#I really appreciate following me for such a long journey and I hope it was worth it

[bloopitynoot]

Reading SVSSS: Chapter 15

For those who don't know, I am reading SVSSS for the first time and sharing my thoughts!

If you have not read it, there will be spoilers! Consider this a warning.

Also- if you want to follow along, I am aiming to post updates daily. You can find all the posts in the tag bloopitynoot reads SVSSS. You can also check out the intro post for context on my read.

It's chapter 15! Time to figure out what happened to SQQ in the latest cliff hangar.

Today no tea- but I did have a blackberry cider that was very tasty.

I also did impulse buy a baby's-first-fountain pen to get into my little writing flow and add to the ambiance of my note taking journey. So, pls ignore the worse-than-usual writing; I am learning to write with it.

let's goooooo!

Well, SQQ appears to be in a coffin? p29

fuck, i'm already smudging the ink with my new pen. The lefty curse of it all. IDK how much of this is going to be legible later. RIP

okay... but how long has he been in here? MXTX is describing everything as dusty as hell. p30 (resolved as I read further- not very long LOL)

and he has his original body! That's exciting! Who did it though?? p30

LOL SQQ has 0 chance with this "advanced level plot" p31. He is totally fucked for sure.

These 'blind corpses' sound like a walking horror show. I would be so scared omg. I don't know how far the animated series got- but if this is animated that would look cool as fuck. p32

okay! they're fueled by breath! that's really neat though! pp33-34 Scary, but cool.

I would die immediately in this situation. When the thing (blind corpses) that are already horrible and unbeatable are scared of something else -> absolutely no hope in surviving. p35

ah, it is our little snake-man. I had a suspicion this was related to him and Luo Binghe's dad. He probably took SQQ's corpse too and brought it here. p35

OMG LOL Luo Binghe's dad is awful, but also feels like a troll AND is serving dad jokes. Re: thinking back to when SQQ knocked on the coffin and he answered from inside LOOOL. p36

Listen. Can we just take a moment to appreciate the absolute DILF that is Luo Binghe's father? I am a whole lesbian but that character art cannot objectively argued as anything else. p37

and now SQQ is going on about Tianlang-jun having BDE (not those exact words but I mean when you say he's working that coffin like it's a Paris fashion week runway and Luo binghe - the man you are obsessed with- could NEVER, it says something.). p38

That fucking power move too! SQQ: seems you've waited a while to meet me, why don't you come out of there and do so. Tianlang-jun: *bats eyes* okay but only if you hold my hand and work for it p39

SQQ has this habit of getting kidnapped "for his own good" but no one ever tells him why it's good for him XD this entire situation is so annoying. Tianlang-jun did this all so that he could get him away from the sects he wanted to destroy. p43

OMG scratch that. He also wants to use him as bait to snatch his sons body as his own. p45.

aside: I'm going to have to organize these notes later- I'm not catching the nuance in the hand written notes LOL my brain is processing faster than my hand (you will notice that the last 2 points here do not match my hand written notes because they were a hot mess).

What an entrance Luo Binghe! p47

Yes SQQ! You rescue your man from his dad (RE: holding Zhuzhi lang hostage) p51

holy shit. Zhuzhi lang is WILD - he really was about to just die instead of be a hostage LOL p52 I want to know what his character motivation is. He's giving the same blind trust energy as The Core Melting Hand in MDZS. Both just so loyal to a fault/their own demise. Do we learn more? or is this it? (genuine question- don't tell me WHAT we learn, just yes/no if we learn more).

That was so smart to hit the anti-theft measures in the tomb p53

aaaaaaaand he snatched the wrong person on the escape. well, that's fantastic. p54

I am loving the traps in this mausoleum though! The face with the magma and then the various rooms. I want to know if this exists as a D&D dungeon crawl/anyone has made one, I think it would be so fun. p59

omg. I don't think that Luo Binghe realizes/knows that that was his own father and cousin. that's so terrible. Truly Luo Binghe was treated so fucking badly literally his entire life. His dad does not even give a shit. Honestly probably only had him for this situation - needing a new body. p61

:((((( Our boy, Luo Binghe is in a bad way rn. gah! so many cliff hangers. p63

MXTX Cliffhangar Lord

And now I have to wait until tomorrow to see if baby Luo Binghe makes it. I'm sure SQQ is going to do something about it but dang, he is not well.

[ja3yun]

Please, Please, Please | P.JS

criminal!jay x good girl!reader

warnings: angst, slight fluff, smut (mdni), multiple sex scenes, unprotected sex, oral (m&f rec.), multiple orgasms, fingering, car sex, cliffside bj, white dragon, slightly toxic!jay at the beginning, possessive, crime (obvs), mentions of robbery, theft, guns, money laundering, violence, blood, overall criminal behaviour from multiple parties, tough love, confrontation, touch her and you'll die, anything else lmk!

w.c: 34k (sorry)

synopsis: synopsis: visiting your tax fraudulent dad in prison and nothing was new, except the boy being carted in to the police station in cuffs. when you follow your connection on a reckless whim, it opens you up to a world filled with crime, love, and realisations about who you are.

a/n: hi! this was heavily anticipated and i went back and forth on this for a long time regarding making it a series or keeping it a one shot. In the end, i decided to make it just one thing. i really do hope you like it, i tried to set the pace as best i could with the little wordcount blr will give me so i am praying it's okay! anyway, enjoy! as always, reblogs, comments, etc etc are all appreciated and loved <3

“Now be a good girl for me, Y/N,” your dad gushes, his eyes tired and hand placed against the glass. He looks like half the man he was before stepping into this place.

The greyness of the prison seems to leech the colour from everything around it, leaving only the stark contrasts of shadows and light, along with his navy and white uniform. The fluorescent lights inside cast a sickly pallor on your father's face, accentuating the lines of worry and regret etched into his once confident features.

He was a self-made man, once the toast of the town, known for his business acumen and seemingly Midas touch. But behind the facade of success, he had been entangled in a web of deceit. It all began with a seemingly harmless decision to bend the rules - just a little. He had justified it to himself as a necessary measure, a way to keep the business afloat during tough times. It was just a bit of creative accounting, he had thought. But what started as a small indiscretion soon snowballed into a full-blown scheme of tax evasion.

For years, he had hidden his tracks well, moving money through a labyrinth of offshore accounts, shell companies, and falsified records. His lifestyle had grown ever more lavish, the fruits of his ill-gotten gains displayed in a sprawling mansion, luxury cars, and vacations to exotic locales. Yet, the more he accumulated, the more paranoid he became, always looking over his shoulder, fearing the day when his carefully constructed house of cards would come crashing down.

And crash it did. An anonymous tip-off to HMRC triggered an investigation that swiftly unravelled the elaborate fraud. The evidence was damning – millions of pounds in unpaid tax, laundered funds, and fraudulent claims. The trial was short and sharp, the verdict inevitable. The judge's gavel fell with finality, marking the end of his freedom and the start of his journey behind bars. 

Luckily, or unluckily depending on how you view it, he only got five years in prison which is unheard of for someone who committed such a lavish crime with lots of money involved. So far, he has served four and a bit out of five years and is set to come home in 6 months.

However, that freedom is still a while away, and the only way you can see him now is through this thick glass panel, speaking to him through a telephone. The visitation room is grim and impersonal, with rows of metal chairs bolted to the floor, and a cacophony of muffled conversations echoing off the hard surfaces. The phone is cold in your hand, a lifeline to the man who once seemed invincible.

Your dad's prison uniform hangs loosely on his frame, the drab, coarse fabric a far cry from the tailored suits he used to wear. He shifts uncomfortably on the small stool, the shackles around his wrists clinking softly with every movement. Every visit you have with your dad, it’s always the same jargon; “Be a good girl”, “Stay out of trouble”, or, “Don’t be bad like your dad.” It’s always a useless reminder because, for 20 years of your life, you have never once gotten into bother.

From a young age, you have been the epitome of a model child. You always listen to your parents, excel in school, and never once give them cause for worry. Your teachers often remarked on your diligence and kindness, always quick to help a struggling classmate or volunteer for a school project. While other kids might have dabbled in teenage rebellion, you stayed focused, driven by an internal compass that always pointed towards doing the right thing.

You are just so scared of disappointing your father.

Even at University, you stay away from parties and stay focused on keeping your head straight, making friends with people of similar character to you - if they even are still your friends. Most of them dipped on you once your father got convicted, not wishing to be associated with a criminal’s daughter, or more importantly, a girl with no money.

Little did they know that you were very much still wealthy thanks to your dad’s extra-sneaky antics.

Now, sitting across from your father in the sterile confines of the prison, you feel a pang of sorrow mixed with frustration. His reminders to stay out of trouble feel almost insulting, a stark contrast to the reality of your life. You have always been the one to shoulder responsibilities, to pick up the pieces and move forward.

Sometimes, you wish you could just do something out of character, something others would deem reckless.

“Dad, I’ve never been in trouble,” you remind him gently, trying to hide the sting of your words. “I’ve always been a good girl, remember?” To a fault, sometimes.

He sighs, the weight of his guilt evident in his tired eyes. “I know, Y/N. I just…I worry about you. I don’t want you to end up like me.”

“You don’t have to worry,” you say firmly. “I’m not you. You made it perfectly clear the path I need to be on.”

Your words sting into his chest, but his face never shows it. You’re right anyway, you have always lived up to his impossible expectations. Instead, he nods and relents, dropping the subject altogether. Just in time, too, because the guard quickly steps in to wrap up the visit.

“Time’s up,” the guard announces, his tone brisk and indifferent.

You both hesitate for a moment, savouring the last few seconds before the separation. “I love you, Dad,” you say, your voice soft but resolute.

“I love you too, Y/N. Be strong,” he replies, his hand still pressed against the glass.

With a final nod, you place the phone back on the hook and stand up, feeling the weight of the situation pressing down on you as you walk away. The sound of the door buzzing open and then locking behind you is a harsh reminder of the reality you both face.

Stepping out of the visiting room, a tumult of emotions surges within you - sadness, frustration, and a lingering sense of helplessness. Each step feels heavy, as if the burdens of your father's past are pressing down on your shoulders. The overhead lights in the corridor cast a stark, cold glow, reflecting off the polished linoleum floor and intensifying the sterile atmosphere of the prison. You hate it here, trying to avoid the place as much as possible, only visiting your dad maybe once every five months.

It’s not that you don’t love him but this place isn’t built for someone like you.

As you navigate the maze of hallways to head to the exit, a sudden commotion draws your attention. Two guards are escorting a man into the facility, his wrists bound behind his back with handcuffs. He walks with a defiant swagger, despite the firm grips on his arms. His black slacks and tight-fitted black polo shirt cling to his muscular frame, giving him an air of unrefined power. His hair, meticulously gelled back, now shows signs of disarray from the rough handling, with a few rebellious strands falling across his forehead.

"Fucking calm down, I'm walking with you," he growls, his voice dripping with sarcasm and defiance. The deep timbre of his words reverberates through the corridor, causing a ripple of tension among the guards and onlookers. 

You pause, momentarily taken aback by the scene unfolding before you. The man's audacity and the raw edge in his voice contrast sharply with the controlled environment of the prison, sparking an unexpected intrigue. Certain prisoners cause scenes, but never have you seen it up close, only hearing about it through the words of your father.

As the guards march him up the corridor, his dark eyes lock onto yours for a brief moment. His face is strikingly beautiful - dark eyebrows framing his symmetrical face and dangerous eyes that seem to pierce right through you. He looks more like a model than a felon, and the incongruity of his appearance in this setting sends a jolt through your system.

His gaze trails down your body as he gets closer to you, slow and deliberate, igniting a rush of heat that spreads from your cheeks to your core. His eyes linger on your curves, and you notice the way he licks his lips, a predatory smile playing at the corners of his mouth. The intensity of his attention makes your breath catch, and for a moment, the world narrows down to just the two of you in this stark, fluorescent-lit hallway.

“Hey, darlin’, how’s it going?” he asks as he passes, his tone nonchalant but menacing, the kind of menacing that makes your pulse quicken and your skin tingle.

“Move along,” one of the guards snaps, shoving him forward. But even as they push him into a room, he cranes his neck to keep you in his sight for as long as possible. His eyes burn with defiance and amusement, and he smirks, the expression filled with a dangerous charm that leaves you momentarily breathless.

The door slams shut behind him, and the spell is broken. You’re left standing in the corridor, your heart racing and your mind reeling from the unexpected encounter. The raw magnetism of his presence lingers in the air, intertwining with the myriad of emotions already churning within you.

“Ma’am, please come this way,” a guard gestures for you to step through the gated door. Numbly, you follow his direction, your mind still preoccupied with the intensity of those dark eyes.

You step through the gate, hearing the metallic clink as it locks behind you. Making your way to the front desk, you feel a strange mix of adrenaline and bewilderment coursing through you. You remove your visitor’s badge and place it on the desk, your fingers lingering on the smooth plastic for a moment.

“Who was that?” you ask, trying to sound casual, though your voice betrays a hint of the curiosity you feel.

The guard behind the desk, a burly man with a no-nonsense demeanour, looks up from his paperwork. “Park Jongseong,” he replies, his tone matter-of-fact. “He's a series regular here. It's best not to catch his attention; he eats girls like you for dinner.”

You swallow hard, the guard’s words sending a shiver down your spine. “Eats girls like me for dinner?” you repeat, more to yourself than to him, the gravity of the warning sinking in.

“Yeah,” the guard nods, his expression grim. “He’s got a reputation. Charismatic, but dangerous. You don’t want to be on his radar.”

You nod, thanking the guard before turning to leave. The encounter with Park Jongseong, brief as it was, has left a deep impression. You replay the guard’s words in your mind, a cautionary tale that echoes with the reality of the world you’ve just stepped out of.

But you’re so over listening to everyone’s advice, allowing your body to rule your head for a moment. Maybe this is your chance to break free from the shackles of your life and enter a new world of freedom.

Even if it is with someone behind bars.

_____

You sit in the visiting room, the sterile environment starkly contrasting with the elegance of your outfit. You're wearing a pastel blue Versace dress, its delicate fabric clinging to your figure in all the right places, the intricate design showcasing a blend of sophistication and subtle allure. The dress features a fitted bodice with delicate lace details, the skirt flowing gracefully to just above your knees. The soft, cool hue of the dress enhances the warmth of your skin and the high neckline adds an air of modesty.

Your heartbeat feels like a defining accessory, pounding in your chest, a constant reminder of your anticipation. Normally, visiting your father doesn’t elicit such a reaction - your heart maintains a steady rhythm, the meetings imbued with sadness and routine. 

But today is different. Today, you aren't here to see your father. You're waiting for the man who shared a fleeting moment with you two weeks ago, the memory of his intense gaze still fresh in your mind.

The minutes tick by slowly, each one amplifying the tension coursing through you. Your eyes keep darting to the door, waiting for it to open and reveal the man whose presence had left such an indelible mark on you. The guards move about their routines, the clinking of keys and distant echoes of conversations creating a backdrop to your restless thoughts.

This is a bad idea, probably your most foolish one, but you had to see him just once more to truly understand the leap your heart performed when you looked at him for the first time. You have never gone against your father’s wishes of staying out of trouble, but this was an itch you couldn’t ignore, the pull towards the felon all too real.

Your emotions are a chaotic cocktail of anticipation, fear, and excitement. The adrenaline rush is almost dizzying, your heart pounding so hard you can feel it in your throat. The logical part of your brain is screaming at you to leave, to not get involved with someone so dangerous, but the other part - the part that felt an inexplicable connection - can’t bear the thought of walking away without understanding what it is about him that draws you in so powerfully.

You glance down at your hands, noticing how they tremble slightly. You clasp them together in your lap, trying to steady yourself. The fabric of your dress feels soft and cool against your skin, a contrast to the heat coursing through your veins. You shift in your seat, trying to calm your racing thoughts, but every small sound in the room heightens your awareness, keeping you on edge.

As each second drags on, the waiting becomes almost unbearable. Doubts creep in - what if he doesn’t remember you? What if this was all just a meaningless encounter for him? But then you recall the intensity in his eyes, the way he looked at you like you were the only person in the room, so why wouldn’t he remember you?

You tell yourself that this is more than simply gratifying a passing curiosity; it's about understanding the electrifying connection you felt. It's about breaking free, even if only for a moment, from the bounds of your usual, routine existence.

Your father’s voice echoes in your mind, warning you about the dangers of straying from the straight and narrow path. You’ve always been the good girl, the one who follows the rules, but something about Park Jongseong makes you want to throw caution to the wind. There’s a thrilling allure in the forbidden, in stepping outside your comfort zone to explore the unknown.

When the buzzer sounds around the room, you jump slightly even though you have heard that klaxon indicating the unlocking of the door numerous times over the years. But this isn’t a polite chit-chat with your dad; this is a meeting with a man whose crimes you don't know the extent of, nor how dangerous he truly is, all because you got fanny flutters.

The prisoners filter through, each one going to their respective visitors with longing and hurried speed. Then, Jongseong waltzes in, his hands cuffed in front of him. His navy, ill-fitted trousers, paired with a tight white v-neck that showcases just enough of his chest to let your imagination run wild and non-styled hair give him a dishevelled yet irresistibly handsome appearance. His dark eyes scan the room, exuding a sense of confidence and dominance.

You shift in your seat, crossing your legs over as you try to compose yourself and stop tears from escaping down your legs. Prison boys have never done anything for you, but Jongseong is on another level of attraction.

The room feels hotter, the air thicker, as your anxiety spikes like you’re playing a brutal game of emotional volleyball and you are always on the losing side. Jongseong whispers something to the guard beside him, his voice low and smooth but indecipherable. The guard glances your way, then points directly at you, making your heart race even faster, like you’re suddenly under the spotlight of an interrogation room.

Jongseong’s eyes land on you, and a smug smile spreads across his face. There's a flicker of surprise and confusion flashing across his features, but it quickly vanishes, replaced by that same predatory gleam you remember. He strides over to you with a casual arrogance, his every movement exuding confidence.

As he reaches the booth, he throws himself into the seat opposite you, the long chain connecting his hands and feet skate along the floor. He leans back, his eyes never leaving yours, the cuffs around his wrists clinking softly with the movement. The intensity of his gaze makes you feel as if the rest of the room has faded away, leaving just the two of you in this charged, electric moment.

Reaching for the phone, he places it against his ear and waits for you, chewing his gum leisurely, his eyebrows raised in an expectant arch. Your body remains still, paralysed by the magnetism of his presence, his pupils like black holes, sucking you into his hold. For a few beats of your heart, you can’t move, his gaze pinning you in place with an almost hypnotic intensity.

Finally, you gather the courage to lift the receiver, your hand trembling slightly as you bring it to your ear. The action feels monumental, the weight of the phone a tangible connection between you and the enigmatic man before you. As soon as you do, Jongseong smirks, leaning his elbows casually on the ledge behind the glass panel.

“Now who are you?” he inquires, devouring your appearance with trailing glances.

“...My name is Y/N,” you reply so softly he almost doesn’t catch it coming through the receiver. 

"Well, Y/N, to what do I owe the pleasure?" He drawls, his voice a low, lazy murmur tinged with amusement. His eyes gleam with a mix of curiosity and wickedness, and the leer never leaves his face.

You remain silent, the words caught in your throat as you grapple with the swirl of emotions and thoughts racing through your mind. His half grin widens and he tilts his head slightly, still chewing his gum with a slow, deliberate rhythm.

“Okay, let me rephrase,” he says, his tone shifting to a mockingly thoughtful one. “What is a little lamb like you, requesting to see a big bad wolf like me for? Do we know each other?”

The question hangs in the air, heavy and charged, his eyes narrowing slightly as he studies your reaction. You can feel the pulse of your heartbeat in your ears, a relentless drum that amplifies the tension between you. His words, laced with a blend of sarcasm and genuine intrigue, challenge you to respond and also hurt your chest a smidge. You have been thinking about this man who you saw for a maximum of 20 seconds for the past fortnight, dreaming about him and finding ways to get a visitor’s badge to see him and you probably haven’t passed his mind once.

Taking a deep breath, you find your voice, albeit shaky. “No…we don’t know one another,” you admit, suddenly realising the insanity of this whole ordeal. You begin to bite your lip and inwardly curse yourself for being so reckless.

“Then why are you here? ... Fuck, are you the lawyer they keep trying to pounce on me?” The sudden defensiveness in his words gets your attention, the sharpness of his voice creating a tremble in your legs. He is slowly putting his guard up the more he looks over your expensive outfit, drawing conclusions about you in his mind as he mistakes you for someone he would rather jab himself in the eye than see.

Quickly, your eyes widen, and you shake your hand up in defence. “No, no, no. I’m not a lawyer,” you explain, rushing the words out of your mouth to halt the wall he is placing between you. “I just-I want to get to know you.”

He pauses, the tension in his posture easing slightly, but his eyes remain wary. “Get to know me?” he repeats, his tone conveying scepticism and enlivened curiosity. “And why is that, darlin’?”

You swallow hard, your heart still racing and now paired with an uncomfortableness in your underwear as he calls you the endearing nickname, his accent filtering through your ears like your favourite song. “I don’t know,” you confess, looking down at your lap. 

It’s pathetic, you know it, but you don’t know why. Well, you know you had to see him because your brain is insufferable and will not let you forget anything of the man’s existence, but that is all the reason you have come to see him, all it took for you to want to delve into his life. If you told him that, he would either see you as pathetic or easy prey.

“You don’t know?” he echoes back to you with a laugh, his body fully unguarded once again. His tongue swipes across his bottom lip. It is at this moment that the penny drops as to who you are, his finger starting to wag as he leans back in the chair with an elated beam on his face.

“You were here when they carted me in.” The fact sits between you as it kisses a blush over your face in embarrassment, his realisation of your identity now suddenly making you wish that the ground would open up beneath you and swallow you whole. “Did you like what you saw that much, you just had to come see it up close?”

Jongseong’s eyes glint with amusement, the smugness radiating off him like heat waves off asphalt. He leans back further, making himself comfortable, his chains clinking softly against the chair. His body language oozes confidence, the kind that borders on arrogance, and his grin stretches wide, revealing perfectly aligned teeth that contrast heavily with the dark intensity of his gaze.

“Look at you, all flustered,” he teases, his voice dripping with satisfaction. “I must’ve made quite an impression, huh?”

Your mind races, searching for an answer that feels as elusive as he is. He chuckles softly, the sound rich and full, vibrating through the phone line and into your very core. “It’s okay, you don’t have to say anything,” he says, his tone almost gentle now. “Your eyes tell me everything I need to know.”

His self-belief is unshakable, a fortress built on years of navigating the rough waters of his life. The smugness in his manner is not just arrogance but a well-honed weapon, a way to keep people at bay while drawing them in. He knows the power he holds, and he wields it with a finesse that leaves you both disarmed and intrigued.

“Okay,” he leans forward again, his face so close to the glass panel that you wish it would disappear, allowing you to admire his features without the glare from the overhead lights as they dance annoyingly on the shield. “Let me tell you a few things about me. My name is Park Jongseong, although you already know that, don't you, darlin’?” 

He pauses, his gaze lingering on you with a disconcerting intensity as you shift uncomfortably under his scrutiny. How else could you have possibly arranged a visit with him? The question flashes across his face, a flicker of confusion in his eyes. After all, as far as he knew, only family could visit him and fuck knows where they are. So how did you manage to worm your way in?

You swallow hard, your throat suddenly dry. He nods knowingly before continuing. "I'm 22, been in and out of here about four times. I love romantic walks on the beach, and before you ask, it was car theft." The words hang in the air, heavy with implication.

His words send a shiver down your spine, a mix of excitement and trepidation. His casual confession answers most of your unspoken questions, including the big one: why he was here. The revelation that he wasn’t in for something more sinister like murder eases some of your apprehension. Your heartbeat steadies and you feel a strange sense of relief mixed with the undeniable pull towards him.

The glass between you seems to distort, creating a shimmering mirage. Every word, every glance is charged with electricity. It's reckless, dangerous, but the allure is intoxicating. He studies you, his eyes drinking in your flushed cheeks and trembling lips. Leaning closer, he whispers into the phone, his voice a husky caress, "You're fucking beautiful. I could eat you alive."

The words are a cold reminder of the guard's chilling warning. Yet, instead of fear, you feel a thrill of defiance. Before you can stop yourself, you whisper back, "Why don't you?"

Surprised by your own boldness, you feel your face heat up even more. Jongseong’s eyes widen slightly, a flicker of astonishment crossing his features before a slow, wicked grin spreads across his face. “You’d like that, huh?” he asks cheekily, poking his tongue to his cheek.

He spots the cross hanging around your neck and shakes his head in disbelief. “Darlin’, you’re a good girl, I can tell. So why the fuck are you trying to play with me?”

His question hangs in the air, challenging you. You can feel his eyes boring into you, waiting for an answer. The intensity of his gaze, combined with the unexpected boldness that had surged through you moments ago, leaves you speechless for a second.

"I..." you begin, your voice trembling slightly. "I don't know. Maybe because for once, I want to do something reckless. Something just for me."

He chuckles a deep, throaty sound that reverberates through the phone. "Oh, so you’re saying I’m just for you? That I can give you what you crave?” His voice is dripping in seduction and you are pretty sure you’re dripping on the stool you’re uncomfortably shifting on. “You’re playing with fire, little lamb. You sure you can handle the heat?"

The challenge in his tone ignites something inside you. You nod slowly, eyes locking onto his. "I'm not afraid of being burnt." You are, in fact, scared of a little heat but the thumping of your heart and the lightness of your head right now is a feeling you want to experience again and again, and you know for certain that the only person in this world that can give you this exhilaration is the criminal in front of you.

Jongseong's eyes hold a captivating potency as he leans in closer, his breath ghosting over the glass. "We'll see about that," he murmurs, a low, dangerous promise. "But be careful what you wish for, darling. Once you step into the fire, there's no turning back." His words hang heavy in the air, a tantalising mix of threat and allure.

Just then, the harsh clang of a metal object against the door shatters the intimate atmosphere. "Visiting time's over!" a guard's voice booms through the room. A wave of disappointment washes over you, a bittersweet pang as the realisation of impending separation hits you hard. Time flew by far too fast and you felt like you didn’t even get to scratch the surface of what you wanted this meeting to be

The playful arrogance in his eyes softens, replaced by a vulnerability you hadn't expected. "Hey," he begins gently, his voice a stark contrast to his usual bravado. "I'm out in three months." The words hang suspended in the air, a promise that ignites a spark of hope within you. “Wait for me, yeah?” he asks, his eyes searching yours for an answer. Despite the softness, there's a flicker of his usual cockiness in his gaze, as if he already knows your answer. “Come on, you know you want to. I’m worth it.”

You nod, your throat too tight to speak. The guard’s voice booms again, and you know you have to go. The brute of a man is already making his way over to Jongseong to escort him back to his cell. Jongseong stands up, still holding the phone, and smiles a mock-innocent grin at you.

“Take care, darlin’,” he says, his voice a soft caress that sends shivers down your spine. “And don’t go fucking around while I’m gone. I’d hate to have to get done for murder.” A mischievous glint dances in his eyes, a reminder of the man he is and that he has made you his own from here on out.

His words are a blend of a promise and a threat, leaving you breathless. The guard finally reaches him, placing a firm hand on his shoulder and pulling him back. Jongseong doesn’t resist, but his eyes stay locked on yours until the last possible moment, a smirk playing on his lips.

As the guard leads him away, you feel a mix of emotions swirling within you - excitement, trepidation, and a strange sense of belonging. The connection between you and Jongseong is undeniable, and the anticipation of what’s to come only heightens the tension. 

You hang up the phone and stand, your legs feeling unsteady. As you make your way out of the visiting room, the reality of your decision settles over you. Jongseong has already left an indelible mark on your heart. And as much as he has claimed you, you realise with a surge of confidence that you have claimed him too.

And you’ll patiently wait as long as you have to.

_____

The sun blazes overhead, its subtle heat beating down as you sit on the hood of your car outside the prison gates. Your outfit is casual yet sexy: a form-fitting red tank top with mesh detailing paired with high-waisted denim shorts that accentuate your curves, knowing Jongseong will appreciate the effort. You’ve learned a lot about him over the past three months through your almost daily phone calls. Conversations about life, likes, dislikes, and everything in between have built a connection that transcends the barriers of the prison walls.

The memories of those short but impactful conversations play through your mind as you wait. Jongseong's deep voice details his favourite songs, the foods he craves, and the gossip around the cell blocks. You remember laughing together over his stubborn insistence that dark chocolate is superior to milk and the surprising revelation that he actually does like to walk along the beach and it wasn’t just a sarcastic comment the first day you met him.

There was that one agonising week when you couldn't reach him. The anxiety had eaten at you until you finally learned he'd been thrown into the hole for an outburst with another prisoner. The story came out later: a dispute over the weight bench had escalated until Jongseong had whacked the guy over the head with a dumbbell as a result of testing his patience. It was a reminder of the world he was still entangled in, sometimes it’s easy to forget that he is in prison for a crime and that you both aren’t just long-distance lovers.

Seeing him in person had been almost impossible due to the strict visiting rules regarding family members being the only ones who could visit. But you weren’t deterred. With a little persuasion and a few hundred pounds slipped to the right people, you managed one precious visit. The memory of him that day is vivid: a busted lip, a black eye, and a new tattoo of a dagger with a dragon wrapped around it. The sight had sent your pulse racing. Despite the bruises, or perhaps because of them, he had never looked hotter. You’d been tempted to break the glass and pounce on him right then and there.

Although you still have some fear about injecting him into your peaceful life, you can’t deny the happiness you feel when he calls or the flutter in your stomach when he makes a slightly lewd comment describing exactly what he is going to do to you once he gets his hands on you. 

You know you’re in for a wild ride in every sense of the word.

Luckily for you, you don’t have to wait too long because, right on time, you hear the gates open with a strained creak and yet, your heartbeats are somehow louder. The door of the gates swings open with a groan, revealing Jongseong. He's wearing the same black polo and fitted black trousers you saw him in that first day, now with an added black duffle bag slung over his shoulder. The sight of him makes your heart quicken and throat close up as anxiety, both good and bad, courses through you. He looks every bit as dangerous and enticing as you remember, his stride strong and purposeful.

The closer he gets to you, the more urgent his steps become. His eyes lock onto yours with an ardour that makes your breath catch. He can’t wait to finally hold you in his arms, to feel your skin touching his. The world around you fades away, leaving only the magnetic pull between you two.

You jump down from the hood of the car, your legs slightly wobbly with excitement and nerves. Jongseong reaches you in a few long steps, chucking his duffle bag to the ground without a second thought. His hands grasp your face, fingers spreading out to cup your cheeks and jaw, his touch both firm and tender. The heat of his palms sends a shiver down your spine, and you instinctively lean into him, your hands finding purchase on his broad chest.

His pupils blaze with longing and something deeper, more primal. His thumbs brush over your cheekbones as he holds you in place, as if grounding himself in the reality of your presence. He can’t quite believe you’re here and that he can finally know what you feel like. The air between you crackles with unspoken desire and the pent-up tension of months just out of reach.

"Fuck. Hi, darlin’," he whispers, mouth slightly open and eyes shaking. Part of him can’t fathom that you waited for him; most girls he fucks with never keep their promises to stay his, too scared to actually tag along in his life, but you did because that’s the kind of good girl you are: forever loyal and faithful.

"Hi, Jongseong," you smile softly, any fear you had now replaced with glee. The way his eyes are drinking you should scare you, the same way they did that day three months ago, but now it makes you feel wanted and desired in a way no other person has ever made you feel. 

Call it the growth of character and a desperate need for the man in front of you.

Jongseong's eyes darken as he watches you wet your lips, anticipation crackling in the air between you. His gaze locks onto your mouth, and then suddenly, without giving you a moment to react, his lips crash against yours with a fervent urgency. His hands thread through your hair, fingers tangling as he tugs your head back. The motion elicits a gasp from you, and he takes full advantage, his tongue slipping into your mouth to explore and conquer.

The kiss is wild, messy, and breathtaking. His tongue moves against yours with a possessive hunger, claiming every inch as if staking his territory. The taste of him is intoxicating, a heady mesh of his unique flavour and mint that leaves you dizzy. His lips move with a bruising intensity, sucking and biting, leaving your mouth tingling and swollen.

You moan into the kiss, your hands gripping his shoulders tightly, needing something to anchor yourself as the world spins around you. The force of his kiss, the way he devours you, sends a rush of heat straight to your core, making you ache with need. Every brush of his tongue against yours, every pull and nip of his lips, fans the flames of your desire higher and higher.

Jongseong's hands slide from your hair to your waist, pulling you flush against his body. You can feel the hard planes of his chest against your softer curves, the heat of him searing through your clothes. His touch is both rough and tender, a dichotomy that leaves you craving more.

The kiss deepens, growing more frantic and desperate. It's as if he's trying to pour three months of pent-up longing and frustration into this one moment, and you respond with equal fervour. Your fingers dig into his shoulders, pulling him closer, needing to feel every inch of him against you.

Never in your life have you been kissed like this. The rush and excitement tingle all over your body as his large hands dig into your skin, his fingers pressing firmly into your back, grounding you in the intensity of the moment. His tongue strokes against your own in a heated dance, each movement eliciting a new wave of desire that courses through you.

Your ex-boyfriend gave you soft pecks and gentle arm rubs, leaving you wondering if you even wanted to be with him. Those kisses were perfunctory, lacking the fire that now burns between you and Jongseong. This heated exchange, this raw, unbridled passion, makes you understand just how much you can crave a person.

Your own hands roam over his back, feeling the taut muscles beneath his shirt, the heat of his skin seeping through the fabric. Every touch, every brush of his lips against yours, ignites a spark that sets your entire being ablaze. You feel like you could drown in this moment, in the intensity of his desire and the way it mirrors your own.

Jongseong breaks the kiss just enough to catch his breath, his forehead resting against yours as you both pant heavily. His eyes are filled with a mix of lust and seduction. It makes you want to keep kissing him until your lips fall off, your mouth missing the invasion of his tongue suddenly.

As you go to lean in once again, he pulls back and shakes his head, a cocky smile plastered on his face. Your heart drops for a minute, thinking about how you might be too needy for him, too clingy. It was a constant complaint from your last boyfriend, so that insecurity bubbles up to the surface.

“No, baby,” Jongseong says, his voice low and teasing, his smile widening at your puzzled expression. “Not unless you want me to fuck you in front of the guard back there.”

Your cheeks flush a deep shade of crimson, embarrassment and excitement mingling to create depth to the shade. You cast a quick glance over your shoulder, spotting the guard lingering a few feet away. Jongseong twists his body to give the officer a final wave, his gesture a clear, arrogant fuck-you to both authority and the system that has confined him. His smirk is one of satisfaction, and it only makes you shiver more, feeling the raw energy that radiates off him.

As the guard’s eyes follow Jongseong’s movement with disapproval and curiosity, Jongseong finally pulls his gaze back to you. His hand moves to grab his duffle bag, lifting it with effortless ease before sliding his arm over your shoulder in a possessive, almost protective manner. The touch of his arm against your skin sends a jolt of electricity through you, and you instinctively lean into his side, savouring the closeness and warmth of his body.

“Come on,” he says, his voice dropping to a low, commanding murmur, suddenly turning slightly serious despite the small smile on his face. “We gotta stop somewhere real quick.”

_____

Stepping out of the car, Jongseong takes your hand and leads you towards a diner. The building has a certain charm despite its rundown appearance. The paint is peeling in places, and the sign flickers intermittently. Only a few patrons occupy the scattered booths inside, which is slightly strange considering it’s the middle of the day and diners like this are typically occupied by teenagers and first dates.

Which is exactly why you are so excited. This is your first real date with Jongseong, and you cannot wait to get to know him on a deeper level. Although you would say you know him pretty well, all those 15-minute-a-day calls have done wonders for learning about each other, but this isn’t time-restricted or monitored by guards; this opens up the opportunity for a pure and unfiltered conversation with him.

