunting trip, no?”

“We got back early. It was my responsibility, but we were carrying back a large buck. My mind was preoccupied. I accept full responsibility for his actions.”

“You can’t take on the full burden of responsibility. Geto is old enough to know right from wrong, and he chose the wrong path. He took that girl in the woods and marked her before she even presented as an omega.” The pack leader spoke.

Suguru stood completely motionless in front of his parents. He stayed looking down at the ground. While they argued over his future in the pack, his mind was stuck on you. They had ripped you away from him the second that the pack elder had realized that your body was in heat. He wondered if you were being taken care of okay. He wondered if you missed him as much as he missed you already. He wondered if he’d get to see you again.

“He’s done so much for this pack at such a young age. Please.. Don’t do this to him. He has his whole life ahead of him.” His mother pleaded once again. “We’ll keep a closer eye on him. We’ll do whatever it takes.”

“What about my daughter’s life?” Your dad finally spoke up after being silent for far too long. “That bastard tainted her. She could’ve presented as anything: alpha, beta, or omega, but no, he forced biology upon her with a godforsaken mark. He should be shunned from the pack.”

“He can’t be allowed to be in the same space as her. He’s already proven that he can’t be trusted. The last thing we need is for a young omega to fall pregnant because an alpha doesn’t know restraint.”

“Don’t you two have family anywhere she can stay with… just until she’s a bit older? The mark might fade after they’ve been separated for a while.” Another pack elder spoke up to your parents.

“You’re seriously removing our daughter instead of the problem child? That’s fucking rich. So, what will happen when he marks another omega far too early, huh?” Your dad argued, clenching his jaw.

“I wouldn’t do that.” Suguru finally spoke up, looking your dad in the eye. A stare off between the two ensued.

“If this is how this pack operates, fine. I don’t want her in here if we protect alphas simply due to their gender instead of the innocent.” Your dad finally grit out before stomping away from the meeting.

It took three full grown alphas and Satoru to hold Suguru back while you were leaving. They wouldn’t even allow him to say goodbye to you, not even when you cried out his name. Not even when you begged, pleaded, asked why.

*** *** ***

Suguru was never quite the same after you and your family left. It had been years. He was just a boy when they took you. Now, he’s a twenty year old brooding alpha. He was aloof towards everyone, and he only confided in Satoru. His friend seemed to he the only one who understood that he wasn’t trying to hurt you. He didn’t know that his mark would cause a great deal of stress on your body, and had he known, he wouldn’t have done it.

The rest of the pack looked at him with reserved disdain. He was a stain upon their community. Your parents were well liked in the pack, and he was the reason they weren’t there anymore.

Words kept getting tossed around, and the pack members who weren’t there for the meeting were terribly misinformed. As the rumors spread, the story became more and more horrid. They painted him out to be a monster who held you down while you begged him not to and bit your neck forcibly.

Suguru never tried to correct the stories. He had nothing to prove to these people, the people that sent you away from him. They could all think of him as a monster, especially if it meant they stayed the hell away from him.

The only thing that kept Geto from expulsion from the pack was his innate ability to hunt. His beast from was truly that of an apex predator. He went on extravagant hunting trips often, and he kept the pack fed on wonderful meats.

He looked for you, his mate, on every hunting trip. He tried to remember the faint smell that started to emit from you when your body went into heat. He looked for every sign of you.

He knew the mate bond was still strong because he could feel everything through it. He hated when you felt sad. He knew you experienced some sort of nightmares without him there to care for you while you slept. Your happiness made him feel bittersweet. He wanted you to be happy, but the thought of you being happy without him made him sick.

Your heats were the worst. Suguru would sulk in his tent in a state of horny depression. He should be taking care of you, tending to your body and every desire you had. He should be helping you nest and kissing every spot on your body while cooing praises to you.

Instead, he’s laying in his own sweat and cum, too much of a sad sack of shit to make himself go get cleaned up. His tent stunk of potent pheromones. Your heats, even while being so far away, managed to throw him into a rut each time.

He could feel your dissatisfaction. You were pining for him to come help you. It was as if you were screaming down the mate bond for him to come save you. He missed you so damn bad that he started to hate the smell of strawberries. They smelled too much of you and reminded him of what he couldn’t have

He knew that the elders still kept in touch with your parents. They were high ranking leaders in the community after all. They knew where you were, and they still opted to keep you away from him.

You and him were suffering because of the fucking elders. They caused all of this. If they would’ve kept their fucking noses out of y’all’s business, none of this would be happening.

“Satoru… I’m going to kill them. I’m going to murder them all. I can’t do this anymore. She needs me.” Suguru was practically crying for help. He was sat in his tent, holding his head in shame. His arms and legs were practically trembling.

The homicidal thoughts started when you left. It was sneaky at first, but they only got worse over time. His friend was the only one who knew about them. He knew how badly Geto craved to end their lives.

“Let me talk to them. They might listen to me.” Satoru spoke calmly as he gazed as his heartbroken best friend. The tent was heavy with the scent of alpha rut and distress. He could tell Suguru was really going through it right now.

*** *** ***

Suguru’s beast form was nothing short of a monster. He was the strongest, right next to Satoru.

His black fur was matted with blood as he pawed at the remains of the pack leader. Satoru had tried to talk to them, but they instantly shut him down. Then, to make matters worse, they sent him away on a hunting trip that same day.

Without Satoru there to keep the thoughts at bay, Suguru literally couldn’t help himself. The beast shifted before he could even do anything about it, and he was instantly blood hungry.

Tears coated his face as he shifted back to his human form. Killing the elders didn’t even help soothe him. He just wanted his fucking mate for christ’s sake. He sat on the floor in a scatter of papers from where the two beasts had fought valiantly.

Nothing could replicate the feeling of emptiness that filled him in that moment. His best friend wasn't there. His mate had been gone for oh so long. The pack leaders were now all deceased. When tomorrow morning rolled around, he'd likely be ostracized from his pack for the murders.

He laid his head back against the wall with his hands covering his face. He just wanted to see Satoru one last time before he was expelled and shunned. He wanted to apologize and thank Gojo for sticking by him for all these years.

At some point, the sleep deprivation got to Geto, causing for him to fall asleep naked in the massacre that was the pack leader's tent. Nightmares of slaughter plagued his dreams. Your face haunted him. He wondered what could've been had he known better than to mark you at an early age.

It felt so real, that he swore he heard your voice, though it was different in his dream. Your voice wasn't as squeaky as it use to be. It was smooth with age and experience yet still soft spoken. Maybe he was forgetting the way you sounded? The thought terrified him. His memory was all he had left of you.

You were... laughing? No, it couldn't be you. The voice sounded more like Gojo's-

The tent unzipping. A gasp. "Shit. Don't-" Gojo's voice.

Geto fluttered his eyes open to see Gojo standing in the small doorway of the makeshift shelter. He had... a woman's eyes covered. Her bottom lip was trembling.

"Suguru, what did you do?" Satoru asked like he did all those years back, and suddenly, Suguru felt like a small child who had no impulse control. He quickly scrambled up to his feet, using a random sheet of paper to cover his manhood.

"You were gone, and I just... I just really fucking..." His words trailed as his eyes looked over towards the woman. His heart started to pound in his chest. She looked... so much like you. It was as if he was being confronted with the ghost of his past once again.

"I went to go get her, Suguru." Satoru calmly explained with a hint of bite in his tone. "You really think I'd listen to what those old geezers said about not going to look for her? I grilled every last one of them until they slipped up and gave me enough information to find her."

Geto's eyes were as wide as saucers, and his pupils were dilated as he stared at the woman who was quietly trembling next to Satoru. His hand covered most of her face. "Is that...?"

"In the flesh." Satoru said as his hand slowly dropped from your eyes. Chills shot through Geto's body as he saw his mate's face again.

"Sugu..." Your little nickname for him. His breath went labored as he took in the sight of you for just one moment. His eyes involuntarily filled with tears before he dropped the sheet of paper and lunged for you.

His large muscular arms wrapped around your frame, pulling you into a tight embrace against him. "I'm so sorry.." He whispered in your ear like a mantra. His hands roamed across your back as if he was double checking that this was real.

“Fuck. I’m so sorry.” He whispered again in a pained voice. This was not how he wanted you to see him. He was at his lowest. “I’ve missed you so much. It feels like I’ve been underwater this entire time.”

You gently nuzzled your face into his chest, and you took a deep breath, savoring his scent. A content hum fled your lips. He smelled like home. “I’ve missed you too, Sugu.”

Suguru had grown so much since you last saw him. His body was now muscular and toned. His hair was even longer. It was tied up in a half knot while the rest of it messily splayed down his back. He wasn’t just a boy anymore — a man now.

“I hate to be the one to ruin this reunion, but there’s dead pack elders that we have to deal with.” Satoru spoke up as he crossed his arms over his chest.

Suguru reluctantly pulled back from you, not ready to let go of his missing mate. “I have no intention of staying here.” He said, eyes glancing over to the corpse on the ground. “This pack is a shit show.”

“So, what do we do?” Satoru asked, cocking an eyebrow at his friend. It was never a question in his mind. Satoru was going to go wherever Geto went.

“We start our own pack.” Geto casually threw out the idea with a small shrug. “It’s not impossible. If those incompetent creatures could do it, so can we.”

*** *** ***

You were happy and content to follow Geto and Gojo wherever the two went. It had been so long since you’ve seen the two males. You had almost forgotten how much mischief they could get up to.

Every day was filled with hiking, trying to find a new place to settle down. Every night was spent around a small fire, listening to the stories of the two while you were sent away.

When you and Geto would finally lay together next to the fire, he’d lazily play with your hair and whisper sweet nothings in your ear. He’d tell you how beautiful you were and how there was never a day that went by when he didn’t think of you.

“Have I mentioned how terrible it was without you?” He murmured in your ear while his large hand was gently caressing your hip. He would carefully slip it underneath your shirt. The pad of his thumb caressing your soft skin.

“Only a million times.” You giggled in response, looking up at him to meet his gaze.

“Make it a million and one then. It was terrible.” He quietly laughed, not wanting to wake up Satoru who was snuggled on the ground on the other side of the fire.

“I missed you too.” You replied. Your hand carefully reached up and cupped his cheek. Your head was resting on his bicep while your legs were intertwined. “I tried calling out to you often through the mate bond.”

“I felt it each time.” He admitted as his hand slowly snaked higher up your torso. “I felt each time you went into heat and needed me.”

The fire calmly crackling masked the small whimper that fled from your lips. “I’m sorry. I know that probably drove you crazy.”

“You have no idea.” He muttered as he leaned in and pressed a small kiss to the mark on your neck. It hadn’t faded in the slightest. Your body knew you were his before you presented as well. “I dreamt of going out to find you.”

“Yeah? What would you do had you found me while I was in heat?”

“Mmm..” He hummed in a low tone as he gazed at you with a small smirk on his face. “I would sneak into whatever tent you were in like I use to when we were kids.” He spoke softly as his hand continued to trail up your side slowly.

“I’d find you lying there, already such a mess for me.” He went on, painting the picture vividly for you. Your eyes slipped shut as you imagined it for yourself. “Then, I’d pin you down to your nest, stopping you from taking care of yourself.” He went on, and he rolled on top of you, pinning your arms down with his free hand.