Peering up at him, you see his relaxed manner and smile. You will never know what it is like to be locked up, but you can imagine how draining it can be - the kiss of freedom from the air must uplift his spirit. 

As you walk into the diner, the chequered floor and the nostalgic aroma of coffee and fried food fill the air. The decor is dated, with vinyl booths and Formica tables, but there's a certain cosiness to it. You expect Jongseong to lead you to a booth so you can have your long-awaited date, but instead, he guides you through the diner's main area, straight towards the kitchen. 

You glance around, confused. "Where are we going?" you ask, looking back at him.

"Just some business, then you'll have me all to yourself, alright?" he replies with a wink, giving your knuckles a soft kiss before continuing forward.

You follow him, weaving through the bustling kitchen. The clatter of pots and pans, the sizzle of food on the grill, and the chatter of the chefs create a cacophony of sounds. Jongseong nods and exchanges brief greetings with a few of the cooks, who glance at you curiously before returning to their tasks. One chef, a burly man with a white apron smeared with grease, gives Jongseong a nod of recognition and jerks his head to the door coming into view.

Finally, Jongseong pushes open a heavy metal door at the back of the kitchen, revealing a starkly different environment. The room beyond is dimly lit, the air thick with the smell of smoke and something more acrid. It is filled with brute-looking men, one of them is counting a stack of money with deliberate precision, his thick fingers moving with practised ease, while the others eye Jongseong and you with cold, assessing gazes.

The atmosphere is tense; you feel suffocated, if not by the smoke, then by the glares you are currently receiving. Something tells you that these men and Jongseong are not on the best of terms.

The man counting the money looks up, his eyes narrowing slightly. He has a thick, muscular build, and a scar runs down the side of his face, giving him a permanently grim expression. “Park fucking Jongseong,” he chides, placing the notes down on the table beside him. “Where the fuck did you go?”

“Aw, did you miss me, Bang?” Jongseong fake pouts, jutting out his bottom lip. “I’m touched, really.”

Standing up, Bang towers over the table, his broad shoulders casting an imposing shadow. His eyes, dark and unyielding, bore into Jongseong with a mixture of contempt and curiosity. 

Jongseong, however, remains unfazed. His casual demeanour contrasts sharply with the palpable hostility in the room. He releases your hand and takes a step forward, his movements deliberate and confident. “I was in the slammer for a few, you know how it is,” he says coolly, like losing months of his life to prison bars was as casual as forgetting to pick up milk from the shop run. “I’m here for my money.”

Bang scoffs a low, guttural sound that reverberates through the room. “What fucking money? you waltz back in here like I owe you something, is that it?” He crosses his arms over his chest, muscles bulging under the strain. “You’ve got some nerve.”

Jongseong’s smile doesn’t waver. “I’ve always had nerve, Bang. And you owe me for the car that put me behind bars.” He glances back at you, his eyes softening for a moment before returning to the hardened stare of his adversary.

You stand rooted to the spot, your heart pounding in your chest. The smoky air feels even thicker now, each breath a struggle. The men shift slightly, their eyes flicking between Jongseong and Bang, anticipating the next move, like they’re awaiting instructions.

You’ve seen scenarios like this play out in movies and even then do you hate the feeling it gives in your stomach, so now watching the movie play out in real life makes you feel a little nauseous because you know this can only end badly.

Bang’s lips curl into a sneer. “You’re demanding I pay you for that piece of shit car? The one with the kicked-in engine? Mate, you’re fucking delusional. That car couldn’t have even paid your pathetic bail.”

“You asked me for that specific car, I delivered, now give me my money.” Jongseong’s calm and cocky aura suddenly shifts to a dangerous one, one you hadn’t quite prepared yourself to see. Of course, you knew this side existed; you don’t survive multiple bouts in prison without developing an edge. But witnessing it firsthand is something else entirely.

His posture changes, shoulders squared and jaw set, exuding a raw, unfiltered intensity that sends a shiver down your spine. The room seems to shrink around the two men, their confrontation a silent battle of wills. The other men at the table straighten up, sensing the shift in tension, readying themselves to pounce as soon as their boss gives a signal.

This is bad.

Placing your hand on his arm, you draw his focus to you. Your eyes gleam up at him, silently conveying worry. “Jongseong, let’s just leave it, you just got out,” you plead as your head shakes in disapproval. If there was one thing you have learned from the stories Jongseong has told you, it’s that his temper is a short fuse, and with the lock on his jaw, you know he is a few seconds away from exploding.

His eyes soften momentarily as he looks at you, the tension in his shoulders easing slightly. He takes a deep breath, exhaling slowly as if to rein in his anger. For a brief moment, it seems like the confrontation is over. But before you can even attempt to lead him out of the room and back to your car, Bang’s voice cuts through the air, dripping with derision. “Yeah, Park, listen to your bitch before I set my men on both of you.”

The words hang in the air, a malicious echo that sends a chill down your spine. Jongseong stops dead in his tracks, his body going rigid. You feel the shift instantly, his muscles tensing under your hand.

The calm exterior he had tried to maintain shatters. Jongseong whirls around, eyes blazing with fury. “What the fuck did you just say?” he snarls, his voice low and dangerous, a stark contrast to the calm, controlled tone he had used before.

Bang smirks, leaning back in his chair, clearly relishing the reaction he’s provoked. “You heard me. I said listen to your slutty side piece before I make sure you both can’t walk again,” he repeats, his voice dripping with contempt. “Did that hit a nerve?”

Before you can react, Jongseong lunges forward, his fist connecting with Bang’s jaw with a sickening thud. The force of the punch sends Bang sprawling to the floor, the chair skidding across the room. The men around you jump to attention, but no one makes a move to intervene, their eyes wide with shock.

“You don’t ever threaten my girl like that,” Jongseong growls, standing over Bang, who is struggling to get up. “Ever.”

You can’t deny the fuzziness in your stomach when he claims you as his girl. The simple slip of the tongue somehow drowns out his outlandish actions. Bang deserved it after all.

Bang wipes a trickle of blood from the corner of his mouth, his eyes blazing with a mix of pain and rage. “You’re gonna regret that, Park,” he spits out, though there's an unmistakable tremor of fear in his voice now. With a snap of his fingers, his men spring into action, advancing toward Jongseong with menacing intent.

Jongseong steps back, his stance shifting into a defensive posture, muscles coiled and ready. “Darlin’, go wait in the car, I’ll be out in a minute,” he murmurs, his gaze locked onto the advancing men. His arm is outstretched to shield you, the veins in his forearm prominent as he tenses.

You hesitate, torn between the urge to stay by his side and the instinct to protect him despite his obvious capability. “But-”

“Be a good girl,” Jongseong’s voice is firm yet gentle, laced with a protective urgency. He meets your gaze with a stern but concerned look that brooks no argument. With a heavy heart and a lump in your throat, you nod reluctantly, stepping back into the kitchen.

Your eyes remain glued to him, a mix of fear and helplessness tightening in your chest. The seconds tick by slowly, each moment feeling like an eternity as Jongseong prepares to face off against men far larger and more intimidating than any security guard or gym bro you’ve ever encountered.

The room’s atmosphere thickens with tension as the men close in on Jongseong. One of them, a burly figure with arms like tree trunks, grabs hold of Jongseong, his grip like iron. Jongseong struggles against the man’s hold, his muscles straining as he fights to break free.

Another of Bang’s men seizes the opportunity, delivering a brutal punch to Jongseong’s midsection. The impact sends a sharp gasp through the air, and you watch in horror as Jongseong’s body lurches from the blow. His face contorts in pain, but he doesn’t give in, still trying to break free from the grip holding him back.

From your vantage point, you can only watch in helpless horror as the fight unfolds. Jongseong’s strength and skill are evident, but the overwhelming numbers and sheer size of his opponents make it daunting. Each punch landed on him seems to resonate with a bone-deep impact, and the grunts and shouts of the men create a chaotic symphony of violence.

The sight of Jongseong, usually so composed and confident, struggling against the odds is almost too much to bear. You want to rush in, to do something, anything to help, but the kitchen's doorway feels like an insurmountable barrier. Your heart races, your breaths coming in quick, uneven gasps as you watch the scene unfold.

Jongseong’s eyes meet yours briefly, a flicker of reassurance in their stormy depths even as he endures another punishing blow. The look he gives you is a silent promise that he will get through this, that he’s fighting not just for himself, but for both of you. He will be damned if any of these men thought for a second that it was acceptable to threaten you or lay a finger on your precious body - especially not since he has just found out how beautifully soft your skin feels on his fingertips, or how perfectly your lips mesh with his own.

With a strained grunt, Jongseong uses his legs to kick out at his assailants, creating a brief moment of respite. His body, still taut from the impacts, is hunched and battered, but his spirit remains unyielding. He turns to face you, his voice a mix of anger and desperation cutting through the cacophony. “Y/N, get the fuck out of here!” he yells, his command urgent and fierce.

Nodding frantically, you stumble back, your breath hitching as you watch Jongseong throw a sharp, decisive punch at the man who had been holding him back. The impact sends the man staggering, giving Jongseong a brief but crucial reprieve. The fight rages on around him, but for a moment, his focus is entirely on you.

You retreat through the kitchen, your mind spinning with fear and helplessness. Your only thought is to get to safety, to ensure Jongseong’s instructions are followed. You burst through the back door and into the parking lot, the air cold against your flushed skin despite the sun still blaring.

Once outside, you hurry to the car, your mind racing. The dim light of the diner’s parking lot does little to ease the anxiety curling in your stomach. You can’t help but worry about Jongseong - about what’s happening inside and whether he’ll come out unscathed.

You lean against the car, your breath coming in shallow gasps as you glance anxiously towards the diner. The minutes stretch on interminably, amplifying the knot of worry in your stomach. The tense stillness seems almost unbearable, and just as the fear of the worst begins to grip you, you see Jongseong’s figure finally emerge through the door.

He strides towards you, each step purposeful but burdened. His face is a canvas of bruises and blood, his eyebrow bleeding in a thin streak that trails down his cheek. The sight of him, battered and raw, sends a shiver of dread through you. You can barely hold back the tears as you rush forward.

“Oh my god, Jongseong-” The words tumble out, laced with a mix of relief and anguish, but they are abruptly cut off as Jongseong’s lips crash onto yours. His kiss is fierce and demanding, a raw burst of emotion that takes you completely by surprise.

His hands are strong and desperate as they frame your face, his touch scorching against your skin. The kiss is so hungry, so primal, that it eclipses the first kiss you shared, which is hard to believe if you weren’t the one on the receiving end. The intensity of it is overwhelming, the force of his need evident in every movement. He pulls you closer, his lips moving with an urgent, almost frantic rhythm.

As he deepens the kiss, his hand trails down from your face to his own throat, his fingers gripping the base of his neck. The gesture is both intimate and possessive, reminding you that he called you his girl and fought on behalf of you. The thoughts add another layer of desire from your end, the protectiveness he already has over you despite only knowing you for a hot minute makes your skin tingle with glee.

Every sensation is amplified - the rough texture of his lips against yours, the heated pulse of his touch, and the faint tremor of excitement in his frame. You can taste the salt of his sweat and the faint metallic tang of blood from his cuts mingling with the warmth of his breath. His other hand moves to your lower back, pulling you tighter against him, his body pressing firmly into yours.

Jongseong had forgotten how much of a thrill he got from fighting, the way seeing the blood splatter - from both his rival and himself - made him feel alive. It had been too long since he had a good kick like this, the prison scraps he would be part of were nothing like this, too weak and pathetic. This is the kind of adrenaline he wanted, one when he didn’t know if he would make it out alive. But he knew he had to, for your sake.

The image of you flashed in his mind as he was pummelling into the men and Bang. The thought of dragging you into this dangerous world gnaws at him, but it’s a burden he’s willing to bear. He can’t imagine asking you to walk away, even though he knows he’s pulling you into a dangerous world with wicked consequences.

Jongseong pulls back just enough to look into your eyes, his breath heavy and laboured. The heat in his gaze is unmistakable, an intense blend of desire and desperation. Blood smears across your cheek where his fingers had been, the sight and scent adding something raw to the moment. He never wants to see you hurt, but the blood smudged on your skin makes his blood run thinner with lust.

He gets horny when he is riled up like this, that much is evident by the way he is suddenly pushing you against the car and pressing his growing erection into your lower abdomen. The cold metal of the car against your back is a stark contrast to the heat of his body, a jarring reminder of the reality you're in, yet it only heightens the sensations coursing through you.

Jongseong's lips return to yours, more aggressive and demanding as he tries to consume you entirely. His hands are everywhere, tugging at your clothes, fingers digging into your skin with a need that borders on feral. The bruises on his knuckles brush against your flesh, a rough reminder of the fight he's just endured for you. His touch is searing, leaving trails of fire in its wake.

A low, guttural groan escapes him as he grinds his hips into yours, the friction sparking a desperate ache deep within you. Your hands find their way to his hair, pulling him closer, as if you could fuse your bodies together. 

His name falls from your lips in a breathless whisper, a plea and a promise all at once. Jongseong responds with a growl, his lips trailing down your neck, biting and sucking, leaving marks that claim you as his. His hands roam lower, gripping your thighs and lifting you slightly, pressing you harder against the car.

“Darlin’, I’m gonna fucking ruin you,” he whispers into your mouth with promise. He means this both figuratively and physically. He is going to lead you down a dark path, and he can’t say he’s even the slightest bit sorry about it.

Without warning, he swings the backseat door open and tosses you in, his strength overwhelming. You barely have time to catch your breath before he's on top of you, the weight of his body pressing you into the seat, his hands moving with a desperate urgency. His lips find yours again, a hungry, demanding kiss that leaves you gasping.

The confined space of the car adds an extra layer of intensity, the heat between you palpable. Jongseong's hands are everywhere, tugging at your clothes, his fingers digging into your skin with a need that borders on feral. He breaks the kiss, his breath hot against your ear as he murmurs, "I need to taste you."

His words send a shiver down your spine, a thrill of anticipation that leaves you trembling. He moves down your body, his lips and hands leaving a trail of fire in their wake. The car's interior feels too small, too hot, as he shifts between your legs, his eyes dark with desire as he looks up at you.

“You okay with this?” he asks, seeking consent. Your body language is enough to tell him that you want this probably as much as he does, but the thing is, he doesn’t know how much of a good girl you are. If no one else got to touch you like this, he would be ecstatic, but it also means you could want to take your time.

There is a flash in his eyes that makes your core pulse and has you nodding without thinking. “Yeah, I want this,” you whisper out, though it sounds like you’re bellowing the words through a megaphone, the desperation in your voice making sure of that.

Kissing along your stomach as his hands undo your shorts, his lips dipping lower as he pulls them off of you. “Has anyone had you before?” The tone of his voice is gritty and hoarse, swallowing his jealousy at even the thought. 

Just because he would be fine with it, doesn’t mean he can’t wish to curse any man that had the audacity to think they are worthy of being with you.

Swallowing the forming saliva in your mouth, his dangerous glare into your eyes tells you that perhaps you should lie and say no, that you haven’t had past lovers. But if he caught you lying, you think the repercussions might be worse than whatever will come if you tell him the truth.

“Yes, one.”

“How many times did he have you?”

“What are you talking about?” 

“How many times did he put his disgusting, unworthy mouth on you?”

Oh.

You physically shrivel up, feeling small under his intense stare and gripping hands. You can’t actually recall how many times your ex boyfriend went down on you but it can't be more than four times, claiming he didn’t see the point in it when he could just fuck you. Safe to say the sex you had with him was lacklustre.

“Not many,” you manage to whisper, feeling the heat of shame and anger rise in you. The memories of the past, the way you were neglected, seem to pale in comparison to the intensity Jongseong is offering you now. “Three times? Maybe four?”

“Well, which is it? Three or four?” he insists. His fingers dip into the band of your underwear, teasing your skin with a ghosting touch.

“Why? Does it matter?” This was absolutely the wrong follow-up question to ask because Jongseong’s eyes turn black, jaw setting into the same locked position it did earlier.

“So I know how many times I need to make you cum to wash him out of your system,” he growls, his voice a low rumble that vibrates through you. His fingers slip beneath the fabric of your underwear, the touch searing and electric against your skin. He pulls them down, tossing them aside with a careless flick of his wrist, his eyes never leaving yours. The intensity of his gaze is almost too much to bear, a raw hunger that leaves you breathless.

His hands grip your thighs, spreading them apart with a possessiveness that sends a thrill of anticipation through you. The heat between your legs is unbearable, the need for his touch almost painful. His breath is hot against your skin as he trails kisses down your inner thigh, each one sending a jolt of pleasure through you.

Jongseong’s lips hover just above your centre, his breath ghosting over your most sensitive parts, making you shiver with need. The anticipation is excruciating, every nerve ending screaming for his touch. 

“Tell me, how many?” he murmurs, holding back from diving in which is just as painful as it is for you.

“I really…I really don’t remember,” you reply honestly. No matter the number of times your ex-boyfriend was between your legs, he never made you cum anyway so that might have everything to do with the memory lapse.

Something tells you that you will remember exactly how many times Jongseong gets between your legs.

He looks up at you, his eyes dark with determination. "Okay, I’ll make it five, just to be sure," he says, his voice rough with need. When his tongue finally makes contact, it’s like an electric shock, pleasure shooting through you in waves.

He works you over with a skill and intensity that leaves you gasping for breath. His tongue moves with purpose, each flick and swirl designed to draw out your pleasure. He knows exactly where to touch, how to lick, to drive you wild. His fingers dig into your thighs, holding you firmly in place as he devours you, the sensation almost too much to bear.

You arch against him, your hands tangling in his hair, pulling him closer as if you could never get enough. His low, satisfied growls vibrate against you, adding another layer of sensation that leaves you trembling.

"Jongseong, please," you gasp, your voice shaky and filled with need. The world narrows down to the heat of his mouth, the pressure of his hands, and the waves of pleasure crashing over you. You can feel yourself spiralling towards the edge, every touch pushing you closer and closer.

Jongseong has a tongue and mouth simply made for eating pussy, and he is showing you just how someone should be licking and slurping at your sensitive area. Not even two minutes have passed and you can already feel the pressure of your orgasm building; a new record for you. Not even when you manage to find some alone time can you make yourself cum this quickly.

His mouth is relentless, tongue flicking and swirling with a precision that has you seeing stars. He alternates between gentle laps and firm, insistent strokes, each movement designed to push you higher and higher. His lips seal around your clit, sucking and releasing in a rhythm that leaves you gasping. The heat of his mouth, the roughness of his tongue, and the sheer determination in his every move send you spiralling towards ecstasy.

When the first orgasm hits, it’s like a tidal wave, your body convulsing with the force of it. Jongseong holds you through it, his mouth never leaving you, drawing out every last bit of pleasure until you’re left trembling. His hands grip your hips, anchoring you to the car seat as you ride out the waves of sensation.

But he doesn’t stop. His fingers find their way inside you, curling and stroking with a skill that has you begging for breath. He adds a second finger, then a third, stretching and filling you, making you deliciously overwhelmed. His tongue continues its assault on your clit, harshly flickering in tandem with the movements of his fingers.

“Jongseong, I-” you gasp, trying to form words through the haze of pleasure.

“I know, darlin’,” he growls, his voice vibrating against your skin. “I can feel you. Don’t hold back.”

His fingers curl inside you, hitting that perfect spot with unerring precision, each stroke sending shivers up your spine. His tongue dances around your clit, alternating between gentle flicks and firm, insistent licks that have you teetering on the edge. The second orgasm comes even faster, your body hypersensitive from the first. It crashes over you, leaving you gasping and moaning his name. Jongseong’s mouth is relentless, his tongue and fingers never stopping, never giving you a moment to catch your breath. He knows exactly how to push you to the edge and then pull you back, prolonging the pleasure until you’re a quivering mess beneath him.

His determination is relentless. He pushes you through the third orgasm with the same intensity, his touch never faltering. He adds another layer to the sensation, his nose pressing against your clit as his tongue and fingers continue their work. Each orgasm leaves you more breathless, more spent, until you’re a quakinh mess beneath him, gripping at his hair in a desperate attempt to ground yourself from euphoria.

“I need you to scream my name,” he murmurs against your folds, his voice dark and commanding. “I want everyone to know who’s making you feel this good.”

It is only at that moment you remember that Jongseong is eating you out in a diner car park where anyone can look in the window and see your lewd actions, never mind hear them.

But that doesn’t stop you obeying him.

The thrust of his fingers quickens as your juices begin to fly around in your car and drip down your leather seats, your essence acting like holy water as you bless the car with your backseat serenade. Your hand grips the silver cross around your neck as you curse the Lord's name in vain, the only thing you can worship right now is a criminal’s touch.

“Jjongie,” you mewl out, losing yourself to your lust and heat, eyes rolling to the back of your head. He smirks as you create a nickname in the midst of the pleasure, loving the way it sounds falling from your tongue. 

He will only ever let you call him that.

The fourth orgasm builds slowly, the pleasure mounting with every touch, every stroke. Jongseong’s fingers hit that perfect spot over and over again. His tongue dances across your clit as he makes his tongue rigid, each flick sending sparks of pleasure shooting through you. You can feel the pressure building, the heat coiling in your belly, until it finally explodes, leaving you shuddering and gasping for breath.

“Jjongie, please,” you beg, your voice hoarse and broken. “I can’t take anymore.”

“Yes, you can,” he insists, his voice rough with desire. “You’re gonna give me one more. Just one more, darlin’.”

He keeps going, his mouth and fingers working together in a symphony of pleasure. The fifth orgasm is the most intense yet, your body extremely susceptible and on edge from the previous ones. He adds a fourth finger, stretching you wide, probably even wider than your ex’s cock ever did, his tongue working your clit with a precision that has you seeing venus. He uses his tongue apply pressure in ways that have you feeling every single nerve ending come alive. The pleasure builds and builds until it finally crashes over you, leaving you a quivering, trembling mess beneath him for the nth time.

When he finally pulls back, his lips and chin glistening with multiple layers of your arousal, he looks at you with a fierce, possessive pride. "There," he murmurs, his voice a low, satisfied rumble. "Now you’re mine. Only mine."

He climbs up your body, his mouth finding yours in a searing kiss that tastes of you. The connection between you is electric, something beautiful. You fight the tiredness as you plaster a smile of happiness and contentment across your face, and he kisses all over your cheeks and lips, creating a line of adoration. His kisses are softer now, each one a tender promise.

As the initial rush of passion subsides, you finally take in the full extent of his injuries. His face is a canvas of bruises and cuts, each mark a testament to the fight he endured. Your fingers move gently, tracing the path of the blood streak on his eyebrow, smoothing over the swollen skin with care. The sight of him beaten like this makes your heart ache.

"Promise me you won't keep doing this?" you ask, your voice tinged with worry and desperation as you wipe the mixture of your slick and saliva from his mouth. Your eyes search his, pleading for an answer, a reassurance that he won’t put himself in harm's way again.

Instead of a verbal response, Jongseong leans in, capturing your lips in another kiss. This one is soft, tender, and lingering. It speaks of unspoken promises and the turbulent emotions between you. He pulls back just enough to rest his forehead against yours, his breath warm against your skin.

Although you take the kiss as a sealed promise, you should know better than to trust a criminal.

_____

Walking out of your campus building, you see an unfamiliar car paired with a very familiar man waiting on the sidewalk. Jongseong leans against the sleek monochrome vehicle. He looks as confident and imposing as ever, with his hair gelled in his typical style and a fitted black T-shirt that shows off his tattoos, earning some judgmental glances from your peers.

You wave off your friends, a wide smile spreading across your face. Skipping down the stairs with glee, you bound towards him, unable to contain your excitement. The moment Jongseong spots your figure approaching, the hard stare and scowl he portrays vanish, replaced by an expression of equal joy to yours.

In the past month, you and Jongseong have grown incredibly close. Despite his semi-cold exterior and rough edges, there's a softer side to him that only you get to see. He's protective and loyal, his tough shell cracking open whenever you're around. The little things he does - like texting you as soon as he wakes up, remembering your favourite bands name, plus all the members, or listening to you read him excerpts from the book you divulge in while he works out - reveal a tenderness he rarely shows to anyone else.

Jongseong opens his arms, and you leap into them, wrapping your legs around his waist as he catches you effortlessly. He buries his face in your neck, inhaling your scent deeply, grounding himself in your presence. The onlookers judge, whispering among themselves, but neither of you cares. Being with each other is all that matters.

"What are you doing here?" you ask, pulling back slightly to look into his eyes.

He grins, a rare, genuine smile lighting up his face. "Couldn't stay away from my darlin’ too long, could I?" he murmurs, his voice a blend of affection and mischief. "Thought I'd surprise you."

You chuckle, brushing a stray lock of hair from his forehead. "Well, paint me shocked."

Setting you down gently, he keeps his arms wrapped around your waist, not wanting to let you go just yet. “I thought we could drive out for a bit, I need to visit my bank for a…slight withdrawal,” he explains.

You nod, eyes twinkling. It doesn't matter what the errand is; any time spent with Jongseong feels like an adventure. Over the past month, you've done everything together: hitting the gym, shopping for your dorm kitchen, and running around to the post office to send some letters. Even mundane trips to the bank like this seem exciting when he's by your side.

As you both get into the front seats, you can't help but ask the million-dollar question, "Where did you get this car?"

Jongseong's life outside has been anything but easy; his criminal record makes it difficult for him to secure a steady job. Despite this, he's always trying, often because you push him to stay on the right path. You appreciate his efforts, knowing how much he resists resorting to his old ways. At least, as far as you know.

"Just a banger from one of my mates," he replies nonchalantly, as he starts the engine. "Nothing compared to yours."

"I think it suits you," you say, glancing around the shabby interior. The car is a patchwork of bumps and scratches, with a dashboard that's seen better days and seats that are well-worn and torn in places.

"Because it's battered and dented?" he quips, a teasing note in his voice.

"No," you respond, playfully hitting him on the arm. "Because it has a certain charm about it, if you look past the scrapes and cuts."

A shy, almost boyish grin settles upon Jongseong’s face, very much out of character for him. Considering you’re admitting to seeing past his rugged appearance and guarded heart, even through the guise of the car, he can’t help but appreciate the compliment. His fingers drum lightly on the steering wheel as he pulls out onto the road.

You settle back into your seat, watching the world pass by outside the window. The car rattles slightly, but it feels like an extension of Jongseong himself - rough around the edges, but with a hidden depth that you can't help but admire.

The journey takes you away from the hustle and bustle of the campus, the road stretching out for miles ahead. The landscape transforms into a picturesque scene painted with warm, golden hues. Sunlight bathes the rolling fields in a soft glow, casting long shadows that dance across the green grass. Farm animals graze contentedly within the sweeping wind, their movements leisurely and peaceful. The serene beauty of the countryside envelops you, a stark contrast to the chaotic thoughts that often plague your mind.

As the scenery blurs by, you unlock your phone and realise you've been so caught up in sight-seeing that you hadn’t noticed how much time had passed. A slight furrow forms on your brow as you glance at the clock, wondering why on earth you are still driving.

"Your bank branch is really far away, Jongseong," you observe, a hint of curiosity in your voice.

"Yeah," he replies, placing a hand on your exposed leg, his touch warm and reassuring. "I guess it is, huh?"

His tone carries a weird, knowing look on his face, something that makes you sceptical but also intrigued. There’s a spark of mischief in his eyes, one that you’ve come to recognise. It’s the look he gets when he’s planning something unexpected. Despite the small sliver of doubt in your mind, you decide not to question him further, choosing trust over anything else.

The road ahead twists and turns, each bend revealing more of the idyllic countryside. Birds soar in the sky, their songs adding a melodic backdrop to your journey. You find yourself relaxing into the seat, the comfort of Jongseong’s presence and the captivating landscape blending together into a perfect moment of tranquillity.

That moment is about to be severely interrupted.

Jongseong takes a sharp turn off the main road, driving down a narrow, gravelly path that leads to a run-down building in the middle of nowhere. The structure of the bank is weary and neglected, its facade chipped and the white stones which make up its exterior are now yellow with a mixture of smoke and years of tear. The windows are grimy, and the door doesn’t shut over as the hinges hold the doors askew. Weeds sprout through the cracks in the pavement, and the entire place exudes a sense of forgotten utility. You wonder who on earth decides to keep money here.

Jongseong pulls the car to a stop and gets out, jogging around to open the door for you. He helps you out with a gentle grip on your hand, his touch a stark contrast to the bleak surroundings. 

You notice the tension in his shoulders, his usually composed exterior seems frayed, much like the edges of the black duffle bag he retrieves from the backseat. The bag, reminiscent of the one he had when coming out of prison, is empty save for something weighing it down slightly. 

"What's that for?" you inquire, pointing to the duffle that is trapped in his tight grip.

"I'm just going to get a lot of money, that's all," he replies, smiling so innocently that it looks almost devious.

Why wouldn't he just keep it all his money in the bank in the first place? Places don't even usually take cash these days. You internally start to question, unable to suppress the growing unease. He is acting strange and suddenly, your gut isn’t feeling so happy.

Jongseong extends his hand, fingers stretched for you to interlock with his. His grip is firm, reassuring yet compelling. They are so big compared to yours that they practically swallow yours whole. As he starts to walk away, you can’t help but notice he isn’t locking the car. You know no one is around, but considering he used to steal cars for a living, you think he would know the dangers of leaving it out in the open like this.

Regardless of your apprehension, you follow him, the gravel crunching under your feet as you approach the run-down bank. Jongseong’s pace quickens, his body language a mix of urgency and confidence.

As you step inside, the air is stale, carrying the scent of mildew and old paper. The interior is dimly lit, dust particles dancing in the beams of sunlight. Surprisingly, there are people scattered in the foyer: an older couple who have to be in their late sixties and a man who exudes zero confidence, his pale complexion and silver-rimmed glasses, paired with his shrivelled frame.

The worst thing the man does is look at you for a second longer than Jongseong would like. Cracking his neck, Jongseong pulls you closer to him as he stares the man down, giving him a warning shot. Quickly, there are no eyes on you.

Jongseong is always like this, silently threatening any man who even dares to glance at you. One time, you were at the supermarket, innocently buying a bottle of wine and some Sensations chilli and lime crisps, when the clerk had the audacity to speak to you - it was just to ask if you needed help, that was too many words according to Jongseong. He had given the clerk a harsh look, his jaw clenched tightly as he pulled you closer, ensuring the man understood his silent message. The poor guy had paled, quickly ringing up your items without another word.

You glance around the run-down bank, taking in the cracked tiles and peeling wallpaper. The entire place feels like it’s on the verge of collapse. As you watch Jongseong, you notice him checking the duffle bag a few times, his eyes scanning the room with a sharp intensity. Something about his demeanour makes your stomach twist with unease.

"Jongseong, what are we actually doing here?" you ask, trying to keep your voice steady despite the growing anxiety.

"Darlin', I'm getting money, why else would we be here?" he laughs as if you’ve asked the dumbest question he has ever heard. His tone is light, but his eyes remain hard, focused.

You bite your lip, glancing around the room once more. The older couple is speaking softly to each other, their attention nowhere near you. The timid man with glasses is fiddling with his phone, his hands trembling slightly. Despite the seemingly mundane scene, your gut is yelling at you that something is terribly wrong and you think you know what it is.

"How are you getting the money?" you ask, the words catching in your throat. You’re scared to even pose the question due to the answer you might receive.

Jongseong doesn’t answer right away. Instead, he glances at you, his eyes flickering with something unreadable before he turns his attention back to the bag. The silence stretches uncomfortably, and you can feel the tension in the air growing thicker.

Your heart pounds in your chest, the realisation dawning on you. “Jongseong, please, tell me we’re not here to-”

“Next,” the woman calls in front of you, breaking your chain of thought.

Jongseong gently unravels your intertwined hands and steps forward to the desk. The woman behind the counter looks up with a bored and disinterested expression, her fingers tapping impatiently on the worn-out surface.

“What can I help you with today?” she asks, her tone flat and mechanical.

Jongseong smiles brightly, tilting his head slightly as he leans closer. “I need you to put all the money in the bag,” he says, his voice smooth and sweet.

The woman furrows her brow in confusion, her mouth opening to question him, but the words die in her throat as Jongseong smoothly pulls a gun from the duffle bag and presses it to her forehead. His smile never falters, remaining charming and innocent, as if butter wouldn't melt in his mouth.

You feel your stomach drop, a cold wave of fear washing over you. Your hands tremble, and your breath catches in your throat. The world around you seems to blur, the edges of your vision darkening as panic sets in. You can hardly believe what’s happening. This isn’t the Jongseong you know, the one who holds you gently and kisses you tenderly. This is a side of him you’ve never seen, a side that terrifies you.

“Jongseong,” you whisper, your voice barely audible over the rushing blood in your ears.

He doesn’t look at you, his focus entirely on the woman in front of him. With a calm and steady hand, he clicks the safety off the gun. “10s and 20s in the bag, love. Quickly.”

The woman’s eyes widen in fear, her hands trembling uncontrollably as she begins to gather the bills. The crisp rustling of paper fills the charged silence, punctuated only by the faint hum of the bank’s outdated air conditioning. Her movements are jerky and hurried, every action underscored by the mounting tension in the room. Her terrified gaze flits nervously between Jongseong and the duffle bag, reflecting the same panic you feel surging within you.

Out of the corner of your eye, you notice another bank worker, a woman in her late forties with a spiky haircut fit to rival Shirley Carter from Eastenders, sliding her hand toward the hidden panic button beneath the desk. Jongseong’s sharp eyes catch the movement instantly. With a swift, fluid motion, he pivots the gun’s direction, the barrel now pointed at the second worker. “Don’t even think about it,” he warns, his voice cutting through the air like a razor blade.

The woman’s face drains of colour, her eyes widening in terror as she freezes mid-reach. Her fingers twitch nervously, the hand hovering inches from the button. You can see the palpable fear in her expression as her face goes slack, slowly withdrawing her hand to ensure her own safety, not daring to provoke Jongseong’s ire.

Turning back to you for a moment, Jongseong makes eye contact with you, winking in joy as if you are equally having as much fun as he is.

And the funny thing is, he can see it inside of you. Behind that fear, is a flash of thrill that even you haven’t registered. It’s something he can identify because it is the exact same look he has in his orbs when he does something that spikes his adrenaline. This is exactly why you came to him that day and the exact reason he has kept you by his side.

You’re cut from the same cloth, even if sewn to different clothes.   

As the woman finishes stuffing the bills into the bag, her hands moving with a frantic speed, Jongseong maintains his disarming smile, but the menace in his eyes betrays his calm demeanour. The bag grows heavy with the weight of the cash, the rustling paper now almost rhythmic, a morbid symphony underscoring the gravity of the situation.

When the woman finally slides the bulging duffle bag across the counter, her face pale and stricken, Jongseong’s fingers close around the handle with a sense of finality. He casts one last wary glance around the bank, his gaze briefly meeting yours with a reassuring nod that feels more like a promise of survival than comfort.

“Thanks for the service, sweetheart. Really, it has been class. I’ll write you a good Yelp review, for sure,” Jongseong's voice drips with arrogance and sarcasm, an unsettling calm underlying his criminal actions. He turns to you, his eyes intense yet strangely affectionate. “Let’s go, darlin’.”

With the duffle bag in hand, he leads you towards the exit, his grip on your wrist firm yet unyielding. Your legs feel like lead as you follow him, the sound of your footsteps echoing in the empty space. You glance back at the bank workers, their faces a portrait of fear and confusion, and you can't shake the crushing sense of guilt that weighs on your heart. Yet, there is a strange feeling of exhilaration that beats in your chest, a rush you’ve never felt before.

The two of you step back into the bleak daylight, and Jongseong’s car waits in the same spot. Now leaving it unlocked makes sense; you need to make a quick getaway. He opens the door for you with an almost gentlemanly gesture, though his eyes are still sharp, scanning the surroundings.