The sickly sweet scent of your arousal building lingered in the air, making Suguru’s heart pound in his chest. You smelled even more yummy than he imagined you to.

“What next?” You ask softly in a breathless voice.

“I’d kiss your lips until they were bruised.” He mumbled, and he leaned down to you before pressing his lips harshly against yours. He groaned softly as soon as he could feel you kissing back. He poured all of his love and hunger into his affections. He needed you like he needed air. You were his sole salvation - his reason for living

He carefully pushed your shirt up over your chest, and he skillfully reached behind you, unclasping your bra within a few seconds. You worked with him, pulling it away from your body before you wrapped your legs around his waist.

His hand came up and carefully cupped your breast. Hs kneaded on the soft pillowy flesh with another groan. He gently bit your swollen lip, asking for entry before proceeding to deepen the kiss. He swallowed up your small moans and gasps.

"Then," he softly pant out after parting from the kiss, "I'd mark up your neck again and again. I never want you to forget who you belong to." His head dipped into your neck, and his lips latched on to the soft skin.

He sucked, nibbled, and bit his way up and down your neck, making good on his promise to mark you up. Your hips raised up to meet his, needily searching for friction to ease the ache between your thighs.

"My poor omega.." He mumbled softly against your skin before allowing his hand to trail down and to grope you at your core.

"Fuck- Sugu.." Your voice was a soft whine, forgetting all about Gojo who was asleep not even 10 feet away.

"Shhh, princess. Don't wake him." Suguru shushed you softly with a impish grin. His hands now worked to take your pants and panties off. "Want me to keep going?"

"Please..." Your face is illuminated by the warm glow of the fire before you two. A soft blush spread across your cheeks.

"Mmm, then you have to be quiet." Suguru teased before he allowed himself the pleasure of gazing at your glistening cunt. "Oh, so pretty." He mused before leaning in to press a soft kiss to your folds.

Suguru's mind was running haywire as he generously lapped at your wet heat. He had imagined this happening so many times while he fucked his own fist. It's all finally worked out. He's finally gotten to taste you, to hear you moan his name.

Your fingers entangled in his hair, holding onto him for support while he devoured you thoroughly.

"Mmn.. Sugu~ S'close... please." You quietly whimpered out, warning him of your impending release while he slurped at your cunt, drinking down your slick as if you were a fountain of youth.

"Can you hold it, baby?" His voice was muffled as he didn't dare part from you.

"N-no, I-" You softly whine, starting to rock your hips back and forth across his tongue. You were desperate for release, nearly riding his face to get there.

Suguru tugged back away from you. "That just won't do, darling." He mumbles as he unbuttons his pants and pulls his pants and boxers down just enough. "I need your first time finishing with me to be on my cock. Think you can do that for me?"

You're quick to nod in agreement with his wish, desperately needing the approval of your alpha. You had already caught a glimpse of his size when you and Satoru first arrived. Even when soft, Suguru still isn't small. Now that he's fully hard, it's almost intimidating.

"Mmm~ such a good girl." He quietly praised as he carefully guided his cock between your slick covered folds. He held your gaze as he rubbed his tip up and down, creating a wet "schlick" noise with each movement. His poor neglected cock leaked sticky pre-cum along your core, making everything so messy.

"Bite on my hand." He instructed as he placed his hand over your mouth. "Don't want you makin' too much noise." With a small huff, you bite down onto his hand.

Humping you a few more times, Geto finally decided to push himself into you. Your body immediately went rigid as you tried to cope with the new pressure between your legs. It felt as if he was trying to split you in two, completely impaling you with his thick cock.

"Ohh~ fuuu... That's it.." Geto's voice was deeper and extremely breathy. His eyes were half-lidded as he continued to watch your facial reactions. The small tears crowding the corners of your eyes made him throb. "You're so fucking tight."

"it's not gonna fit-" You quietly whined behind the palm of his hand. Meanwhile, your fingernails were embedded into his back, decorating him with scratch marks.

"It's gonna fit, baby." He quietly reassured you as he pulled back a bit and sunk back in. Your slick coated his length, making it easier for him to push in more. "Gotta let me stretch you."

"Ngh~ ah.." Your voice cracked as your leaned your head back against the ground. Suguru's hips rolled, just barely fucking into your tight cunt. He'd add another inch with each thrust, allowing you time to gradually get use to him.

The air was filled with shushed panting and breathy whines. The sound of your sopping cunt squeezing around him was like a holy song to him. You were the only slice of heaven Geto would ever see.

He had been so caring; you hadn't even realized he was all the way in until you felt a thump towards your stomach. "Ohmygod-" The gasp fell from your mouth before you could even think to stop it. "Fuuuck... feel you right here.." You meekly murmured as you pointed towards your tummy.

"Yeah baby? Feel me all the way in there?" He humors your intoxicated speech as he's lovingly thrusting into you. "You feel so fucking good." He praised as he peppered your face in sweet kisses.

Your spongy walls cling to his dick with each soft thwack of his balls clapping against the flesh of your ass. You're completely soaked around him, allowing him to glide in and out with ease.

His fat tip was damp with sweltering pre-cum gathering at his slit. With each thrust, his tip was kissing at your womb, making you feel all dumb in the head. He occupied his mouth with kissing and sucking more love bites into your shoulders. "So good, baby... ah~ so fuckin' good." He continued to mumble praises in a pussy drunk tone.

Both of your bodies were glistening in a mix of sweat and slick. The fire raged beside you two keeping you very warm while he pumped in and out. "Can't get enough. Need more.. ngh~ M-missed you so much." He growled lowly in your ear as his tender thrusts grew sloppier - fueled by an intense need.

"Suguu~ fuck me." That little needy whine was all he needed to start forcefully pounding into you. Noise level be damned; he needed his omega on a biblical level that Satoru would never be able to understand.

Plap! Plap! Plap!

Your poor cunt was practically sobbing for him - making a complete mess between your thighs as his cock rudely drilled into you. Your back arched up off of the ground, and you could feel your eyes rolling back. It felt like you were ascending to a higher being.

Suguru caught your lips in a sloppy kiss. Strings of saliva connected your mouths like strings of fate as you muffled each others moans. "Need to knot you - f-fuck, please, let me knot you."

Your legs wrap completely around Suguru's waist. "Knot me, Sugu.. hngh~ I'm s'close.."

Suguru's legs began to shake as he could feel his balls growing heavy. Instincts completely drove him to keep fucking himself into your drooling cunt. His eyes stayed on you as he felt himself growing closer and closer to the edge.

"Sh-shit!" You hissed as your gummy walls suddenly tightened around him. The squelching noises slowed as he felt his knot starting to swell. His hands gripped onto your hips as he had to force his way deep inside your wet heat. The knot locking you two in place before he completely spilled inside you.

"Fuuucking hell..." Suguru breathed out as he stayed planted on top of you. His breath was labored as his hand brushed a few stray hairs from your face. "No one will ever take you away from me again. You're mine."

Bonus Scene!

Upon waking up the next morning on Suguru's bare chest, you sighed contently. Your body ached in the best way. Though, you knew it would only make this trek even harder.

You slowly sat up with a quiet groan. Your face was slightly sticky from sweat and drool. He had really wore you out last night.

"Morning, sleepy head." Suguru mumbled as his eyes rested upon your tired face.

"Mmm.. morning." You quietly hummed as your hands instinctively smoothed out your hair, trying to make yourself look presentable.

"Good morning, Satoru." The white-haired alpha spoke to himself in a grumpy, sarcastic tone as he stared at the two of you.

"It's too early for your attitude, Satoru." Suguru quietly laughed as he looked at his friend.

"You can deal with my attitude given what I had to deal with last night." He huffed as his lips curled into a slight pout.

"You didn't-"

"Oh, I did." He confirmed. "Oooohhh, please knot me, Sugu. Oh so big and strong!" He mocked your voice in a high pitched tone.

"Oh god, please stop." You whine as you covered your ears. A nervous laugh involuntarily bubbled up from your throat.

"Mmm, fuck. Gonna knot this tight cun-"

"That's enough, Satoru." Suguru playfully warned as he shook his head with a calm smile. It didn't bother him one bit that he heard the two of you last night because he knew that Satoru was going to hear you two again tonight as well.

Read the rest of my monstertober here !

[inbabylontheywept]

Memories of Grandpa Hank

I'm eating a bag of mormon gorp that tastes like gasoline while watching the rain run down the mountain. The taste doesn't even bother me anymore - all homemade gorp tastes like this. It's just a natural consequence of everyone keeping their prepper shit in their garages. 

My dad's out in the clearing, wandering around with his GPS. He's got some pieces of wire out on top of it to try and make the effective antennae bigger, but it just makes it look like he's dowsing. Another mormon tradition. I ask him if he's close to find water yet, and he looks up at me, little rivers flowing off him, and says yeah - he can feel it. 

I'm sure he can. I settle under my tree and watch the droplets roll down the needles. Awaiting the final judgement of Judge GPS. 

A few minutes later, it provides: 

Turns out my dad forgot to record the location of the car this morning. The GPS remembers where we parked yesterday, but by luck my dad knows how to get from there to our car. Downside is that it's a nine mile walk just to get to yesterday's position, then another five miles to backtrack. That's fourteen miles total. 

I'm only thirteen. 

Think you can make it? my dad asks. And it's a kindness that he's worried, but it's not like there's an alternative. What else would I do, sit down in the murk and cross my fingers he finds me again? Ask him to carry me 14 miles? 

I'll be pretty jelly legged, I say. But yeah. I'll make it. 

Attaboy, he says. He fishes a bag of poptarts out and offers me one as - I think - a peace offering. A, sorry you're gonna have to walk 14 miles in the rain because I goofed kind of gift. 

I take a bite and, despite being individually wrapped, it still manages to taste like diesel fumes. We start hiking our incredibly long distance in terrible weather for foolish reasons, and I joke to my dad that the only way to make this day any more mormon would be by pushing handcarts. 

He laughs. Neither of us laugh again until 11 pm, when we stumble like drunkards into camp. My grandpa has stayed up late to make sure we weren’t lost, but he only stays up long enough to see us arrive. We try to eat a dinner of sweet potato stew, but after falling asleep in the middle twice, we agree to just go to bed. 

I sleep in well past nine and wake up to nobody in camp but my grandpa. My dad left with my sister to keep hunting around 5 am. I know that everyone assumes that their dad is invincible when they're 13, but I'm 28 now and part of me still thinks he's gonna live forever. That God made exactly one perpetual motion machine, and it raised me in the desert. 

---

Around noon my grandpa suggests hunting again. If it was my dad, I'd probably tune him out, but I like my grandpa's style of hunting. My dad hikes and hikes and hikes until the elk get tired and just let him shoot them. My grandpa finds the sleepiest, sunniest, coziest field and takes a nap there, figuring if the elk have any decent taste they'll come there at some point.

Man's got a knack for knowing what elk like - he's right more often than not. I think he might've been an elk in a previous life. 

I go with him, and much as I hate to admit it, the hike is good for me. I start off walking like a pirate on two peg legs, so stiff I might as well not have knees, but by the end of the mile and a half walk I'm almost normal. We make it to the edge of the clearing, and my grandpa finds a patch of grass taller and softer than the beds inside the trailer, and he curls up to sleep there. I look across the grass and I watch the comings and goings of critters through the field. Sometimes I use the scope to get a magnified view, but I never do so with my hand on the trigger. The thought of accidentally looking a person through that glass is something that sends a chill up my spine. 

Some deer wander through the glen, but it'd take a fool to mistake one of them for an elk. A few hours later, my grandpa wakes up and asks if I want to wander around a little. It's a lovely day. Rain comes in bursts in Arizona, and the day after is almost always clear as can be. And for a short while, all the desert browns turn green and lush. Hard mosses turn squishy and cacti swell up like fresh baked muffins and for a while you can get why people settled in these god forsaken wastes. 

So I go with him, and we walk on, me with my gun, him just taking in the forest. He looks so peaceful that I get a little jealous, but it's not until my grandpa stops and looks at me that I even notice it myself. Takes a mirror, sometimes, to know yourself.

Being near my grandpa is always a strange thing for me. He's quiet, and he doesn't talk much, and I don't ever get the feeling that he's particularly emotionally intelligent - but it's like he's interacting with a reality more raw and real than mine. Like I'm watching symbols on a screen and he's counting atoms. And sometimes, just being near him gives me access to that raw matter. Just something about how he is breaks the illusions of the world.

He looks at the gun like a foreign object, like he doesn't recognize it, then he looks at me. He speaks and he doesn't mince words. 

What would you do if an elk came across the path and you shot it right now? he asks. 

Well, I'd start cleaning it, I say, and he waves the words away like cobwebs in his face. 

But would you celebrate? he presses.

And I look at him, and I don't actually see any judgement staring back. He knows the answer, and he's at peace with it. He’s asking so I can see it too. He’s being a mirror so I can see my own face.

I think I might actually cry, I admit. And he nods along in agreement before reaching forward to take the gun off my shoulder. 

Lets just walk today, he says. No chance of killing anything. No worrying about that. 

Right, I say. 

He pops the chamber open and tosses me back my bullet. I catch it, and the relief I feel is palpable. 

Can I change my mind? I ask, and he shrugs.

Whenever you want. Hunt or don’t. It’s not the hunting that I’m worried about. It’s seeing you ignore your conscience.

And for a moment, I'm there in the real world with him, and my gloves are off, and reality is a metal cube in my hand: Sharp and cold and heavy.

Or maybe that’s just the bullet.

---

We make it back to camp a bit later than my dad. We get there and he’s waiting for us. If he's tired, he doesn't show it. 

How'd it go? he asks. My grandpa looks at me, and I don't know how to respond. I don't know how to explain it, and I am scared. 

Great, he replies. It's a shame Babs only has a doe tag. We saw a five-point out there. Close enough to hit with a football. 

No, my dad says. If his grin was a half inch wider, both ends of his mouth would meet in the back of his head and everything above his tongue would slide off.

Tell him Babs, grandpa says. And, not for the first time, and especially not the last, I try my hand at spinning a yarn. 

It's pretty good. But at 13, I still have a lot to learn.

[rinhaler]

😩🤌 HOLD OOOOON JEALOUS UNCLE SUKUNA PLEASE? Extra Rough with a Sprinkle of loving

I got carried away but when don't I get carried away tbh also this is super icky sorry in advance hehe

warnings: 18+ MDNI, fem!reader, incest, kinda cheating?, vaginal penetration, anal mention/slight teasing, degradation, pet names, jealousy, possessiveness, hair pulling, spanking, squirting, creampie.

words: 4.3k

There are eyes on you that you don’t feel. For the first time in your life, you don’t feel them. You’re engrossed in your phone as you swing gently in the hammock chair on your porch. The one that’s been continuously taken care of and maintained by him.

He watches you as you smile and bite your lip, your thumbs moving a mile a minute as you send reply after reply and wait with bated breath for a response in return. Even clearing his throat does little good. Is he really so invisible to you, now?

“Who is he?” he asks, muttering to your younger brother as he stands at the entry gate in your front yard. Your brother is confused, unsure of who he’s talking about. He looks around, until Sukuna looks at him directly. “You aren’t that stupid, are you? Look at her. Who’s the idiot she’s texting?”

Your brother looks in your direction, the cogs coming to life in his brain as he realises what he’s talking about. He smiles at him, but it soon fades as he sees your uncles disgruntled expression.

“Oh, she’s been bringing this guy around a lot called Megumi but she keeps saying they’re just friends. We all think it’s bullshit but—”

“That’s enough.” he groans. He puts his finger and thumb into his mouth and whistles loudly. Your eyes dart up from your phone, your giddy expression soon changes to one of surprise. “Hiya, princess.” he greets you, disappointed expression unchanging.

You get up from your seat, dropping your phone, and walk over to him. Even with both of his hands filled with gift bags, he wraps one around you and holds the small of your back. He kisses your cheek sweetly, pulling away to look at you properly.

“You’re getting prettier by the day, sweetheart.” he finally smiles. “You should drop out and become a model.”

“Looks fade, uncle Ryo, I’ll be a lawyer ‘til I’m old and grey.” you smirk. “You got us gifts again? You didn’t have to.”

“Speak for yourself.” Yuuji mumbles as he walks by you and into the house.

Your uncle shakes his head at him, a warm smile returning to him as he looks at you. You allow him to guide you inside, your phone a distant memory while his hand holds your shoulder.

You join Yuuji in the front room, sitting beside him on the couch while your uncle places the bags in front of you both. He sits nearby, in your dad’s old chair, while he watches you both sift through your gifts.

Well, you assume he’s watching you both. But those ruby eyes of his remain perfectly fixed on you. They wander to Yuuji every so often when he expresses gratitude for the gifts he’s received, but all he cares about, truly, is you.

“Is this a new laptop?” you ask, jaw almost dropping to the floor as you see it. “This must have cost a fortune. You didn’t have to do this.” you smile.

“It’s fine, I got you both one. What’s the point of my sister having kids if I can’t spoil them? Where is she, by the way?”

“Wait,” you stop him as you go through the rest of your gifts. “New stationary, bags, files. You got me all of this stuff for college? Thank you.” you beam. You jump up and sit in his lap, wrapping your arms around him and squeezing tightly, the intensity makes him wonder if you’ll ever let go.

Unfortunately for him, you do.

“She texted me a few minutes ago saying they’ve changed her shift and she won’t be back until late.” Yuuji says nonchalantly as he continues looking through his stuff.

“What?! She said she’d give me a ride tonight. I’m gonna have to get a taxi, where’s my phone?” you ask, leaping up from your seat in your uncle’s lap as you check all of your pockets. You head towards the front door to check the last place you’d been with it, when you suddenly feel his hand encase your wrist.

“Talk to me.”

“She’s meant to be taking me to the movies for my d- uh, I’m meeting a friend.” you explain.

“Boyfriend, you mean.” Yuuji mumbles before coughing loudly to cover up his comment.

“Shut up.” you snap back. “But I’m gonna have to book a taxi and start getting ready now in case I’m late. Thanks for the gifts, uncle Ryo.” you smile as you turn away to leave. But he squeezes your wrist hard, pulling you back to him.

“I’ll take you. Alright?” he tells you. “Just let me know when you’re ready to go.”

“Really?” you smile. “Thank you.”

“… What are uncles for, hm?”

Hours pass, time spent doing your makeup and choosing an outfit with texts sent to Megumi in between. Sukuna’s foot has been tapping incessantly as he waits for you, resisting the urge to check in on you every five minutes. He’d give anything to be in your room while you dress, allowing him to approve of your attire.

But instead, you appear hours later in a pair of shorts that would make him lose control in his younger years, but even now, he feels stirring in his slacks. A slight tightening that he’s fighting to ignore.

“Not leaving anything to the imagination, are you?” he grumbles, looking you up and down. You’re too irritated by his comment to notice the fact his eyes linger on your bare midsection and rake over your chest. Your little crop top almost looks too small for you, to him, with the way it accentuates your tits. “It’s a bit much for a movie.”

“Don’t start, I’m not changing. It’s so hot out I just wanna be comfy. Can we go?”

“Move, then.” he scowls.

You scoff, walking out ahead of him. He watches as you walk away before trailing after you. You’re mistaking his rage for sulking. You’ve never seen your uncle angry, not really.

If only you knew, he’s seething.

You spend twenty minutes in the car with him, panicking that you’re going to be late. You’d hate to picture Megumi there, waiting for you all on his own. You’ve texted him a few times to let him know you’re on your way, but you’re yet to hear back from him.

“Can you, like, do something?!” you ask before gluing your eyes back to your phone.

“What?” your uncle responds, teeth clenched as he looks over to you. His anger brewing further as he sees Megumi’s name with a bunch of heart emojis at the top of your phone. “Should I pick up the car and carry you it through the streets for you, darlin’?”

“If it’ll get us there faster, yes.”

“Tch.” he scoffs. “You know the world won’t end if you put your phone down for five minutes.”

“I’m letting him know I’m gonna be late! Is that alright with you?!”

“Him. The boyfriend, not friend. You lied.” and before he can stop himself, he speaks without thinking. “You should be ashamed of yourself.”

Your eyes widen at his words. And you can’t decide if you’re furious or devastated. Ashamed? Is he ashamed of you? You don’t know why he would be. He’s never said anything so mean to you before. In fact, you don’t think he’s ever said anything cruel to you in your life.

“What’s your problem?” you speak, your volume a little louder than intended.

“You are. I don’t even recognise you. Throwing yourself at college boys and dressing like a little slut. I thought I brought you up better than that.”

“You didn’t bring me up. Just because you visit with gifts every few months doesn’t mean you’re my fucking dad, Ryo. You’re barely an uncle.” you bite back. There’s more you could say, but you’re silenced by an incoming text from Megumi. “FUCK! I’m so stupid. Take me home, I got the time wrong.”

He grunts, turning the car around roughly before he parks down a nearby alleyway.

“Get out.” he orders.

“Huh?”

“Get out of my car, princess. You think you can disrespect me like that in my own fucking car? Get out and call a cab.”

Your heart sinks when you realise he’s far from joking. He actually wants you to get out of his car. In fact, he’s waiting for it. It’s hard to know if it’s genuine, if he’s legitimately planning on leaving you in a creepy alleyway all on your own and driving away. You hope he’s just trying to scare you, but the air is getting thicker.

His stare becomes harsher.

Your heart beats faster.

“I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to disrespect you…” you pout. “Don’t make me get out, please. You’ve been so… off with me today. And I’m embarrassed I got the time of this date wrong and—”

“So it is a date after all, huh?” he sighs.

“We’re, ugh, we’re friends but—” you cover your face in embarrassment. “We keep talking about taking things further, but it’s just a movie I don’t know if it’s a date. Maybe we’re just gonna be friends forever and he isn’t interested at all.” and with that, you’re officially sulking, humiliated that you spilt your little secret to your uncle of all people. You feel his eyes on you, but you don’t want to look.

If they’re the same harsh eyes that told you he’s ashamed, you don’t want to see them ever again.

“Is that why you’re dressed like an easy whore tonight? Hah? Thought he’d be more interested if you put more on show.”

“Why are you being such a dick?!” you yell. The silence is too much, his bewildered face catches you off guard. It’s like he hadn’t expected you to raise your voice. You both maintain your silence, equally at a loss for words. But it goes on too long, and unintentionally, you feel the need to fill it. “What, are you jealous? Bet it’s been a while since you got any action, old man.”