You both jump into the car, the doors slamming shut simultaneously. Jongseong hits the gas, the car lurching forward with a screech of tires. The engine roars to life as he maneuvers onto the road, the world outside blurring into a frenetic swirl of colours and shapes. Your heart pounds against your ribcage, adrenaline flooding your system. It's the closest to an existential crisis you’ve ever come, the reality of what just happened clashing violently with the surreal rush of it all.

Jongseong wears a shit-eating grin, his eyes sparkling with a dangerous glee as he speeds down the highway. He runs a hand through his hair, the strands falling back into place messily. Suddenly, he slams his palm on the steering wheel a few times in sheer excitement, his laughter bubbling up uncontrollably. “We fucking did it!” he exclaims, his voice filled with disbelief and triumph.

You look at him like he’s crazy, his entire being now radiating joy despite just committing a felony big enough to land him back in jail. Your mind races, a whirlwind of fear, excitement, and bewilderment. How could he be so thrilled, so elated, after what just happened? The exhilaration from moments ago is rapidly giving way to a gnawing anxiety, the reality of your actions sinking in.

"Pull over," you finally manage to say, your voice barely steady.

"What?" Jongseong's grin falters for a moment, confusion clouding his features.

"Pull over," you repeat, more forcefully this time.

"Do you want to get caught?" he snaps, acutely aware that the police have probably been alerted by now. His eyes dart to the rearview mirror, scanning for any signs of pursuit.

“I want to know what the fuck you think you’re doing.”

Jongseong’s jaw tightens, and any joy that was flowing through his body has now evaporated, escaping through the heavy exhale from his nostrils. His hands grip the wheel so tightly that his knuckles turn white, the tendons in his arms standing out starkly. The atmosphere inside the car grows heavy, thick with tension and unspoken words.

You realise instantly that you’ve crossed a line, the severity of your words sinking in as his anger radiates off him like a palpable force. The air between you crackles with electricity, the adrenaline of the heist replaced by a chilling fear of the unknown. You’re not scared of Jongseong, not really, but of the intensity of his reaction and what he might be thinking.

He hard shoulders the car to the edge of a cliff, the tires screeching as he brings the vehicle to an abrupt stop. The scenery outside is almost picturesque, the cliff overlooking a vast expanse of ocean, waves crashing against the rocks below. The golden hues of the late afternoon sun cast long shadows, but the serene beauty of the landscape does nothing to alleviate the suffocating tension within the car.

Jongseong's cold glare freezes you in place, his eyes dark and unyielding. "Repeat that last sentence," he demands, his voice low and menacing.

"I...I," you stammer, too overcome with slight fear to form a coherent response. It’s not Jongseong himself that scares you, but the raw intensity of his emotions and the unpredictability of the situation.

"Did you just swear at me?" he asks, his tone sharp enough to cut through the thick silence. His eyes bore into yours, and you can see the flicker of hurt beneath the anger.

The fear of what he’s thinking, the consequences of your words, paralyses you. You can feel your heart pounding in your chest, your breath coming in shallow, rapid bursts. The reality of the situation crashes over you, leaving you feeling exposed and vulnerable.

“I... I didn’t mean to-”

“Get out of the car. Now.” His voice is a low, dangerous growl, leaving no room for argument.

You scramble to comply, fumbling with the door handle. Your fingers tremble as you push the door open, the heavy metal creaking in protest. As you step out, the uneven ground beneath your feet adds to your growing sense of disorientation. The wind whips through your hair and the cliff's edge looms just a few feet away, adding to your sense of vulnerability.

Is he going to leave you here? The thought is a panicked whisper in your mind, the idea of being abandoned on this desolate cliffside sending a fresh wave of fear coursing through you. But he wouldn’t do that, he is too infatuated by you to abandon you.

So you’re quaking in trepidation and adrenaline for what he has planned.

Jongseong steps out of the car with a deliberate calm, the door slamming shut behind him with a resonating thud. He looks at you, his expression unreadable, the earlier anger now replaced by something cold and calculating. 

“On your knees,” he commands, his voice hard and unyielding.

You hesitate for a moment, confusion and anxiety warring within you. The words seem surreal, echoing in your mind as you try to process what’s happening. But then the steel in his eyes brooks no argument, and you realise you have no choice but to do as you’re told.

Slowly, you lower yourself to the ground, the rough gravel biting into your knees. The indignity of the position, combined with the terror of being so close to the cliff, leaves you feeling utterly exposed. You glance up at Jongseong, searching for a hint of what’s to come, but his face is a mask of icy determination.

Noticing the tremble in your lips, a soft, almost tender expression flickers across his features. He reaches down, his hand cradling one side of your face gently. “Shhh, darlin’. I’m just going to wash those dirty words out of your mouth,” he murmurs, his voice deceptively soothing.

Your heart pounds harder, anticipation and fear twisting into a knot in your stomach. You watch, wide-eyed, as he undoes his belt with deliberate slowness, the metallic clink echoing in the stillness. He pulls down the zipper, his movements controlled and precise, never breaking eye contact with you. It is only now that you know what he means by washing the dirty words out of your mouth.

Jongseong takes out his cock, thick and long, a sight you can’t quite get used to, no matter how many times you see it. Your fingers grip tightly at your skirt as you endure the rough gravel digging into your knees. Despite the discomfort, your focus is entirely on his eight-inch length, its pink tip throbbing with desire, mirroring your pulsing clit.

Seeing the light of excitement in your eyes, Jongseong smiles wickedly. What he saw back at the bank, that flicker of wanting rush and spontaneity is instilled deep within you, and what perfect way to get it out of you than making you suck his cock on the edge of a nth-drop-foot cliff.

He taps the head of his cock against your lips, his expression a blend of mock innocence and raw hunger. “You know I don’t like doing this, Y/N," he says, his tone dripping with false remorse. Jongseong doesn’t care about you swearing at him, not really; he’s just looking for an excuse to ease the horniness swimming through his blood and to bring out the real you that's hiding in the shadows.

“Unless...you want to be bad?” He tilts his head, his gaze feigning curiosity because he already knows the answer. “I saw it in your eyes, darlin’. That blood rush because you know you’re doing something bad.”

You shift slightly on your knees, licking your lips, your eyes fixated on his member. The desire to take him in your mouth is overwhelming. The fear, guilt, dread, excitement, and power mix into a heady cocktail -  it creates something inside you that you have long sought after. Your life that has been so built up in the foundation of being perfect for your father is draining and mundane, which is why you were drawn so irresistibly to him. He can give you everything you crave, even through unorthodox situations like this.

Jongseong teases you, swiping his tip along your lips. As you open your mouth in eager anticipation, he pulls away just out of reach, a smirk playing on his lips as you lift your ass from your heels, chasing it like a dog with a bone before you yield. 

He starts pumping his cock slowly, his eyes locked onto yours. “You can be as bad as you like, baby,” he leans down slightly, his voice a low, seductive growl. “As long as you're a good girl for me, okay?”

“Yes, Jjongie,” you nod quickly, desperate for your mouth to be filled. The anticipation, mixed with the danger of the cliff and the fear of being caught, makes your pussy ache and your heart race.

With a sudden, forceful motion, Jongseong grabs the back of your head, pulling you closer. "Open wide," he commands, his voice firm yet filled with desire. You comply, your mouth opening eagerly as he thrusts himself deep, filling you completely. He groans in pleasure as he begins to fuck your mouth with rough, passionate thrusts.

His hand rests on the back of your head, fingers tangling in your hair as he sets a deliberate pace. You hollow your cheeks, sucking him in, your tongue swirling around his length, paying extra attention to his tip when it hits the edge of your lips. The heat and weight of him on your tongue send shivers down your spine, and you moan around him, the sound vibrating through his dick.

“Take it all, darlin’,” he murmurs, his grip tightening as he pushes deeper, your gag reflex kicking in. Tears spring to your eyes, but the mixture of pain and pleasure only fuels your desire. You moan around him, the vibrations making him groan louder.

Jongseong’s pace quickens, his long length hitting the back of your throat with each thrust. You struggle to breathe, but the sensation of being used, of surrendering completely to his control, sends waves of heat through your body. Despite the intensity, you crave more; you can’t get enough. Every thrust, every moment of control he exerts over you, only deepens your need. You love this, even though you probably shouldn’t.

Because you have always been so compliant to him, never pushing his buttons, every time he has ever touched you has always been rough but with an overwhelming cast of softness, scared to push you too far considering your limited sexual experiences. But right now, it is pure lust and dominance taking over his body. This is your chance to show you can take it, soft or hard, as long as it’s Jongseong.

“Fuck, you’re amazing,” he pants, his eyes dark with lust. “So good at taking your punishment.” You nod as best as you can, his cock still buried in the back of your throat as you try your best to widen it, accommodating his girth the best you can.

His praise spurs you on, and you bob your head faster, your hand coming up to stroke the base of his cock in time with your movements. Jongseong’s breath hitches, his hands gripping your roots for support. The veins on his arms bulge with the intensity of his grip, his knuckles white.

His breathing becomes erratic, and you feel his cock twitching, a clear sign he's nearing climax. His eyes close momentarily, his brow furrowing, then lock onto yours again, filled with raw desire.

“Fuck, baby, just like that,” he groans, his hips thrusting in sync with your movements. “I’m so close.”

His thrusts become more urgent, more forceful. You can sense the muscles in his abdomen tensing with each movement, a sheen of sweat making his skin glisten. His jaw clenches, his breathing ragged. You are lost in the moment, your body reacting instinctively, wanting to please him, to draw out his release. The sensation of his cock filling your throat, the taste, the feel - it’s intoxicating, leaving you craving more with every second.

Suddenly, he tightens his grip on your scalp, pulling you down hard onto his cock, burying himself so deep that his bell is well past your tonsils, almost hitting your voice box. The force and intrusion makes you gag, and he holds you there, deep in your oesophagus. Your eyes water, and you feel his cock pulsing as he reaches his peak.

With a guttural moan, Jongseong shudders violently, emptying himself deep within you. The hot torrent of his seed floods your throat with a sudden intensity that makes you gag, the unexpected force sending spurts through your nose. The sensation is both startling and overwhelming, the heat and discomfort mingling in a strange thrill. Your nostrils burn slightly, each breath catching the faint, musky scent of his cum, and you feel the final thick, warm fluid trickling down your throat and seeping from your nose.

Jongseong's grip on you is unyielding, his body taut with pleasure, eyes squeezed shut in an expression of raw ecstasy. His cock pulses and twitches as he drains himself completely, the final spurts leaving him trembling. Slowly, he loosens his hold, withdrawing from your mouth with a slick, wet sound, his length coated in a mixture of saliva and cum.

You gasp for air, your lungs burning as you draw in ragged breaths. The remnants of his release cling to your lips and drip from your nose, the salty taste lingering on your tongue. The myriad sensations leave you dizzy and lightheaded, but there’s an undeniable satisfaction in the aftermath of such a powerful, primal exchange. Your chest heaves as you recover, each breath a challenge, and despite the intensity, you can’t help but feel a deep, insatiable hunger for more.

Jongseong tucks his cock away before looking down at you, the white dripping down your nose, chin and onto your chest. The sight makes him tremble, an aftershock of pure adoration for the messy girl before him. "You are so beautiful, baby," he murmurs, crouching down to wipe the seed from your face. Your lazy smile spreads across your lips, a blend of bliss and contentment washing over you. The intensity of the experience leaves you feeling floaty and disoriented, but there’s an underlying sense of satisfaction and connection that warms you from within.

"Just don't swear at me again, okay, pretty? You gotta trust me," he continues, opening your mouth with his thumb and sticking his fingers in, making you clean them up. The taste of his cum lingers as you obediently suck his fingers clean, your eyes overcast with a mixture of bliss and unfamiliarity. You nod, feeling a bit contrite.

"I'm sorry. It won’t happen again, I was just...surprised. You should have told me what we were doing." You can’t help but feel a twinge of regret. It would have been nice to have a heads-up that you were committing your first crime, even if you were just an accomplice.

Jongseong sighs, understanding your point of view. He helps you stand, his hands steadying you as your legs feel like jelly. He brushes the gravel from your knees, his fingers lingering slightly as he ogles at the indents and scrapes, oddly admiring the view. There's a gentleness in his touch, a stark contrast to the roughness of moments before.

"You would never have agreed to come with me if I did tell you. I wanted you to see and feel the rush of it all," he explains, his voice filled with conviction. He leans in, kissing your lips gently, the softness of his kiss a vastly different feeling from the burning in your throat and nose. "You did, didn’t you? You understand it now."

The memory of the heist flashes vividly in your mind, the exhilarating chaos of it all. Standing side by side with Jongseong as he robbed the bank was like stepping into another world, one where every second was charged with a thrilling sense of danger and excitement. The cold metal of the gun in his hand, the authoritative bark of his commands, and the wide-eyed fear in the faces of the bank staff and customers - it was a symphony of sensations that left your heart pounding in your chest in the best possible way.

You pause, the truth sinking in. "I...I do," you admit, knowing there’s no point in denying it. The rush, the adrenaline, it’s undeniable. But the risk, the fear of losing him, it lingers in your mind. "But there are other ways to get that same rush, ones that don't risk me losing you."

For the first time, Jongseong's heart feels like it's punching his rib cage. He can’t believe the depth of your concern, the intensity of your feelings for him. "I know, but I'm not going anywhere," he promises, his voice filled with sincerity. You give him a sceptical look, worry etched into your features. "I'll be careful. You're my good luck charm, and you're never leaving my side. So, what is there to worry about?"

Jongseong's arms wrap around you, bringing you closer. His warmth envelops you, providing a soothing presence amidst the chaos of your thoughts. You cuddle into his hug, a smile pulling to the middle of your cheeks. His steady, robust heartbeat is a calming contrast to your own. The lingering taste of him, the scent of sweat and musk, it’s all becoming music to your senses. 

He can't believe he has found someone so perfect for him. Someone to ground him and see his potential, even through everything. Maybe there is a part of him that wants to tone it down a little, because the fear of losing you too is something his heart doesn't want to bear thinking about.

Although the rush and excitement of breaking the law pumps the blood through his body, even just laying his eyes upon you has the same desired effect. Perhaps you could be his new rush. Jongseong had never considered another way to get his kicks because this is all he has known for so long, the window you're opening up in his mind lets him peep into what could be, rather than what he knows.

Sirens blare softly in the distance, almost acting as a backing track to your loving waltz. But you know you can’t stay standing here for long, very few roads to turn and navigate if they caught up to you. Looking up at him, you smile, oddly calm despite the circumstances around you. “Let’s go. We can book a motel.”

“Good shout. I don’t think I can wait to fuck you.”

You look puzzled, brow furrowing as you process his words. "Do you not hear the police? I mean we need to keep low."

Jongseong laughs, a low, rich sound that sends shivers down your spine. His hand traces your waist, fingers pressing gently into your skin. "Oh, I know," he says, his eyes twinkling with a mix of mischief and desire. "But I also meant what I said."

_____

The smell of chlorine fills the air, a sharp, clean scent that immediately evokes memories of summer afternoons spent poolside. Beneath the tang of chemicals lies the faintest hint of dampness, the kind that clings to cool tiles and wets the soles of your feet. The ambient humidity wraps around you like a warm blanket, the moisture hanging heavy in the air as you take careful steps forward, your senses heightened by the darkness that surrounds you.

A blindfold is secured over your eyes, its fabric soft against your skin, blocking out the world and leaving you in a realm of anticipation. Jongseong's hands are firm yet gentle on your arms, guiding you carefully, his touch reassuring as he leads you to the unknown. His fingers occasionally rub soothing circles on your arms, grounding you, while his lips brush tenderly against your shoulder, planting a kiss that sends a shiver of warmth through your body.

"Just a bit further," he murmurs, his voice a low, comforting rumble in your ear. The sound of it makes you smile, your heart swelling with affection, but the mystery of what lies ahead keeps a slight edge of nervousness tingling in your veins.

“Jjongie,” you giggle, a mix of excitement and anxiety bubbling in your chest. “What’s the surprise?”

He chuckles softly, the sound vibrating through you. “If I tell you, it wouldn’t be a surprise, would it?”

You laugh, but there’s a faint tremor of unease beneath your amusement. “I don’t like your surprises...” you say, trying to keep your tone light, but there’s a flicker of real concern in your voice.

Your mind drifts back to the last time Jongseong had surprised you. What was supposed to be a simple drive had turned into something much more exhilarating - and terrifying. He’d taken you on a late-night drag race, the adrenaline coursing through your veins as he floored the gas pedal. You’d ended up in his lap, your lips wrapped around him as he tried to navigate the twisting roads. The memory of him nearly crashing into a lamppost as he swerved around a corner, the car jerking violently while you were mid-act, flashes vividly in your mind. It had been thrilling, dangerous, and unforgettable, but it had also left you with a newfound wariness of his surprises.

Jongseong suddenly stops, halting your thoughts along with your steps. He releases his grip on your arms and takes a moment, his eyes scanning over the scene before him. You can sense the slight shift in his demeanour, the way his breath catches ever so slightly, as if he’s nervous, though he’s doing his best to hide it.

“Okay, are you ready?” he asks, his voice taking on a more serious tone, as if the moment ahead holds weight.

“It depends on what for,” you reply, your voice barely above a whisper as the tension in your chest tightens.

“Yes or no answer, darlin’,” he says, his tone gentle but firm.

You take a deep breath, trying to steady yourself as the anticipation builds. It crawls over your skin like tiny insects, a sensation that makes you think of the creepy-crawly trials from I’m a Celebrity...Get Me Out of Here. The unknown feels like it’s pressing down on you, making your heart race in your chest but in an excited, throwing-up way, not in an anxiety-inducing throwing-up way.

“Yeah...I’m ready,” you finally breathe out, your voice laced with a mix of courage and curiosity.

With that, Jongseong reaches up and slowly removes the blindfold. The world beyond the darkness gradually comes into focus as your eyes adjust to the light. You blink a few times, your vision sharpening, and then the scene before you fully reveals itself.

You find yourself standing at the edge of a beautifully lit gymnasium pool. The water is calm, its surface reflecting the soft glow of the lights that line the ceiling and walls. The pool stretches out before you, the deep blue water inviting and serene. The entire space is transformed, the usual harshness of a gymnasium replaced by an almost magical ambience. The soft glow of string lights hangs above, casting a warm, golden hue that dances across the water’s surface. Candles flicker gently along the edges, their flames steady despite the humidity, adding a touch of romance to the already enchanting atmosphere.

Your breath catches in your throat, your heart swelling with emotion as you take in the sight before you. “Jjongie...” you whisper, your voice thick with a mixture of awe and emotion. A smile begins to creep across your face, slow but unstoppable, and you feel a sting in your eyes as tears threaten to spill over.

“It’s nice, right?” Jongseong asks, his voice soft, filled with an affectionate warmth as he watches your reaction.

“Nice?” you echo, shaking your head in disbelief. “It’s beautiful. When did you do all of this?”

“A few hours ago, while you were getting ready,” he admits with a shy smile, rubbing the back of his neck as if the effort was no big deal, though you can tell he’s pleased with himself. It actually took him well over three hours to sort everything out, and an hour of that was simply to untangle the lights he had managed to wrap himself up in.

You look at him, the adoration you feel for him filling every corner of your being. The surprise, the thoughtfulness of it all, is overwhelming in the best possible way. It’s not just about the setting he’s created, but the care and effort he’s put into making this moment special for you.

As you step further into the softly lit gymnasium, your eyes catch sight of a blanket spread out near the edge of the pool, surrounded by twinkling fairy lights. The setup is simple yet thoughtful: a wicker basket sits in the centre, along with two plates, some cutlery, and an assortment of your favourite snacks. You can't help but smile as you notice a small bag of Percy Pig sweets peeking out from the basket, their bright, cartoonish faces bringing a touch of humour to the romantic setting.

Jongseong follows your gaze, a proud grin spreading across his face when he sees you've noticed the details. “See, I got all your favourites, even those ugly pigs,” he teases, the corners of his mouth twitching as he tries to keep a straight face.

You turn to him, feigning offence. “Excuse me? Percy Pig deserves respect.”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever you say,” he laughs, rolling his eyes playfully. “Now, sit down before I eat them all myself.”

You both settle down on the blanket, the fabric soft beneath you as Jongseong reaches for the basket. He pulls out a bottle of cheap wine and a pair of plastic glasses he bumped from Tesco, it’s not really stealing, just an accidental 'forgot to scan it' - along with the basket, some plates, and the fairy lights that encompass the space. He did pay for the wine though, that much he can pour guilt-free.

“This is really nice, Jonseong. But how did you manage to rent out the pool after hours?”

He takes a sip of his wine, a nonchalant shrug accompanying his response. “I know a guy.”

You narrow your eyes at him, scepticism evident in your expression, but you don’t press further. “Why did you choose this place? You know, picnics are usually in parks, not next to chlorine-filled water.”

Jongseong chuckles, his eyes twinkling with playful mischief. “Well, duh. I know I’ve spent most of my life in prison, but I do know basic picnic etiquette.” He rolls his eyes dramatically before continuing, “I just wanted to do something different. Trying to create an original experience, you know? Besides, I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but I’m not exactly fancy restaurant material.”

You laugh, the sound light and genuine, appreciating his honesty. “Yeah, I figured that out.”

The two of you sit in comfortable silence for a moment, the stillness only broken by the gentle lapping of the water and the hum of the old but functioning AC. The ambience is peaceful, the soft glow of the lights reflecting off the pool’s surface, creating a serene atmosphere that makes you feel completely at ease.

But there’s a question that has lingered in the back of your mind for some time now, one you’ve never dared to ask. You hesitate, the words sitting heavy on your tongue, unsure if now is the right moment to bring it up. Eventually, curiosity wins out, and you break the silence.

“Can I ask you something?”

Jongseong looks at you, his expression softening. “Anything, darlin’. You know that.”

You’ve always respected his privacy, never prying into his past because, in your mind, it didn’t matter. What mattered was the person he is now, the man who’s made you feel more cherished than anyone else ever has. But he’s mentioned his past in passing, little snippets here and there, and now feels like as good a time as any to learn more.

“When did you first go to prison?” you ask, your voice tentative, almost unsure.

His reaction is immediate, his eyes widening for a split second before he quickly downs the rest of his wine, using the alcohol as Dutch courage. Jongseong usually isn’t nervous about discussing his past, knowing that the judgement and resentment from others can’t change the path he’s driven down. But with you, it’s different. He doesn’t want you to see him in a different light, doesn’t want his past mistakes to taint the way you look at him now. 

You see the turmoil flickering across his face, and you quickly reach out, grabbing his hand to offer comfort. “It’s okay,” you say gently, squeezing his hand. “You don’t have to tell me...it was stupid of me to ask.”

He shakes his head, taking a deep breath as if steeling himself. “No, it’s not stupid. You deserve to know.” He pauses, his voice quieter when he finally speaks. “I was 16. They charged me with domestic assault.”

You feel your body tense up at his words, recoiling slightly, but before you can pull away. Though your brain doesn’t want to jump to that conclusion, it’s the first thing your mind flickers in front of your eyes. 

Jongseong squeezes your hand tightly, his eyes earnest and pleading as he sees you leap to conclusions that make him feel sick. “Oh God, no, not like that, baby,” he quickly clarifies. “I would kill myself before I ever laid a hand on my partner. I couldn’t even fathom the idea.”

Relief washes over you, your muscles relaxing as you search his eyes for the truth. “Then who?”

He looks away for a moment, his jaw clenching as he struggles to find the right words. “My dad,” he finally says, his voice rough with emotion. “He was fucking awful, and I just snapped one day after school. The neighbours called the police, and they carted me off. Next thing you know, I’m serving two months in juvie.”

You feel a surge of anger on his behalf, your heart aching at the thought of what he must have gone through. “He deserved it, though, right?” you ask, needing to hear it from him.

“Fuck yeah, he did,” Jongseong replies, his voice seething with barely contained rage. “Fucking prick was a good for nothing low life and let him know it. After that, it was just a downhill spiral. Selling, stealing, fighting... it’s hard to get out of that life once you’re in it.”

The rawness of his words hangs heavy in the air, the weight of his past pressing down on both of you. You can see the pain in his eyes, the memories of a life he’s tried so hard to leave behind. You want to say something, anything, to make it better, but words feel inadequate. Instead, you simply hold his hand tighter, letting him know that you’re here for him, that you’re not going anywhere.

As Jongseong finishes recounting his story, you listen intently, the gravity of his words settling over you. The conversation has taken a turn for the deeply personal, exposing vulnerabilities you had only glimpsed before. His past is a labyrinth of mistakes and regrets, mirroring the tangled web that ensnares people once they slip into a life of crime. It reminds you of your father’s own downward spiral, how once he got entangled in embezzling money, every effort to escape only seemed to complicate matters further. It’s a relentless cycle, each attempt to break free only making the situation worse. 

But as you gaze at Jongseong, with his defiant eyes and mischievous grin, you see a boy who, despite his reckless choices, has a core of goodness. The crimes he’s committed are not born from malice but from a life he was thrust into, a life he has never known how to escape. Maybe, just maybe, you can offer him a different path, one that leads to a better future.

“I think there’s a better life out there for you,” you say softly, your voice trembling with sincerity.

Jongseong meets your gaze, his eyes reflecting a depth of emotion that catches you off guard. He stares at you for a moment, his mind churning and eyes twinkling with realisation. “I think there is.”

A gentle smile begins to spread across your face. Despite the adrenaline-fueled adventures and the excitement of petty crimes you’ve shared with him, you’ve come to realise how much Jongseong means to you. The thrill has been exhilarating, but now it’s time to give back, to help him find the life he deserves. The life that’s not defined by theft and deceit but by something more meaningful.

“I got you something,” he says, breaking the silence with a hint of mischief in his tone.

Curiosity piques as you ask, “What is it?”

“Close your eyes,” he instructs, his voice light but carrying a touch of seriousness.

You comply, and the sounds of him rummaging through the picnic basket fill your ears. The rustling of items and the faint clink of metal create a suspenseful atmosphere. There’s a brief pause, and you hear him take a slow, steady breath. The anticipation is palpable, crawling up your spine like a swarm of butterflies, each flap of their wings a reminder of the momentous occasion unfolding.

“Okay, open.”

You slowly open your eyes, adjusting to the dim glow of the fairy lights that flicker around you. Jongseong holds out a tiny white box, his expression a mix of nervousness and hope. Your heart skips a beat as you take the box from him, the weight of it feeling surprisingly significant.

“Jongseong...” you whisper, a mixture of shock and affection in your voice.

“Open it,” he urges, his eyes locked onto yours with a fervent intensity.

With trembling hands, you lift the lid of the box. Inside, nestled in a bed of soft cotton, are two simple yet elegant rings. The sight of them takes your breath away, the understated beauty of the rings striking a chord deep within you.

“What is-”

“Now, don’t get ahead of yourself,” Jongseong interrupts, a playful glint in his eye. “I’m not proposing or anything. I love you, but I’m not letting you marry an unemployed loser who’s couch-hopping between friends’ flats. This is just to remind everyone that you’re mine.”

Your eyes widen, the significance of his words settling over you like a warm embrace. “Y-you love me?”

Jongseong looks at you as though your question is absurd. “Wasn’t it obvious? I’m literally obsessed with you.” He takes one of the rings and carefully slides it onto your finger. “I didn’t think I had to make a big song and dance about it when I show you how much I love you every day.”

The simple act of placing the ring on your finger speaks volumes. It’s not just a gesture; it’s a declaration of his feelings, one that surpasses words. Jongseong has never experienced love before, has no frame of reference, but if all those tacky magazines in the prison recreational room were correct, this is what love is supposed to feel like. It’s raw, sincere, and unfiltered.

It’s willing to become a better person for them.

“I love you too,” you say softly, the words flowing from your heart with a new depth. It’s the first time you’ve uttered those words to someone who wasn’t family, and the weight of the phrase carries a profound significance now. It’s not just about affection; it’s about a deep, abiding connection.

Jongseong’s laughter fills the air, a rich, throaty sound that resonates with joy. You tilt your head, puzzled by his sudden amusement. “What?”

“Well, duh!” he says, his tone a mix of mock arrogance and genuine affection. “You get googly-eyed every time you look at me. Even when I was getting carted off to prison, you were practically gushing over me - probably in more places than just your chest.” His gaze drops to your skirt, a cheeky smirk playing on his lips.

“Oh my God, shut up!” you exclaim, playfully shoving him. But as you do, his balance falters, and he tumbles backward into the pool with a splash. The cold water surges around him, and you burst into laughter at the sight of his surprised, spluttering face.

Before you can fully enjoy the moment, Jongseong’s hand shoots out, grabbing your wrist and pulling you into the pool with him. The shock of the cold water envelops you, the fabric of your dress clinging uncomfortably to your skin.

“Jongseong!” you cry out, trying to push him away as you sputter and splash him. “This is Prada!” You gesture to your drenched dress, the expensive fabric now ruined.

“And this” he retorts with a grin, pinching the soggy fabric of his non-designer t-shirt, “is from the lost and found box.” He gives you a sheepish smile, but when he sees your unamused expression, he quickly adds, “Okay, okay, I’ll buy you a new one.”

“It’s ￡700!” you protest, though there’s a playful undertone in your voice.

“Then I’ll steal you a new one,” he quips, his tone light but earnest.

You fix him with a serious look, though your lips twitch with a suppressed smile. “If you want me to keep this ring on,” you say, holding your hand out of the water to display the glinting band, “then you need to promise me you’ll stop stealing, and fighting, and anything else that could get you locked up.” Your voice grows more serious with each word. “I can’t lose you.”

Jongseong’s expression softens as he takes your hand in his, pressing a tender kiss to the ring before placing your hand over his heart. “Scout’s honour. For you, I’ll be on the straight and narrow. I solemnly swear that I, Park Jongseong, will never commit another crime.” His tone is light-hearted, but the sincerity in his eyes assures you that this promise is different from the ones he made before.

Just as you’re about to respond, a booming voice interrupts. “Hey! What are you two doing here?”

You both turn to see a security guard marching toward you, his face a mix of irritation and confusion. Jongseong glances at you with a sheepish grin, water dripping from his hair. “Well...starting now, I’ll commit no crimes.”

“Huh-” Before you can fully comprehend the situation, Jongseong is already dragging you out of the pool, his hand gripping yours tightly as you both scramble to your feet. You catch sight of the security guard sprinting toward you, his expression growing more determined.

“I thought you said your friend helped you out?” you huff as you run alongside him.

“Yeah, my friend called Lockpick,” Jongseong replies with a grin that reaches his eyes, bending down to pick his ring up. “Now come on, let’s get out of here.”

Despite the chaos, you find yourself mirroring his bright smile. Maybe you’ll let him commit some crimes after all - just as long as you’re along for the ride.

_____

The reflection in the mirror feels like a portal to the past, a glimpse into a version of yourself you thought you’d left behind. The long, opulent gown drapes elegantly over your frame, its intricate embroidery catching the light in a way that’s both nostalgic and unfamiliar. The diamond earrings - a gift from your father on your 16th birthday - sparkle with a cold brilliance, a stark reminder of the expectations that have always weighed heavily on your shoulders. Your hair is styled in a sleek, elegant updo, every strand meticulously in place, as if you were once again the picture-perfect daughter in his carefully curated world.

It’s been months since you last had to dress like this, stepping into a role that now feels more like a distant memory than a reality. But tonight is different. Tonight is a special occasion. It’s the night of your father’s grand welcome-back party, a lavish affair meant to reintroduce him to the world of business after years behind bars. This event is more than just a celebration; it’s a calculated move to solidify his reputation as a formidable figure in the corporate world, a moneyed tyrant who, against all odds, has maintained his iron grip on power.

Despite the scandals that would have buried anyone else, your father’s influence remains unshaken. His business partners and corporate clients still stand by his side, drawn by the promise of wealth and the unspoken agreements that bind them together. Perhaps it’s the money he’s skillfully laundered for them over the years or the secrets he’s kept buried deep, that have ensured their loyalty. The room will be filled with men in tailored suits, their faces masked with polite smiles, but beneath the surface, a web of silent transactions and mutual dependencies will be at play. 

You love your father, you really do, but big soirees like this have never been your thing. Attending them always felt like a chore rather than a time of relaxation and merriment. Maybe it was because of the prestige and pressure it was being your father’s daughter, or maybe it was the constant polite smile and meaningless interactions with people you didn’t know that weighed down the atmosphere.

Either way, you had to show up for your father, just as you are now. He would be so disappointed if you missed this and you can’t bear the thought. So you will put up with the uncomfortable attire for at least a night.

The good news is, one man will be by your side the entire night, a thought that washes over you like a wave of relief. Jongseong's presence brings you an immense sense of ease, though the prospect of him meeting your father for the first time still stirs a flutter of anxiety in your chest. It has to happen eventually, and what better setting than a crowded party where distractions abound?

Jongseong isn’t a people person and he avoids interaction unless absolutely necessary. The only person he ever makes an exception for is you, which is why he agreed to accompany you tonight despite his discomfort. You know how much this evening will demand of him - being surrounded by a crowd so different from him, full of people who thrive on small talk and business banter. But he would do anything for you, simply because he loves you. And you know that no combination of words could ever fully express your gratitude for that.

As you twirl a strand of hair into place, you steal a glance at the ring on your finger, smiling at the symbolic silver. It puts some comfort into your chest even as you mentally brace yourself for whatever the night will bring. You step out of the bathroom and your eyes immediately find Jongseong. He stands in front of the free-standing mirror in your dorm room, struggling with his tie, wrapping it around and around, only to fumble with the knot.

A soft giggle escapes your lips, drawing Jongseong's attention. His head snaps up, and the frustration in his eyes melts away, replaced by a look of pure awe. His gaze softens, shimmering with admiration as he takes you in. It never seems to matter whether you're dressed in sweatpants or a £5,000 gown - Jongseong always looks at you as if you are the only person in the world.

To him, you are. The only one who truly matters, anyway.

“Holy shit,” he mumbles, his hands dropping from the black silk tie as he stands there, completely mesmerised. He takes in how the dress hugs your waist, how your hair frames your face perfectly, and he suddenly feels unworthy to even be in your presence. “You look so beautiful, darlin’. You make diamonds look dull.”

Your heart flutters at his words, and you dip your head slightly, trying to hide the blush creeping up your cheeks. Slowly, you walk over to him, smiling softly. “Thank you, Jjongie. You look really handsome,” you reply, your voice earnest and full of affection. And it’s true - he looks like something out of a wet dream, the kind you've had more times than you’d ever admit. The way his fitted black trousers accentuate his frame, the crisp white shirt that contrasts so beautifully against his tanned skin, and the fresh undercut that highlights the angles of his face - all of it makes you want to forget about the party entirely and lose yourself in him.

As you reach him, you gently take the tie he was struggling with earlier and start to tie it, your fingers deftly creating a Windsor knot that could rival any royal affair. You’ve done this countless times for your father, and the thought crosses your mind of how he might be feeling as he dons a suit for the first time in five years.

Jongseong tilts his head back slightly as you loop the end of the tie through, fidgeting like a restless child. “Hold still,” you chide him with a playful roll of your eyes, amused by his toddler-like impatience.

“I fucking hate ties,” he grumbles, trying his best not to squirm as you pull the knot tight. Jongseong has never been one for formalwear; he despises suits with a passion. The only times he’s ever worn one have been for court dates and funerals, events that always seem to bring trouble in their wake. To him, the tie feels less like an accessory and more like a silk noose.

You sigh softly, nodding in understanding. “I know, baby, but please, just bear with it. Tonight is important.” Your voice is gentle, and you shoot him an apologetic glance as you finish adjusting the tie, making sure it’s perfectly in place.