“Old?” he scoffs. “What are you talking about, action? You wouldn’t do that… would you?” he asks, there’s venom coating his tongue, but it’s overridden by curiosity.

“Why do you think I dressed like such a… ‘little slut’, huh?” you laugh as his expression changes once again, he’s uncomfortable, so you decide to poke the beast. “We got seats in the back row… I don’t even care about the movie, it’s just an excuse to put our hands down each other’s pants.”

“That’s enough.”

“Why?”

You watch him as he unbuckles his seatbelt with haste. If you had blinked you would have missed it, and it’s not long before he does the same to yours. You’re weightless as he pulls you from your seat and into his lap, a few pathetic ‘ow’s’ leave your lips as he positions you over him.

“What are you doing?” you ask him, a combination of worry and curiosity overwhelming you.

“You really wanna get felt up at the movies by a little college boy? How pathetic you are… I thought you were better than that.” you’re too stunned to speak as his words consume you. Has he always been so protective of you? Has he always had this side to him? You don’t want to move. You barely want to think in case he doesn’t like how your thoughts sound. You gulp, nervously, and he smirks in amusement.

His fingers trail lightly across your chin before he holds it carefully between his thumb and forefinger. He licks his lips as his eyes examine your features. There is hunger in his ruby irises, a starved man sizing up the meal he’s worked so hard for.

But he’s patient.

He thinks it’ll be fine, nothing he does will make you object.

Though he can’t be too careful. So he proceeds with caution, allowing his fingers to carry on tracing downwards. Your wide eyes turn to a heavy lidded gaze as you feel the pads of his fingers softly dance across the column of your neck. His eyes follow the path they take, looking up once or twice to make sure you still aren’t opposed to his touch.

You gulp, again, when you feel him touch atop your breasts, and his eyes stay fixed on yours for a moment longer. But he’s greedy, now, unable to withstand the growing bulge in his pants or the thoughts he has about you in order to cure him.

He hooks his index finger into the low scoop of your crop top and pulls downwards. You’re unable to stop yourself from shuddering, and he looks up at you with a sympathetic stare.

“This is… wrong.” you speak, a slight whimper in your voice.

He grins, though he tries to hide it from you.

“How can it be wrong, sweetheart?” he asks. He holds your hips in heavy hands and pushes you down onto his clothed erection. “Feel how good you make me feel? Let me make you feel good, too. Megumi won’t satisfy you, I promise you that.”

“Ryo…” you sigh, soon stifled as he helps you roll your hips onto him. “It’s wrong… you know it is…”

“Well, maybe I don’t care,” he hisses, his cock leaking from the friction between you. He allows his head to droop back against the head rest behind him, smiling up at you as he realises you’re beginning to move all on your own. “I don’t think you do, either.”

Your eyes fill with water, and you bat your eyelashes in a bid to dismiss it. How did this happen? How did you get to this point? Maybe you’ve been waiting for Megumi for too long. Maybe some part of you knew you’d end up here with him. And maybe you want it just as much as he seems to.

“Naughty girl… give me a kiss,” he demands, fingers caressing the column of your spine before he pushes you down towards him.

A little whine escapes your lips before you submit to him. The feelings of his bulge nudging against your clit is enough to make you lose all sense. It’s clumsy and uncomfortable, a chaste kiss as if you were kissing your uncle turns into a sloppy, tongue tangling kiss as you soon dismiss that familial bond.

He pulls away, groaning slightly before he yanks down your crop top and exposes your bare tits.

His jaw tenses as he looks up at you again, as if he were withholding something he so desperately desired to say. But instead, he silences himself, taking a nipple into his mouth and sucking experimentally.

Your eyes roll back into your head, your hand carding through tufts of pink hair. It’s been a while since you’d been intimate with anyone like this, the sensation making you weak and needy. The slightest touch feels enough to make you cum, though you hold back, savouring the way his hand holds your other breast and rolls your nipple between his finger and thumb.

You wonder if he sleeps around a lot, you wonder if he’s gotten laid recently. You want to know how good he is. You’ve heard from girlfriends that older men do it better, but you’ve never experimented so cavalierly, you wouldn’t even know where to meet one.

Little did you know you’ve had an older man vying for your attention all along.

“How do you like it?” he asks, breath fanning across your drool soaked tit before he swaps which one he suckles. You hiss a little as he grazes your perked nipple purposefully between his teeth.

“I— It’s good,” you say, shyly, body heating up further when you hear a small laugh leave his lips.

“No, baby. How do you like to fuck?” he asks again. You think you might pass out from the shame. Though it’s shameful enough that you’re allowing your uncle to suck your tits. You screw your eyes shut before opening them again, hoping that this could possibly be a bad dream you just need to wake up from. But he’s still there when you open your eyes, still looking up at you with a cocky grin as he observes your embarrassment consuming you.

“I don’t— I don’t really—”

“You’ve proven yourself to be a little slut, so you must have a preference. What happened to that mouth of yours, huh? You were so desperate to talk about your little classmate touching you up later.” he reminds you, and you pant from the humiliation. Any attempt to wriggle away is halted by him wrapping his arms around your torso and keeping your body glued to his. “How many little pricks have you let slut your cunt out, sweetheart?”

“Ryo…” you gasp, breathing becoming erratic. It’s too much, he chuckles as you start to fan yourself. “I don’t know anymore. I can’t think.” you explain.

“Have you lost count, princess? That’s disgusting, don’t you think?” he tuts, mock repulsion lacing his words. He only half means it. He’s disgusted that so many useless little boys have felt you wrapped around them without any inkling of how to truly satisfy you. “They don’t matter, now. No one will make you feel as good as I’m going to, you won’t want anyone else when I’m through.”

“This is… it’s a one time thing. Okay?” you tell him, and his smug smile only grows wider.

“We’ll see,” he starts, his fingers dig into the flesh of your ass as your shorts ride up. A pathetic yelp flees from you as his stinging palm lands on your body. “I don’t really care how you like it, I was just curious.”

“… how do you like it, Ryo?”

“It depends, princess.” he bites his lower lip. “But if it’s just this once, you’ll let me fuck you how I like. You’ll be a good girl for uncle Ryo, won’t you?”

You blink a few times. Are you really so easily manipulated? Are you really still grinding down on the throbbing bulge of your uncle? Your silence speaks volumes, to him. And with his patience wearing thin, you find yourself being thrown awkwardly into the back seat.

He takes a deep breath before stepping out, from behind the wheel and opening the back door.

You watch him as he unbuckles his belt, and he smiles when he notices you watching. He slows down the action, allowing you to savour the sight of him undressing. He stops after his cock springs free, slapping off his abdomen and leaving a pretty trail of pre on his pristine white shirt.

“Have you never seen a big dick before? You look scared.” He chuckles. You don’t say a word, and without realising you’re shaking your head. You thought you had, but apparently they were nothing in comparison to actual big dicks. You’re terrified, almost horrified, but you can’t look away.

Not until he tells you.

“Sluts take it from behind. Turn around.” he orders, and you immediately position yourself onto your hands and knees.

You squeal when his fingers curl into the waistband of your shorts and yank aggressively. He doesn’t pull them off, they remain around your thighs and keep your legs perfectly pressed together. His cock throbs at the sight, holding one of your ass cheeks and moving your lower half from side to side. You’d decided to forgo panties, and he couldn’t be happier.

The sight of your drooling cunt makes up for what has felt like an eternity of patience.

You scream, again, as you feel a multitude of spanks in quick succession. He thinks he might legitimately lose it at the sight of your holes clenching, and surprise rips through you as you feel a thumb pressed to your puckered hole. You cover your mouth to stop you from yelping at the unexpected touch, but he merely groans.

“Have you taken it here before?” he asks.

“… no… I h—aven’t,” you answer honestly. He hums in contemplation. He spits down onto your asshole and rubs his thumb across it gently.

“Next time, hm?” he muses to himself. Despite his words, he guides his cockhead to your tight hole. The thick tip rubbing teasingly against it. He doesn’t breach it, but the teasing alone feels pleasant. “I think you’ll like it…”

And with that, he moves from your rear entrance and plunges brutally into your drooling slot. You cry out, the unexpected entry taking you by surprise. He hushes and coos as your walls adjust to his girth.

The intensity of the pressure gives away to pleasure soon enough. Internally, he wants to be rough with you. He will be rough with you. However, he can’t ignore the fact that you are and always have been so precious to him. The thought of hurting you is hold him back.

But a deeper, darker part of him with a bruised ego overrides his conscience.

His fingers grab your hair harshly and wrap around his hand as if you were a dog on a leash. He pulls you until your back arches gloriously for him, and he uses the leverage to fuck into you harder.

He’s all too aware of the risks he’s taking. If anyone were to walk by they’d see exactly what he’s doing and has made no attempt to hide. Standing confidently outside the car with your ass on full display for anyone who’d dare to look. He could get arrested, your family could find out.

But it’s been too long of a wait for this taboo coupling for him to let something so trivial deter him from this. From you.

He’d like to hold off in favour of extending your pleasure. He’d like to see you cum and make a mess of his cock before he fills you to the brim with his creamy load. He’d like to see your pussy twitch and struggle to hold in his kids after he fucks them into you.

But he’s just a man, after all.

He doesn’t care if you cum anymore. He did, but this is for him. His heavy tip rocks repeatedly into your sweet spot and your raucous moans are bound to catch attention sooner or later. He’d love to stifle you in some matter, whether by covering your mouth or shoving his cock down your throat. But he can’t. His hands are still filled as one remains wrapped around your hair and the other keeps a bruising grasp on your hip.

He wants to tell you to shut up, he wants to tell you you’re being too loud and you’re soon to be spotted. But he can’t, he’s proud of you. Your pussy begins to suck him in and pulses around his thickness.

He chuckles and further fuels your shame as your pussy begins to gush from the pressure. Clear liquid jets out of you, dousing his cock, your shorts and his leather seats as you cum from the staggering sensation of being ploughed by your very own uncle.

The sight has him gritting his teeth as he uses your quivering cunt to reach his own satisfaction. His head falls back as he spurts stream after stream of viscous white cum into your womb. The warmth makes you hum contently, giggling as his movements slow, still determined to fuck his seed deep into you. He doesn’t even want to pull out, but the chill of the night air brings him to his senses.

You’ve been lucky to get away with this.

He pulls out, admiring the sight of his sperm dripping down into your shorts as he tucks himself away.

Your body is tired, but you find the strength to pull up your now soiled shorts before slowing making your way back to the passenger seat. You sigh, taking a few deep breaths as you contemplate what just happened.

“You look tired.” your uncle says casually as he starts up the car.

He’s right. You look at yourself in the mirror before you fold it back up, too disgusted with yourself to even look at how dishevelled and smeared your perfectly applied makeup has become. It’s all ruined. There’s no point in seeing Megumi, now. As excited as you were, you can’t go like this. You can’t let him see you like this.

Whenever you see someone walk by as your uncle drives you home, you can’t help but think they know. When your car stops at a red light, you think the people in the car beside you know. If you go and see Megumi tonight…

He’ll know.

YOU: sorry Megs, can we reschedule? My uncle just got to town x MEGUMI: of course. don’t worry about it, have fun with your uncle x

He reads your messages out of the corner of his eye, and does all he can to supress the satisfied smirk desperate to break out across his face. The tension in the air is thick enough to cut with a knife, he understands. You did something wrong. But that isn’t why it’s so quiet.

You’re quiet, and uncomfortable, because you liked it.

You can’t make eye contact with him, because you liked it.

And you can’t talk to him normally, because you want to do it again.

Your body language tells him all he needs to know. He’ll be in town for as long as you need to wrap your head around this. As long as you need to confess how desperately you desire him once more. It’ll only be one more time. Every time you tell him, beg him, crave him to make you feel good again, you’ll say it’s the last time.

But that one last time will never come.

Poor Megumi, he has no idea just how much fun your uncle intends to have with you.

© 2024 rinhaler

[majestyeverlasting]

Hellooo, can I please request a Joel miller x reader oneshot where the reader had a really bad day at work and she’s calling him from the bathroom crying and he immediately rushes to pick her up? 🥰🩷

𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐲𝐨𝐮 | 𝐣𝐨𝐞𝐥 𝐦𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐫

Pairing Joel Miller x Female Reader 

Summary A disheartening setback at work leads you to call Joel, who always knows exactly what you need [fluff, 1.6k].

A/N Thank you so much for this request and your patience, anon! Really enjoyed writing this one.

∘°∘♡∘°∘

Hi, are you busy right now?

A heavy exhale is freed from your chest the moment you hit send. It’s quiet in the bathroom except for the rhythmic drip of the leaky sink faucet. Muffled voices arise from the hallway as people pass by, some preparing to commute home. Warm tears stream down your cheeks. 

No sooner does your phone vibrate to life, a picture of you and Joel at McKinney Falls filling the screen. There isn’t much time to compose yourself before you press the accept button with a shaky thumb. 

“Hey, sweetheart. Got done early today, we’re cleaning up the site,” Joel greets, wind in the background. Tommy’s voice emits from nearby as well, followed by rowdy, cackling laughter. “Hold on a second, lemme get someplace quiet.” 

“Okay,” you murmur. 

There’s shuffling on his end of the line that eventually subsides. It’s still worth clinging to even though he’s miles away. 

“Sorry about that. Everything alright?” Concern dances around the edges of his words. You can tell he’s trying to keep them from being consumed. 

After Sarah moved out for college, he’d gotten better at accepting that every phone call he received from her didn’t automatically mean trouble. Most of the time, she simply wanted to catch up now that she lived two hours away. 

However, the opposite was true between you and Joel. Nowadays, you spend so much time together that there’s seldom a need to talk on the phone. The fact that you were calling him, from work, no less, meant something was up. 

You swallow the lump in your throat, but it doesn’t do much for the wavering of your voice when you finally speak up again, “Just wanted to hear your voice.” 

Your subsequent sniffle makes him grow still. You can see it through the phone. It’s in the way he doesn’t immediately respond, gears undoubtedly turning in his head. 

“Talk to me, sweetheart.” There’s a gentle, almost melodic quality to his voice that makes you wish you could lay your head on his chest and feel the rumble of his words. 

“Today’s just been a lot,” you tell him. “You know Alexander, the Bulletin’s editor?” He makes a small sound of affirmation. “It wasn’t his decision, but he pulled me aside to let me know my feature has been put on hold for further revision.” 

Relaying the news makes fresh tears well in your eyes. Over the past few weeks, Joel has watched you pour yourself into each stage of constructing the story to do the subjects justice—the meticulous research, heartfelt interviews, and late nights perfecting every draft. 

It was a labor of love, a piece that sought to illuminate the struggles of longtime Austin residents, artists, and small business owners navigating the challenges of gentrification and displacement. 

“Something about it being redundant.” Which, for all you knew, could be higher-up code for we don’t want this stepping on the toes of donors with deep pockets.  

“You’re kidding,” Joel grouses, disappointed for you. 

You shake your head even though he can’t see you. “I wish I was,” you breathe. “Redundant, yet they’ve got room for age-old dieting tips and holiday gift guides every year,” you say, voice wavering. 

“I know, I hear you. I’m so sorry, baby,” he soothes, releasing a heavy sigh. “At least it hasn’t been canned entirely. That’s worth something.”  

He’s right, but it still feels like a slap in the face considering all the time invested. From you and everyone who shared their story. 

“It just sucks,” you sniffle. “I didn’t get enough sleep last night, and now I feel even worse.” A dull ache has settled in your temples. 

Shuffling arises on Joel’s end of the line again, and you remember that he’s still on site. 

“I’m sorry. You can go if you need to.” 

Instead, he comes back with, “Hang tight, okay? Gonna come get you.” 

When you bite your lip instead of responding, he keeps talking, “Should be there in twenty, give or take.” 

As appealing as it sounds to be whisked away, reality is quick to set in. 

“No, it’s fine, Joel. Tommy and the guys need you. I couldn’t ask you to do that.” 

“Wouldn’t offer if I wasn’t good for it,” he replies. 

•••

Outside, you’re met with a relaxed breeze and the dwindling warmth of downtown, where the sun eases towards the horizon. A few tourists mill around, men and women in business casual stride by with messenger bags. At Joel’s truck, which is parallel parked across the street, he gets the door for you. An 80s station plays low on the radio, Bruce Springsteen’s Born to Run faintly recognizable. 

You watch as he rounds to the driver’s side in that relaxed stride you love. He looks handsome despite his mused hair and the specks of dried paint on his shirt. When he climbs in, you’ve taken notice of the ice-cold raspberry tea in the cupholder closest to you. 

Along the way, he’d stopped and gotten it from the cafe you and Sarah frequented whenever she was visiting from school. You only went alone as an occasional treat, but he knew how much you liked it. 

A smile buds on his face when you pick it up and take a grateful sip. There’s a softness to his gaze that makes warmth bloom in your chest. With him, even the little things seemed to say, I see you. 

When you extend the cup his way in a silent offer, he waves you off. However, curiosity gets the better of him after he pulls off the curb. “Guess a sip won’t hurt.”

For the first time in what feels like hours, you smile when Joel hums at the flavor. For a moment, it doesn’t feel like the world is ending anymore. When he places his hand on your thigh, you intertwine your fingers with his, and he gives your hand a squeeze. 

A comfortable silence settles between you. It isn’t until you’ve left downtown that Joel speaks up again, voice measured and sure, “Your story will get out. Those guys know good journalism when they see it, and they’re gonna have to run it.” 

You glance over at him, your lower lip caught between your teeth as hope kindles in your chest.

“Hell, I’ll make my own publication if that’s what it takes. The Miller Times.” 

A chuckle bubbles out of you, but you could cry at the same time. For an entirely different reason this time. 

“I could get in trouble for going to a different publisher,” you remind him, running your thumb over the back of his hand as a small smile plays on your lips. “I’m on staff.”  

“I know, honey.” Joel squeezes your hand, a playful glint in his eyes. “Admit it, though. You thought about it for a second. The Miller Times has a nice ring to it.” 

He can see you fighting against your growing smile. “It’s alright.” 

“I’ll take that,” he concedes. Then, a greater air of sincerity settles over him. “What’s that one saying—setbacks are setups for something better.” 

You nod, gazing out the window as you turn into his neighborhood. 

“Don’t let this weigh you down.” 

You felt worlds lighter with him. 

•••

The warm spray of the shower feels so good against your skin that you remain under it even after the day’s troubles have washed away. Three months ago, you would’ve had to use Joel’s body wash, but your products and belongings had since made their way here. Some, he bought because he knew you’d be around, and others—namely, clothes—that migrated from your apartment. 

The word home has lost its shape in that regard. Not in a detached way of not belonging in any one place, but in that Joel’s house had begun to feel like just as much of a home as your cozy one-bedroom a few miles away. 

When you finally step out of the shower, a towel wrapped around yourself, you can see straight into the bedroom, where Joel is stretched across the bed. The sound of the shower door closing prompts him to sit up with a low grunt. You offer a shy smile upon meeting his gaze. 

“Promise I’m not creepin’ around,” he says, standing to his feet. “Just wanted to see if your headache was gone. Can bring up some Tylenol if you need it.” 

“It’s fine. I feel better now,” you assure. With a satisfied nod, he turns to leave with the intent of giving you space, but stops in his tracks when you speak up again, “You’re allowed to creep around if you want. I don’t mind.” 

Joel saunters into the bathroom doorway, propping an arm against the frame. The motion causes his bicep to strain against the sleeve of his shirt. Getting to see you like this, the intimacy of it all, always makes him feel grateful and warm. 

“Oh, yeah?” 

“You’re the boss,” you lilt.

With a low chuckle, Joel pushes out of the doorway and moves to stand behind you. You stare at your joint reflection as he rests his large hands on your hips, then leans down to press a delicate kiss to your bare shoulder. His frame is broad and rugged behind you, but his eyes are kind. 

When you rest your hands over his, he presses a second kiss to the crook of your neck. Then another just beneath your ear. His lips are so soft and warm against your damp skin that you can’t help the shiver that runs down your spine and makes you press back into him. 

“I like you like this,” he whispers. “Relaxed…smiling.”

Now that you’re in his arms, it’s hard to imagine having stayed at the newsroom. With the meetings, chatty colleagues, and constant blue light. It’s quieter here with Joel. The world at large has disappeared while your smaller one keeps turning.

“I didn’t realize how much I needed this,” you admit. 

But Joel did. He always did. 

-

Thank you so much for reading. Like, comments, and reblogs are always appreciated. I promise I see them all.

MORE

[tthoroughfare]

happiest season // ellie williams

*･゜ﾟ･* summary: the gang's all back together for christmas! no matter how hectic life gets, you always make time for your end of year outing.

*･゜ﾟ･* pairing: modern!ellie x reader ft. jesse and dina

*･゜ﾟ･* content: sfw. ellie fucking sucks at ice skating

*･゜ﾟ･* length: 2.1k

this fic is a part two to this blurb! i loved writing the dynamic so much i had to continue it... there will be more coming trust. *dutch voice* i have a plan. also i don't even like xmas that much so i have no idea where this came from. just felt right. i hope you all enjoy, and have an amazing festive period with your loved ones <3

gift bag in hand, you wander into the restaurant. there’s cheesy christmas music drifting through the speakers, a tree in the corner, lights everywhere; you immediately spot jesse and dina, the latter waving at you as soon as you enter.

“hey!” she greets when you walk up, standing to put her arms around you. “how are you?”

“good, good,” you reply, one-handedly returning her embrace before leaning down to give jesse a quick hug. “you?”

“good. i mean, life is fucking killing me in general, but y’know.” she sits back down, watching as you place your belongings to the side and shuffle your chair in. “where’s ellie?”

you shrug. “no idea, i haven’t talked to her today. probably isn’t even on her way yet.”

“most likely,” jesse adds, smirking.

“has anyone texted her?” you ask, looking between the two of them.

the couple share a glance, wordlessly confirming before looking back at you.

“uh… no,” jesse states.

“dude.”

you pull your phone out, knowing all too well what ellie’s like. even if she knows she has to be somewhere, she’ll stay up way too late; and if no-one gets in touch with her in the morning, she won’t be up and ready for it.

selecting her contact and calling her, you press your phone to your ear. she surprisingly answers after two rings, clearly walking down the street, wind whipping past the microphone.

“hello?”

“just checking you’re awake.”

“uh, okay, sorry, i’m literally… like, ‘round the corner.”