Jongseong knows how much this evening means to you. He’s also noticed the subtle changes in you ever since your father regained his freedom. He’s not blind to the way you’ve become a little more reserved, a little more cautious. He wonders if it’s just the anxiety of tonight or if it’s the looming reality that your father will soon learn about your relationship with him, along with his not-so-angelic extracurricular activities. Either way, Jongseong has been extra vigilant, more protective of you than ever.

You pin the tie bar in place, stepping back to admire your handiwork with a smile. “There, not so bad, huh?”

“I feel like a circus attraction,” he mutters, resisting the urge to loosen the knot and unbutton the collar. Formalwear has never been his style, and tonight feels like he’s being paraded in front of an audience he wants nothing to do with.

You place your hands on his chest, rubbing small circles to ease the tension you can feel building beneath your palms. “I would come to see you perform every day,” you joke lightly, rising on your tiptoes to press a soft kiss to his lips. His mouth is warm, his lips soft, making you wish they were attached to yours every second of the day.

A smirk tugs at the corners of Jongseong’s mouth as his hands find their way to your hips, pulling you closer. He deepens the kiss, his tongue tracing the outline of your lips, the sensation causing your carefully applied Charlotte Tilbury Pillow Talk lipstick to smudge and transfer onto him. The kiss grows more intense, erasing all thoughts of the party, the people, and even the daunting meeting with your father. For a moment, it’s just the two of you, and nothing else matters.

But it can’t last forever, as much as you wish it could. In an ideal world, Jongseong would rip the overpriced dress off your body, and the two of you wouldn’t leave your dorm room for days. Yet, reality pulls you back, and with it, the obligations of the night. You reluctantly pull away, feeling the weight of the evening settling back into place.

Jongseong instinctively tries to follow your lips, but you step back, offering him a remorseful smile. “C’mon. We need to head downstairs. Sunghoon should be arriving to pick us up in a couple of minutes.”

At the mention of another man’s name, your boyfriend’s ears perk up, and his eyebrows knit together in suspicion. “Sunghoon?” He practically spits the name out, his jaw tightening visibly. There’s an edge to his voice, one you recognise all too well.

You roll your eyes playfully, familiar with Jongseong’s lack of enthusiasm when another man is in the same room as you. “Babe, he’s just the driver for my parents. They insisted he pick us up,” you explain, your tone gentle but firm, hoping to diffuse his growing irritation.

Jongseong’s gaze softens a fraction, though a trace of his protectiveness lingers. “I could drive us,” he offers, his voice low, the implication clear. He wants to be the one to look after you, not someone he doesn’t know.

Exhaling loudly, you shake your head and cross your arms. “If you drive us, you won’t be able to drink. Now imagine being in a room full of upper-class businessmen and not one ounce of Jack Daniels in your system?” 

That gives Jongseong food for thought as he stands in silence, weighing up the pros and cons of an alcohol-free night next to pretentious laughter and fake compliments. He shivers at the thought, his body visibly shaking at the idea of sobriety. 

The look on his face causes you to laugh and nod your head. “Exactly. Now come on.”

Your boyfriend loosens his tie slightly, prioritising his comfort over meeting your father’s strict expectations. The simple gesture sends a ripple of unease through you, as if the crooked tie is a symbol of everything that could go wrong tonight. You wouldn’t say you’re normally an uptight person, but moments like these set your nerves on edge, making every little detail feel like it carries immense weight.

As you pick up your handbag, you pause at the front door, bracing yourself for the conversation you know you need to have. Your heart races, fearing how Jongseong might react. “Jongseong?”

“Yeah, darlin’?” he replies, his voice softening as he senses your hesitation.

You swallow, choosing your words carefully. “Please don’t…embarrass me tonight.”

The words hang in the air, and you immediately regret how they sound. Jongseong’s expression shifts, confusion flickering across his face as he narrows his eyes. For as long as he has been yours, he’s never known you to be embarrassed by him. “When have I eve-”

“Maybe not embarrass, but…” you interrupt, realising your words came out harsher than you intended. “Just don’t be so overprotective or try to hunt down any man that looks at me or breathes next to me. I love you so much for it, but not tonight, okay? This is a big deal for my dad, and I need you two to get along.”

You see the surprise in his eyes as he processes your request. Despite your concerns, you can’t help but adore his possessive nature - the way he scowls and asserts his claim over you in front of anyone he sees as a threat. The way he reacted to Sunghoon’s name even sent a thrill through you, though you knew tonight wasn’t the time for that. You need him to dial it back, and surprisingly, he doesn’t push back.

Instead, Jongseong simply takes the Prada bag from your hand, his fingers interlocking with yours. There’s a playful smile tugging at the corners of his lips, a sign that he understands your embarrassment isn’t about him but about the high expectations your father holds.

“We’ll get along just fine, darlin’. We already have so much in common. We can swap prison stories,” he jokes, but the humour is lost on you. Your gaze hardens, stern enough that it could turn anyone to stone, and he immediately raises the hand holding your bag in mock defence.

“Okay, okay. I’ll behave,” he promises, his tone shifting to a more sincere one. “But if anyone speaks out of line about you, I’m knocking them into next Thursday.”

You sigh, the tension easing slightly as you nod in agreement. “Thank you,” you murmur, leaning in to peck his cheek in gratitude. The small gesture of affection helps to soothe the lingering anxiety, and as you walk him out the door, your heart feels a little lighter.

_____

As expected, when you arrive, the scene before you looks like something straight out of Jay Gatsby’s wildest fantasies. The sprawling 13-bedroom mansion, once your childhood home, has been transformed into a shimmering spectacle of wealth. Guests are crowded around the grand entrance, their laughter and chatter spilling out onto the manicured lawn. The estate is alive with the hum of a party that promises decadence at every turn, a stark reminder of the world your father has clawed his way back into.

Despite the legal battles and the assets stripped from him, your father had been too cunning for the law. He’d anticipated the fallout, shielding the most valuable pieces of his empire under your mother’s name. The house, the cars, even some of the art that adorns the walls - they all remained untouched, legally out of reach.

You take a deep breath, feeling the weight of the evening settle over you as you step out of the car. Jongseong is by your side in an instant, his presence a steady anchor amidst the swirl of luxury and status. His hand intertwines with yours, a silent promise that he’s with you every step of the way. Although he might be uncomfortable, his main priority is ensuring your happiness throughout the night.

As you both approach the entrance, the grandeur of the night unfolds around you. The glittering chandeliers cast a warm glow over the marbled floors, and the air is thick with the scent of expensive perfumes and cigars. The crowd parts slightly as you and Jongseong make your way inside, their eyes flicking toward you, assessing, judging, some with curiosity, others with veiled envy. 

Jongseong’s grip on your hand tightens ever so slightly, a small but reassuring gesture. You glance up at him, catching the faintest smirk on his lips as he surveys the scene. He’s out of his element here, but you can tell he’s already sizing up the room, assessing who’s who and what role they might play tonight. There’s an edge to him that you can’t help but feel guilty for, placing him in an environment that you know won’t accept him.

Even though his tattoos are covered and his criminal status is concealed behind the expensive suit you bought him, these people sniff out those who aren’t like them, making it known by the judgement on their faces.

Gazing around, Jongseong quickly understands why you’ve been so anxious about tonight. The reality of this world is even worse than anything he could have imagined. The opulence, the haughty faces, the way the guests carry themselves with an air of superiority - it’s suffocating. How you were raised among these people and managed to emerge with your spirit intact is beyond him, but it makes one thing abundantly clear.

“Now I know why you came begging me for a change of pace,” he whispers in your ear, his eyes never leaving the snobbish guests who seem to be measuring each other up as much as they are the room itself.

You twist your head to look at him, a curious expression on your face. “I did not beg,” you correct him, recalling your first encounter differently than he does, the memory bringing a smile to your lips.

Jongseong shrugs, a playful grin spreading across his face as he swings your bag lightly by his side. “Well, you certainly were begging the day I got out. What was it you said to me in the car?” he teases, eyes sparkling with mischief as your cheeks start to heat up at the memory. “That’s it! It was ‘Please, Jongseong, I can’t take it-’”

Your hand shoots up to cover his mouth, your eyes widening in playful horror, though a laugh escapes your lips before you can stifle it, making your attempt at scolding him lose some of its edge. “Stop it! This is what I meant by behaving,” you warn, though your tone is more amused than stern.

Jongseong chuckles against your palm, his eyes softening as he leans in to kiss it gently before lowering it from his lips. “Actually, you said not to get possessive,” he counters, still grinning. “You should have been more specific.”

You shake your head, trying to suppress your own smile as you meet his flirty and playful gaze. He has a way of easing your nerves even in the most tense situation. 

As you share a quiet laugh with Jongseong, the warmth of the moment is interrupted by the sudden approach of a familiar figure from your past. A woman with perfectly styled blonde hair and a designer dress that practically screams old money makes her way toward you, her smile wide and fake, the kind that never quite reaches the eyes. You recognize her immediately - Emily, a girl you once called a friend before your father’s fall from grace. Her presence alone is enough to make your stomach turn, knowing the kind of person she truly is.

“Y/N! Oh my God, it’s been forever!” Emily exclaims, her voice dripping with an over-the-top enthusiasm that you know is completely fabricated. She flings her arms around you in a hug that’s more for show than anything else, the scent of her expensive perfume cloying as it invades your senses.

You force a smile, stepping back slightly as you extricate yourself from her embrace. “Emily, it’s...good to see you,” you reply, keeping your tone polite but guarded. The last thing you want is to give her any ammunition, especially not tonight. 

It’s not just Jongseong that has to behave.

“I was just telling everyone how much I missed you,” she gushes, her tone oozing false sincerity as she waves her hand around, drawing attention to her perfect manicure. “I mean, it’s just been so sad without you around. How have you been? And your father - what a comeback, right?”

The mention of your father sends a pang of irritation through you, but you maintain your composure, nodding politely. “Yes, it’s been a challenging time, but he is getting through it.”

Emily doesn’t miss a beat, already shifting her focus as her eyes flicker over to Jongseong. Her smile widens, eyes sparkling with interest as she takes in his tall, imposing figure. “And who is this?” she asks, her tone dropping into something far more flirtatious. Without waiting for an introduction, she steps closer to him, batting her eyelashes in a way that’s almost comical. “You must be new around here. I’m Emily,” she purrs, her hand reaching out to lightly touch his arm.

Jongseong’s expression shifts instantly, his easygoing demeanor turning icy cold. He doesn’t flinch, but the look in his eyes makes it clear that her touch is entirely unwelcome. He slowly peels her hand off his arm, his disgust barely concealed. “Jongseong,” he says curtly, his voice devoid of any warmth or interest.

Emily’s confidence wavers, but she recovers quickly, trying to brush off his reaction as if it were nothing. “Well, Jongseong, if you ever need someone to show you around, I’d be happy to-”

“Not interested,” Jongseong cuts her off, his tone sharp enough to slice through her facade. He shifts slightly, positioning himself closer to you, making it clear that he’s not here to entertain her or anyone else.

Emily's smile falters at Jongseong’s blunt dismissal, but she’s not one to back down so easily. She adjusts her posture, regaining some of her poise as she leans in closer, clearly determined to salvage the situation. “Oh, of course,” she says with a laugh that sounds more forced than genuine. “But you know, sometimes it helps to have a fresh perspective. Someone who knows how these events work, who can help you navigate the crowd.” She casts a glance at you, her eyes flickering with something that resembles pity before she looks back at Jongseong, her flirtatious tone back in full force. “I mean, you wouldn’t want to get lost in all this chaos, right?”

Jongseong doesn’t even dignify her with a glance this time, his patience visibly wearing thin. He can feel the subtle shift in your posture, the way your hand tightens around his, signalling your growing irritation. The last thing he wants is for this interaction to ruin your night - or worse, to make you feel anything less than the incredible person you are.

He sighs softly, more to himself than anyone else, before turning his full attention to Emily, his expression hardening. “Listen,” he begins, his voice low and steely, “I don’t need anyone to navigate this place, least of all someone who doesn’t know when to back off.” He steps even closer to you, his arm slipping around your waist possessively, pulling you snugly against his side. “I’m here with my girl. She’s all the perspective I need, and she’s the only one I’m interested in listening to.”

Emily’s bravado crumbles further, her forced smile now barely holding together as she realises she’s completely outmatched. The icy edge in Jongseong’s voice leaves no room for misunderstanding - her presence is neither wanted nor tolerated. She tries to laugh it off again, but it comes out as more of a strained chuckle. “Well, I didn’t mean to intrude,” she mutters, clearly flustered, as she takes a small step back.

Jongseong doesn’t let up, his gaze still fixed on her, making sure she fully understands. “You did,” he replies bluntly, “but you can fix that by walking away.”

You watch the exchange, feeling a mix of relief and admiration for the way Jongseong handled it. He didn’t just brush Emily off - he shut her down in a way that left no room for further attempts. You can’t help the smug smile that is etching onto your face.

Emily finally seems to get the message. With one last awkward smile, she turns on her heel and hurries off into the crowd, her confidence shattered. You let out a breath you didn’t realise you were holding, the tension in your body slowly easing as she disappears from sight.

Jongseong looks down at you, his expression softening instantly as he brushes a strand of hair behind your ear. “You okay?” he asks gently, his tone a stark contrast to the icy one he’d used just moments ago.

“Yeah. Let’s go get a drink.”

“Music to my fucking ears,” he laughs, pressing a tender kiss to the top of your head before letting you lead the way to the kitchen. The hum of the party surrounds you, but all you can focus on is the comfort of his presence.

As you walk, Jongseong asks, “Why did she even come up to you? Didn’t you say they all turned on you once they found out what your dad had done?”

You nod, casting a glance at the sea of faces that once belonged to people you called friends. Now, they wave at you as if the last five years of cold shoulders and whispered gossip had never happened. “Yeah, but back then, they didn’t know my dad had managed to keep a massive chunk of his money. While he might not be a billionaire anymore, he’s still a millionaire - and that matters more to them than a prison sentence.”

Jongseong raises an eyebrow, his expression a mix of incredulity and disgust. “So they would’ve stuck around if you’d just shown them your bank account?”

“Pretty much,” you sigh. “But Dad warned me not to flaunt the money he’d managed to save, just in case HMRC came snooping again. So when they thought our family lost everything, they ditched me without a second thought.”

You pause as the reality of it all sinks in, the bitterness of that betrayal still fresh. The socialite life was all you had known - luxury, parties, and a circle of 'friends' who thrived on status. But when your family needed support the most, they scattered like leaves in the wind, leaving you to navigate the fallout alone.

“Darlin’,” he begins, his voice low and soothing as his thumb traces slow circles over your waist, pulling you closer to his side. “You’re worth more than any thick-wallet prick in here,” he assures you, his tone filled with a sincerity that makes your heart swell. And you know he means it. If you were anything like the sea of people flooding your childhood home, he would never have given you a second glance.

But Jongseong saw the real you. From the moment his eyes locked onto yours in that cold, sterile visiting room, he knew there was something deeper inside of you - a spark, a fire that refused to be dimmed by circumstance. It’s why he held you so close then, why he slipped that ring onto your finger with unwavering certainty, and why he’s fallen so madly in love with you. To him, you are the closest thing to perfection, a rare and beautiful soul in a world obsessed with superficiality.

Despite the designer clothes that drape your frame, Jongseong sees beyond the surface. He sees your heart - pure, honest, and untainted by the judgmental ways of those around you. He knows you crave something more, a life that pulses with thrill and adrenaline, and he’s vowed to give you just that until his last breath.

Reaching the bar tucked away in the back of the kitchen, Jongseong picks up two champagne glasses and hands you one. He watches the bubbles rise rapidly, a sign of the high quality, and it sparks a question in his mind.

“Can I ask something?” he begins, his tone careful.

“Sure,” you reply, your gaze still lingering on the crowd outside.

“I know your dad still has money, but how is he allowed to keep making it if he stole millions? Surely that puts him on some sort of corporate blacklist?”

Before you can respond, a deep, familiar voice cuts through the air, stopping you cold. “Well, actually, son, no one can stop you from making money other than yourself.”

Your eyes widen as you whirl around to face him. Your father stands before you, looking nothing like the man you last saw behind bars. He’s put together, polished, every bit the powerful businessman he once was. His suit is immaculate, tailored to perfection, and his cufflinks gleam, catching the light and silently broadcasting his wealth.

The transformation is startling. Gone is the weary, defeated figure you remember. In his place stands a man who looks like he’s never missed a day in the office, as though the years of scandal and incarceration were nothing more than a minor inconvenience. His presence is commanding, and it’s clear that the fall from grace hasn’t stripped him of his confidence - if anything, it’s sharpened it.

Jongseong’s grip on your waist tightens subtly, a silent show of support as your father’s eyes sweep over the two of you. The tension in the room thickens, and you feel yourself shrinking under the weight of his gaze. The confidence you’ve worked so hard to build falters, replaced by a shyness and timidity that Jongseong hasn’t seen in you for a long time. It’s as if you’ve reverted to the woman you were when he first met you - uncertain, reserved, and desperate for approval.

This isn’t the version of you that Jongseong knows and loves. You’ve grown so much since then - becoming strong, confident, and unafraid to live life on your own terms. You’ve finally broken free from the need to be a good girl for your father, embracing the freedom that comes with living for yourself. But that was easier when your dad wasn’t standing right in front of you, his mere presence pulling you back into the shadows of your past.

Jongseong feels a pang of frustration as he watches you retreat into yourself. Everything he’s done - every word, every action - has been for your sake, to help you see your full potential. Even the blowjob he made you give as punishment on the cliff a few months ago was meant to ignite the spark inside you, no matter how harsh or cruel it might have seemed at the time. Because when you love someone, you want to see them thrive, to become the best version of themselves.

But as he watches your father’s influence pull you back, he realises that this whole life - the expectations, the wealth, the need for validation - holds you back from that. Your father is the anchor chaining you to a life you’ve outgrown, and Jongseong knows that as long as he’s around, you’ll never truly be free to be the person you’re meant to be. And that’s what hurts him the most - seeing the woman he loves, who’s fought so hard to break free, being dragged back into the very world she’s been subconsciously trying to escape.

“Who’s your friend?” your father asks, his tone dismissive as he deliberately reduces Jongseong’s role in your life to that of a mere acquaintance. He doesn’t even spare him a glance, focusing instead on you with a look that makes your heart race with anxiety.

“Dad, this is Park Jongseong. He’s my boyfriend, actually,” you reply, but your voice grows quieter with each word, betraying the confidence that usually defines you.

It feels like being hit with a brick as you watch your father’s mean stare shift to Jongseong, sizing him up, looking for flaws, for any reason to disapprove. The tension is suffocating, and you can’t help but feel the weight of your dad’s judgement pressing down on you.

Your father’s eyes narrow slightly, and after a moment of uncomfortable silence, he asks, “How did you two meet?”

You hesitate, suddenly realising that the truth might not be the best option. You should have thought of something more palatable, maybe something like Tinder or Hinge - anything but the truth. Your mind scrambles for a safer answer, but before you can stutter out a response, Jongseong steps in, his hand tightening on your hip as he smiles confidently.

“Prison, actually,” he says, his voice smooth and unbothered.

Your father’s expression barely changes, but the atmosphere in the room grows even heavier. “Oh? And what were you in for?” he asks, his tone as sharp as ever.

Jongseong meets your father’s gaze evenly, a hint of amusement flickering in his eyes. “Now, sir, you know that’s the number one rule of prison - don’t ask a man his crime.”

Your father’s lips press into a thin line. “Well, you know mine and you seem to want to dig your nose further into my business. It’s only fair I know yours, considering you’re chasing my daughter.”

Jongseong almost laughs at the word ‘chasing’ as if he hadn’t had you wrapped around his finger from the moment your eyes first met. “Let’s just say my conviction only landed me a few months and not five years.”

You nudge Jongseong’s side sharply, panic flaring in your chest. This isn’t what you wanted. You wanted them to get along, for your father to see the man you love the way you do. But instead, it feels like they’re circling each other, sizing each other up like adversaries in a game where you’re the prize. The tension between them is thick, and you can feel the clash of their personalities reverberating through the air.

Even with the sharpness of Jongseong’s words, your father doesn’t flinch. Instead, he recovers with the kind of ruthless calm that only years of power and manipulation can teach. He steps closer, eyes narrowing as they lock onto Jongseong with cold precision.

“Is that so?” your father begins, voice low and dripping with disdain. “I’ve always believed a man’s past speaks volumes about his future. What exactly does yours say?”

Jongseong doesn’t back down, his grip on your waist firm, almost possessive. “It says I learn, I adapt, and I move forward.”

Your father’s eyes harden, his lip curling into a sneer. “Adapting is for the weak. Real men don’t make mistakes in the first place.”

Jongseong’s smile is icy, his eyes flashing with barely restrained anger. “Is that what you told yourself when you ended up behind bars? Or is that just the lie you’ve convinced everyone else to believe?”

The words hit like a punch, and for a split second, something dark and dangerous flickers in your father’s eyes. But he quickly masks it with a cruel smirk. “I’d watch who you’re speaking to, kid.”

“Oh, I am,” Jongseong replies, his voice steady but laced with venom. He leans in slightly, his gaze unwavering as he adds, “I’m just not a fan of the view, if I’m being honest.”

Your father’s wicked grin tightens, the facade of civility cracking just enough to reveal the simmering rage beneath. He steps back, his eyes narrowing as he takes in Jongseong’s defiance. “You think you’re clever, don’t you? But cleverness won’t get you far in my world. You’ll find that out soon enough.”

Jongseong doesn’t flinch, his expression hard as steel. “I’m not in your world. And I don’t want to be.”

For a moment, the tension between them is palpable, a silent battle of wills that electrifies the air around you. Your father’s gaze flicks to you, his eyes cold and calculating, as if weighing his next move. Then, just as quickly, he turns on his heel, dismissing you both with a scoff.

The confrontation leaves you seething, a turbulent mix of anger and frustration churning inside you. You turn to Jongseong, your eyes alight with fury, the fire of your indignation barely restrained. “I told you this was important to me! Why would you speak to him like that?” Your voice is sharp, quivering with raw, unfiltered emotion that has been simmering beneath the surface, threatening to spill over.

Jongseong meets your gaze with a hardened expression, frustration and determination reflected in his eyes. “Because, unlike you, Y/N, I don’t have to pretend to be someone I’m not in front of your dad.”

The accusation hits you like a slap, your eyes widening in disbelief. “What’s that supposed to mean?” you demand, your heart hammering against your ribs, the blood pounding in your ears.

Jongseong steps closer, his voice dropping to a lower, more deliberate tone, yet the weight of his words lands heavily. “Look at yourself. The moment you heard his voice, you shrank. You’re biting your lip like you did when we first met - nervous, unsure. I’m not exactly close with my own family, but I’d say you shouldn’t regress to a scared little girl just because your dad is around.”

His words strike a nerve, a pang of guilt mingling with your anger. The urge to defend yourself rises within you, but the sting of his observations cuts too deep, slicing through your defences. The bitter truth of it, undeniable as it is, leaves you reeling. The moment your father entered the room, all the strength and confidence you’ve painstakingly built crumbled, leaving you feeling vulnerable, like the uncertain girl you once were.

You open your mouth to retort, but no words come. Instead, a flood of frustration and hurt surges through you, overwhelming your capacity to respond. Your hand shakes as you grab your drink, the glass cool against your skin, a stark contrast to the burning turmoil inside. Without a second thought, you down it in one long, desperate gulp, the sharp burn of alcohol barely registering as you push past Jongseong.

Your footsteps are heavy and determined, as you weave through the crowd, making your way out of the extravagant party and up the stairs to find some solace. You hear Jongseong call after you, but you don’t turn back. His brutally honest words, coupled with your father’s oppressive presence, have left you feeling raw and exposed, your every nerve frayed. 

You push open the door to your old bedroom, the wood groaning in protest as you force your way inside. The room is a ghost of your past, a time capsule of your childhood preserved in pale pink walls and delicate lace curtains. The bed, still dressed in floral sheets that once seemed so perfect, now feels foreign -  too innocent. The room should have felt comforting, like a sanctuary. Instead, it feels like a cage, trapping you in a version of yourself you no longer recognise.

Jongseong is right behind you, his presence filling the doorway as he refuses to let you retreat into silence. “Don’t walk away from me, Y/N,” he says, his voice low but firm, tinged with a desperation you rarely hear from him. “This isn’t how we do things.” He will always make sure that any argument that arises between you is figured out then and there, knowing how unresolved issues lead to cracks in any relationship, and he refuses to let your father be the hole in your boat.

You whirl around to face him, anger and hurt warring within you. “Well, sorry if being called a scared little girl by my boyfriend makes me not want to speak to him,” you snap, the words dripping with sarcasm and bitterness. The accusation still stings, a wound that refuses to heal.

Jongseong steps further into the room, closing the door behind him with a soft click. His expression is stern, but there’s a flicker of pain in his eyes, a crack in his resolve that you can’t ignore. “Then fight me on it,” he challenges, his voice rising with frustration. “But you can’t, can you? Because you know it’s true.”

You shake your head, the denial is quick and sharp. “It’s not, Jongseong. You just wouldn’t get it.”

His laugh is bitter, cutting through the tense atmosphere like a blade. “Why? Because I’m not upper class and drinking my weight in champagne that costs more than your college tuition?” His words are laced with an edge, a defensive wall thrown up to protect himself from the hurt he feels.

You recoil, the accusation striking a chord you hadn’t expected. “You know I don’t mean it like that.”

“Then what do you mean?” he presses, his gaze unwavering. “You love me for who I am, right? Because class doesn’t matter to you, and you see me for who I am?”

“Exactly,” you reply, the word strong and meaningful. It’s the truth - you do see him, all of him, you saw him as more than his prison uniform, you saw him as more than the scum society makes him out to be, you see him as your equal, not someone below you.

Jongseong takes a step closer, his voice softening as he reaches out to you. “That’s exactly my point. I see you for everything you are, past the good girl and quiet mouse, because you’re more than that. You’re confident, powerful, your mind is so fucking strong, baby. So why on earth are you turning into someone who’s scared to even breathe too loud as soon as he steps in front of you?”

His words pierce through your defences, and you feel a familiar knot of anxiety tightening in your chest. “Because, Jongseong, he would be so fucking disappointed in me,” you confess, the admission tumbling out before you can stop it. The weight of your father’s expectations, of the life he’s tried to mould you into, hangs heavy over you. “He told me my entire life to stay out of trouble, to be a good girl, keep my nose clean, and just get through life. If he finds out I-”

You falter, the words catching in your throat. You can’t bring yourself to finish the sentence, to admit the truth that’s been festering inside you for so long.

Jongseong doesn’t let you hide from it. “You what? Actually found someone who makes you happy and lets you breathe?” His voice is intense, but there’s an underlying gentleness to it, a plea for you to see what he sees. “Y/N, he’s trapping you, and you can’t even fucking see it. That first day you came to see me in prison, you told me you wanted to do something for you, something reckless. You want out of this life, Y/N, and he’s gonna drag you by the feet back into it. He might have gotten out of prison but he’s trapping you in one.”

His words cut through the fog of fear and doubt that’s been clouding your mind, the truth of them undeniable. The life your father envisioned for you - a life of safety, of predictability - has always felt like a gilded cage, something that kept you comfortable, but never truly alive. The past few months with Jongseong have been a whirlwind, a taste of something real, something that makes you feel like you’re actually living instead of just existing. And yet, here you are, retreating back into old patterns.

Jongseong takes another step closer, his hands reaching out to cup your face, his touch warm and grounding. “I’m sorry but I’m not going to watch the love of my life lose herself, all to please a hypocritical prick.”

The tears that have been threatening to fall finally spill over, and you close your eyes, letting the weight of his words sink in. He’s right. You hate the mundane, prissy life you’ve been living, the one that your father insists is the only right path for you. The past few months with Jongseong have been the most precious, the most real, moments of your life. But even as you were getting ready for tonight, you could feel yourself slipping back into those old, timid ways, the ones your father would approve of.

You open your eyes, meeting Jongseong’s gaze, and for the first time, you allow yourself to truly acknowledge the truth. The life your father wants for you isn’t the one you want for yourself. And as terrifying as that realisation is, it’s also liberating.

Your voice trembles as you finally speak, the weight of everything crashing down on you. "I’m sorry, Jongseong," you murmur, your words carrying a multitude of apologies: sorry for lashing out, sorry for dragging him to this party, sorry for trying to hide who he is from everyone downstairs who didn’t even deserve to know him, sorry for all of it.

But before you can continue, Jongseong cuts you off, his voice firm but tender. “Don’t you dare fucking apologise, darlin’.” He pulls you into his arms, holding you so tightly that it feels like he’s trying to shield you from the world itself. His embrace is warm, strong, grounding - everything you need right now. “I just want you to be happy. It might come off as mean but if I have to thump it into your head by showing some tough love I will.”

His words are more than just a declaration; they’re a vow. A promise that he will protect your happiness at all costs, even if it means standing against your father or anyone else who threatens it. You can feel the fierce determination in the way he holds you, as if he’s ready to take on the entire world if that’s what it takes to keep you safe, to keep you smiling.

You look up at him, your eyes searching his, and what you see there makes your heart swell. He’s not just saying these things - he means them, every single word. “I am happy,” you whisper, your voice soft but full of conviction. The truth of it warms you from the inside out because you know that your happiness isn’t tied to the gilded expectations of your father or the superficial approval of those downstairs. It’s here, in Jongseong’s arms, in the life you’re building together.

His eyes soften at your words, the tension in his shoulders easing slightly as he leans down. The moment hangs in the air, thick with unspoken emotion, and then his lips meet yours in a kiss that is tender, yet filled with all the passion and love that’s been bubbling beneath the surface. The world around you fades away, leaving just the two of you, anchored in this shared moment of understanding and connection.

The kiss deepens, a slow, deliberate melding of lips that speaks of everything words cannot. His hand finds the clasp that is holding your hair neatly and unhooks it from your strands, his fingers threading through your hair as he draws you even closer, erasing the space between you. There’s a fervent intensity in the way he kisses you, as if he’s trying to pour every ounce of his love, his frustration, his devotion into this single moment. You respond in kind, your hands sliding up his chest to clutch at his shirt, needing to feel the solid warmth of him beneath your fingertips.

Your heart races, matching the rhythm of his as you lose yourself in the kiss, in him. The heat between you rises, a slow burn that spreads through your body, making you dizzy with the intensity of it. Every brush of his lips against yours, every breath you share, feels electric, sending shivers down your spine.

When you finally break apart, it’s only because you both need air, but even then, he doesn’t pull away. His forehead rests against yours, his breath warm against your skin as he exhales shakily. Your eyes flutter open, meeting his gaze, and what you see there makes your breath hitch - a raw, unguarded love that leaves you feeling vulnerable yet more cherished than ever.

“I’m so in love with you,” he whispers, his voice rough with emotion, as if the kiss has stripped away all his defences. “I’d do anything for you, Y/N.”

You smile widely, joy and harmony finally flowing through your body for the first time tonight. The tension that had gripped you earlier is melting away, replaced by a warmth that spreads through your chest and settles deep in your bones. In this moment, with Jongseong’s love laid bare before you, everything else seems to fade into insignificance. It’s just the two of you now, tangled in this shared vulnerability, and for the first time in a long while, you feel truly free.

You let out a soft, breathy laugh, shaking your head slightly as you take in the man standing before you - the man who has seen you at your weakest, yet loves you with a fierceness that makes your heart swell. Considering how you started as a good girl, falling into the dangerous allure of a criminal, you can’t deny how far you’ve come. The path you’ve chosen has been anything but easy, but standing here now, it feels like it’s all been worth it.

Without another word, you lean in and capture his lips in another kiss, this one more deliberate, more purposeful. It’s as if you’re reaffirming the connection you share, grounding yourself in the reality of his presence. Your hands slide up to cradle his face, your thumbs gently brushing over his cheekbones as you pour every ounce of your love and desire into the kiss.

Jongseong responds immediately, his arms wrapping around your waist to pull you closer, as if he’s afraid to let go. The kiss deepens, the heat between you growing as your bodies press together, the boundaries between you blurring until all you can feel is him - his warmth, his strength, his unwavering love.

As the kiss intensifies, you pull back just enough to catch your breath, your lips brushing against his as you whisper, “Does doing anything for me include having sex with me on my childhood bed?”

The playful challenge in your voice brings a mischievous glint to his eyes. Jongseong smirks, his fingers tenderly wiping away the semi-dried tears on your cheeks, as if washing away the remnants of your earlier sadness. His touch is so gentle, so reverent, that it makes your heart ache with affection.

“Well,” he murmurs, his voice dropping to a low, intimate tone as he smirks down at you, “I did say anything.” There’s a teasing edge to his words, but you can see the heat in his eyes, the desire that matches your own.

He steps back slightly, his hands moving to the knot of his tie. With a slow, deliberate motion, he begins to loosen it, his eyes never leaving yours. The sight of him, his dark hair slightly tousled from your earlier embrace, the way his fingers work the tie free with a practised ease, sends a thrill through you. It’s as if the act of loosening the tie is symbolic, a shedding of the constraints that have held you both back tonight.

As the tie finally slips free, Jongseong lets it fall to the floor, his smirk widening into a full, knowing smile. His gaze is filled with undeniable heat as he reaches for you again, his hands finding your waist and pulling you closer until there’s no space left between you. “You sure about this?” he asks, his voice a husky whisper against your ear.

“More than sure,” you breathe, your hands sliding up his chest and around his neck as you pull him toward the bed. The thought of being with him here, in this room filled with memories of your past, feels like a reclamation of everything you’ve fought to become.

Jongseong follows your lead, his hands never leaving your body as you guide him toward the bed. When the backs of your knees hit the edge of the mattress, you sink down onto it, pulling him with you. The look in his eyes, a mix of affection, desire, and something deeper, something primal, makes your pulse quicken.

He hovers over you for a moment, his hands braced on either side of your head as he looks down at you. The air between you is charged, electric, as if every breath, every touch is heightened by the intimacy of the moment. “You’re so beautiful,’” he murmurs, his voice thick with emotion, and then his lips are on yours again, claiming you with a fierce, possessive hunger.

Your fingers find the buttons of his shirt, and you begin to work them free, your movements impatient, driven by the need to feel his skin against yours. He lets out a low growl of approval as you push the fabric aside, your hands sliding over the smooth planes of his chest, tracing the contours of his body and tattoos as if memorising every line, every dip.

Jongseong’s breath hitches when your hands dip lower, and he meets your gaze with a look that is equal parts love and raw, unfiltered desire. “You really want this, darlin’?” he asks, his voice rough as his fingers brush against your cheek, his thumb tracing the curve of your jaw. “Because you might not be walking straight down those fancy stairs of yours after this.”

You nod, your eyes locked onto his as you answer, your voice trembling with the weight of your emotions. “I want you. I need you.”

That’s all the encouragement he needs. With a smirk that sends a shiver down your spine, Jongseong leans down to capture your lips in another searing kiss. His hands begin to work on the fastenings of your dress with a sense of urgency, his touch both gentle and insistent. He slowly unzips the back of the dress, his fingers brushing against your skin as he pushes the fabric down.

As the dress falls, it reveals your bare chest, and the sudden chill of the air causes your nipples to harden instantly. Jongseong’s eyes darken with desire as he takes in the sight, his breath coming faster as he revels in the moment. His hands, now free of the dress, move to gently cup your breasts, his thumbs brushing over your sensitive nipples, making you gasp softly.

Jongseong’s hands continue to explore your body, his touch electrifying as it moves from your breasts down to your waist. He pauses for a moment, eyes locked with yours, his breath heavy with desire. With a deliberate slowness that makes your pulse race, he hikes up the skirt of your dress, the fabric bunching around your hips as his hands trace the length of your thighs. The anticipation is almost unbearable, your skin tingling everywhere he touches.