“hurry up, ‘cause the manager says if all members of the party aren’t here in five minutes we’re getting kicked out,” you deadpan, casting a smirk at your friends.

“very funny.”

you automatically turn your head when you hear the door open, both through your phone and behind you. ellie bustles through it, phone between her ear and shoulder, waving with her free hand before ending the call. she heads over to the table, taking the empty seat beside you. dina looks on, giving her an exaggerated offended stare.

“uh, the fuck, do i not get a hug?”

ellie rolls her eyes with a small smile, gesturing her over. “come here.”

dina happily totters over, leaning over ellie’s chair and wrapping her arms around her shoulders from behind. ellie shifts her hand, giving her forearm a few pats before she pulls away.

“happy?”

“yup.” dina sits back down, budging her chair in before clapping her hands together lightly. “okay. gifts before or after food?”

ellie scoffs lightly at her impatience. “i literally just got here.”

“you want everyone to say before, 'cause you want yours now,” jesse comments fondly, leaning an elbow on the table.

“… correct. but i really don’t mind, whatever you guys wanna do.”

“i don’t mind. we can do it now,” you add.

dina’s eyes flit between each of you mischievously. “can we do it now?”

“let’s do it now,” you confirm with a chuckle, leaning forward and pointing your hand at dina. “you first — your idea.”

she grins, reaching to pick up her gift bag and holding it out to ellie. “i got you.”

ellie takes it from her, smirking lightly as she takes out the tissue paper on top. her expression changes when she sees the first item, eyebrows scrunching and letting out a drawn-out scoff. “bro, what the fuck?”

dina laughs knowingly.

“what is it?” jesse questions, chuckling lightly. she just holds it up in reply, pivoting it back and forth so you can all see, avoiding eye contact with you. it’s a hot pink bullet vibrator.

“y’know… ‘cause you’re gay and stuff,” dina jovially explains, holding her hands up in gesture. ellie just stares at her, blinking slowly and holding back a laugh. “ladies’ll love it.”

“what ladies?” jesse remarks quietly, earning himself a light-hearted tap from ellie’s shoe under the table.

“anyway…” ellie gingerly sets the box down on the table, digging back through the bag. “thank you for that, dina.”

the rest of the gifts are sweet; she’d gotten her a dinosaur mug, her favorite chips, and a band tee. she holds them up in turn for you all to look at, placing everything back in when she’s done and thanking dina.

dina nods in acknowledgement, smiling warmly. you all look at ellie expectantly, who settles into her chair holding a clueless expression on her face.

“it’s your turn,” jesse reminds her after a moment of silence.

“oh, shit, yeah.” she sits back up, picking up her gift bag from the floor and passing it over to you, dragging the action out in amplified suspense. you grin, taking it from her gently. “thank you.”

dipping your hand in, you take out the first item. it’s your favorite scent of candle, one you always had on in your room. you’d never mentioned anything about it to her, but ellie was like that. always quietly noticing.

there’s another, bigger item in there, too. you pull it out the wrong way, turning it around to get a look; it’s a framed painting of your favorite musician.

“oh my god, this is awesome!” you say, looking at ellie. “where did you get this?”

“uh, i didn’t…” she trails off softly, looking down at her hands for a moment. “i made it.”

your eyebrows raise, smile widening. “no fucking way. you painted this?”

there’s a small, coy smile on her face as she nods. “… you like it?”

“you serious? i love it, this is like the coolest thing ever.” you look back at the painting, studying the fine details; it looks like it took her a good while. “thank you so much.”

“wait, i wanna see!” dina chimes in, reaching over the table for it.

jesse leans in as you pass it over, peering over her shoulder. “woah… this is good, ellie. why the hell weren’t you my secret santa?”

ellie tuts playfully, leaning back in her chair and crossing her arms. “you’d have gotten coal.”

the rest of the gift exchange goes ahead, temporarily halted by the waiter coming to take your orders. you got dina; dina got jesse. 

the secret santa was a silly tradition you’d upheld over the years. one that became more precious when you left high school, and you and ellie got into a different college as the other two. you still saw each other wherever possible, and had a group chat that was active daily; still, it was hard being away from your closest childhood friends. you found yourself missing just being able to text dina to come pick you up, getting drive-thru and talking shit in her car until the early hours.

every year when you were all home for christmas, you made a point of meeting up. while normally all busy with your own plans, no matter what, you’d always clear your schedule for at least one day.

after the meal, dina announces that she’s booked ice skating — to which ellie lets out a groan.

“why?” she complains, drawing the word out. “you know i’m horrible at it.”

“yeah, why do you think i made the reservation?” dina counters teasingly. ellie just gives her a look.

when you get down there, in the middle of lacing up your skates, ellie flops down next to you to put hers on and lets out a dramatic sigh.

you cast her a sideways glance, smirking fondly. “oh, shut up, it’ll be fun.”

“you don’t understand, i fucking suck.”

“get a penguin,” you respond, chuckling as you finish up, leaning back to wait for her.

she lets out a laugh. “no… embarrassing.”

“plenty of people have them.” you gesture out to the rink.

“yeah, they’re all ten and under.”

rolling your eyes, you train your gaze on dina already out there. she whizzes past fairly gracefully, dragging jesse along. “hold dina’s hand, she’s pretty good.”

“no, she goes too fast. i’d end up eating shit.”

“i think that’s gonna happen either way.”

she sighs lightly, pulling a dejected face as she finishes tying her laces. going to stand, you offer a hand to haul her up, keeping hold of it as you both dodder over to the edge of the rink.

you get on first, a little unsteady; you’re passable at skating, at best. ellie hesitantly places a first foot onto the ice, free hand clinging onto the side as she ungracefully enters fully. one of the skates almost goes out from under her and catapults her flying into the barrier; it nearly takes you out, too, sending you off balance.

failing to hold back from laughing at her, you give her hand a squeeze. “ellie, oh my god.”

“i fuckin’ told you!”

“look, you’ll be fine, just hold onto the side and i’ll, like… drag you.”

“real elegant.”

you raise an eyebrow, jutting your neck slightly forward in gesture. “rather fend for yourself?”

she pauses, sheepishly looking to the left, then back at you. “… no.”

“come on, then.”

it goes about how you expected, moving along at a snail’s pace, ellie practically white-knuckling the barrier. by the time you’ve gotten to the other side of the rink, dina and jesse have passed you twice; on the first, teasingly cackling at you, on the second, calling out, ‘losers’.

you pat ellie’s arm in jest, giggling at the exclamation. “don’t listen to them, they’re mean.”

not long after, you actually come up behind two people slower than you; a young boy and a grandma, trailing around the edge of the rink hand-in-hand. you deal with it for a few minutes, but the thought of being stuck behind them the whole time proves too irritating.

“we’re gonna pass these people,” you mutter to ellie, leaning in. “you’re gonna have to let go, and—“

she cuts you off, shaking her head vehemently. “no, no, no. dude, i can’t.”

“you gotta. literally just let go for like, two seconds, hold onto me while we go around. it’s chill.”

you were wrong — it was not, in fact, chill. essentially the second ellie lets go of the barrier, she panics and wobbles. that, in turn, makes her panic even more, and she completely loses her footing. calling out your name in comical distress, she goes down in a heap, automatically grasping onto the back of your jacket and bringing you down with her.

you crack up after the shock of hitting frigid, wet ice wears off. it seeps through your sleeves and jeans, goosebumps forming. “ellie, what the fuck?”

“i’m sorry,” she laughs along, sitting up and flicking the moisture off of her hands. “i’m so sorry.”

you manage to get over to the side and hoist yourself up. whilst you’re in the process of attempting to get ellie on her feet without being yanked back down, jesse and dina fly past again, cheering dramatically at the sight.

ellie turns to flip them off; the motion destabilizes her, and she topples and lands flat on her ass all over again.

later, when you’ve all hugged and parted ways, you’re in your childhood bedroom winding down when you receive a series of texts from her.

you head over to the corner of your room where you’d dropped your stuff on entry, taking your gifts out of the bag and rechecking. camouflaged against the interior, flat against the bottom, there’s a small envelope addressed to you.

opening it and taking out the folded paper, you can’t hold back from smiling. it’s a letter, decorated with silly stickers.

i just wanted to write you a letter to let you know how much i appreciate you :) i am very lucky to have you in my life and i always look forward to spending time with you even if we’re just hanging out in each other’s rooms and rotting. 

i kinda struggle with getting to know people (woah shock) and when i first moved i was so fucking worried i was gonna literally have no friends LOL. but right from the beginning you, jesse and dina made it so easy. don’t tell them this because i'll never hear the end of it, but it was mainly you. you were always going out of your way to talk to me and include me and stuff, and it meant a lot. and at risk of sounding super weird as soon as i saw you, i knew you were going to be an important person to me. 

back in school when we were applying to college, honestly i was scared that you were going to end up going somewhere different to me. like to the point i wouldn’t be able to sleep some nights because i’d just be up thinking about it. anyway, i’m so glad it all worked out. wouldn’t wanna do this shit with anyone else <3

love you always

ellie

heading back over to your bed to grab your phone, you text her again, letter sitting at the side of you.

[miirohs]

all yours, all mine [c.l.c]

pairing: Mob Boss!Charles Leclerc x Wife!Reader wc: 1.3k cw: again, slight yandere/possesive tendencies, allusion to abuse an: guys i am feeling uninspired lately,,,, needed to pull everything in me for this one. sigh. its 2 in the morning what am i doing with my life i need to sleep not be up to this bs GODDDDDDD strike me down.

Charles knew you weren’t truly his wife.

He himself had shot his bride to be, too loud and too lecherous to realize how she’d met her end, bragging about killing him for his money in his club.

He thought that’d be the last of it, that their family wouldn’t be brave enough to show face again.

Yet, they became audacious, sending him a woman, a woman who was nothing like the bride he had seen. 

Hell, you didn’t even look the same as the other.

There was no way their family didn’t know by now that he was the one who killed their only daughter, yet he could only imagine this was their attempt at faking normalcy because he’d never seen his bride before, right?

He laughed, in all honesty. 

He could’ve played along, see what would’ve happened, and have been done with you by dinner if he wanted to. But part of him wanted you to show your true colors, to be able to kill the venomous woman hiding behind the veil.

That day never came though.

He was too baffled by the sight of you clinging to their sides, eyes down as you could barely keep up in the shoes slightly too big to be yours.

He pretended not to notice. 

At dinner he questioned you, much to your visible discomfort. He could see the glances you gave the other members of your supposed family, meekly responding back as they glared sharply at your head, only smiling when they noticed his stares. It didn’t take long for him to connect two and two.

It was there and then he’d made the awfully irrational decision to go forward with the marriage. He wanted to pull you out of your shell, see who you really were under the supposed mask you had on in front of everyone.

Your marriage was a grand affair, bosses from all around the globe visiting just to see the ceremony. He had refused to give in to their demands for a smaller wedding, going all out just for you.

And true to his word, he treated you with more respect than he’d ever cared to show anyone else. For him, hours turned into days, and days turned into weeks as he tried to pull you out of your shell.

It was a while before he got the first laugh out of you. He felt like he’d won everything when you gave him small smiles. He did everything to get them out of you. Showering you in lavish gifts, surprising you with expensive dates, it made him feel like he was finally doing something right. 

Seeing your full smile was what truly made it worth it, easing the pain of your time with your former family, if he could even call them that. 

He’d made sure to cut all contact with them, and he knew you were contacting them against his wishes, so he took it into his own hands to make sure they couldn’t bother you for a single cent again. He plotted behind your back and as sorry as he felt for lying to you, he paid for his guilt in consuming you with his neediness, wrapping you tightly from your waking moments almost as if you’d disappear forever if you left his field of vision.

You didn’t question it, but you couldn’t lie and say it didn’t startle you a bit.

He hummed as you gently ran your fingers through his hair, pit forming in your stomach as you heard him mutter in Italian on the phone, pen scratching against the paper of his notepad.

You heard the bare sentences of his conversation, too fast for you to understand, but you thought you had a good idea of what he was planning.

“Dovremo metterli a tacere (We'll have to silence them)-”

A couple heartbeats passed as he listened, your heart clenching almost painfully as you held the cuff of his suit jacket between your thumb and index finger. Maybe he had figured it out, maybe he was already plotting ways to dispose of you for tricking him in such a grievous manner. You hadn’t heard from the family in weeks, and it made you anxious.

“Non sono d'accordo? Bene, uccideteli (they won’t agree? fine, kill them).”

For a moment there, you didn’t see your husband, but the Devil of Monte Carlo.

He didn’t say anything, and you couldn’t bring yourself to, letting your hand slip away from his crown.

“Y/n? What happened?” He frowned, hand rubbing against the small of your back.

You couldn’t bring yourself to say it, words lying on the tip of your tongue as he cocked his head at you.

“It’s nothing.” You moved your hands away from his neck, balling into little fists in your lap.

“It’s not nothing,” He pressed, staring you down firmly despite the gentle tone of his voice. He knew you, almost too well.

“I… i don’t know how to tell you. You’re going to hate me if I do.” Your voice warbled out as he kissed you on the neck, too light and breezy to mean anything serious.

“Try me. You’d be surprised at how well I take things, and I'm not unreasonable.” Another kiss, leading up the column of your neck as you squealed at the feeling of his warm lips on cooled skin.

“Well, uh, i-” He bit down lightly, earning a soft smack from you in the back of the head, “-Char, what are you doing?”

“Trying to cheer you up.” He said, kissing on the spot he’d bit with an incomparable amount of gentleness.

“I just have something to tell you and i-”

“Is it important in any way that actively harms our lives?” He butt in, giving you a curious look.

“No, but-”

“Then I don't care.” He shrugged, placing a kiss on the corner of your mouth. You didn’t even know you could’ve gotten that loud, when you finally spit it out.

“I’m not your real wife, Char. I never was.”

He didn’t say anything, humming against the crown of your head as his hand snuck up your back and held you closer to him.

“Char, please.”

“I knew that, this isn’t new news.”

You held on, mouth gaping slightly.

“You… you knew this whole time, and you-”

“I deliberately didn’t tell you.” He scoffed, pulling your chin down to look at him. “I knew you’d run back to that so-called family that I did if I had told you. You barely trusted me, and it was their fault. So that’s why I'm going to make sure all of them take a nice long vacation.”

You couldn’t really feel the abject horror anymore, melting into sheer relief as you finally looked at him once more.

There was something about the way he looked at you, tantalizing and hypnotized almost.

‘But, aren’t you mad about me…?”

“Oh I was, I was furious.”

His lips ghosted over yours, the hint of a smile somewhere there.

“But they ended up giving me something all the more precious, something I couldn't replace. You know what that is, mon amour?”

You didn’t even have to say it, as he kissed you, lips smooth against your slightly chapped ones. The expensive perfume grew stronger, closer and closer to you as the space between you closed.

“I’ve done some unspeakable things.” He panted quietly against your lips, landing another soft kiss on the other corner. “But nothing as unspeakable as killing your so-called “family” this late in the game. Some part of me wishes i had done it earlier to spare you that grief.”

You didn’t respond but he continued nonetheless, hands wrapped around your waist to bring you closer to him .”Remember that you're mine and I'm all yours. I would do anything for you.”

And the worst part is, somewhere deep down, you knew it to be true. He was always yours, and you were always his. He'd made sure of it, and you weren't entirely complaining.

[it-was-summer]

Buy Me Presents, Baby

A/N: Minors; DNI. I DONT CAREEE I WANT HIM!! Anyways, this may or may not be based on true events in my life. If you're reading this also know that I wrote this Christmas Eve and it is now 5am on Christmas Day, the powerhouse of lust. Hope you guys like this because I DID NOT proofread this AT ALL!! I mention the pill (oral contraception), so sorry if this is an issue, I'm just a girl. I KNOW there is a typo in here... i know it. Merry Christmas!! My gift is porn!!- Love you, Em

edit- the typo was fully in the title… go to bed at a reasonable time kids.

Link to the Ao3: Buy Me Presents, Baby Link to the: Yee olde masterlist Tags: Woof uhh okay! newly established relationship, Christmas sex, Spanking, Creampie, PnV sex, Reader gets called girl.. I apologize, Oral contraceptives are mentioned at the end, lingerie, that one bow lingerie... yall know which on I'm talking about?, That ONE!! WITH THE BOW YES!!, I had to use the word pussy.. IM SORRT IM NOT HAPPY ABOUT It, dirty talk, cock this cock that, not proofread, merry christmas.

Genre: Porn, no plot. Some fluff? Pairing: Established relationship!Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader

Plot: You and Spencer exchange gifts for Christmas, and one of your gifts happens to be a little physical.

Word Count: 3,669

Spencer doesn’t know what’s gotten into you. 

Though the longer he thinks about it, he should have seen the signs of your recent… restlessness. Being in the BAU came with its challenges, and one of these challenges was— of course— being away from home. Usually, the two of you would find a special time that worked for both of you to meet up and spend some well-deserved time together. 

Lately, it has felt like the world was against you, though. Every time you had free time, he’d plan a date night with you, only for him to be called away on a case. The one time you planned a date, you came down with a cold. The cycle kept repeating in a million different annoying ways. 

The cherry on top? It was almost Christmas. It's nearly Christmas, and neither of you has seen each other for a good three weeks— it’s miserable. 

So imagine his excitement when his phone doesn’t ring early Saturday morning. When he steps out of his shower, he checks it again— nothing. He’s beaming when he calls you, your sleepy voice answering him before he says, “Dinner tonight?” 

There’s a pause, followed by some rustling, “You’re free?” 

“Mhm,” He hums with a grin, grabbing his glasses from the case and placing them gracefully on his face. 

He can hear the excitement in your voice. " You want to exchange presents?” He remembers the playful tone in your voice when you said it, but at the time, he thought nothing of it. He chuckles softly before agreeing, saying a sweet goodbye, and hanging up the phone. 

Dinner begins and ends at your place, decorated in lights and festive trinkets, and presents wrapped neatly under the fake tree in the corner of your living room. The gift exchange went smoothly; you got Spencer some reading essentials, followed by a special edition of one of his favorite books. Spencer, in turn, had bought you a pair of earrings you pointed out back in November and a framed copy of your favorite painting.

It was getting late now, with a warm cup of tea in his hands, you turned and whispered in a playful voice, “I still have one more gift for you.” 

His eyebrows raised at that, bending his head to look at you as you sat with your back pressed against his chest, “More? After the special edition Tolstoy?” 

“More. I was saving it for the twenty-fifth, but…” You trail off, your eyes leaving his as you glance toward your bedroom. “I could go get it ready now?” 

Spencer smiles, thinking about it momentarily before he decides that he might not be home for Christmas. He mutters a soft “Yeah, okay.” 

You stand up quickly, an excited look in your eyes when you tell him, “Okay, stay here!” And then you’re gone. 

Spencer’s watching your bedroom door close with a faint smile. He stretches as he waits, his tea finished, when he hears you call out for him, “You can come in now!” 

He stepped into your room with nothing but good intentions, that is, until he saw you lying on your bed in lingerie. Maroon satin material lays smooth against your skin, and the shape of a tantalizing bow teases him at the center of your chest and your underwear— barely there. 

He clears his throat in a vain attempt to appear calm and collected, though he’s sure you can see his blushing cheeks and growing arousal. He opens his mouth to speak, but the words die in the back of his throat when you sit up on your elbows, pushing your breast out toward him a little more with an innocent tilt of your head. “You don’t like it?” 

His voice cracks when he says, “No! I mean— that is to say, I do like it! I mean, I’m sure you can see how much I–” He nervously adjusts his sweater, shaky hands pulling at the collar. 

You let out a soft hum, relaxing a little. " Are you going to stand by the door the whole time, or?” You tease him with a low laugh. 

He quickly walks closer, shaking his head as he gets closer to the edge of the bed. The bed dips as he climbs onto the edge of the bed. He watches as you roll on your side to adjust for him, waiting until he is lying beside you before you whisper, “If you don’t want to, it’s okay–” 

“I do! I do. It’s just we’ve only–” He motions between the two of you slowly, replacing the word. “A few times, and I wasn’t expecting,” His eyes trail down to your chest, his fingers twitching– itching to feel the material against his palm.  

When he looks back into your eyes, you smile at him with a little sigh, “I know. I just saw it, and I thought of you.” 

Spencer feels like his entire body is on fire when you say that. His pants become increasingly uncomfortable as he croaks softly, “That made you think of me?” 

You hum a sweet-sounding “Mhm,” you lick your lips, “Cognitive association, right?” 

Spencer thinks you’ll break him with the way you’re talking to him; your voice is low and quiet, clearly amused. He holds back a sound when he feels your hand take his and guide it to your barely clothed hip. For some reason, he wants to spew some facts about cognitive association, but in a rare moment, his mind goes blank. 

His mind slows, and the only thing he can process is the feeling of satin material against your body. He drags his hand along your side, higher and higher, until his fingers trace the bra’s underwire. His eyes flicker over to yours as he leans in, pressing a slow kiss to your lips. 

Kissing Spencer always starts soft, tender, and languid. It then slowly devolves into something passionate, heated, rough– something you adore. And you’re starting to feel the shift in this kiss, his tongue slightly grazing your bottom lip– a silent plea you happily fulfill, parting your lips to let his tongue tentatively enter the kiss. 

You’re smiling into the kiss, shifting with him so you’re under him before grabbing the back of his neck and pulling him deeper into the kiss. Spencer lets out a tiny sound of surprise against your lips at the rough movement, and he pulls away slightly, his lips barely touching yours when he says, “So aggressive,” His tone teasing as he captures your lips in another giddy kiss. 

With your eyes closed and mouth occupied, your hands get to work. Blindly, you pull the bottom of his sweater, your lips only leaving his to help him pull the piece of clothing off his body. He’s eager to get his lips back on yours, his tongue resuming its work against yours, a kiss that makes your head spin and thoughts go hazy with how intense it feels. 

You move your legs up and around his hips, pushing his hips down to yours with ease. Spencer whines into the kiss, his lips moving slowly against yours until he pulls away to kiss your jawline. His hips grind down onto yours, your breath hitching at the feeling. 

Feeling his hardness through his pants makes you realize just how badly you need him, and it seems it does the same for him. His lips latch onto the lower side of your neck, sucking and licking softly at the sensitive area as his hips grind against yours harder. 