As his fingers brush against the lace of your underwear, a soft gasp escapes your lips, the heat between your bodies intensifying. Jongseong’s eyes flicker with a primal hunger, but there’s still a tenderness in the way he touches you, a silent promise that he’s going to take care of you, to give you exactly what you need.

In response, your hands move with equal urgency, fingers trembling slightly as you reach for the button on his trousers. You can feel the tension in his body, the way his muscles tighten under your touch, the barely restrained power that lies just beneath the surface. The button comes undone with a quiet pop, and you begin to slide the zipper down, the sound barely audible over the heavy breathing that fills the room.

Jongseong lets out a low groan as you push his slacks down his hips, your hands brushing against his hardness through the thin fabric of his boxers. The sensation sends a jolt of desire through you, making you more impatient to feel him against you, inside you. You could start a new religion for his cock alone.

He leans down, capturing your lips in a fierce kiss, his tongue exploring your mouth with a newfound urgency. As his fingers slip beneath the waistband of your panties, he teases you, drawing out the moment until you’re practically trembling with need. His touch is both gentle and demanding, sending waves of pleasure coursing through your body.

You arch into him, your hips pressing closer as he slowly slides your panties down, his hands skimming over your skin in a way that leaves you breathless. Jongseong’s mouth leaves yours, trailing hot, open-mouthed kisses down your neck and across your collarbone, his breath warm against your skin.

“I want them to hear you,” he murmurs, his voice thick with desire, a promise of what's to come.

“Jongseong-” your voice falters, cut off by the way his fingers dip between your thighs, tracing a slow, agonising path along your slick heat. The sound of your own gasp fills the room, and you can feel the tension winding tighter within you, ready to snap at any moment.

He smirks against your skin, a dark satisfaction in the way your body responds to his every touch, every word. "I need to hear you beg for it," he whispers, his teeth grazing your earlobe as he pushes his fingers deeper, coaxing more desperate sounds from your lips.

Your hands find his hair, tugging him closer as you grind against his hand, needing more, needing everything. "Please, Jongseong...I need you," you manage to gasp out, the words barely coherent as pleasure overtakes your senses.

He pauses, his breath hot against your ear as he lets out a low chuckle. "I know you can do better than that, darlin'," he murmurs, his voice laced with a teasing challenge. His fingers press deeper, curling just right, as he waits for you to give him exactly what he wants.

His words send a fresh wave of heat through you, pushing you closer to the edge. You moan, your body instinctively arching towards him, craving more of his touch. Your fingers dig into his scalp as you writhe against his hand, the building pressure almost unbearable.

"Please," you gasp, your voice trembling with need, "I need you so badly, Jongseong. I'll do anything...just, please."

His smirk widens, satisfaction gleaming in his eyes as he feels the intensity of your plea. "That's more like it," he growls, his voice deep and full of raw desire. He continues to work his fingers in and out of you, his rhythm slow and deliberate, keeping you on the edge.

"You’re doing so well," he murmurs, his breath tickling your ear as his lips brush against your skin. "But I want to hear you scream my name, baby. Let me hear how much you want me."

Your chest heaves with each breath, and the pressure inside you becomes almost too much to handle. You nod frantically, your voice a desperate plea as you finally give in, letting out a loud, passionate cry that fills the room. Jongseong’s eyes light up with approval, his fingers and lips moving with even more intensity, pushing you towards the edge with an insistent rhythm.

With a low growl of approval, Jongseong finally sheds the last of his clothes, his eyes locking onto yours with a hungry intensity. He positions himself at your entrance, and the first thrust is a slow, deliberate invasion that fills you completely. A moan escapes your lips, resonating through the room and mingling with the soft rustle of the sheets beneath you.

He holds himself still for a moment, savouring the way you clench around him, feeling every shiver that ripples through your body. His eyes roam over your flushed skin, admiring the way your chest rises and falls with each ragged breath. “You feel incredible,” he murmurs, his voice thick with desire. “So tight around me.”

Gradually, he begins to move, each thrust steady and deep, pushing you further into the realms of pure, unadulterated ecstasy. His hands grip your hips firmly, guiding you to match his rhythm. “That’s it,” Jongseong growls. “Feel every inch of me, darlin’. It belongs to you anyway.”

His words ignite a new fire within you, and your body responds with a frenzied energy. You feel every ridge, every curve of him, each thrust driving you wild with desire. “Jongseong,” you gasp, your voice trembling with need, “more…”

His pace quickens, becoming urgent and insistent, the pleasure building to a nearly unbearable crescendo. The room is filled with the heady mix of your moans and the rhythmic sound of flesh meeting flesh, each noise echoing off the walls and creating a chorus of raw, primal passion.

With a sudden shift, Jongseong pulls back slightly, his hands guiding you to a new position. He flips you onto your side, his movements smooth and fast, a mixture of desire and intent in his eyes. You roll over and get a surge of anticipation as Jongseong positions himself behind you, allowing him to enter and hit you deeper than before, giving you that ‘more’ you so desperately craved.

Jongseong’s thrusts are now angled upward, hitting a spot that makes you gasp with each push. The sensation is overwhelming, a blend of deep, rhythmic pressure and the intimacy of your shared movements.

“Is this what you needed?” Jongseong asks breathlessly, his voice filled with a rough, almost primal edge as he adjusts his rhythm to match the new position. “Tell me how it feels.”

Your answer comes out as a moan, your words mingling with the sounds of your combined pleasure. “Yes, Jongseong,” you manage to gasp, “It’s so deep, so perfect.”

As he continues to thrust into you, Jongseong’s lips find your neck, his kisses soft and heated against your skin. He trails his mouth up and down your neck, each touch sending shivers down your spine. His breath is warm and tantalising, his kisses growing more insistent as he marks you with his mouth.

You can feel his tongue flicking against your skin, each kiss more urgent than the last. His teeth graze gently, then with a bit more pressure, leaving a trail of kisses and marks that grow darker with each pass. “You’re mine,” he murmurs between kisses, his voice a deep, possessive growl. “I want everyone to know.”

The sensation of his lips and teeth against your neck only heightens the pleasure you're already experiencing. Each mark is a vivid reminder of the passion that drives you both, a tangible sign of the intensity and connection you share. “Jongseong,” you gasp, feeling the combination of his thrusts and the trail of kisses that map your neck. “Please, don’t stop.”

But you mean it in every sense - don't stop fucking you, as though every thrust and every shuddering release is a lifeline. Don’t stop loving you, as though the depth of his affection and the way he holds you close is your greatest comfort. Don’t stop pushing you to be who you are, to embrace every part of yourself, to feel alive in his arms and in his gaze. You want him to keep driving you to discover and explore every hidden part of yourself, to keep challenging and encouraging you in ways you never imagined.

He responds with a low, approving growl, his hands gripping your hips tightly as he drives into you with renewed fervour. “I won’t,” he promises, his voice rough with desire and a depth of emotion that goes beyond the physical. “Never.”

As he continues to thrust into you, his movements become more intense, more urgent, as if he’s trying to convey his promise with every powerful push. The room seems to pulse with the rhythm of your shared passion, the sounds of your pleasure echoing off the walls. Jongseong’s grip on your hips tightens, his touch both possessive and protective as he guides you through the waves of ecstasy.

“Feel every part of me,” he murmurs, his voice a blend of tenderness and raw need. “I’m right here, with you, always.”

The intensity of his thrusts pushes you closer to the edge, each movement sending shivers of pleasure through your entire body. His kisses become more fervent, each one a reminder of his love and his commitment. You can feel his heart pounding against your back, a steady, reassuring presence that matches the rhythm of his thrusts.

“You’re everything to me,” Jongseong says, his voice breaking slightly with the force of his emotions. “Don’t ever doubt that.”

Your breath comes in ragged gasps as you ride the waves of pleasure he’s giving you. His words, combined with the sensation of him inside you and the way his lips leave their marks on your neck, create a powerful cocktail of intimacy and desire. “I don’t,” you manage to breathe out, your voice filled with a mix of pleasure and gratitude. “I never will.”

With a final, deep thrust, Jongseong brings you both to the peak of your shared climax. Your body convulses in waves of pure, unadulterated bliss, each shudder and moan a testament to the intensity of your connection. Jongseong’s release follows closely, his groans mingling with yours as he holds you tightly, his kisses now soft and tender against your neck.

As the initial rush of pleasure begins to subside, your muscles gradually unwind, each tremor giving way to a lingering afterglow. The room is filled with the soft symphony of your synchronized breathing, the steady rise and fall of your chests in perfect harmony. Jongseong’s kisses on your neck become gentle, almost reverent, as he trails a tender path of affection across your skin. 

You feel his body relax against yours, his warmth enveloping you in a cocoon of intimacy. He pulls your face to his, capturing your lips in a deep, tender kiss that steals away the breath you had only just regained. Lost in the peacefulness of him, you savour the slow, lingering connection, each touch and caress a silent expression of his affection.

“Let’s get out of here, yeah?” Jongseong murmurs against your lips, his voice low and inviting, his breath warm against your skin.

You nod, a contented smile spreading across your face. “Yeah, let’s do it,” you reply, your voice filled with unwavering resolve, knowing that the moment you step out of this place you once called home, you’ll never look back. He grins, playfully nudging your nose with his, his eyes sparkling with a mix of affection and mischief. “If Emily even looks at you again when we go down there, I might just rip her eyes out.” Jongseong is sexy all of the time but he is even sexier with a post-sex glow, so you know there are going to be some eyes on him, a pair of them just better not be hers.

Jongseong’s laughter fills the room, a deep, resonant sound that carries a note of both joy and possessiveness. He rests his head on your shoulder, planting light, affectionate kisses. “And to think, I was the one who was supposed to keep my cool and not get possessive,” he teases, his voice light and full of warmth.

“You’re not the only possessive one in this relationship, you know?” you reply with a soft smile, a hint of playfulness in your tone. “I just don’t show it as much.”

He raises an eyebrow, his grin widening as he shifts slightly, still buried to the hilt inside you. “I think you should show it more often,” he suggests, his voice low and laced with a delicious hint of provocation. “I’d let you put a collar on me and walk me like a dog if you asked.”

“Don’t tempt me,” you giggle, your laughter mingling with his as the intimate moment stretches between you, the connection deepening with every shared breath.

Eventually, you both begin to move, your limbs heavy with the lingering remnants of passion. The atmosphere shifts as you get dressed, pulling on your clothes with deliberate slowness, savouring the last few moments of solitude before reentering the world outside this room. The extravagant party downstairs beckons, the muffled sounds of music and laughter a distant hum, reminding you of the life you’re about to leave behind.

As you descend the grand staircase, the chandelier above casts a golden glow, illuminating the room filled with elegantly dressed guests, all of whom are focused on your father as he prepares to make a speech. The moment his eyes land on you and Jongseong, he falters, his gaze narrowing as he takes in your dishevelled appearance. His jaw tightens, and though he says nothing, the tension in the room shifts, a subtle ripple that everyone seems to sense. He knows exactly what you’ve been doing.

At the bottom of the stairs, you pause, a flicker of uncertainty crossing your mind. The opulence of this life, the weight of the expectations you’ve carried for so long, all press down on you. For a brief moment, doubt gnaws at the edges of your resolve.

Sensing your hesitation, Jongseong wraps his arms around you from behind, his presence grounding you in the here and now. He presses a tender kiss to your neck, soothing the marks he left there, his lips warm and reassuring against your skin. He keeps direct eye contact with your father, an unspoken challenge in his gaze, before turning his attention back to you.

“Let’s go, darlin’.”

And that’s all the encouragement you need to leave everyone in this room behind, everyone but the man holding you close, promising to love you forever.

_____

You sit across from each other in a worn red booth, the familiarity of the setting wrapping around you like a comforting embrace. The walls are adorned with faded photographs and vintage memorabilia, a tribute to a simpler time that feels worlds away from the chaos that often surrounds your lives. The table between you is cluttered with half-eaten plates of food - greasy fries, a burger with a bite taken out of it, and a tall milkshake slowly melting in its glass. It’s a scene of domesticity, of normalcy

“I’m sorry, but not even anything in prison was that disgusting,” he quips, his eyebrows raised in exaggerated horror.

You can’t help but laugh at his theatrics, the sound bubbling up from deep within you. The way he looks at you like you’re the only person in the world who matters, even with your food combination choices, makes your heart swell with affection. “Come on, just try it! I promise you’ll love it,” you urge, holding out a fry that you have dipped in your milkshake, your eyes sparkling with playful challenge.

Jongseong hesitates for a moment, then leans forward and takes a tentative bite. His expression shifts from scepticism to genuine surprise as the sweet and salty combination hits his taste buds. His eyes widen, and he breaks into a grin. “See?” you say, triumphantly, as he reaches for more fries, dipping them into the ice cream and stealing them from your plate.

“Get your own, oh my God!” you protest, swatting his hand away with a laugh, though there’s no real annoyance in your voice. It’s moments like these - small, stolen snippets of happiness - that make everything else worth it. The world outside might be chaotic, but here, in this little diner, it’s just the two of you, lost in each other.

But the illusion of safety is fragile. As you’re caught up in the moment, a subtle shift in the atmosphere catches Jongseong’s attention. A police car pulls up outside, its lights off but the engine still running. You barely notice it, too wrapped up in your banter, but Jongseong stiffens, his senses on high alert. His gaze follows the officers as they exit the car with a sense of purpose, their strides firm and unyielding as they approach the entrance.

You feel a prickle of unease, a small knot forming in your stomach as you notice Jongseong’s change in demeanour. His playful smile fades, replaced by a mask of cool detachment, his eyes darkening with the familiar wariness that never quite leaves him. The joy that lit up his face moments ago vanishes, leaving behind the hardened edges of a man who’s been on the run for far too long.

The officers push through the diner’s doors, their presence commanding immediate attention. They don’t bother with the usual pretence of surveying the room; their eyes are locked on your table from the moment they step inside. Your heart races as they approach, each step closer fueling your growing sense of dread.

“Park Jongseong?” one of the officers asks, his tone clipped and authoritative, as they come to a stop in front of your booth.

Jongseong doesn’t flinch. “Who’s asking?” he replies, his voice steady, laced with a defiant edge. He’s been here before, too many times to count, but it never gets any easier. The threat of losing his freedom, of being torn away from you, is always looming, always just one misstep away.

The officer’s gaze sharpens, not missing a beat. “You’re under arrest for theft. Anything you do or say can and will be used against you in a court of law…”

Your heart skips a beat, the words hitting you like a punch to the gut. Your mind reels back to the bank job you both pulled off, the thrill of it now tainted by the cold reality closing in around you. Jongseong remains unfazed on the surface, but you can see the flicker of realization in his eyes, the way his jaw tightens ever so slightly.

“Yeah? And what exactly did I steal?” Jongseong challenges, his tone dripping with sarcasm as he stands up, squaring his shoulders, ready for the confrontation. He never liked the police for obvious reasons, but what makes it worse is when they hound him like this when he has done nothing wrong.

The bank you robbed months ago would have already sent him to prison if they knew it was him, and any of the other petty crimes don’t require four policemen and a van.

The officer doesn’t back down, keeping his tone calm but firm. “Mr. L/N has reported his diamond cufflinks missing, and when we searched your place, we found them.”

Your boyfriend lets out a harsh laugh, the sound bitter and incredulous. “Yeah? First of all, you can’t search my home because I don’t have one. Second of all, you need a warrant for that, don’t you?” But even as he speaks, you can see the gears turning in his mind. If your father is behind this, as it now seems, the situation is far worse than he’d anticipated.

Your dad is far more powerful than you could ever imagine. That time in prison only gave him more contacts than enemies, and with Jongseong just another fish in a pond, they will happily throw him back to the sea with the right amount of persuasion. 

Before Jongseong can react, the officer pulls out a pair of handcuffs, snapping them around his wrists with practised ease. He struggles, but it’s no use, the cuffs hold firm, and the officers aren’t about to let him go.

“Jongseong!” you cry out, desperation lacing your voice as you rush to him, placing yourself between him and the officers. Your hands cradle his face, trying to keep him grounded, to keep him from doing something reckless. His eyes soften as he looks down at you, trying to offer a reassuring smile, but you can see the worry etched into his features.

“It’s okay, darlin’. They’ve got nothing on me,” he says, his voice gentle, but you both know the truth: if your father is pulling the strings, there’s no telling how deep this goes. He’s trying to comfort you, to make you believe that everything will be fine, but there’s a part of him that’s not so sure. 

“But-” you start, only to be silenced by the press of his lips against yours. The kiss is soft at first, a promise of return, but it quickly turns desperate, as if he’s trying to memorise the feel of you, to hold onto this moment in case it’s the last. It’s a kiss that tells you everything you need to know - he’s scared, and so are you.

You can’t lose him.

The officers pull him away, and you watch helplessly as Jongseong is dragged out of the diner and shoved into the back of the police car. His face, once full of life and laughter, is now clouded with that deadpan stare. You run out after him helplessly and fear for what will come coursing your veins. 

Through the window, he mouths the words, “I love you,” and you nod, tears blurring your vision as you choke out the response, “I love you too.”

As the police car drives away, taking him with it, the world around you seems to crumble, leaving you standing alone in the diner’s driveway. Your phone buzzes in your pocket, snapping you out of your daze. You pull it out, and your heart sinks when you see the message from your father: “Come home, princess. Be a good girl.”

The words ignite a fire in you, a seething anger that burns hotter with every passing second. You clench your fists, your eyes falling on the ring Jongseong gave you - the promise of a future together, a future you’re determined to fight for. You made a vow to him, to wait for him no matter what, to stand by his side through thick and thin. But before you can keep that promise, there’s one last obstacle you need to overcome.

Your father.

_____

[royalarchivist]

Bad: I don't think we've reached an ending, but we've reached an end for some things. [...] There are no permanent endings, Chat. There are no permanent goodbyes. Only goodbyes for now. Only goodbyes for now, ok?

Bad talks a little bit to his chat about the Egg admins leaving, and the future.

[ Transcript ↓ ]

—

Bad: All right, Chat. I need to have a serious talk with you for a little bit. Here Pepito, I'm gonna keep riding! Sorry Pepito, I’ll keep riding. I'm gonna have a serious talk with the Chat since we got 12 minutes to kill.

But yes, Chat. Yes, some of the… Eggies are leaving, which I know is a really sad thing to see following such a fun and happy day of Murder Mystery, which was really fun. And I know– as far as I know right now, just, I'm aware that I was– I'm aware that Pepito— er, not- sorry, Pepito is behind me, see Pepito? He's right there.

As far as I know, Chat, right now I'm aware of Richas left, or will be leaving, Lullah will be leaving, and I believe Chayanne will be leaving. And… it's really heartbreaking. And it's hard to talk about, obviously, ‘cuz we made so many memories with them over the past year. So… I think, I don't know. Obviously like, there's things I wanna say, things I will say, things I won't say, you know… And I just… I dunno. Right now just gonna… filling you guys in. But uh, yeah, they will no longer be around. So… Yeah, it’s very sad, I’m very sad. But I think… I don't think– or at least I'd say I hope that it's not the end of any particular adventures for them going forward.

And I don't know, we'll see what the future holds for any particular thing. You feel me? Just like– just enjoy the memories today. Relish in the sadness chat. Embrace the sadness for a bit, and understand that like, I think tomorrow will be better, and just give the love and appreciation to the amazing people— give the love and appreciation, Chat, to the amazing people of the project who worked so hard and put their heart and soul into everything they did. All of the Eggy actors, all the builders, all the people who worked on everything. Each one of them. I think each one of the Eggs really put themselves into their characters.

Obviously, in particular, I was particularly close to Dapper, Pomme, and Richas, and I'm gonna miss them the most, obviously, Chat. I don't know personally, I don't know what my– I can't speak necessarily on what my future holds because… you know, in regards to anything ‘cuz I'm just kinda going through the emotions right now and just kind of feeling the emotions, you know?

[Groans] I dunno, Chat. I’m just feelin’ it, and sometimes it’s hard to put things into words. You know? When you’re feeling stuff. So… It's hard to play, uh… it's hard to play Minecraft with, um, with people for so long, Chat. You know, to spend so much time with people. And you guys were here for the ride, you were here for the journey. Don't be sad when a particular ride happens, Chat. Be happy you were able to ride it to begin with. Ok?

I think– I feel– I think personally, Chat, I feel very blessed to have been able to experience the– and do this stuff I've been able to, you know?

[Long silence]

Ah, we're almost there, we're almost there, Chat.

[Sighs, then reads a chat message] “Thank you for bringing us on this journey with you” I don't think—

One: I don't think the journey is over completely, right? I can't say with certainty Chat, what the future holds, right? And I don't know– I don't know what the future holds, Chat. I don't think– I don't think we've reached an ending, but we have– we’ve reached the end for some things, yes. And as for what it means– what I mean by “an ending,” I dunno. We'll see what happens, you know? I think the chapter as far as like— obviously, like… you know, when you graduate school for example, right? It is an ending of sorts. It's an ending of THAT experience, right? The experience that you had with those particular people in that particular place. It's not an ending to those people, or your interactions with those people. You feel me?

[Sighs] There's other things I want to say Chat, but… I’m doin’ my best to just keep myself reigned in a little bit. Guess I'm feeling a little- a lil’ emotional. Trying to reign in those emotions, you know? One day at a time. But make sure you're following, and stick around, because I have a feeling we'll have more fun stuff that you guys will not want to miss. Trust me. Trust me Chat, every day is gonna be an adventure.

[flcwermimi]

❛ THE ICEBERG EFFECT IN THE VOID STATE ❜

Even after doing right things / following the right method / being persistant towards our desires sometimes we don't get the fruitful outcome and we all have asked ourselves WHAT AM I DOING WRONG?

According to the research our conscious mind which is aware of our feelings, thoughts and behaviour is like a tip of an ICEBERG visible above the water & on the other hand majority of the iceberg, representing the unconscious mind, lies hidden beneath the surface.The unconscious mind is thought to contain instincts, repressed memories, and other mental processes that we are not directly aware of, but which still influence our behavior and decision-making.

Hand to Hand same happens on our Void/Manifestation journey. The ICEBERG in the void state are :

— SUPPRESSED EMOTIONS - Not being able to confess what u actually feel & often ignoring the emotions overcome this by doing some action regarding when u actually feel happy or angry CONFESS IT ' I am happy/ angry '

— UNRESOLVED PAST TRAUMA/ ISSUE - Even u feel it doesn't effect at all but it does unconsciously the burden of UNRESOLVED THINGS or UNADRESSES ISSUE can lead to several mental issue and to overcome it once must overlook yourself, apologize if u are wrong,get help, share their feelings with someone

— SCARED OF THEIR DESIRE - Often someone DM 's me saying that they're scared of having their desire which is completely normal and I feel to restrict this feeling from their self once should just appreciate their self , hangout with good energy people and decrease their screen time

— SOMETHING HOLDING BACK : From my recent post I got many DM regarding how they feel what is holding them back and it's important to have knowledge on the rights things misinformation sometimes stick to ourselves very deeply

— SELF DOUBT : Many people doubts them regarding the how powerful they're, they often find validation to have their desire so it's very important to work on self-concepts and stop questioning " is it possible" or " can I have this or that?"

— NOT STICKING TO ONE THING : One individual when they're trying to enter void often keeps changing methods or finding something which can magically help them and it often leads them finding hard to believe in any methods. Even if u fail at one method at 3 - 4 times doesn't mean it's not effective it's all about mindsets u must stick to one thing and stop looking sources like ' enter the void instantly/ do this method to happen in second ' because u are not realising how powerful u are actually u don't need those things everything is on your command

— COMPLICATING THINGS : As I seen so many of people making a bunch of routine it irritates me cause They are listening subliminals also and on the side they are even doing robotic affirmation and also five minutes they are doing PSYCH -K and next they are also doing mediation and on the night they will put long bunch hypnosis and in the same night they are doing WBTB method trust me you don't need so much things u doing these all things result that u are putting the void on the pedestal Just question yourself this all is needed?doing so much u are exhausting yourself physically and mentally

— TIME : For those who really starts to panic when they don't enter void on the specific time it's ok time hasn't been wasted nothing is wrong when u didn't enter the void on your specific time the only thing u will be doing wrong in that time is making diffrent theories, underestimating yourself, finding different methods, saying yourself a failure

So these we're some things I wanted to list from the very starting I hope u all read it all through find what is actually stopping you and there is no guarantee this thing happens to each and everyone I have listed it down by over analysing the success stories, my experience

Further what u can do is listen to self concept subliminals, building confidence, don't overwork on your selves, stop finding validation and logic in everything , surrounding yourself with postive beliefs , patience is virtue so keep persisting , do something new daily as if meditate or write a journal or share your thoughts with others learn new skills

That's it all no iceberg effect is bigger than you so stop doubting yourself you can do this it's all easy peasy 🤍🫶

[certainlynotasimp]

Just A Bite.

(Miguel O' Hara x Female! Reader)

A/N: Hello~ I got another Miggy and Sunny post for my beloved readers, and I think you'll like it. I'm still working on the request too, but I had this idea and I had to write it. Also if you want to be notified about this series, please leave a comment on this post, and if you wanna read more then check out my master list.

Also thank you guys for 100 followers! I really appreciate you guys so much and I hope you all stay with me on this journey!

Warnings: Grumpy x Sunshine, Barley any use of (Y/N) ((Sunny is a nickname, not her name)), Female pronouns, Miguel being a teasing mf, Gwen being a snoopy spider, Establish Relationship?, Fluff, a little break in canon, and Google translate Spanish ((please give me critique if you guys are fluent in Spanish because I don't know how to speak it.))

Still haven't seen the movie yet so excuse any inaccuracies.

“So are they?” Jessica stops picking at her salad as the younger SpiderWoman peers over her shoulder.

Turning her head slightly, it didn’t take her long to discover what the young protégé’s attention is focused on. 

The signature blue costume hugged the tall Spiderman as he stood several feet away from them. His normally dangerous talons were hidden by the two trays of food in each hand. His eyes were narrowed in annoyance as he seems to be hyperlinked on something. It didn’t take long before Jessica figured out who she needed to spot as the source of Miguel’s irritation. 

The black and white costume of the tiny spider caught her eyes first before she realizes that Peter B. Parker had enamored her attention away from Miguel.

 Well, not so much him, but the one-month-old Mayday Parker had the Spider Society's sunshine orbiting around her. Her little hand grasps around the digit of an older woman as Sunny cooes. A look of awe and sadness filled her eyes as the whole world seemed to disappear around her.

“Are they what?” Jessica asks as she turns her attention back to her lunch, mildly groaning as her little bug certainly didn’t appreciate the diet their daddy put them on. 

“Is Miguel and (Y/N) together?” Gwen repeats her question as she analyzes Miguel’s body language.

It was odd to Gwen as Miguel appeared to be annoyed that he had to hold their plates while waiting on her, but he didn’t make a move to say to rush along the tiny spider. In fact, Gwen nearly choked on her drink as she sees the longing gaze in his garnet eyes.

“To be honest…” Jessica catches Gwen’s attention again as she starts packing away her now empty tray with trash. “I’ve been a part of the Society for a long time, but Sunny was here before I was. Her and Miguel are kinda a packaged deal, but I have no idea if they are together.” Gwen tilts her head with a confused look on her face. She knew the older Spiderwoman was one of the first members of the Society when Miguel created it, but she didn’t know the cheery spider was here longer than Jess. 

“She was here before you?”

“She was here before all of us.” Peter interrupts as he plops in the seat next to Gwen. The infant was now quietly sleeping against her father’s chest with webbing holding her up. Peter steals one of Gwen’s french fries off of her tray as Gwen looked annoyed by him. “Miss Sunshine was the first spider Miguel recruited from what I heard, and I should know.” He plops the fry into his mouth as he chats. “I was the second.”

Jessica chuckles at Gwen’s shocked face at the realization as to how long the futuristic spider man has had his cheery companion. “Little bit wants to know if the big guy and Sunny are a thing or not?” Peter raises an eyebrow as he teases Gwen, “Why? You got a crush on one of them?”

“Ew, no. They are old and I’m 16. It's just they are always together and they seem like a couple, but they don’t do normal couple things.” Gwen whines as her face burns in embarrassment.

“First off, they are not old.” Peter scoffs as he runs a hand through his own graying hair. “Miguel is 28 and Sunny just turned 27.”

Jessica giggles as a memory pops into her mind. The look on Miguel’s face when his smaller companion brought him a cake she made for his birthday will forever be Jessica’s favorite moment since joining this team. Well, the second greatest moment. The slight teary-eyed look the leader gave to the bouncing spider as he had to endure her butchering the birthday song was also very funny. At least she can cook better than she can sing.

“And adult relationships aren’t like the ones you’ve seen in high school.” Peter sighs as he remembers the regretful decisions he made in high school. “They aren’t gonna make out in the hallways or tell each other that they love each other every five minutes.” “So they are together?” Gwen slaps Peter’s hand away from her fries, which causes the baby to stir. Peter hastily bounces the baby as he throws Gwen a glare.

“Oh, I have no idea,” Peter answers honestly as Gwen plops her head on the table. “Why don’t you ask them?”

Jessica smiles fondly as Mayday stares at Peter as he finally starts eating his own food. Her hand wanders to the growing baby bump as she looks into Gwen’s frustrated gaze. “Never hurts to ask. But I suggest asking Sunny because Miguel will deny everything.”

~~~~

“Miss. (Y/N), are you dating Spiderman?” Gwen rehearses to herself as she wanders down the corridor, trying to find her cheery colleague. Gwen groans as rubs her face in frustration, hating all the ideas she came up with sounded childish. How do you ask a grown woman if she is dating her boss? Especially if you’re mutant superheroes who travel to different dimensions and fight anomalies in bright spider costumes.

Just as Gwen rounds a corner, a series of grunts fall into her ears as she draws closer to the combat simulator. One of Lyla’s ideas for the HQ was to include a training room with the ability to use advanced AIs to simulate how fighting in different dimensions. She also thought it would be a fun idea to make it a level system so Miguel can review their abilities and hand out missions appropriate for the skill sets. Gwen attempted to fight in there several times, but she always gets her ass handed to her once she reaches level 3. 

Reaching the door, she peers into the window and sees a disheveled Miguel as he stood in his spider suit in a barely lit simulation. His back to her, she can see his shoulders heave as he pants for a breath of relief in this difficult setting. Despite his lack of spidey sense, Gwen knew he was pretty agile and was one of the strongest Spidermen they had. His talons emerge as his mask disintegrates. His fangs shine in the dim lighting as he looks around the room, looking for something. 

Hunting for something.

She ducks when Miguel looks her way before peeking her head back up. Before she can realize what’s going on, a flash of white gets whipped at the menacing spider, causing him to shred the opposing webbing to bits. Miguel focuses on the direction the attack came from as a smirk rolls onto his face as he approaches his invisible prey. His eyes a dangerous red as his mischief and hunger grows at the anticipation.

“¿Dónde estás, mi pequeña araña?” The predator purrs as his gaze locks on a particular corner. Gwen could barely hear it, but a faint sound of panting, of his prey trying to catch her breath. “No me dejarías esperando demasiado, ¿verdad? Extraño desesperadamente tu dulce rostro, querida.”

Miguel saunters slowly towards the faint sound, a glint of victory shining in his eyes as the smell of her perfume floats into his nose. His smirk turns into a deviously sweet smile as he cracks the bones in his hand. “Especialmente cuando estás gimiendo tan dulcemente debajo de mí…” He mumbles as he finally lunges toward the corner. Gwen puts a hand in her mouth to hide the gasp as he pounces but tilts her head in confusion as his hunt turns sour.

Miguel looks equally stunned for a moment when he realizes that nothing was in his grasp. He pats around the corner to make sure before his hand gets caught on something. He growls as he tries to free his hand upon realizing that it was a trap. A flash of white traps the other hand to the wall above the other as the air rings with giggles. 

“Caught you, Miggy!~” A voice cheers from above as both Miguel and Gwen look up to the ceiling. In a faint glow of green, the victorious smile of the small jumping spider appears out of thin air. Unexpectedly, Miguel meets her smile with a warm chuckle as the hints of a smile appear on his face. “You certainly did, little one.” He sighs as the woman hops down and lands in a crouch position in front of him. Gwen smiles at the adorable display until the older woman leaned over to Miguel’s shoulder. Miguel flinches slightly with a flush of red covering his face as Gwen realizes what just happened.

‘Did she just bite him?!’ Gwen thought as she stared at the smiling duo in bewilderment. 

“Think its going to leave a mark?” He commented as he watches in amusement as his sunshine glares at him.

“It better! Yours are gonna take forever to heal.” She huffs as she stands up. Miguel rolls his eyes and chuckles at her attempt to appear annoyed. 

“It's not that bad…” “NOT THAT BAD?!” Sunny blurts out, interrupting the amused man.

The top part of her costume disintegrates, exposing her tank top underneath as Gwen had to stop herself from shouting in shock. Littering the small spider’s frame were 5 large bruising bite marks, each featuring two distinct puncture wounds. Gwen looks up at the panel beside the door and sees they are on level 6 of 1v1 combat simulation. The realization dawns on the teenager as her face turns an unflattering shade of red. Before she can witness anymore, Gwen teleports out of the corridor as the duo sees the flash of orange. 

“What was that?”

“I don’t know, but whoever it was is gonna be on trash duty for a month”

~~~~~

“So you ever asked her about if she and Miguel are-”

“No, and I’ll never try to figure that out again.”

~~~~~~

A/N: Please please let me know what else you guys wanna see or throw me some critiques. I love hearing from you all!!

~~~~~~

Taglist:

@ameliadraws 

@tojisrightnut

@whyareyoubored

@silly-lovestruck-em

@luvil1y

@chims-kookies

@himesuedi

@22carolina08

[mountttmase]

Someone You Can Trust

Note - so this was actually a request from @carlottawllms 🤭 thank you for trusting me so much with your ideas and I hope this lives up to your expectations 🩷 feedback would be appreciated pleaseeeeeee

Pairing - Mason Mount × Reader

Word count - 4.6k

Warnings - smutty and fluffy

Visiting Mason in Manchester was always a good time.

No matter what you were doing it was just good to be back in his company with all of your shared friends, catching up on everything you’d missed and with it being international break he had a bit more time to spend with you guys now. Taking you all out for dinner at his new favourite restaurant before going out for a few drinks. You weren’t out long though, everyone complaining that they were tired after the long journey that day so you all made your way back to Masons to get ready for bed.

Everyone else had gone up already but you and Mason had made home in the kitchen. Chatting away like time meant nothing but before long he was pulling you upstairs and into his room as he was getting a little uncomfortable sat on the kitchen stools.

‘Wow, Mason Mount's bedroom, I’m honoured’ you laughed, flopping down next to him but the groan and roll of his eyes let you know he wasn’t entirely happy with your sarcasm.

‘You should be. First girl I’ve had in here I’ll have you know’ he huffed, taking his jeans off before collapsing down next to you. To anyone else it might of looked a bit weird but the pair of you were close and before long he was turning on his side so you could face each other but you noticed his cheeky smile was missing.

‘Yeah like I’m gonna believe that’ you teased, knowing Mason had always been a bit of a ladies man but the pair of you never really discussed any of that.

‘It’s true. I’m a changed man’ he laughed ‘Not that I was sleeping with the world and his wife before but you know what I mean…’ he laughed awkwardly.

‘So what’s changed?’

‘Dunno, just don’t fancy it anymore. It’s not… fun’

‘You were flirting with that girl all night, you can’t tell me you weren’t having a good time then’ you teased, watching his cheeks flush slightly but his cheeky smile returned and you felt better. ‘I really thought you were gonna get her number at least’

‘Well yeah I can talk the talk but I can’t seem to walk the walk right now’ he huffed, shuffling so he could lie on his back and look up at the ceiling. The prospect of having this conversation whilst having to look at you clearly was too much for him so you followed suit and laid down on your back next to him. ‘Flirting’s fine, I can talk for England but anything more it’s like I panic lately. Like I’ve put all this pressure on myself and it’s messing me up. It’s like I’m sabotaging myself so we don’t make it to the main event’

‘So you’re not enjoying it? Sex I mean’

‘I guess’ he laughed awkwardly and you could see his face was as red as a tomato from the corner of your eye. You wanted to push him to talk about it some more but you also didn’t want to make him uncomfortable so without a second thought you reached over to try and find his hand on the bed. Linking your pinkies together and you were surprised he held yours tightly.

‘You don’t have to be awkward about it, Mase. We’re friends right? And we’ve all done it’

‘Yeah I guess so’

‘So what don’t you like?’

‘I dunno like… I always feel rushed. There’s a lot of pressure to… you know. Get them where they need to go but it’s like I don’t know what I like anymore. I focus so much on the other person that when it gets to the main event it’s all I can think about and it’s like I put myself off. Sometimes it feels a bit underwhelming and tense and the more I try the worse it gets’

‘So you wanna be a bit selfish huh?’ You smiled, turning your head to face him but he refused to look at you.

‘N-no I just-‘

‘I’m kidding Mase’ you laughed watching his face fall slightly before turning his head away from you.

‘It doesn’t matter anyway, let’s just go to sleep. You can stay here if you want or the room over the hall is free’ he told you, turning fully onto his side and away from you and you felt your heart sink.

You hadn’t meant to upset him, you just wanted to get to the bottom of why he wasn’t feeling it but in the process you’d made him feel awkward. Not that he ever needed to be around you, you’d been best friends for years and whilst the furthest you’d gone with him was a drunken three second kiss in a club once, in the back of your mind you liked to think you knew what he would like and what he would want.

That didn’t make you feel any better though, looking at him now. His body slumped into the mattress as he sulked, the back of his neck as red as his cheeks out of embarrassment and all you wanted was to apologise and let him know he had nothing to be embarrassed of.

In the end you shuffled up to him, you front pressed into his back as you snaked an arm around his waist to hold him close and you smiled as you felt him relax into you.

‘Sorry Mase, I didn’t mean to make you feel bad or awkward or anything’ you told him quietly. Pressing a small kiss to the back of his neck to let him know how sorry you were and you were surprised to feel him shiver at the contact. ‘You know you’ve got nothing to be ashamed of and all I want is to help’

‘I know’ he sighed, threading his fingers through yours that were settled on his tummy before you dropped another kiss on the same spot on his neck. Pride filling you as you a shuddery breath left his lips and all you wanted was to carry on making him feel good.

‘You’re allowed to want to be a bit selfish. Sex is a two way street and you shouldn't feel pressured about worrying if the other person is enjoying it to the detriment of your own pleasure. You need someone who’ll look after you too’

He didn’t answer, only a short breath passing his lips that let you know he’d heard you and you knew you needed to work a little harder.

‘These girls, you don’t really know them do you? You don’t know what they like and they don’t know what you like and that’s the issue really isn’t it? You wanna be relaxed but your too focused on figuring each other out’

‘Basically’ he uttered, his head nodding into the pillow and you lent up just a smidge so you could place another kiss just behind his ear this time. His nervous gulp making his whole body move but soon enough he was relaxing back into you.

‘You need someone you can trust. Someone who knows you and you can’t trust them can you? You want a connection and you can’t give them the time to figure you out and know what buttons to press. That’s what you want isn’t it?’

‘Yeah’ he gulped, his breathing changing the more you spoke to him and you knew it was now or never or you’d back out. I’m

‘They don’t know you like I do Mason. They can’t give you what I can’ you told him. The words falling from your lips before you’d even thought about it but as soon as they had you knew what you had to do. What you wanted to do for your best friend even though this wasn’t typically what best friends did.

‘You can trust me Mase. And I bet I can make you feel so good’ you told him, lightly scratching your nails over his abs as you felt them tense under your touch. ‘Will you let me try?’

‘Y/n I- I don’t know’ he mumbled, his voice sounding conflicted but he hadn’t said yes so you started to pull away just in case he was feeling uncomfortable with your touches.

‘That’s okay, I’ll stop’ you told him, pulling back as you didn’t want to push him and make him feel weird but you were surprised to feel him grab your wrist and pull you back into him.

‘No i… I don’t want you to stop, I just…’

‘Mase it’s okay’ you told him, keeping your voice light so he didn’t think you were upset. ‘We can just go to sleep and forget about it’

‘No’ he huffed, turning in your grasp so he could face you but there was an unreadable expression on his features. ‘I’m just a little nervous, like what would it mean?’

‘It doesn’t have to mean anything’ you reassured him, reaching out to stroke his cheek. ‘You’re my friend Mase, I care about you a lot and I wanna make you feel good’ you whispered. ‘Sex is supposed to be fun and sometimes we just need a little reminder. I’m happy to be the one to remind you if that’s what you want. But if you don’t want to, that's alright too. No pressure’

‘Well how am I supposed to say no to that?’ he chuckled. Hands finally reaching for your waist and you let him stroke your skin lightly. ‘I just don’t want you to feel like you have to’

‘That’s not it at all, Mase. I want to’ you told him, reaching over to kiss his cheek lightly and you revelled in the way his eyes fluttered shut. ‘Lay back for me?’

He did as you said, laying on his back as he looked at you with a tense expression but you knew just how to relax him. Curling into the side of his body so you could tuck your face into his neck and as soon as you felt him relax you started peppering kisses along his jaw and down his neck.

You started slow, now wanting to overwhelm him with lots of affection but you knew you were starting to drive him wild. Noticing his breath getting shallow with each kiss and when you discreetly nipped his collarbone he let out a hiss. The sound making butterflies erupt in your tummy and you knew you wanted to make him do it again.

Mason's arm that was around your body was gripping your waist tightly but there was something else you wanted him to hold so you took his wrist and moved it down so he could grip your bum instead. Feeling him give it a light squeeze and you hummed in satisfaction to let him know it was okay.

‘Can I take this off please, mase?’ you asked, fingers gripping the hem of his shirt in hopes you could access more of his skin and when he nodded in agreement you hoisted yourself up so you could straddle him. Pulling the fabric from his body and letting him lay back down before you decided what you wanted to do to him.

You knew Mason was a sucker for touch, no matter who he was with he'd have his hands on them in some way so you figured he’d like it to be reciprocated. And who wouldn't want to touch him? He was flawless in every way from the smattering of hair on his chest to the mole that sat on his abs that you wanted to kiss everytime you caught a glimpse of it.

You stared off trailing your fingertips over his body, your barely there touches effecting him immediately as his abs clenched and his breath got caught in his throat but the way he gripped your bum with both hands now let you knew he was loving it.

‘Is this okay Mason?’

’y-yeah’ he stuttered, trying to keep his voice steady but you knew him and you knew he was feeling good. ‘That feels really nice’

‘Yeah?’ you smiled, pride washing over you as you'd read him so well, but little did he know he hadn't seen anything yet. ‘You just stay relaxed, okay? i’ll make it worth your while’

You noticed it instantly, your words making him panic already as was clearly thinking about skipping to the end and whether he could get there but you just kept on touching him and relaxing him as best you could.

‘Just relax for me Mase, there’s no rush okay? We’ll take as long as we want’ you murmured, feeling his hands move to the hem of your shirt now. Biting your lip as you pulled it over your head but little did he know you had nothing on underneath and the sight of your bare chest made him whimper.

‘Jesus Christ, y/n. Warn a guy’ he chuckled but you still gave him no warning when you covered his hands with your own so you could drag them up your body and cup your chest. Rocking your hips over his in hopes of riling him up a bit but to your surprise he was already rock hard under you.

‘You like that masey?’ You teased, feeling him squeeze your warm skin as he dragged his bottom lip through his teeth

‘Fuck’ he whispered, eyes rolling back in his head before he moved his hands to wrap around your back. Pulling you forward so your bare chest was pressed up against his and the shy smile on his face made your heart thump. ‘I’ve always wanted to know what you were hiding under there’ he laughed, feeling shy as he looked right into your eyes. ‘I know we’re friends and everything but I’ve always been curious’

‘Well I hope I didn’t disappoint’

‘Nuh uh’ he smiled. The tips of his fingers running up and down your back just how you’d done to his chest and the realisation that he probably wanted to touch as well as be touched made you smile.

Without another word, you placed your lips back on his neck. Remembering the place he’d reacted to the most just before and you sucked on it lightly until he was bucking his hips.

Mason's body deserved to be worshipped and that’s exactly what we’re about to do. Shuffling yourself over to straddle just one thigh now but it gave you a bit more movement to do what you needed to. Kissing every inch of his skin you could and finally making your way down to the mole on his tummy. Flicking your tongue over it before licking a stripe up his body to his nipple so you could give it a playful bite.

‘You’re a tease’ he laughed, his hands threading through your hair at the sides so he could feel you but you carried on, giving the other side the same attention before trailing your kisses back down his body until you got to the waistband of his boxers. You kissed along the fabric before dipping your tongue just past the elastic waistband so you could lick a stripe across his skin again just under his belly button, but you could feel him tense before laughing and pulling you up to look at him. ‘If the mission was to make me cum then you every nearly almost did’

‘Sorry’ you chuckled, hiding your face in his neck but the quick squeeze he gave you let you know you had nothing to be sorry for.

‘Don’t be, whatever you’re doing’s obviously working’

‘Can I take these off?’ You asked, fingers running back running along the waistband of boxers again and you felt him nod but he stopped you as you sat up so he could look at you properly.

‘You can, but I want yours off too, yeah?’ He told you, eyes flickering down to your bottom half that was currently covered by your jeans as you were only meant to be in here for a chat and you knew he was only asking so he wouldn’t be the only one without anything on.

‘Okay’ you whispered, rolling off the side of the bed so you could stand up and undress yourself first but Mason wasn’t happy about this. Sitting up and reaching for you so he could pull you between his legs and unbutton them for you.

You should have realised he had ulterior motives but it was still a shock when you felt his mouth close over your nipple as he tugged your jeans down and you moaned louder than you intended to. Your fingers hiding in his hair so he couldn’t move but there was no need as he seemed content on sucking and flicking your skin with his tongue until your knees were going weak and you had to pull him off.

‘You sound so pretty when you moan for me’ he whispered, kissing the space between your breasts before peppering them down your skin as far as he could.

‘Stop it, this is supposed to be about you’ you scolded, trying to bat his hands away but he just held you tighter.

‘I know, and I wanna touch you’ he smirked. Giving your bum another gentle squeeze before finally pulling your underwear down to your ankles to join your jeans.

You thought it might be weird being completely naked in front of your best friend but he made you feel so at ease that you didn’t bat an eyelid. Letting his eyes explore all the parts of you he’d never seen before you gripped his chin so he’d look into your eyes and you were surprised at how dark they were. He looked hungry for you and all you wanted was to give him what he needed.

‘Lay down’ you whispered. Head nodding back towards the pillows and you watched him shuffle back before you placed yourself back in between his legs so you could pull his underwear from him. The gentle thud of his length hitting his tummy was like music to your ears and you were glad to see the effect you were having on him.

You still didn't want to go in all guns blazing so you carried on pressing kisses to his skin. Your fingers scratching over his tummy and thighs before you finally gave him what he wanted. Licking a stripe up the length of him before taking what you could of him in your mouth. He was big and you needed a hand to tackle all of him but you got a steady rhythm going and you could feel his thigh muscles dancing under his skin as you moved your mouth over him.

Him telling you he wanted to touch you was still ringing in your ears and you could see him fisting the sheets next to you as your mouth worked on him so you grabbed one of them. Placing it in your hair so he could touch you in some way and you were pleased to find he didn’t seem to want to alter your movements or force you to go faster. He just wanted to touch you and you moaned when he started to massage your scalp lightly.

‘Fuck, y/n. That feels so insane’ he whimpered. The sound making your tummy flutter. ‘Always knew that mouth would come in useful one day’

‘Fuck off’ you laughed after coming off of him with a pop but you knew he was only joking. Mason always described you as a chatterbox when you were with him, telling you he thought you saved up all your words for when you were next to him but you were only like that with him because you were comfortable enough with him to be yourself.

‘Sorry’ he chuckled, running his thumb under your lip to clean you up but you were ready to let him have it with both barrels now as some form of punishment so without a second thought you lowered yourself back down and took him back in your mouth. Making sure to stick your bum in the air more so he could get a good view of it and you could tell he liked it as he groaned even louder than before.

You could tell he was loving you slowing it all down, letting him feel every drag of your lips and flick of your tongue as he came apart underneath you until he couldn’t take it anymore. Pulling you up and off of him so your faces were level but he could clearly see the confusion in your eyes.

‘Sorry, I’m just really close and I don’t wanna finish there’ he told you sheepishly.

‘Where do you wanna finish Mase?’ You asked seductively but he answered you with his eyes. Watching and they flashed down to your core and the fact he wanted to fully have you made your heart race. ‘Oh, you want the full package then huh?’ You laughed with a wink before he nodded.

‘Well it is all about me’ he teased. Hands running up your arms before he gripped the back of your neck gently. ‘Is that okay?’

‘Yeah’ you whispered, attempting to move your legs so you could straddle him but the feeling of him pulling your face closer to his stopped you.

You hadn’t wanted to kiss him, not because you didn’t want to but because you thought it might have been too intimate for him. You were only friends at the end of the day and no matter how far this had gone or was going to go a proper kiss felt like it crossed some sort of line however Mason was now ready to plough right through it. Attaching his lips to yours in a soft kiss, wondering if he’d just got caught up in the moment before you realised that was more of a thank you than anything else and you kissed him back with a smile.

Still in a teasing mood you moved to sit over his lap. Not getting down to business just yet but you allowed yourself to feel him bare under you. Sliding up and down his length as his face contorted in pleasure and you knew you wanted to make him beg for you a little bit, half because you thought it might get him off but also for your own enjoyment.

‘Please, y/n’ he suddenly whimpered, the sound making your spine tingle in excitement.

‘What is it, Mase?’

‘Please don’t tease, I wanna be inside you’

‘Are you sure that’s what you want?’ You asked playfully, watching him nod at you frantically as he tried to lift your hips up but you wouldn’t budge. ‘Is it what you deserve?’

‘Yes, f-fuck yes please. Please let me fuck you baby’ he whined, squeezing your waist as you felt your legs give way at how needy he was being but you knew you needed to put him out of his misery. Lifting your hips and lining him up with your entrance before you slowly sank down on him. Both sighing in what sounded life relief as you took all of him in.

‘Do that feel good, Mase?’

‘F-fuck yeah it does’

‘I’m gonna take my time with you okay? I wanna feel every part of you’ you told him, resting your palms flat on his chest before rolling your hips once. His hands were squeezing your bum selfishly as he moaned into the air and the sound only made you want to bounce up and down on him faster.

‘Fuck Mase, that’s it’ you whimpered, noticing your praise was getting him off as much as you actions so you carried on. Wanting to blow his mind in every conceivable way. ‘You’re so good Mase’

‘Fuck’

‘That’s it, you feel so good’

The main aim of this whole thing was to remind Mason how to enjoy sex again and you could see just by looking down at him that he was having the time of his life. His bottom lip trapped between his teeth as his eyes rolled back in his head but it was the small smile that he couldn't hide that was filling you with pleasure the most. He wasn’t thinking about anyone but himself and what he liked and felt good and all you wanted was for him to reach his high. Little did you know what with the mix of your mouth being on him and now being inside of you, he was closer than you thought.

‘Y/n, p-please I-I…’

‘What Masey, what do you need’

‘It feels s-so good I c-can’t hold it’ he stuttered, hands travelling up to hold your waist in order to try and move your body up and down on him even faster and the sudden change in pace had you clenching around him even tighter.

‘Don’t hold it then, yeah? I want you to cum for me Masey’ you told him, looking down at him through your hazy eyes.

‘But you-‘

‘Don’t worry about me or where I'm at, just cum for me. This is about you remember so just do what feels good and cum’

That was all it took for him to let himself go, stuttering your name into the air as he reached his high and you looked down at him in awe. Mason was always attractive but seeing him right now, flushed and glowing after you’d just made him feel good made your heart flutter so you gently climbed off of him so you could lay next to his body. Letting him wrap you up in his embrace but you noticed he was hiding his face in your neck and no matter what you did he wouldn’t look at you.

‘Mase?’ You laughed, trying to push on his shoulder but he wasn’t having any of it. ‘Mase? What is it?’

‘Nothing’ he laughed, finally looking back at you and you could tell from his blushy cheeks that he was a little embarrassed and overwhelmed. ‘Just, thank you’

‘No need to thank me, it’s what best friends do’

‘I don’t think Dec would be too happy if I asked him to do the same’ he chuckled and you laughed along with him before he got a little more serious again. ‘Was I okay?’

‘It wasn’t about you being okay, Mase. It was about you enjoying sex again. Did you enjoy it?’

‘I did, yeah. A lot’ he told you, fingers touching your cheek lightly and you smiled at how gentle he was bending with you. ‘But I wanted you to enjoy it too’

‘I did’

‘But you didn’t cum’

‘That’s okay’ you smiled, trying to reassure him. ‘That's not why we did this’

‘Would you let me try though? I hate the thought of leaving you hanging’

‘Mase-‘

You were cut off when he pressed his lips to yours for the second time that night. Shock flooding you as this time he definitely wasn’t caught up in the moment but you relaxed into the kiss and were surprised at how much you enjoyed it.

‘Please’ he whispered, peppering kisses across your jaw to try and convince you, and as you were only human and accepted straight away. Nodding lightly as he rolled you onto your back ready to repay you for everything you’d done for him tonight.

[faeriichaii]

Hey so I know this isn’t the most original idea but could you do a mutual pining Legolas x reader where reader braids his hair without knowing the significance?

For some reason I haven’t been able to find any of em recently but it is my absolute favourite thing to read 😔😔

Softest Touch ~ Legolas x Reader

A/N: that's also my favorite prompt ngl :) Anything that has to do with brading makes my heart melt haha. Btw thank you so so much for requesting <33 I appreciate it a lot :) I really hope you like the story!!

⇢ ˗ˏˋ Warnings: fluff ࿐ྂ ⇢ ˗ˏˋ Words: 933 ࿐ྂ ⇢ ˗ˏˋ Request: Yes (thank you <33) ࿐ྂ ⇢ ˗ˏˋ Meleth Nin ~ My Love ࿐ྂ

Summary: After looking at the etheral elven prince, you have the urge to weave your fingers through his silken hair, leading to more than just simple hair braiding.

Sitting on a log in front of the fire, you thank Sam for the soup he just handed you. Taking a spoon full of one of the rare warm dinners you get on your journey, you look at all of the other companions gathered around. Boromir playing around with Pippin and Merry while Aragorn, Gimli and Legolas sat on the log opposite of yours. Your eyes stop at the elven prince for a little too long, fascinated by his beauty. The light of the fire giving him a golden glow making him look even further ethereal than he already was. You noticed your growing fondness for Legolas weren’t just friendly feelings towards a companion as he once helped you out with your aim. Since then, it became almost a routine. After dinner, the both of you always decided to go a little further away from the company to practice your aim with the arrows (that you also carve together) and sometimes share a few stories of your past.

Finishing up your soup, you decide to join the other three on the log for a quick chat. Legolas notices you first and gives you a soft smile, before scooting over to make some room for you. Sitting down beside him you notice your close proximity and feel the familiar warmth spread to your cheeks. Looking at his side profile you see his beautiful white hair, which almost seems to glow due to the light source in front of you. The way his hair falls over his back makes it look like the softest of silk and you wish to run your fingers through it. “Legolas, I have been wondering if I could maybe braid your hair?” Gimli spits out his soup while Aragorn lets out a cough. Confused at their reaction about your request you look at them bewildered. Legolas cheeks were dusted in a soft pink as he clears his throat. “That sounds lovely.” Gimli abruptly stands up and staggers away, followed by Aragorn, who politely excuses himself.

Grinning at him, you stand up from your seat at the log and take your place behind him. Weaving your hands once through his hair you realize how soft it really is. You open the braid by his ear carefully, not to hurt him before deciding on a small herringbone braid. Parting his hair into two sections, you softly start to intertwine the strands together, sometimes accidentally brushing your fingers against his pointy ear. At the soft touch he accidentally lets out a gasp. “Are you alright?” You ask him, worried that you might have hurt him. “Yes, don’t worry.” Finishing up the braid, you move back in front of him and take a look at his face. A smile graces his lips before he thanks you.

The days have passed and you notice that Gimli, as well as Aragorn, seem to have started to call you ‘Your Highness’ as well as ‘Your Majesty’. You didn’t think much about it, until one night, during your watch. You looked up at the moon, while being perched onto one of the logs in front of the fire that has been put out since a few hours. The sound of footsteps nearing you made you look up at the source. “The moon is beautiful, isn’t it?” Legolas says, before taking a seat beside you. Smiling at him you nod softly. Looking at his side profile, you notice the braid you had done a few days ago, still in tact and untouched. “Do you want me to rebraid your hair for you?” He hums softly at your question, signalling you to redo it once more. Opening the braid, you start weaving through the strands again. “I have a question I would like to ask you.” You mutter from beside him, completely focusing on his hair. “Do you know why Gimli and Aragorn suddenly call me by royal endearments?”

The elven prince chuckles softly before turning towards you after the braid is finished. “Well let me braid your hair and I can explain their behaviour.” Turning around you let Legolas comb his fingers through your hair, before he decides to start braiding on a small section. “You know, in my culture braiding is a very important and intimate gesture.” He starts, making you blush at his words. “Normally we only braid or let our hair be braided by someone we would like to court.” You gasp softly at the realization that dawns upon you. “I- I’m sorry I didn’t know.” You rasp out, turning around after Legolas is done with his braid. “Does that mean you don’t wish to court me?” He asks, tilting his head slightly. A bright blush creeps up your cheeks before you shake your head. “No I- I mean yes I do.” You look down at your hands, beginning to play with your fingers.

“I do have feelings for you Legolas. If I would have known that braiding indicates my feelings, I would have just done a better job at braiding your hair.” His laugh makes you look up at him, before he puts his hand on your cheek. “You now have enough chances to braid my hair Meleth Nin.” His thumb softly brushes against your cheek before he leans in. Meeting him halfway, your lips brush against each other in a soft kiss. Wrapping your hands around his neck you lean even closer towards him. The warmth of his body encasing you, making you feel like this is just a dream. Breaking apart you both smile softly at each other, basking in the moonlight above.

[yourlittlettoy]

FIRST “NEST” HIGHLIGHTS ✨

Just for the sake of using this blog like an actual blogging space 💁🏻‍♀️✨ let me tell you about how my first NEST went!!

For those of you that aren’t familiar, NEST is one of the biggest fetish gatherings in North America for us t-word enthusiasts! I’ve known about it since forever ago, and this may it was my first time actually attending. It was: everything I’d hoped it would be (˘▽˘ʃƪ)・ﾟ✧♡ here are some highlights!

This gathering was probably one of the biggest I’ve ever been to in terms of the amount of friends I saw alone! There were pals from our Tumblr community, friends from Japan, everyone from my gathering friend groups, and lots of friends from my local community as well. It was really heaven to just be with all of my favourite people all at once and in one place (˘▽˘ʃƪ)・ﾟ✧♡

The events were REALLY COOL! Definitely a gathering with one of the most comprehensive schedules I’ve ever experienced! I participated in as much as I could, but notably the squid games, auctions, and t-word-theatre (which is a big public t-word show where someone get’s got in front of an audience in a very theatrical way!) was super cool! Having said that…

I GOT KIDNAPPED!! Well, “napped” 😅 don’t worry, no real felonies here hahaha. When I applied to be ‘napped like back in the beginning of the year, I didn’t hear anything back at all about the process of how that was going. Knowing not every applicant ends up getting chosen, I didn’t let myself keep my hopes up. Long story short.. after I excitedly went to the t-word theatre event all pumped to watch someone get got… to my great surprise, that person was gonna be me lmao ‼️😱 I was kinda *taken* from my seat and tied to a chair in front of everyone, then a game show-dating show scenario played out with 3 bachelors behind a curtain answering questions (really funny and witty answers, might I add) that the show host threw their way 😆. Of course, then the host eventually asks the question “our bachelorette loves to laugh, how would you make her laugh?” … and basically I watched as all of them came through the curtain to come get me 😱 one by one…. And then !!! OF COURSE ALL THREE HAD TO COME AT ONCE 😱💀😵!!! And I couldn’t take it right so I was yelling “help meeee” hahaha ya know cause pooOOooOoOor meeeee 🤪😇. And the host was like… “sure I’ll help them” AND JOINED IN ON THE LERS SIDE 💀💀💀! ANYWAYYYY despite how extremely evil that was 😜🥺, it was 10/10 one of the coolest experiences of my life, I got an “I got napped” certificate AND it made me really happy when people approached me later saying they liked my scene (˘▽˘ʃƪ)・ﾟ✧♡ THANK U NEST FOR CHOOSING MEEEE! 🩷

This was the first gathering I been to with a partner and he was beyond lovely and supportive and we didn’t struggle with feeling any kind of restrictions due to each other .. and this means a lot because I intend on going to gatherings for as long as I can and the fact that that won’t interfere with my love life is truly a dream come true for me :)

Oh, and I experienced getting t-worded by one of my most sadistic gal pals in a fully nylon body suit and 😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫 I think my soul left my body that day lmaoooo RIP ME

Those are the highlights!!! This post really is a summary but happy to share more details if there are any questions 😁 thank you for reading and for following along this lil journey with me <3 I adore and appreciate all of you here with me right now! We’ve come a long way 🥰 maybe see some of you next year!!! 👀😙 that would be amazing!

[alltoomaples]

you are in love - CL

pauses, then says "You're my best friend" and you knew what it was, he is in love

pairing: artist!fem reader x charles leclerc

synopsis: recalling the moment when everyone except you two sees that you were meant to be together

note: i've visioned taylor swift songs as originals by the reader in the writings hence using it for fictional reasons only. Sending no hate and/or shade towards the girls Charles had dated previously/dating currently. All my love and respect for them and their privacy. French phrases and words are from google translate so apologies for any errors found.

a/n: here's a looooonng post that hopefully makes up to all my lack of writing pace. i'm picturing a part 2 for this one but i'll let you guys decide about it. i really appreciate your support and love! thank you for putting up with the slowest writer to exist. hope you'll enjoy this as much as i did. happy reading!

until i found you masterlist | other works

. . . .

It all started in the year 2006 when you attended your first karting race with your dad. He is your guy who introduced you into the world of motorsport and ever since you heard the sound of fast cars and that smell of burnt tyres and gasoline on the very first day of attending monaco grand prix, you fell in love with the sport. Specially and specifically, that fast red car, Scuderia Ferrari.

You developed a passion to drive so you asked your dad if he would take you along to karting that he goes during weekends with his best friend, Hervé Leclerc. Your dad never thought you would become his best pal and share the same found of interest in the sport, so he was over the moon when you asked him.

After a month, you joined your dad and even practiced kart races with your new friends, Pierre Gasly and Charles Leclerc. As much as you wished to be a racer and race along your kart friends, you were more into music and that was priority for you. So you go to the race events to cheer for your friends as much as possible.

Just as any other day, the three of you went on kart race. And not to mention, the trio were very much competative than intended to which made these races highly intense and interesting.

“You two are going down today” Pierre said, as he wore his gloves. “In your dreams, Gasly!” Charles said, strapping in his suit. You shook your head while picking your helmet, walking towards the two of them. “Well nice chat boys but that podium is mine” You say, wearing your helmet and then ruffled their heads.

And just like you said, the podium was yours. You crossed the line first, following Charles and Pierre. Your dads watching you three and cheered you on. The track team handed you trophies and just like champange on motorsport, you were given carbonated drinks that fuzzed out just the same and the boys sprayed all over on you while you did the same going left and right with your eyes closed.

Jules, Charles’s godfather, came over to us to congratulate, giving you the biggest hug first. “Hello?? nous avons également remporté une victoire aujourd’hui" (we also got a win today) Pierre said, making us all fall in a laughter as we broke the hug.

“Eh bien, le gagnant mérite un long câlin" (Well the winner deserves a long hug) Jules said, running his hand over your head as he leaned in to kiss your head. “I agree with Jules” Charles said, while Jules stood between the boys. Charles looked at you and cheered on.

“Et c’est mon meilleur ami vous les gars !! Le gagnant est mon meilleur ami!" (And that’s my best friend you guys!! The winner is my best friend!)

You felt giddy when he said that out loud, your and his dad alog with Jules witnessing the moment. You and Charles shared the same thought as you two started running towards each other, engulfing in a hug. Smiles and laughs all around you.

“Hey attendez-moi!!" (wait for me) said Gasly as he joined you two in a group hug.

And that’s when you made your best friend for life.

. . . .

You eventually went on your journey to pursue your dreams of being a musician. While working on it, you also decided to study your masters in Literature for fun as you adore reading and writings of the great authors and writers of old times. You got aceepted in New York University for September intake of 2018. The very same year when Charles got his seat in Alfa Romeo Sauber F1 team.

You were thankful that you were there when he received this news and you were so over the moon for him. It wasn’t just his dream but yours too. You still to this day, remember how it was revealed all too well.

“Charles, Y/N is here!” Pascale gave you a hug as she welcomed you in. And he walks down into the room, seeing the two of you have a talk.

“Did you hear anything from the universities you had applied for?” Charles asks, getting you a glass of water as you all stood in the open kitchen. You looked at him with a staright face, and that’s when he slammed both of his on the counter.

“NO WAYYYYY!! vous l’avez n’est-ce pas??” (you got it didn't you?) he exclaimed, jumping with happiness which made you laugh.

“Uhhhuh, New York Univeristy!! Et ce n’est pas moi, tu l’as aussi Charles” (and its just not me, you got it too charles) you say, this time you jumping with excitement and on verge of tears.

“Hold on, est-ce que tu lui as fait demander une demande pour moi aussi maman??” (did you made her apply for an application for me as well maa) Charles asks Pascale, making her laugh and nods her head no. As you shook your head, you call out for Arthur and Lorenzo as you grab your phone and go to Charles to show him.

“Charles Leclerc, vous êtes maintenant pilote de Formule 1 pour Alpha Romeo Sauber" (Charles Leclerc, you're now a Formula 1 driver for Alpha Romeo Sauber) You say, your voice breaking as tears started spilling out of your eyes. Pascale gasped, Lorenzo and Arthur with mouths wide open while Charles stood still, looking and re-reading the post. He chuckled as he had no words to say. He turned towards you, eyes filled with tears as you hugged him.

“Vous l’avez fait. Vous en avez fait le meilleur ami!!" (You made it. You made it best friend!!) You say, swinging side to side as you hold him tight while the two of you cried on each other’s shoulders.

“Non, nous l’avons fait! Parce que je ne pourrais pas le faire sans toi (no, we made it! cause i couldn't done this without you)” He whispered as he brings you much closer than before.

“Je suis tellement fier de toi Charles! Et votre père et Jules aussi!" (i'm so proud of you charles! and so is your dad and jules) You say before you break your hug. You wipe off his tears with your thumb and pat his back. He then walks over to his brothers while you hug Pascale, she congratulates you as well.

They open up a bottle of wine and celebrate together with the whole families around at Leclercs, for all the new beginnings that’s about to embark. And as the leclerec brothers were chatting up about it, Charles zoned out as he looked at you, talking with his mom. He felt so content, safe and grateful that he had you since day 1, through all the ups and downs, through the dark times with his dad and his godfather passing away, the two of you always picked each other up like always.

But this time, he felt something within him that he couldn’t explain. He sees you laughing with his maman, looking simply gorgeous with this glow that he thought how has he never saw this until now. Am i falling for Y/N? Charles thought to himself but his train of thoughts couldn’t run any further as he heard the glass tapping.

“I’d like to make a toast, to my families, Y/L/Ns and Leclercs, for all the support and love you have given me. I couldn’t have made it here without you guys. To papa Leclerc and Jules, me and charles are gonna make you so proud! and last but not least, Charles Leclerc!” You say, hold your glass towards his direction. “Je ne serais pas venu ici sans toi, mon meilleur ami! Voici de nouveaux départs!!” (I wouldn't have made here if it weren't for you, my best friend! Here's to new beginnings!!)

“Hear Hear” everyone erupts, clinking their glasses as you two hold each others gazes, raising your glasses to one another.

There’s a photo session to remember that very night. Many polaroids for everyone. At the end of the day, Charles took one polaroid of the two of you, smiling as he held it in his hand. He went into his room and stood in front of the picture frame he had, one with his dad and other with Jules. He sighed to himself as he continued his trail of thoughts that he had.

“Je ne sais pas si cela arriverait de sitôt ou tard, mais je pense que c’est elle” (I don’t know if this would happen anytime soon or later but i think she's the one) he says to himself.

And on the other side, as soon as you reached home and said your goodnights to your parents, you went in your room. You changed into your pjs and then you found the polaroids sticking out of your coat. You took them out and held in your held, as you sat on your bed. You felt something that you couldn’t explain. Was it giddy or the so called butterfly effect? you thoughts went on and on to the point you started thinking ‘am i falling for him?’.

You stood up quick, twirling around but shook your head to not build in too much hopes.

He’s my best friend, you mumbled.

You went near your desk where you had a picture of you and Jules on the day you won the podium at kart race. You placed the polaroid next to him as you sighed with a smile on your face.

“Jules, si c’est lui, j’attendrai que tu me donnes un signe. Et j’espère que tu m’attendras, mon meilleur ami” (Jules, if he's the one, I'll wait for you to give me a sign. And I hope you'll wait for me too, my best friend)

. . . .

Fast forward to 2020, you were now officially working with a music label as a songwriter. You wanted to work first as writer and when it’s the right time, you’ll become a music artist yourself someday. As you worked on your dreams in London, Charles was chasing down his. He was now officially driving for the red team you two dreamed and grew up as fans, Scuderia Ferrari. Even if you were miles apart, you’d still keep a close eye on your best friend.

When you went to New York for your masters, you two would keep in touch soo often that eventually, it turned from daily calls, to one day a week, then eventually, one day in a month to end up with random texts in months or so. At this point it felt like what you had felt before you left Monte Carlo was nothing but emotional of saying goodbyes. You still held to the last string of hope but only to get shattered when you saw the headlines of him being in a relationship. You were happy for the couple, you really did. And yet through all this only one person knew you actually weren’t.

“Pierre, je vais vraiment bien. Ne vous inquiétez pas à ce sujet” (I'm fine really. Don't worry about it) You said, sipping your coffee as you were invited by him and his girlfriend who also was your classmate from highschool, Kika at the cafe as you were attending the British Grand Prix. “Kika s’il vous plaît aidez-moi ici” (Kika please help me out here) you pleaded to her, squeezing her hand which made her chuckle.

“Y/N i love you but we’re just checking in on you. From what he’s told me, it seems like you two were the ones” Kika expressed, giving you a smile. You pulled your tongue towards the both, making them laugh.

“Well i appreciate you two for caring about me but trust me, there wasn’t even something to begin with and he seems quite happy with her, at least she’s better for him than the previous one duh” You say, stating the obvious. “All i care is as long as he’s happy, i’m happy!” You say, leaning back on your chair.

“In that case, we need to set up a date for you!” Pierre says, looking at you. Kika clapped her hands, nodding her head as she agreed. “We’ll set a blind date for you!” Kika exclaimed with excitement in her tone. “You guys don’t have to-” “Nope, and its a done deal! Now i’ll see you ladies at the end of the practice session” Pierre cut you off as he stood up, hugged me and then Kika as they shared a quick kiss before he runs down to AlphaTauri HQ.

“Soo is it cool to deny the offer of blind date” You say to Kika while interwining your arm with hers. “Oh mon dieu tu vois quelqu’un!?!” (Oh my god you are seeing someone) She said, shock all over her face as you laughed.

“Why didn’t you tell me!”

“Well Pierre didn’t let me!”

“That’s true! Now who’s the guy, parlez-moi de lui” (tell me about him) Kika said as you two exited the cafeteria.