The feeling makes your core squeeze around nothing; the new desire to get something, anything, inside you plants a seed in your lower abdomen. You feel shamefully needy as Spencer continues leaving light red and purple marks on the sensitive skin of your neck, his breathing heavy as he decorates you with marks. 

You’re surprised to see that he’s actually moving lower, his markings getting closer to your collarbone when he pulls away, looking up at you with those lust-filled honey eyes, “May I?” The tips of his fingers tug lightly at the satin red bow covering your breasts. 

Your legs leave his hips as he pulls the bow apart with a simple flick of his wrist. His eyes stay trained on your breast as he takes one into his hand and gently rubs at your nipple, eliciting a soft, quiet moan from you, “So pretty,” Then he dips his head lower to bring your left nipple into his mouth, licking at the sensitive bud with precision. 

A sound— embarrassingly loud— escapes your lips at the feeling, your body squirming against his. You’re sure you can feel him smiling against your breast, his right hand moving to your right nipple, pinching it lightly. 

Your fingers latch onto his hair, gently running them through his hair and occasionally pulling when his tongue does something particularly amazing against the bud of your nipple. You can feel electric arousal coursing through you, soft moans and sighs leaving you with every touch. 

However, he’s pulling his lips away from your breast soon after, his cheeks red as he mutters a low, “Need to make sure you cum,” And you find yourself nodding in agreement as his hands leave your breast, pulling the lingerie’s satin thong to the side as he swipes two fingers along your entrance. 

You let out a little sigh, feeling incredibly needy as his fingers brush against your clit teasingly. “Did dressing up like this make you this wet, or did I?” He asks, his fingers curiously leading back down to your entrance. 

Shifting under him, you let out a breathless chuckle, “A bit of both,” 

He grins at that, his head now to the side of yours, his thumb pressing against your clit slowly as he slides a finger inside you. You tense for a second with pleasure before relaxing as the feelings, his finger gently curling inside of you as his thumb presses down harder on your swollen bundle of nerves. “You’ve been fantasizing about this for weeks, haven’t you?” 

His voice against your ear isn’t something you expect, but you aren’t surprised for long as he slides a second finger into you— your thoughts turning to mush, “Yes,” You whisper, your back arching slightly at his fingers move faster inside you, curling and pleasing you at a medium pace. 

Spencer lets out a low hum, his eyes watching you as you get lost in pleasure, his thumb pressing against your clit a little harder as he finds that sweet little spot inside of you. He can feel the way your walls tighten around his fingers, and he’s envious of his own hand, wishing it was his cock instead. 

Your moans only add to personal envy, his fingers moving and caressing your G-spot with greater precision. He tries not to groan, watching you arch your back off the bed. A cry followed by a string of heightened gasps from you has him wholly enraptured. 

When his fingers start to get rough inside you, you’re already seeing stars, your left hand reaching over to grab onto Spencer’s bicep at the feelings, fingers gently digging into his skin as your body shakes. “Love watching you get close,” Spencer groans softly against your ear. 

His lips slowly resume their markings on your neck, and the added stimulation sends you falling over the edge with a loud cry of pleasure. Your body shakes against him, and your high-pitched moans, accompanied by heavy panting, have pride swelling in his chest as his fingers help you ride out your orgasm. 

His fingers only stop when your body goes slack, his lips leaving your neck to gently kiss at your lips— a gesture you return lazily. The feeling of his fingers leaving you has you feeling empty, but you’re quickly distracted as Spencer drags his soaked fingers to his lips. Your eyes widen for a second as you watch your boyfriend lick off every bit of you on them, “Let me get a taste,” Your voice is soft as Spencer leans in, kissing you fast and rough. Your tongue drags along his to get a second-hand taste of yourself in his mouth. 

You’re quick to pull away, your hands hooking into the belt loop of his pants, gently yanking at the loop. Spencer laughs at the feeling, and he looks into your eyes with a shameful look— lustful and pleading. You know how badly he wants to dive straight in, but his determination to make you cum too many times to count usually gets in the way of his cock. 

“Haven’t seen you in three weeks. You can make it up to me later.” You joke softly, your fingers undoing the top button with ease. 

Spencer grins as he slides his pants down his legs, kicking them off. He finds himself blushing at how your eyes shamefully stare at the outline of his cock in his boxers, precum already wetting some of the fabric. He finds himself doing the same with you, though, his eyes taking in the undone ribbon of the lingerie at your sides, the way your legs are parted to give him a delicious view of your dripping sensitive folds. 

Your fingers slip into the waistband of his boxers, gently tracing his cock with your fingers, a soft, pleasured sigh leaving his lips at the feeling. “So hard,” You mutter, leaning up to kiss a part of Spencer’s jaw. 

Spencer lets out a low hum of agreement. Being as busy as he has been, he hasn’t found time for any kind of sexual release as of late. “It’s been a little while since I’ve–” 

“That’s okay,” You sigh sensually, your hands wrapping around his dick slowly, “Take off your boxers.” 

Spencer’s more than happy to comply, hurriedly discarding his boxers at your request. He watches as you pull your hand off him to take off your underwear, and Spencer squeaks out a nervous, “Leave it on?” 

Grinning, you nod, your fingers pushing the thong back to the side of him. He groans at the action, looming over you now, his hands on either side of you. “Flip over,” 

A jolt of excitement runs through you at the request, quickly flipping over on your stomach for him. A pleased sound leaves your lips as his hand moves to pull your hips up, forcing your back to arch for him. He slides his thumb and index inside the sting on your thong as he slowly rubs his cock in between your folds– the head of his cock gently kissing your clit. 

The worst part about being in an established relationship and having just started having sex with your partner is the anxiety that follows you after you say something risky. Your lips part nonetheless, your hips pushing back against him quickly, “That’s right, get that cock wet with my pussy.” 

You were never dull during sex, but Spencer was not expecting something so vulgar to fall from your lips. His hips stutter against yours before he finds himself incredibly turned on by the sudden confidence and vulgarity in your words. His hands yank your hips back roughly, lining himself up to inch himself inside of you slowly. 

About halfway inside you, he pulls out till it is just the tip and then repeats the motion— it’s infuriatingly hot. You let out a soft whine at his toying with you and start to move your hips back against him, but that is met with a surprising spank to your ass. 

A sharp gasp leaves your lips at the feelings before you blink, lifting your head to peer at him over your shoulder and whisper a little, “Harder,” 

Seeing your half-lidded eyes looking over at him, your soft lips begging him to spank you harder, Spencer feels a shiver shoot down his spine. He’s sure he can feel himself grow harder as he pushes deeper into your pussy and delivers a solid smack to your ass with the flat of his palm. 

He then follows the motion with a comforting rub of his hand against the swell of your ass. For a second, he’s worried about hurting you or making you uncomfortable–  unexplored territory. The feeling of your walls tightening around him for a second, fluttering in a way that has him bottoming out inside you without hesitation, reassures him. 

“God,” He huffs as he sets a pace, his hand occasionally delivering a hard spank to your ass whenever he feels your hips moving with his. You feel terrific; the feel of your reddening ass under his hand, the soft skin of your hip in his other, he’s surprised that he isn’t drooling. 

You, however, are starting to feel yourself beginning to drool. Moans and groans coming from the two of you has your head spinning, the rough feeling of Spencer’s hips against yours making your legs feel weak. 

Spencer pulls all the way out as he feels himself getting close, his soaked cock resting against your ass– the sight is something has him letting out a shaky sigh. He doesn’t need to say anything before you’re flipping over on your back again, legs spread and lips wet as you mutter a needy sounding, “More.” 

Spencer can’t find it in himself to deny you or himself, moving closer to you and lining himself up with your entrance again. As he sinks into you, you move your legs up, your hands holding the back of your knee. The new position lets him sink in deeper, and Spencer’s sure you’re an angel. 

You’re practically sucking him in, his breathing getting heavier as he moves against you, His eyes dipping between your face and between your legs– intelligent eyes watching the way his cock disappears deep inside of you. “You take it so well.” 

His hands reach up slowly, tracing the back of your thighs before replacing your hands at the back of your knee, bending your legs back further. He places a chaste kiss on your forehead, the gentle gesture leaving your head reeling when accompanied by this immense pleasure. 

You gasp out at the slight burn of your thighs, toes curling slightly, when Spencer starts to roll his hips in fast, tight circles. The roll of his hips makes his cock hit your G-spot, your eyes rolling back at the feeling as a guttural-sounding groan joins the lewd sounds leaving your lips. 

Spencer takes that as his sign to snap his hips into yours, his forehead pressing against yours as he moans and whines. “You feel so fucking good. I’ll never leave again.” 

You can feel your lower abdomen tighten quickly at the rough movements. A shaky laugh leaves you at his mention of never leaving, but words fail you as you cry out. The past few times the two of you have had sex, he was never this rough. You aren’t complaining, but his frantic, rapid thrusts are leaving you with the feeling that you’ll beg for a repeat sometime in the future. 

A long whine leaves you as you feel yourself getting closer, your hands holding tight on Spencer’s shoulders, your body jolting slightly with his rough thrusts. “So good! You’re fucking me so good. Please, don’t stop.” You beg without shame, “Need to cum, make me cum again.” You beg through moans. 

Spencer almost cums inside you upon hearing your begging, but he holds off— a new mission in focus. He slows for a second, moving one of your hands off his shoulder and under your knee before he slides his hand down to your aching clit. His thumb makes quick, tight, hard circles without warning— the scream that leaves your chest has him worried for your neighbors. 

“That’s it, tighten around me like that.” He pants out from above you, his eyes locking onto yours as he speaks. He watches the way your eyebrows raise in pleasure, and your mouth starts to let out a mix of silent screams and loud groans. “You look pretty when you cum around my cock, my pretty girl.” 

Your legs are shaking with that, the coil in your abdomen snapping with force as you bite your bottom lip to try and silence the sound of your orgasm– a groan that almost sounds inhuman. Spencer’s quick to follow, his hips roughly snapping into yours with his thumb continuing its torment on your sensitive clit. 

The feeling of overstimulation has you letting out a weak-sounding whine, almost a sob. You’re gasping hard as he keeps going, frenzied thrusts that have your free hand gripping the sheet tight until he bottoms out in you with a shaking groan. His hips thrust into you a few more times as he empties himself into you, shaking hard. 

A moment passes with neither of you moving, your legs moving down to the bed, and the realization sets in. Spencer looks at you with wild eyes, “I’m sorry, I wasn’t thinking–” 

You laughed weakly and held up a hand, “Spencer, it’s okay.” Your voice sounds a little raw as you relax into your bed slightly, with him still hovering over you. “I’m on the pill, remember?” 

“Well, when taken correctly, it’s 99% effective, but if you’ve forgotten a day lately, it’s only 93%.” He pouts lightly when a giggle leaves your lips, but he smiles against his better judgment. “I’m serious, what if…” 

“I doubt it will, but if it does come to that, we’ll deal with it.” You mutter, slowly reaching a hand up to rake your fingers through his messy brown hair. “Clean me up?” 

Spencer notes how your voice sounds: shy and a little desperate. He tilts his head, a playful smile on his face as his eyes trail down to your parted thighs, “Insatiable this evening, I see,” He jokes as he begins to lower himself, soft fingers rubbing against your inner thighs.  

You groan in faux annoyance before you feel his breath fanning against your inner thighs, “Merry Christmas,” You tease softly.