“Well its not like we’re seeing each other exclusively. We just hitted off during one of the writing sessions. His name’s Brad, he’s an artist. We went out for drinks and then i asked if he was interested to tag along on F1 race with me and he said yes. He wanted to come for today but he had practice session at studio so he’ll be joining on race day” You say, smile all over your face. Kika engulfed you in a hug as she twirled around you.

“I’m soo happy and i cannot wait to Brad and tell all embarrasing stories” “Va te faire foutre!” (Fuck off).

Eventually that day you got a call from work soo you had to skip friday and saturday session, which meant you weren’t able to surprise Charles. And on the race day, you came along with Brad. You introduced him to Kika and Pierre as you ran into them while making your way to the F1 paddock. You quickly excused yourself as you wanted to surprise Charles.

As you entered the Ferrari Garage, you came across Andereas, Joris and Lorenzo. You chatted with them for a while and before you knew it, Charles walks out of his room.

“Joris, you left your-” Charles stopped himself from talking as he stood still. He couldn’t believe what he was seeing or at the moment he questioned whether he was hallucinating.

“Est-ce que je vois des choses ou est-ce que c’est vraiment vous??” (am i seeing things or is it actually you) He mumbled, making all fall in pits of laughter as you rolled your eyes.

“Eh bien, belle façon de dire que tu m’as manqué aussi trou du cul” (well, nice way of saying I missed you too asshole) You say as he runs to you and engulfs you in a big hug. And god did you miss these hugs!!

“Bonjour meilleure amie” he whispers with a big smile. “Bonjour meilleur ami” you whisper back with a bigger smile. (hello best friend)

The race had ended and Charles finished P4. Knowing Charles, you knew he’d beat himself up for not getting podium, but he really did a great job in your opinion. Once the post-race events were done, Charles came back to the motorhome to find you squealing out loud.

“C’est mon meilleur ami! Forza Charles Forza Ferrari” (That’s my best friend!) You say as you jump run towards him, tackling in a hug. Everyone in the room chants along, making him feel mood-boosted. You broke the hug and grabbed his face in your palms.

“Je suis si fière de toi Leclerc” You whispered to him, looking straight in his eyes. The two of you get a bit lost in each others eyes until Kika and Brad came by next to you. “Merci Y/N/N” He whispers back to you.

“Hey why don’t we celebrate tonight before you head off to your next destination?” Brad suggests, Kika nodding in and so did you. “That’s would be great! What do you say?” You ask Charles and he simply nodded in while his phone started ringing.

“It’s my girlfriend, i gotta take this” He says, suddenly the atmosphere turned upside down awkard. You quickly spoke out before things went anymore weird. “Oh sure! Tell her we said hey and i’ll text you the venue and timings. See you tonight” You said in a hurry and Charles gave a small smile before he left the premise.

“I guess we better get this party started” Kika said, grabbing you by your shoulder as she saw your expression got changed. You quickly shared a smile and made your way out.

The party was great. You tried to get your mind off and talked with Brad and Kika more instead because Kika and you agreed that you might make things more akward than the afternoon events.

As you were getting drinks with Kika, Brad sat around with Pierre and Charles. Charles was engaging with Brad to get to know him and Pierre was holding back his eye rolls so bad.

“At one point, we envy you alot mate” Brad said to Charles, confusion written all over the face of the monegasquean. “May I ask why?” Pierre said, letting a chuckle out.

"That’s cause you’ve got no idea how much y/n talks about you, Charles. She really goes on and on about you, your friendship and how you're her favourite person and best friend. She really looks up and cares about you mate” Brad said with a smile over his face.

At this point, Charles looks down at his hand before he looked up to see you, standing there while you laughed about something Kika said. At that moment, he felt like it was that moment before you two left. A deep sigh left from his mouth as you caught him, staring at you. You pulled your tongue at him, making him chuckle.

“She’s the best person ever and anyone that has her in their life, they’re the most luckiest ones” Charles says, looking back at his empty glass before looking at Brad.

“I don’t know about you two, but you seems to be gentleman. Do look after her, even if she says she don’t need anyone, that’s when you really need be there” Charles spills out his emotions, making himself think that he had enough drinks. He excused himself for the bathroom.

“Pierre, not trying to intrude personally, but does y/n and Charles realize they’re more than friends at this point?” Brad asks out of curosity.

“I’ve been waiting and pining for these two for years. So to answer you my friend, we all are waiting for that very moment” Pierre said, as the two of them clink their glasses.

. . . .

December 2023. The time of year were everything had changed.

You were back in Monaco during the holidays. You were now officially working as an independent artist as well as songwriter. You had released an EP back in 2021 and it became a massive hit. Now not only you were signed by the leading music label but many great artists want you over for writing sessions. You finally made it!

And just like all times, your best friend became your no.1 supporter. He was soo thrilled when you shared the news with him and he’d always be the first to share any news or interact with fanaccounts of mine. This made you heart swell with love for him. And a bit more love for more than a friend best friend gets.

You pretty well hided yourself with the feelings and just like a teenager, you pinned after him while he was in relationship. When you came back home, you took your time off from social media and wanted to spent time with yourself, and well, avoid charles relationship gloats. And that’s your first unexpected change you definately didn’t saw it coming.

“It’s unfortunate how things turned out Charles though. Didn’t thought he’d do just when season got ended” your maman says, maman Leclerc and Kika nods along. Yours, Leclercs and Gaslys were over at Leclerc’s residance for the holidays and all the ladies were in the kitchen, prepping up for dinner.

“What do you mean?” You say, mixing up the veggies for the salad. They all look up stunned at you, like a deer caught in front of the car.

“Y/N. Charles and his girlfriend mutually called it quits” Kika says, passing you the salad dressing. “Oh noooo! That ain’t good” You say, feeling genuinely sad that they ended.

“Hope that mistletoe will let you two see what we all have been waiting for” Pierre whispers as he came in between me and Kika. You shoved with your elbow sharply to his hip, which made him squeal like a girl.

Dinner was lovely, having everyone together at this time. My père and père Gasly gave toasts along with our moms and after desserts, mama Leclerc suggested for me to sing some songs. Then, i played the songs everyone had requested and then Charles suggested to give me some rest so he brought out the speaker and played some jazz songs. Everyone made a pair and started dancing under the moonlight. While i was busy capturing the pictures, I caught Charles walking in his room through my camera. I set my phone back in my pocket and made my way to his room.

The door to his room wasn’t fully closed when you reached up there. You stood by the door to see him, staring at the picture frames he had held in there.

“Knock knock” You whisper, so that he doesn’t get startled. Charles turns around to see you, his face lights up with a smile and waves you to come in. You walk in the room and stand next to his desk. You haven’t been able to talk as he had only came home today and the past few weeks have kept the both of you busy.

“I’m sorry Charles” You say, playing with the hem of your sweater.

“You heard huh?” Charles said, sigh left his mouth as his back was facing you while he looked towards the pictures.

“Yeah, maman told me” you say.

“It was about time y/n, because quel est le sens si vous n’êtes pas avec quelqu’un avec qui vous voulez être” (what’s the meaning if you’re not with someone you want to be with) Charles says, turning around to see you.

“Vrai. Si votre cœur dit que c’est elle, c’est elle” (True. if you're heart says she's the one, she's the one) You say, smile all over your face.

“I mean, look at our Gasly and Kika! Bénissez-les tous les deux aahh” (Bless them both) You say, keeping your hand over your heart.

Charles looks at you, his chest getting all warm and fuzzy just being around you. If anyone else was in the room, they would definitely say ‘garçon est-il tellement tombé amoureux’ (boy is he soo fallen in love)

“I tell you a secret. This is between me and you. I’ve been writing a song based on them” You say, giggles and happy jumps around while Charles chuckled, shaking his head and gets his head around and get rid of the nerves.

“Je pense que c’est toi, y/n” (I think you’re the one, y/n) Charles blurts out, making you go to still mode.

“Hum hein?” (Uhmm huh?)

“Je pense que je suis tombé amoureux de toi mon meilleur ami” (i think i've fallen for you my best friend) Charles says, walking closer to you as he grabs you hand. He takes you towards the picture frame and points out his finger to the polaroid.

The very same polaroid you kept yours next to the picture with Jules to find him kept his next to Jules as well.

You shook your head as you couldn’t believe this and before Charles could ask you, you grabbed your phone quickly.

“I guess he did send me the sign that i somewhat missed out and i cannot believe i missed it” You mumble, while you found the picture.

“What are you talking about y/n/n?” Charles asks, him totally getting confused. You simply smiled and turned your phone towards him.

“At the day when we took this picture, i didn’t knew what i was feeling so i asked Jules to give me a sign. Et il l’a fait” (And he actually did) You exclaimed, tears welding up your eyes. Charles looked shook and looked up and down between your picture and his before he looked back to you.

“Je suis tombée amoureuse de toi aussi, ma meilleure ami” (I’ve fallen in love with you too, my best friend) You whisper, wrapping your arms around his neck.

Charles mimicked your smile before he pulled you in a kiss. His hand cupped your cheek while yours runs through his hair. Both of you gets lost in the moment, like you’ve been waiting for your whole life. Both of you pull back as you ran out of air.

“Merci de m’avoir attendu” (Thank you for waiting for me) Charles says, resting his forehead on yours.

“Vous valiez vraiment la peine d’attendre, mon amour” (You were definately worth the wait, my love) You say, as you rub the tip of your nose with his.

. . . .

“It was ABOUT time that you two finally got together” Arthur said, Pierre chiming in with ‘THANK YOU!’ while everyone had a laugh about it.

“So let me get this straight, everyone except us knew this” You gasped, placing the glass of wine you all were having. Everyone chanting in yeahs made you and Charles look towards each other.

“To be honest, it was the very same day when you raced with Pierre and Charles” Pascale says, your mom nodding along with her.

“Ahh yes. I clearly remember me and Hervé agreeing with Jules when he said that you two are meant to be together” Your papa chimes in, with a smile on his face with hint of saddness as he misses his best friend and a son figure to our family, Jules.

You walk over to your old man, embracing him in a hug. He hugs you back, patting your back. You pull back, asking him if he’s alright and he nods.

“Here’s to Mr. and Mrs. to be Leclerc” Your dad toasts, raising his glass. Everyone hoots and cheers as dad gave a push, making you stand next to your fiance, the love of your life, your best friend.

He looks towards you and you towards him, pulling in for a kiss. Kika, Pierre and Arthur hoots in the background, making you pull apart and chuckles leaves your lips.

“Now can we hear Y/N’s music, you said its based on real events!!” Kika exclaims, getting all excited. Little did she knew it was based on their relationship. And a part of yours as well.

“The stage’s yours now, mon amour” Charles whispers, leaving your side to get the speakers for you. You connect your phone to the speakers.

“Well I recently finished with the mixing and couldn’t play for much perfect timing. I hope you’ll enjoy listening to as much as i had creating this. This is You are in Love.”

. . . .

let me know if you are interested for pt.2 :)) until next one, see yaa

check out my works: until i found you masterlist | other works

[beauty-and-passion]

TBOB PART 3: OF BILL'S SOLITUDE AND BILLFORD (3/3)

Welcome, everyone, to the last analysis post regarding TBOB.

It has been a long journey - and a fun one too! I’m glad you appreciated all the previous posts and I hope this one will be appreciated as well.

For all disclaimers and premises, please check the links below.

<- Previous post - Masterlist

_______________________________

Cause of his own pain

Before TBOB, I don’t think a lot of people thought Bill would react badly to his breakup with Ford. Maybe he would get angry or become even more possessive - in Journal 3, we know he promised an entire galaxy, to the creature who would’ve brought Sixer to him.

But facing it so badly to go to a pub and drown his sorrows? I doubt it was on a lot of people’s bingo card.

Speaking about the “LOSING SIXER” page a bit more: Bill said Sixer secretly loved “our “will-they-won’t-they-destroy-the-world” relationship”. And for all the people who don’t know, the “will-they-won't-they” is a figure of speech about “a potential coupling between two people who share romantic chemistry, but whose relationship is threatened by uncertainty, external obstacles or internal strife.” (courtesy of Google).

So not only Bill cared about Ford, saw him as similar to himself and has been more honest with him than with everyone else, but he also considered their relationship romantic-coded. He was down for Ford, just as much as Ford was down for him. And it’s pretty clear he was, considering the “one Sixer, please”, followed by him crying, getting drunk, trashing the place and even forgetting his mother died. If that’s not being down bad for someone, I don’t know what it is.

Also, according to THIS interview, Alex Hirsch said that:

Bill’s a trillion years old, so it’s like, Ford disappearing for thirty years is like- [snaps fingers] is like somebody saying they’re ghosting you and then texting you the next weekend, you know what I mean?

So, for Bill, their relationship happened in a very short time. AND YET, he grew so attached to get devastated by Ford disappearing for something that for him was, like, a week. He was down THIS bad.

And, for me, this is the icing on top of the beautiful tragedy that is Billford, because now we can be sure Bill cared before, during and after the breakup. He saw Ford as a potentially romantic partner. He wanted him around.

But because of his unresolved trauma and his inability to properly distinguish feelings, Bill mixed love and fear, thinking they were the same. And the result was losing the only human in the history of mankind he had been interested in.

Furthermore, this makes Billford even more tragic if we consider that, for better or for worse, these two had the potential to become a happy, powerful couple.

Think about it: if Bill wasn’t such a messed up individual, he could’ve been the Muse Ford needed. He could’ve kept being the center of his life and the sun in his galaxy, as Ford said. They’ve found a kindred spirit in each other: they could’ve been each other family, each other’s supporter. And with their cleverness, they really could’ve gone “through hardships to the stars”.

On the other hand, if Ford was a much, much more messed up individual, he could’ve joined Bill in his plans to dominate the galaxy. He could’ve worked with him to bring Weirdmageddon everywhere. He would’ve destroyed everyone and taught “a lesson to all”. He would’ve been to his side, ruling alongside him, “all-powerful, greater than anything you've imagined”, as Bill promised during Weirdmageddon. They would’ve been the most powerful couple ever.

But Bill lost both possibilities and the fault is his own. Just like he lost everything and everyone else in the past, once again, the fault is just his own.

_______________________________

Again as before: alone

TBOB doesn’t end on a happy note. When I reached the last pages, I literally commented with: “Oh boy, that’s truly depressing”.

The way Bill snaps and says that “you turned out like all the rest”, the way he blames his past relationships, his “worthless Henchmaniacs”, his “miserable family” and Sixer. Yes, just Sixer, no bad adjective to add to him - understandable, considering he’s probably still down bad for him.

And he says he just needs one person, someone who will fall for his tricks. He’s not even looking for a special person: he’s just looking for someone. Someone who will get him out. Because he doesn’t miss anyone, nope nope, but he really, really wants someone. Anyone.

To me, this reconfirms Bill is and has been alone, for a very, very long time. Probably since the destruction of Euclydia. He tried to fill the void inside him with some romantic relationships, but he didn’t manage to keep them. He tried with friends, but he cannot understand a friendship not based on submission. He tried with an audience, but it still wasn’t enough.

And when he found the only soul who was so similar to him, both physically and mentally, the only one he was honest with, even if for a brief moment… he lost him too.

And now he’s, once again, alone. He lost his family, his friends, his loved ones. He lost everything.

_______________________________

An immensely fascinating character

Bill is so. Goddamn. Fascinating. He was a fascinating character before, because the series gave us hints about his potentially tragic backstory (the famous “Flat minds in a flat world with flat dreams”). He was interesting and he was hiding something, so he got our attention.

Now, he’s fascinating because he’s multifaceted. He’s complex, he’s tragic, he’s desperate. You can empathize with him and feel sorry for him. But you can also laugh with/at him, fear him, condemn him. His tragic story doesn’t make up for what he did, but it helps us understand how he reached that point. In perspective, it makes all of his choices easier to understand too: Bill never went through all the stages of grief, he’s still stuck in the denial phase. And when you keep carrying denial for such an absurdly long amount of time, your choices and your mentality inevitably end up being skewed.

You know, it’s funny that Bill sees himself as a bidimensional villain, when he’s so, so much more than that. Maybe it’s all part of his trauma, his inability to see himself as more than just the insane monster who destroyed his home dimension. But this book does him justice and portrays him for the incredible, fascinating, complex character he truly is.

And that’s another reason why I respect Alex Hirsch so much. Aside from being funny and clever, this man is full of passion for the world he made. He is Gravity Falls. And, ten years later, he still has a great understanding of the characters: he can portray them so accurately, with so many details and connections to the previously disseminated dots - all while still leaving questions! Man, I can only wish to reach this level of understanding of my own characters.

So, once again, I’m here to thank this man. For creating Gravity Falls and sharing that world, while fighting censorship in every step. And for coming back, ten years later, to give the fandom a second renaissance.

_______________________________

Gravity Falls, it’s good to be back!

I have a ton of moments in my life connected to Gravity Falls, of summers, feelings and memories. This show saved me from depression, brought me up to my feet, took my hand to Canada and back home, then left my hand for a while to make me take some steps alone.

In these years, I learned a lot, improved my English, improved my writing in general. And now, I feel more ready, more mature, more capable of writing something like nine posts to analyze one single book and show at least a small part of the deep love I still feel for this series.

I hope you all felt it - at least a little bit. I hope you enjoyed my stupidly long analysis, my silly theories and my obsession with the triangle guy.

And if you’re still not fed up with me and want more rambling, please feel free to ask for more. Tell me what else do you want me to talk about, if you want episode analyses, if there is something else I missed, if Dipper and Pacifica are truly endgame (the answer is yes). I will write them inbetween other posts about other fandoms (Epic and CCCC, I am coming back for you both).

And if you want new Gravity Falls fanfictions, don’t worry: I have one already in progress, a second one planned and a third one still in my mind. Maybe not all three of them will see the light of day, but who knows? Maybe I will get new ideas too. The love for this series is too strong on me and I need to express it somehow <3

So stay tuned, because we will meet again very, very soon~

Thank you all for your time and attention and I wish you all a nice day <3

(How about a coffee? ☕)

_______________________________

📌TAGLIST: @mudpuddlenl @allmycrushesaredead @aquatedia @whatishappeningrightnow @effortiswhatmatters @bella-in-a-bag @doydoune @forever-third-wheeling @payte @hypnossanders @idontreallyknow24   @imcrushedbyarainbowoffical @patton-cake-and-crofters​  @hereissananxiousmess @purplebronzeandblue​ @cynicalandsarcastic​ @lost-in-thought-20 @andtheyreonfire @riseofthewerewolf @rosesandlove44 ​​@arya-skywalker @csi-baker-street-babes @reesiereads @dracayd-universe @starlightnyx​ @stubbornness-and-spite @averykedavra @joyrose-fandomer @mihaela-tbg @igonnatalknothing @thatoneloudowl @grayson-22 @softangryfuckingdepressed @theotherella @nevenastark @coldbookworm @boopypastaissalty @varthandiveturinn @roses-bubbles @cuter-on-the-inside @snixxxsmythe @charmingcritter @analogical-mess @emphasis-on-the-oopsie @selfdestructivecat @yangwalkerao3 @the3rddenialist

[anama-cara]

The Healer: Bargaining finale (part 5/5)

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4. Joel Masterlist

Raider!Joel Miller x Fem!Reader

Summary: You finally reach the doctor's house with Joel and your sick little brother and you show Joel your appreciation. Reader's thoughts in italics. Word count: 2.7k

Warnings: 18+ mdni, sickness/fever, age gap, unprotected PIV

a/n: I wasn't sure how to end this. At first I had a much darker ending but I decided that I liked these characters too much so I added some *feelings*. Please let me know what you think

You had awoken to the sounds of birds chirping and soft breathing. Joel’s arm was draped over your waist and his hand rested on your stomach. It was pleasantly warm. In your mind you pretended that you were sleeping next to someone who actually cared. You imagined it was real. That you could have a companion that loved and protected you, that you could wake up like this next to them in the mornings. It was a nice daydream, but just that. That kind of dream didn’t exist in this new world, nothing good survived. And you certainly had no hope of finding a good man like that to love you.

Joel’s arm twitched in his sleep and you were pulled from your daydream and into your memories from the night before. How his lips felt on your neck, how his hands felt on your body, how his voice sounded as he said your name, how his fingers felt inside you.

For a moment you keep your eyes closed to the world and sink into the comforting feeling. Listening to the songbirds, letting the first rays of sunlight filtering through the tree dance over your closed lids, feeling Joel’s chest rise and fall against your back. You draink it all in, you hadn’t experienced a moment this peaceful in a long time.

There’s a rustle from the sleeping bag across the fire and you jump. Shit. What are you thinking?

You remind yourself that this is Joel, the leader of the band of raiders that terrorizes your countryside. He is not a good man, even if he is helping you, which he really isn’t, this is on just his way.  Suddenly you feel shame, you can’t believe that you let him make you cum, let him hold you, sleep beside you. You curse yourself for being so foolish and letting yourself go last night.

Sleeping beside a fucking criminal, a bully, a killer. A fucking menace. What the hell were you thinking?

You wriggle out of the bag and jump to your feet. To your relief your little brother just rolls over, still sounds asleep. You let out a breath.

“Scared of getting caught?” Joel’s voice is rough with sleep but you can hear the smile on his lips.

“Come on get up,” you kick him in his sleeping bag. “The sun is up we gotta go.”

“Ok bossy,” he grumbles as he rubs his palms over his eyes with an exaggerated yawn.

You wake up your brother as Joel packs up the camp and you’re heading out for the last leg of your journey before the sun is fully risen.

---

You’d been diligently following a few yards behind Joel, carrying your brother in your arms. He seems to get weaker with every step. In the last mile he doesn’t even respond to you when you call his name. He’s just limp in your arms and you can feel his fever burning through his clothing. You make a desperate sound as you try to shake him awake.

Joel’s head whips back. “What’s wrong?” He turns and retreats back to you.

“He won’t wake up,” your voice trembles as you’re trying not to panic. You hold back the tears that threaten to brim over.

“Jesus sweetheart why didn’t you say somethin.” He moves to take the boy from your arms but your grip tightens.

“What are you doing?” There’s fear in your accusation.

His eyes rack over your face, reading your expression. “You don’t trust me,” he says flatly but his expression almost looks hurt. He takes a breath and a hard expression returns to his face. “We gotta move a whole lot faster. If you don’t want him to die we gotta get to the house and get this fever to break.” Joel takes your brother from your arms and you don’t fight him this time. He takes off in a jog and you run after him, trying to keep up.

--

The house looks similar to yours, farmhouse style with a big front porch. Its white paint is peeling and there are a few cracked windows on the top floor but in all its still in good condition. As you come up the dirt drive you see a thin man in his late 60s watching from the window. After he sees the boy Joel is carrying, he disappears from the window only to reappear in the doorway. He sets his rifle down on the table and comes out onto the porch to meet you.

“Joel,” the man gives a stiff nod in greeting. His eyes dart to you then back to Joel.

“Doc,” Joel gives a nod. There’s respect but no friendliness there. Joel dips his head in your direction, “This here’s one of your neighbors, and this is her little brother. He’s got a bad fever and needs your help.” The doctor narrows his eyes at you and Joel, but when he looks down at the child in Joel’s arms his expression softens. “Of course, bring him in.”

You follow the him inside and Joel sets the boy down on the couch. The old man looks at you, “I’ll require a payment of course. What supplies have you brought to offer?”

“What I don’t, I-“ you stammer in a panic but Joel interrupts you.

“You and I will discuss payment later. You help him first.”

The man’s gaze shifts from you to Joel, he pauses a moment then nods in agreement. “Very well. But if he needs antibiotics the price will be doubled. Upstairs.”

Joel carries your brother upstairs and sets him in the bathtub. “Out,” the doc instructs him then turns to you. “You, undress him and fill the bath. Lukewarm. We’ll try to bring his temperature down. I’ll go get him a glass of water, we need to keep him well hydrated.” You tend to your brother for hour before the fever finally breaks. You help dress him and carry him to a bed in one of the guest bedrooms on the top floor. You go to sit beside him but the doc shoos you from the room. “No, he needs rest, out, out.” Exhausted you return downstairs and plop down onto the couch.

You must have been drifting off because you’re startled when the cushion sinks as a weight sits down next to you.  

“Doc is gonna give him some medicine, says he’s got pneumonia. You didn’t hear him coughing?”

You blink, quickly trying to gather your thoughts. “Umm, yeah, I did, I just thought it was part of a cold, you know cause its winter, I mean he always starts coughing when it gets colder. I didn’t think much of it, I was just thinking of his fever. I should have paid more attention.” Your voice tightens.

“No, sweetheart that’s not what I meant,” he trails of looking frustrated then leans back into the couch. “Doesn’t matter, it’s gonna be fine, he’ll get better now.”

“Joel, how much did he ask for? He said the medicines were expensive.”

“Don’t worry about it.”

“But-“

“I said don’t worry about it. I took care of it.”

You swallow, “thank you.”

His head turns to look at you, and eyebrow raised in surprise.

Tentatively you reach out and lay a hand on top of his, trying to express your appreciation. “I’m serious Joel. Thank you.”

The corner of his mouth twitches and he turns to face forward again. He lets out a sigh and leans his head back into the couch, closing his eyes and casually relaxing. You’ve never seen him like this. “Doc also said the boy needs rest so we’re gonna stay the night and leave tomorrow. Said we can sleep upstairs in the other guest room down the hall. I think he likes ya’ never seen him so generous before.”

You blink. We? “What about your mission? I thought you were supposed to meet up with your men today for a job?”

He shrugged nonchalantly. “They’ll assume I got held up. They can do it without me.”

“Joel if you need to leave-“

He opens one eye to look at you. “There’s no place I’d rather be right now sweetheart.”

You swallow and gather some courage. “Joel,” you say hesitantly. “Why are you helping me? Why tell us about the doctor, why escort us, why pay for the medicine, why be… nice to me?”

He turns to face you fully now, his hand strokes your cheek then returns to grip your hand. You instinctively tense and go to pull your hand away but you stop as his eyes lock on yours. “Don’t you get it sweetheart?”

“What?” you reply a bit breathlessly. His eyes are making you nervous.

“I care for ya.”

You feel your heartbeat quicken and you’re silent for a moment as you let his words sink in. What the fuck?

“I know, I’m sorry for how we first met, I shouldn’ta done that, but-“

“Y-you care for me?” You can barely get the words out.

Joel shakes his head. “I shouldn’ta said nothin.” He moves his hand from yours. “No, wait-“ you reach out and grip his retreating hand. Why are you holding his hand? Why is your heart aching? Why do you want him to stay?

But despite the thoughts running through your head your body is acting. You shift closer to him and your hand that reached out to hold his is now slowly moving up his forearm in a gentle caress. Joel closes his eyes for a moment at your touch. You silently urge him to continue.

“Sweetheart I know I fucked up. You were so good to me and I didn’t treat you right. I know I don’t deserve ya.” He is looking into your eyes now, desperation in his eyes. “But I swear I wanna do right by ya. I wanna be there for you, protect you, be with you.”

You don’t break away from his gaze as you move closer still. You’re just inches away from him, almost touching his chest as he stares down at you.

“I want you” he whispers.

And finally you speak the truth that you know is in your heart. “You already have me Joel.”

Your hand glides up his arm and presses against his hard chest as you lean forward to press a gentle kiss to his lips. It’s tender and sweet and like nothing either thought you’d ever experience again in this fucked up world.

You lift your body from the couch to move fully into his lap now, straddling him. Your hands wrap around his face and you lean into him, deepening the kiss and pushing him back against the couch. His hands grip at your hips and you can feel his bulge underneath you. Instinctually you rock your hips into him and he groans in your mouth. You break the kiss and nip at his neck before sliding out of his lap and onto the floor between his feet. You kneel between his legs and look up at him, one hand rubbing circles over his knee. He’s looking down at you, slumped in the couch. You smirk as you watch his tummy rise and fall with each heavy breath. He spreads his legs more and you shuffle closer to him on your knees.

A wicked smile curves on his lips, “You gonna show me just how grateful you are now? This how ya thank me?”

You nod vigorously and reach out for his belt just as you hear the floor creak upstairs. You jump up and throw yourself onto the couch, lounge back and trying to act casual. Joel lets out a barking laugh at the panic in your eyes. “I didn’t know anyone could move that fast sweetheart,” he laughs as he pats your knee. Your heart is beating fast, you completely forgot there was someone else in this house. You were about to suck Joel off in the middle of someone else’s living room while they were just a few rooms away and could walk in at any moment.

Joel smirks and grabs your hand, pulling you up. “Come on.”  He leads you up the stairs and down the hall to the guest bedroom. “Goodnight doc, see you tomorrow,” he calls out loudly then winks at you as he shuts the door and pulls you towards the bed.

He pushes you down with his hands on your shoulders. He stands before you, tall and strong, dark eyes looking down at you and you feel yourself start to get wet. He reaches for his back and grabs his flannel, pulling it off over his head. Quickly he undoes his belt and drops his boxers and jeans in one go. He steps out of his pants and stands before you, completely naked, looking like a freaking god. You’ve never seen his body before, usually he tells you to strip and he remains fully clothed. This new imbalance has your blood pumping and your core clenching. You gulp as he closes the gap between you and scoops his hands under your arms to lift you and push you all the way up onto the bed. He lays over your body, face just a few inches above yours, dark eyes scanning yours. His hand reaches down between you to undo your pants and he pulls back for just a moment to pull your pants and underwear from your body. You take this opportunity to quickly shed your shirt before he’s back over your again. He rests on his elbows and his hands come up to cradle your face, fingers intertwining in your hair as his lips crash into yours, desperate and needy and hot. You whimper against him and he pulls back after a moment.

“Joel I need you, now.”

“Sweetheart I don’t wanna hurt you again. Lemme help stretch you first, get ya ready to take me.” His hand reaches down, trailing over your skin as he moves down your body.

“Joel, I’m ready now.”

His hand moves between your legs and he grins as his fingers reach your wetness. He rubs against your clit with two fingers. “Yeah you are. So wet for me already, fuck.” He plants a kiss to your neck, sucking at your soft skin as his other hands wraps around his cock and guides it to your entrance. You suck in a breath, tensing as you brace for the pain and the stretch, used to Joel shoving into you. But this time he doesn’t. He takes his time, slowly pushing into you inch by inch, letting your body adjust. He groans, fully inside you and you can’t help looking down between you. You watch as he moves his hips and slides in and out of you easily. He catches you staring and smirks, “like that? Want it faster sweetheart?” You nod, unable to speak, and he jerks his hips, hitting something deep inside you causing your head to fall back into the pillows. Your back arches as he sets his new pace and you groan. It doesn’t take long for you to feel your orgasm building. Your hands are gripping the sheets and you’re shaking your head and moaning as it takes over you. Your body spasms under Joel’s and he holds you down with his forearm across your chest. “Fucking bronco, hang on sweetheart I’m almost there.” He continues thrusting into you as you come down from your high and after a few more deep movements he’s spilling inside you, warmth spreading through your core. His breathing is ragged and he collapses on top of you, bodies flush against each other. He tucks you in his arms then rolls both of you to the side so he’s lying behind you, cradling you in his arms.

He kisses your hair from behind. “So fucking good.” He murmurs.

You lay together like that for a long time until your both starting to drift off.

“Joel, I-, I”

“I know sweetheart, everything will be just fine now.”

You smile to yourself as you drift off, comforted by the idea that for the first time since the world fell apart you think the next day will be a better one.

[owatazumi]

basileia | enhypen

genre royal, kingdoms, vampires, fluff, fantasy, female!reader, enha as vampires and princes featuring enhypen!vamp!prince and reader!princess warnings mention of blood, violence, etc. in future episodes

as the princess of one of the most feared and well-known kingdoms it wasn’t unusual for you to get letters and invites from other kingdoms yet you never really paid much attention to them since they were boring and un-amusing in your eyes.

A gust of wind swirled into your chambers as the courier walked in. You could feel your heart racing in anticipation as you saw the mysterious seal of the Adon Kingdom on the letter he held. You had heard many stories about this ancient kingdom but never imagined they would make a move like this, a move that could affect your path forever.

trepidation filled you as you opened the note and read its contents, unaware of what may be coming next...

“dear princess,

It is our great pleasure to extend an invitation to Your Majesty to attend the coronation of Prince Heeseung atop the throne of the Adon Kingdom. This historic occasion marks the first time in three decades that a new ruler will be installed. We would be honored if you were to grace us with your presence on this joyous day, as it would indeed be a privilege for all those present. We eagerly anticipate your arrival at our grand celebration on the 3rd of November. Prepare for a day of unforgettable festivities and merriment, as we welcome you to the majestic kingdom of adon. Your presence is greatly appreciated and awaited.

sincerely, the kingdom of adon."

you had never encountered an opportunity like this before and you couldn’t contain your excitement as you immediately went to prepare for the trip to the kingdom.

after a long journey, you arrived at the gates of the adon castle perfectly in time. to your surprise, you were welcomed by three princes who were wearing their representative colors ever so elegently as they greeted you. the youngests gaze made it clear that he wasn't happy about having a stranger enter his kingdom and his two elder brothers seemed equally hesitant but still managed to welcome you with warm smiles and respectful bows “welcome dear princess” their voices harmonized together beautifully. "i hope you had a pleasant journey, dear, im jay, prince of mars" as he introduced himself his hand went to his chest, a small grin plastered on his lips. your eyes land on the boy with black and white hair who is staring at you with distrust. the dark-haired boy who seems pretty quiet and observant notices the staring contest between you both and finally speaks up "dont mind riki... he doesnt trust people at first yet he does warm up at some point." jay nods in agreement and lets out a hum before motioning you to follow them inside. the castle was huge you could even say humongous yet it was beautiful and oh so breathtaking. "im sunghoon, prince of mercury, m´lady..." the prince introduced himself right before leaving you at the bottom of the staircase so you could meet their oldest brother.

your heart raced, waiting patiently amidst this spectacle, you finally caught the prince's attention. Your hesitation led you to approach the boy slowly and carefully, introducing yourself in an admiring and respectful tone “good morning your majesty, I’m the princess of azure” he nodded in approval as he extended his arm for you to grasp “no need for such formalities princess...” His eyes locked with yours and you could almost feel the weight of all of your worries and fears slipping from your shoulders. “Just call me heeseung" a smile appears on both of your faces as a blush gracefully spreads across your soft cheeks before a tap on your shoulder prompts you to turn around. you’re met with a pink-haired boy who has the brightest smile you have ever seen. “hello dear princess!” the boy beams you a smile as he reaches out his hand for you to take. he leads it in front of his mouth yet before he does anything his eyes meet your widened ones “may i?” he refers to your hand which is in front of his lips and right after you agree he gives a light kiss to your knuckles as he bows before he stands up straight once again “i’m glad you could make it princess” his smile was really addicting and you just couldnt take your eyes off of the boy. heeseung was still beside you and so was the pink-haired boy who was talking to you in pure excitement. they lead you to their table where a few other boys already settled down including jay, sunghoon and riki. “i’ve always wanted to meet you! i’ve heard so much about you but of course only good things!” his enthusiasm made you chuckle “thank you, i’m glad to meet you too— what was your name?“ you tilted your head as you leaned slightly closer to hear him better since the room was quite loud. “my apologies princess, im sunoo, prince of venus" you felt your heart flutter as your eyes met his. you couldn't help but feel a sense of excitement as you realize that you are seated with the most feared and respected kingdom of all time...

to be continued...

<33

@j-wyoung @lacieeeeee00

[uyuartik]

bad idea, right? (obi wan kenobi x f!reader) part iii

tags: angst, fluff, arguments, period typical misogyny (of course not from obi wan), just overall wealthy pricks being little shits, the trope of THERE WAS ONLY ONE BED, but not really, do you believe in second chances (i don't) (💀), little smut compared to the rest because originally there was no smut in this (but i HAD TO use that idea), REPOST because i fucked up in the first place

a/n: welcome back for the finale!

well, i can't think of anything to say except this has been a blast for me, and i'm so happy that there are those who enjoys this madness as much as i do. hope you like the ending too. thank you all!

likes and reblogs are very much appreciated, and i can’t wait to hear your opinions! i am also crossposting on ao3, feel free to interact there as well.

part one | part two | part three | ao3

enjoy!!!

word count: 8.3K

chapter three: fuck it it's fine!

You don’t board that ship. A slight sickness you excuse, then spend your days sulking at home, still covered by the expanse of your lies. It is not totally untrue, though. You did really wake up with a swollen throat, and that put the integrity of your health during the journey at risk, thus with great grief, canceled the plans. Nobody knew that you’d not even mention the symptom on any other day, just requesting some honey tea and hardly noticing it disappear in the morrow. And it exactly worked out as predicted, more so, without leaving its discomfort for remorse. But after that, the hours stretched out each day, like you were living in a different plane where you were not welcomed. Perhaps you actually weren’t, for if you followed your fate, you’d be eating different foods, and walking foreign corridors. In an attempt to run away from that feeling, you try to socialize just a little, attending even the most dull tea parties. Also, your preference of company has to be specialized now, and that proves difficult sometimes.

So, that’s exactly why you indeed sulk at home, even though all your efforts.

But not tonight. 

Then again, perhaps you should've.

His presence has nothing to do with it, to be perfectly clear. On the contrary, he makes it a little endurable. The forced small talk and empty eyes you once feared dearly are not the case, even after your last encounter. Of course, there's a little awkwardness, an uncertainty about where the line of intimacy now stands, shadows of anger and disappointment still darkening the atmosphere, but the overall sensation comes down to longing. You both lost a great friendship, cast it aside in a blink, but your souls don't accept this new arrangement that quickly, trying to fall into the familiar rhythm once more each time you feel your walls break. You don't allow it, neither does he. Yet, it is about the only thing that turns this night into a not complete waste of time. Even a pleasant one, you'd dare say. 

If it weren't for literally everything else except this.

The hushed little uninformed jokes start during the dinner. It is the lord of the house that says them, to his close circle, barely hanging onto etiquette he had glimpses of. As minutes tick and glasses of wine roll, that glimpse is gone, and even in your seat at the end of the table, you hear him clearly. The pressed lips and masked mimics pretending not to be aware of it soon become apparent on every face, excluding you and Lord Kenobi. You glower the first time another of the guests feels confident enough to make his dirty contribution to the subject. Typical, you try to stay calm, tapping your fingers on the table. The world is filled with the likes of him, and the last thing they deserve is your attention. The reflex doesn’t go unnoticed by him, and he sends a sympathetic smile, showing that you’re not alone and accepting this invitation was a most regretful choice. He uses a few retorts to close the deal, let the dinner continue in different matters- or in silence, that would be fantastic indeed, but his smart wit and slight intimidation work only for a couple of minutes. Now it’s your turn to reflect that sad smile, and you do.

The sadness doesn’t come from the circumstances around you all, though. Your heart feels heavy, for not trying better ways to handle that morning. That guilt will haunt you, drag you into the gloomy pit you’ve been in, and maybe, you should stay there for some time, a penance for your mistakes.  

After dinner, when the ladies and gentlemen huddle around different interests, you get a chance to cool off. The soft peals of laughter and giggles fill the room, a much more pleasant sound than the roar of men. You get to entertain others with your stories of other cities you’ve been to, and they tell their interesting incidents, and make fun of their husbands, people who deserve, as their commotion spills out of the walls. The topic of their conversation, marriage, diffuses out into your circle in such a way, that once again, you’re restraining yourself, trying to listen to the problems one of the ladies is complaining of, and not to hear the crude comments going on on the other side. You’re stopped from rushing out of your armchair simply out of respect you have for the woman speaking when you pick up your name passing in their remarks. Plus, Kenobi’s words, you don’t flatter me by offending the lady, reach every ear in the room, sharper than a knife. Your cheeks burn with anger, then with gratitude, and at last, out of embarrassment, because how are you going to explain he’s just doing an honorable thing, that it’s his character to defy ill minds when he sees one, and this has little to do with his “pursuit” of you? Your breaths are shallow and quick as you focus on the discourse, and dodge every attempt to pull the subject towards your relations.

Though, the snake doesn’t give up on eating, even his own tail, it seems.

In less than half an hour, a joke about abduction is whispered, and you surge from your armchair, the screeching sound echoing. You murmur what resembles to be an excuse (you’re still deciding whether they are worthy of one), and send one glaring gaze at the group, enough to make one flinch, and walk out.

Out of the entire house.

Lucky for you, this is a night in which you carpooled with another guest, meaning you only have your own feet to carry you away in this pouring rain.

But of course, that’s not enough to deter you.

You take big steps, enforced by your fury. Thus, the house leaves your sight in no time, but not their audacity, still ringing in your ears. Implications about your freedom. Complaints of wive-hood. Humor about how perfectly reasonable is to get rich, by kidnapping a young woman… (Honestly, after all that, you don’t have mercy for them of the panic they might experience when they realize their guest is not refreshing in another room, and have left the estate altogether. Alas, that guest is you.) You string curses at them, the only form of thinking you have in regard, and feel the bulk of emotions resonate with every stomp, even spilling out of your tear ducts. Your dampening body, and the length of the road don’t make it any easier, feeding your frustration. Your only anchor is your self worth, the reason you began this path in the first place, and you desperately hope it will turn the tide in a while.

Though now, the picture you paint with those foul words and wet clothes isn’t exactly the brightest.

It is still among these moods, that Obi Wan catches up to you. You’re not exactly surprised to see him, his carriage closing the twenty minute distance you put between yourself and that damned house with a speed that you think can’t be that good for the horses in the long run. They stop abruptly at your side, and you have all those insults readied if it turns out to be that fucked up man or polite declines if it is indeed Obi Wan. 

But, you can’t speak them. The world feels like it freezes, the raindrops slowing down, and carrying away your burdens as they fall to the soil. The small door opens, and Obi Wan rushes out of it, with an expression that is so honest and raw. His fright vanishes at the sight of you, that scared gaze dissolving, eyebrows relaxing… You can actually see his lips move, Thank God. He is totally undisturbed by the downpour, already making his strands stick to his forehead. His hands find yours, and pull you close, almost like an embrace. You look into his eyes, how focused they are on you, as if they could burn you from the inside with their intensity. You have an undeniable urge to kiss him right now, and that has nothing to do with lust, but your wish to undo the last couple of weeks, uphold that strong connection once the two you had. Of course, you don’t, you can’t, thus, you let him lead you inside, and continue towards whatever destination.

Funny, how you feel much calmer doing the thing you thought you wouldn’t. Moreso, you have no woes about it either.

The silence is deafening, but nobody dares to open their mouth, the greatness of the storm of emotions you both are having too heavy on your tongues. He puts his less soggy jacket around your shoulders, you welcome it with a nod. That’s the moment you realize the redness on his knuckles. It’s not hard to guess the scene, and that has your head turned to the floor, processing the entire night. It is also at this moment that you become aware of your fresh tears, still sliding over your cheeks. Even if he notices them, he doesn’t do a thing about it, an indifference you’re grateful for. He just looks out of the window, and contemplates, same as you.

===

The tub filled with hot water doesn’t make you any wetter, but it helps with the temperature. You’re sorry that you exhausted the owners of the inn you had to stay in, (for it was getting impossible to travel in that rain) with this request, but a voice tells you that Obi Wan wouldn’t have it any other way. You’re unbelievably silent as he sorts it all out, staying in your bubble, unintentionally playing the part of the damsel in distress. You listen to his list of requests, for the horses, for three rooms (the best reserved for the lady, he insists), a tub to be prepared for you, and some tea-

“No need.” Your voice is weak, but it is clear. He would’ve protested this answer, but it is the first time you’ve talked after leaving the house, how ironic, and the realization sets deep in both of you. After that, you feel the words pile up on your tongue, but in a blink, you find yourself in a room. Alone.

“So sorry, I thought they gave me this room.” He stands at the door, holding it half open, face turned in the opposite direction.

“Obi Wan.” His gaze hesitantly finds your way again. God, he’s about to kill you with that blues… “Can we talk for a second?”

You name yourself a hypocrite for asking that, in this state, but you can’t breathe with all that untold things if you spend another second without explaining yourself to him, and apologize for all the trouble you’ve caused. And, isn’t this already proof of the trust you have for him, how vulnerable you can be in his presence?

And, there’s nothing he’s not seen before, after all.

He gingerly closes the door, locking it in a swift motion, and makes his way to you. You pull yourself together, and reach for his hand for him to help you out.

“No, stay. Your fingers are still cold.”

You can’t hide the small smile forming on your face as you settle back, careful to keep most of your body underwater. He, ever noble, keeps his eyes straight on your face, which somehow doesn’t help. There’s something about his rolled-up sleeves, the matching three-piece suit down to two for the damp jacket sits behind the chair in your back against the fireplace. His hair is drying up in all defiant shapes, and you have to stop imagining that morning he woke up next to you.

“I just wanted to say thank you. For everything. I- I never intended to cause this big of a mess, and make someone clean up after me. Certainly, not you, of all people. You shouldn’t have tired yourself this much, and I’m sorry for it.”

“You can’t expect me to do nothing.” The sentence begs for a dear to be added in the end, and he has to fight his throat to silence himself. Instead, there’s a kind tug at the corners of his lips.

“You’re right.” You nod. “But the truth is, I wasn’t thinking clearly. I needed to get out, I just couldn’t sit there pretend I didn’t hear all those nasty comments.”

His fist clenches at the reminder, and you once again spot the bruises settling in on his knuckles, filling with the desire to mention them, but you inevitably decide not to. “That asshole-“

”He was obnoxious since the first hour, and loud, but that doesn't scare me, for thus he has proven himself to be just a foul mouthed man. But, that title started not to cover the extent of it- it was too much and I couldn’t take it anymore. You may say it was obvious from the start, but I tried my best to not evolve this into a thing I would regret afterward. And I succeeded.”

“So you don't even regret ever setting foot in that house?”

A tinge of disgust seizes your face, but only for a moment. Even with all those words echoing in your ear, you don't have hatred in your heart, or any remorse. You're not so quite sure about its reason, nor do you wish to be, avoiding all analysis. Like you don't know the basics already. But the sudden change in your expression tells everything. “I don’t think I can ever regret it. At least, not in its entirety.” You say, hugging your knees and lowering your head. Hot steam no longer hits your skin, you realize in your attempts of distraction.

There's a second of silence in the room, despite the thunderstorm raging outside. You are as cold as in the beginning because of it, and you almost contemplate how good of an idea this conversation was, especially under these circumstances.

“I’d say the same.” Obi Wan speaks, and that's when goosebumps rise on your skin. Your eyes meet his, then flutter away quickly, overwhelmed. Does he mean-

Why is him meaning that any different than yours, huh? Why is it any worse when he says it?

“You should get out of there.” He reaches for a towel, and you shyly stand up, turning your back and pressing your arms around yourself. Nothing he hasn't seen before, right? As the coarse fabric is draped around your shoulders, you can’t help but feel afire, the imprint of his hand around your shoulders for a second lingering way more than it should, creating a tingling sensation.

“Thank you.”

“Well, I must return to my room now.” He folds his hands together, like trying to preserve where they’ve touched, and his eyes still stay respectfully up, causing your heart to lose its rhythm. There has never been a scenario that involved nakedness without… sexual intentions, and clearly, it’s not even crossing your minds right now. Your awareness of it takes up all the space in your mind, tosses every other idea out, and leaves you at the mercy of your soul.

“Obi Wan.” Fuck, the way you call his name, it is bound to weaken him every time. “Can you-” Oh, haven't you demanded enough from him? “I- I would like it if you stayed.”

His mouth hangs open for a second, with a subtle sharp inhale. His fingers tighten around each other, then relax all together, hanging free by his side. “Of course.” For all the words that come to his lips, it’s a most simple answer.

Not that you have any complaints.

You’re filled with another kind of thrill, being this open with your wishes, but having no clue whether they’ll take the night, having no clue where you want the night to go, or how to act in this very moment, half covered.  You just know that you prefer him, being in the same chamber as you. You’d prefer to listen to his idle talk or slow breaths, than the silence of the room. You’d prefer him to snore in your bed than to picture him in his own, lying awake. (Because let’s face it, it’d take a while for him to surrender to sleep, if left to his own devices.)

He takes a step towards the armchair, unbuttoning his vest and you come back to your senses, stepping out of the tub in the opposite direction, towards the nightgown the innkeeper gracefully lent to you. It’s slightly large for your body, definitely not tailored for someone close to your size, but if Obi Wan ever heard you commenting on the fact, he’d wholeheartedly claim you still looked like an angel. Since you don’t, he doesn’t too, but it’s obvious in the way he takes in your form, a battle of excess fabric against your movements. He has to bury a groan when your sleeve falls down your shoulder, a simple accident. He knows that shouldn’t have been seen by him, or you didn’t do it on purpose, that tonight is not meant for those activities, and it shouldn’t get him so bothered up, but it fucking does. Does it also make him want to slap himself? Yes.

Walking near the fireplace, you wring the excess water from your hair and run your fingers through the strands before rubbing that towel aggressively, for the fact that it is already soggy enough, and is not gonna do much. You despise sleeping with wet hair, it is an invitation for you to get sick, not to mention that you’ll be sharing the bed, leaving frustrating streaks of wetness on the sheets for them.

“Hey, hey, let me help you.” Is he a little bit scared? The answer is another yes. But he’s not gonna stand there and watch you fight with your hair. He takes the fabric, locating the most usable spots, and slowly massages your strands with them. Objectively, it’s not a lot different in terms of overall results, but it does more than that anyway. Despite the forbidden intimacy, despite the question of “How is he so good at it?”, you’re lulled by the constant movements, the tension in your muscles easing off. He keeps you by the fire longer than you would’ve stayed, and that achievement belongs solely to him. Frankly, he too is not sure how long the two of you could stand like that, or put an end to it. All that matters is that your hair is pleasantly damp, less bothersome, and he did that.

To be honest, with each minute he is in your presence; the task of holding onto his manners, respecting his broken heart, and following your lead is getting harder to manage.

“Thank you.” You murmur, eyelids barely held open, and he feels like a juggler, suddenly losing his sense of balance, and dropping one of his props.

“You’re welcome.” Perhaps he was the one to thank, for the pleasure. That’s the second prop, falling down.

Still, it’s obvious how that sentence misses a darling thrown out after it.

You climb the bed, and he follows suit. You both favor the edges of the mattress, and there’s a ridiculous distance between both of your bodies, but you’re both too timid to use it, even at the risk of tumbling down.

Only after the urge to find a better position kicks in that you move, and end up just a little closer, face turned to his side.

He’s already turned to you, eyes closed but definitely not trying to sleep, or relax if nothing. He opens them of course, after you rustled the sheets that hard.

“What if I get sick tomorrow?” Admittedly, that’s a silly question, but the scenario occupies your mind. All the elemental factors are present, and you only have a formal dress on your back. Also, the fact that it would be all your fault, yet you are the one to complain? You hate yourself for saying it out loud.

“Then we would stay ‘til you got better.” His point-of-fact words, softened with his bedtime voice, must be annoying. Must be. It is not. It is the raw truth, straight from his core. You won’t disrespect it, (again). “I would take care of you.”

(Doesn’t he, always?)

 A shiver runs down your spine.

(He’d name this place heaven, if it allowed you two to stay together a little longer.)

“Obi Wan.” Whispering, trying your best to break that ugly silence, not to crush under the weight of his words, but more importantly to let him know your truths, the alignment of your soul. “I- I never told you how much I appreciated you. Now just today, but especially today.”

He’s trying so hard not to sound rude, or leave you unanswered, but none of them are good enough. Thankfully, you are not expecting one. Your fingers ghost over his knuckles, afraid to hurt him. he’s not even sure you’re doing that, ‘til you hunch over, and press a small kiss over them.

That’s all the acknowledgment he needs, ever. It wasn’t becoming of a gentleman, obviously, but the situation didn’t require gentleman-cy, too. He has no recollection of how his fist ended up in that man’s eye, except for the exact second it happened, feeling his shirt slide from his other hand as the impact sizzled through his bones, and sent the man to the floor. He found himself in the middle of saying God knows what- he still doesn’t have a single clue, and thinks about the possibility of how they’ll resonate, ‘til it reaches his ears once again.

Though, he has no fear regarding that, or the altercation before it. Nor regret.

“I am honored that our names are spoken together, a testament of our likeness.”

The third prop.

It falls, most obviously, but he doesn’t show it. Not under these circumstances. No matter how you try to avoid the subject of love, or a future, he’s burning for it, burning for you. In that moment, it is settled that it’ll always be that way, forever. You’re absolutely crushing his heart, and maybe even crush yours in the process (for which reasons, he’s never sure), regardless of your intentions pointing otherwise, because he knows you’re pushing through your struggles to speak up, select the appropriate expressions, to honor your past. He’s touched by your effort, as well as your words, oh, your words… This is the only compliment he’ll ever accept, and it’s not even meant to be a compliment. Your voice is already etched into his brain, and there will not go a single day he’s not reminiscing about it.

Thus, with such strong emotions, his every muscle twitched with the desire to pull you closer, wrap his arm around your waist, card his fingers through your cool hair as your lips meet. He wants to kiss you slowly, savor your taste and caress your tongue with his, for the sole purpose of being close to you. You, throwing one leg over him… You, falling asleep in his arms as he gets to bathe in your enchanting scent… The feeling of your warm breath against his neck as you take refuge in there… He’s surprised he doesn’t have to chain himself not to act on any of these images.

(Oh, it very much feels like he has done that anyway)

Yet, it is probably the worst night to do so. It has all been too much, and all this on top of that is a recipe for disaster. A disaster he’s been struck with nonetheless, though, perhaps he can spare you from.

When it comes to you, he has always put his heart before his mind, (but never disregarding the latter part. It is the essential element to keep both of you safe, to never compromise your social statuses, to create the optimum atmosphere for your relationship to flourish (by your own unusual standards)). For the first time, he’s not following that code. Even he can’t imagine the consequences if he doesn’t.

You’re glad that nothing has changed. No response from him, no action. His relaxed expression tells you enough; the calmness of his eyes, his slow breaths and the slight curve of his lips… To be honest, you’re relieved to see your words reach their destination but also set with the urge to prove them. To press down your mouth on his, from which you hope for an answer; to hold his hand without causing any discomfort, or simply hug him for a second, eliminating all space between your bodies like your souls.

Alas, the role of the hypocrite is a part you no longer wish to play, and you’re perfectly willing to hurt yourself by not succumbing to your wishes, and refrain him from further confusion.

“Good night, Obi Wan.” You say, fingers grazing over his for the last time, and curl yourself into a ball.

“Good night, my dearest.”

 ===

The morning is unlike the previous example.

You wake up to him getting up, so there’s no way for you to know if your bodies drifted closer during the night, but considering the position of your arm, extended way beyond the middle, it is quite possible to assume some physical contact was present.

Considering you two are not facing each other, thus acknowledgment of the situation is not a matter, your embarrassment is half of what it should be.

Though, your cheeks burn brighter each second you can’t peel your eyes off of him, filling up the rest of that cup. Watching him walk around, the movement of each chiseled muscle on his back as he puts his shirt and trousers on quickly highlights another impropriety. He is perfection, even in that drowsy state of the human condition, there’s harmony to his every motion, the slow steps he takes, the way the fabric glides against his skin, the subtle fine arrangements of his fingers to make sure it looks decent, even how he breathes causes him to blend into the room, but also bedazzle it in his grace, make him stand out like a crown jewel, a masterpiece of arts that name the place.

You can only stop your ogling once he leans in and stirs the flames, which were already going strong since they were last fed before you went to sleep- wait, that doesn’t seem possible, did he actually sever his sleep to tend to it?

Is there any other explanation you need?

Your heart may flutter out of your chest after this realization, so you skirt out of the blankets. Of course, the sound draws his attention, and you’re caught, forced to react.

Yet, the unstoppable smile forming on his lips inspires a similar response on yours so easily, so naturally that you don’t feel obligated at all. On the quite contrary, that simple mimic banishes any pretense, showering you with reassurance and bravery, the motivation to act on your own true terms, not society’s or the ones you pressured onto yourself.

“Good morning.” The simultaneous greeting pulls a giggle from both of you, and it is all so small, yet so much. You sway away from his direction, casually reaching for your clothes, hoping he doesn’t notice the tremor of your legs when you shed the nightwear and put the chemise on. Because you know, he’s watching you. Divine justice, perhaps.

“Be careful, Obi Wan, I might start to think you enjoy watching me get dressed too much.” The snarky comment, fighting its way out of your mouth further softens the atmosphere, and it is like the first days of spring after a harsh winter, soothing your souls with relief.

“Guilty as charged.”

You shake your head, consumed by his usual forward banter. A scene taken straight out of your past. You shimmy into your dress instead of coming up with a cleverer response.

“You don’t sound sick.” He says, indicating that he’s been paying attention. 

Biting your lip, you turn away. “Actually…”

“Is there something wrong?” He ends up right beside you in a blink, as if the world changed by your unfinished sentence. 

Your heart picks up a different rhythm, hands raised in position to tie your ribbon but frozen. “It’s nothing, my throat just feels-”

“Do you want me to call a doctor?”

That was the exact reason why you started with it’s nothing. Alas… “No, it’s probably just my overthinking and coming up with strange sensations.” And if not, it depends on how well you spend tonight, so there’s not much room for intervention. Definitely not in medical terms.

“Pity.” His comment makes you scoff. After that, you can’t reward him with your concerns, can you? It is funny, ugh.

“Let me help.” 

Your heart can’t get any rest as the tension simply changes garbs, his fingers trailing over yours and leading a 180° turn, leaving a blazing line along your skin, to tie the ends of your ribbon together. Your arms tentatively fall to your sides, not sure what to do with their freedom. His breaths lick your neck while he attentively, slowly smooths his creation, and you’d probably freak out if you weren’t so focused on the sheer range of his skills.

(Also the mystery of how he comes to acquire it, but it’s only the deep, dark parts of your mind speaking. Moreover, you do not pride yourself in a position to be jealous. You absolutely are, on that tiny level, and no, you’ll never admit it.)

Though, you’re not gonna comment on that, not when your heart threatens to fly out of its cage. The sacredness of the action brings back the echoes of your concerns, not a single one strong enough to overtake you, but the cacophony of them loud enough to occupy the entirety of your capacity.

All that talk of past times… Coupled with a little hesitancy, and how the tables turn…

“T- thank you.”

“My pleasure.” Like he just didn’t flip the dynamic, he carries on with his outfit, tying his cravat. His beautiful hands work expertly, effortlessly, and the result is perfect, even without a mirror, eyes on you the entire time.

“Is it looking fine?”

“Yes.” You meekly answer. It is decent, like he always is. Somehow witnessing that feels as sensual as the previous scene, pulling you further down the whirlpool.

Embarrassed enough already, you busy yourself with your hair, accepting the mess that it is, and decide on a simple bun, as much as possible. The practiced moves bring you some sense of calmness and control, even if the result isn’t perfect. The silence helps too, along with his occupancy of tidying up the room.

“Do you want to have some breakfast?” He asks. God, how does he still sound that cheery?

“No, thank you.” You don’t want to keep your father worrying any longer, and it’s not like you’re going to faint. The memory of your last food in the most unpleasant company is still strong enough to expel any thought of hunger.

That answer may be the clearest thought you’ve ever had this morning, yet it is the one that whispers doubt into his heart. You are silent, turned away from him, and far too engrossed in whatever unnecessary thing you’re doing. Because now, he fears that if the two of you leave this room, this building, all your lives in it will be a part of the history, never to be repeated or worse, mentioned again, lost in the torn pages. The joke about residing here for however long- seems awfully bitter, perfectly demonstrating he’d rather hold on to the possibility than put an end to this.

How could that be love?

Perhaps you were right, accusing him of madness.

That’s the only reason he walks out of the room to prepare the carriages, instead of cocooning the both of you in.

===

“Father!” You wrap your arms around him, who’s standing by the main entrance to your estate, waiting anxiously. He does the same, unaffected by the eyes that watch, the staff, and a mere acquaintance, Lord Kenobi.

Now Obi Wan knows who you got your bravery from.

He stands quietly, hands folded in front of him, not sure what to do but damn sure not to leave. He had plenty of time to think about his madness on the road, and decided it was not anything pathological- it was pure love and desperation for you. Isn’t that the nature of most of your meet-ups? Consoling each other in the positively dreadful situations, and utilizing everything to spend a second more together?

He hears you reassuring him of your well-being, and summarize the thing in pretty understated phrases. Even that makes him stutter over his words in a fit of rage. Obi Wan agrees. You distract him by speaking of the help you’ve gotten from a valiant friend, and that’s how he enters the conversation.

“Good morning, Sir.”

How he keeps it all cool, sharing and shaping his anger, silencing any doubt that may arise in him is a surprise, though he’s called a great negotiator for a reason, right? His work in various cases in court has earned him the title. He’s not overtly a fan of flaunting it. Though, it helps him a great deal in this instance.

At least, enough to have a pleasant exchange in these unpleasant circumstances, and secure permission to talk to you again.

Alone.

It is weird enough as it is already, you and him spending the night at some inn, him casually chatting with your father like his clothes haven’t benefitted from the merits of ironing, not to mention his hair being on the wild side after a slight treatment of rain, and now he is requesting your attention? Not only yours, but your father’s too in extent?

His plans have never been so crystal clear.

“No.” You declare your objection so clearly, in one word as the door closes behind him, giving you the privacy of the room. “No, no, no, no.”

“I haven’t even opened my mouth!” He objects, though it is more of a principal thing, than an actual defense. He knows you’ve worked it all out already. God, could he expect anything less from you? Your watery eyes and trembling hands break his heart into a million pieces, reactions so strong even before he has a chance to utter their cause. He caresses his beard, reevaluating if he should continue-

He can’t live with the consequences if he dares not. He can’t live with what-ifs, or not knowing the reason why you are so repulsed by the idea or would you still feel the same, if he told you about his love for you. Of course, that would require some magic, considering the magnitude and intricacy of it. How is he supposed to put the purest feelings he’s ever had to mere words, the origin of the butterflies caged up in his chest, the wires of his brain getting tangled up whenever you’re not around, and the constant intoxication from the strongest liquor he’s ever consumed? He’d rather die than sober up, and a part of him already recognizes that it’s not a possibility. It is his poison and antidote. There’s not a moment that passes without either of them.

And surely, he has no complaints about it. Never will. It is a brave choice, but what’s braver is this moment.

“No.” You repeat, hands clasped together to stop them from shaking. Your voice is low albeit steady, as much as it can be.

Because you do not lift your eyes to meet him. “You can’t propose to me, because I can’t refuse it. But I will. Then the whole country will wonder what is so wrong with you, and me, and they will talk about it all the time, for years to come. The whispers will be the first thing that you hear in every room you enter, and you’ll see the mischievous glint in the eyes of every person you meet, them scrutinizing whether those rumors are true. Our reputations will be tarnished forever, and we will hate each other for it.” And you can’t stand that.

You don’t sound like this is the first time you’re putting these words together. In all your distressed state, you sound awfully logical in your own way, so focused on one improbable, insane possibility (damn those reputations, he can never hate you), but devising every little detail.

“Why?” He basically hollers, running a hand through his hair. Why does that potential is the one you envision? “Why can’t you marry me?”

One can only dream that someone outside isn’t listening.

“Because- I don’t know!” You take a desperate step closer, showing him your honesty. You truly can’t quite name your aversions, and isn’t that already enough of a reason to stay away, spare the person you’re facing?  “I don’t know how to be a wife! And I am scared. All my life I alienated myself from the idea of a marriage, I methodically dismissed every chance claiming it wasn’t the time, all the way ‘til I would say it was too late. I was content with that idea. Because I love- loved my life the way it is; I get more than I need from my father, and that is to remain unchanged when my brother takes over, and I am free as a bird, unbound by society’s expectations, traveling wherever, wherever and trying new things. I was, I am so happy about it that anything that may alter it I shun from immediately. And now I find myself in a place I never imagined, and I am scared. I don’t know what happens now. I don’t know what to expect. I don’t know what that future looks like for us.”

He moves towards you, his head tilted sideways in understanding, arms reaching for yours. Finally, finally hearing your justifications, the basis of your attitude, fills him with pride and compassion, and most importantly, gives him an opportunity to help you solve those problems, together. But, you hush him, squeezing his wrists in gentle guidance, with tears streaking across your cheeks. “I just know that I love you. I love you so much that my heart will always feel like a weight in my chest when I’m not with you, like a ship sinking, but never reaching the bottom. And I will continue to love you even if you stop loving me back, but I would rather lose you on my terms than by the burdens a marriage brings.”  

“Why do you so believe that a mere contract would change my feelings? Do you think my affections for you are that fragile?”

You frantically shake your head, causing the drops to fall faster. “No, I’m not saying that-“

“Then what?” He snaps, though not because he’s angry. He wants to learn every single reason that’s keeping you away.

“You don’t know what that will do to us.”

“No, I don’t! And I don’t care! It will never change my feelings.” This, he can shout freely. This is the simplest truth for all his remaining days on this earth.

You don’t know that, you want to object. “Obi Wan…” Is the response that comes out of your mouth. “I am not a good bride.”

“No.”There’s acceptance in his tone, a punch to your guts. “You’re the love of life, my companion, my everything.” When he pulls you even closer, and cups your cheeks, you let him. “Haven’t we been through all the struggles a couple could share already? Haven’t I seen all of you, and let you see all of me? Haven’t you claimed my entire soul, and occupied my every single thought? You made me break my rules, and painted a picture I never thought was suited for me- and I came to like that picture very much. In fact, it’s all I ever want my future to look like, with you in it. You, exactly in the way you already are, with all your unsusceptibility to the norms and striking habits. I know that can be scary. I am afraid too. But, anything worth doing starts like this, I know it. And we’ll be the biggest idiots in the world if we let our fear rule us.”

You can’t help but laugh a little, the joyful sound making his breath hitch. It is reflected on his face too, and it is something you’ll hold on to, alongside the tears that begin to form on his eyes. Fortunately, they sit there, despite him kneeling in front of you, his fingers never leaving the bend of your arm, only to follow the route they create, and hold onto both of your hands. “Please, marry me.”

You’re convinced, but your tongue is still tied, so you nod. Your entire upper body shakes with the gesture in seconds, making you look like an overexcited child, on the verge of losing their balance with the restlessness of their legs. You barely feel him kissing your knuckles before he stands up and embraces you, stabilizing both of you in both physical and emotional terms. Let’s be real, if he kissed you instead as he desperately wished to, you’d fall on the floor (and continue there- ‘til somebody discovered the two of you in very indecent terms). His chuckles quickly become your favorite song, you feel blessed as they delight your ears, and make your chest vibrate like his. He revels in the newfound proximity, despite the fact that you’ve been much, much closer in the past. This is new. This is raw love, uncombined with other emotions, strengthened by the absolute truth that you two are meant for each other, and with the promise of you’ll do something about it. He holds you ‘til your sense of balance is restored, for he now has urgent matters he has to attend to. He’ll get to hold you forever soon, and that revelation doesn’t change the herculean feat of letting you go now. He can’t help but wipe the streaks of wetness on your face, though it forms again. He solely doesn’t repeat himself because of the widest grin on your lips. You press yourself to his palm, eyelids closing for a moment, then place a small peck on it.

 “I- I’m now gonna go and talk to your father, get the papers right- and find a-” oh, that’s not “a”, he is going to require many others even if he keeps everything minimal, “I’ll be back in three, fuck, four hours, okay?”

“What? No!” You exclaim, almost giving him a heart attack.

“What’s wrong?” His fingers tighten, a slight tremble taking over them. You have to smile to get him to relax once again, and raise your eyebrows wittily, as if he is a fool for not imagining it already, reminding him of your nature.

“I’m only doing this once. I want everything to be right.”

He squints his eyes, grasping your chin. There’s a few seconds of silence, the time it takes for his nerves to settle. When it does, you’re struck by the intensity of his blue irises, the condensed calm before the storm. “So you want to stay as my fiance ‘til the next season starts, in eight months, succumbing to waiting as we get no freedom to ourselves, always in the center stage, enjoying the last of our bachelor states, the lonely nights and beds bigger than you can ever occupy.”

His other hand, wandering across your waist tells you exactly what he implies. While you actually weren’t planning on such a thing, it causes a surge of rush to overtake you, burning you from the inside. Pursing your lips as you free your face from his grip, with a contradicting shaky breath, you say. “I was always fond of winter weddings…”

To this, he laughs, echoing in the room, and you join him.

One can only hope whoever outside listens to this too, this moment of pure joy preserved in one more mind.

 === 

 “I couldn’t be happier to be married to you.” Obi Wan whispers, but the sentence is loud and clear to you, etched into where he takes nest in the crook of your neck, hot breaths burning your skin.

“We’re still not- ngh“ Yes, this is supposed to be the rehearsal, the night before the main event. You two should be at the reception downstairs, among your many relatives and friends and other members of the society, all gathered for tomorrow morning, when these words of yours will be invalid.

Of course, you are further making a hypocrite of yourself by the way you hold onto him, legs wrapped around his waist, arms locked around his shoulders as he burrows his cock into you. It was impossible to wait any further, as you were separated by the whole ordeal of preparations and the watchful eyes. The moment you found a clearing, you two slipped away, cue to now, where your back on the wall as he supports you against it. You didn’t even get one meter away from the door, you could basically reach the knob with a simple extension of your elbow, but in the end, who cares? Who cares when he fills you so deliciously, scratching the itch that has been building for some time, peppering you with all the love in his heart?

Still, your sentence is cut abruptly as he drives his hips faster, rougher- very much an act of pedantry, advising not to get lost in the details. It works, the correction dies on your tongue, though a quite loud moan takes its place. His hand flies to cover your mouth, and your eyes pop open, meeting his. The pressure of his palm against your face almost forces another sound out of you. Fuck, you adore those blue storms, even when they are focused elsewhere, turned to the door as if it can see past behind it, scanning for intruders. You do actually whimper when the danger dissolves, the vibrations running among his bones, and he keeps up his pace, hitting that sweet spot over and over again.

However, it is getting harder in terms of balance as he now has one hand to stabilize you, and despite your best efforts, it is quite hard not to slide off of the smooth fabric of his clothes. Remorsefully, you push on his shoulders, and he understands, pulling his cock out of you and burying his mouth on your skin. He stifles a sob in there, the frustration getting the best of him.

“Oh, you definitely had too much wine.” Look at who’s talking, you with those wobbly legs and bitten lips…

“No, I just had too little of you.”

Your heart flaps its wings out of your chest, as it does after his every cheesy compliment. You still cannot figure out how he makes you blush harder with those words, even as he ravages you in the meantime.

You reach for a kiss, it is always a good idea. He hums contently at the touch, grateful at the most basic form of contact. Obi Wan rocks against you unintentionally, and that’s how the unsatiated desire wages war, with desperate groans and roaming hands.

Then, his fingers tighten around your waist, and you find yourself supported against the vanity with your open palms, depositing most of your weight there (thank God, because you couldn’t trust your feet much longer). He pulls your hips back to his. Your back arches in a way that is most complementary to his chest, and fuck, it is a vision.

It literally is.

Fluttering your eyes open for only a second (that was your intention at least), you’re struck down with the image of the two of you in the mirror, faces contorted in the prettiest way that is possible in this dirty position, heavy lids and open mouths, fingertips whitened by the strong grasp you have on each other, the matching colors of your outfits…

Yes, even with that detail, you’re still on his side, agreeing you’d be idiots if you weren’t doing this.

Deciding to take the sight from its direct source, you turn your head to the side a little, looking at the adonis of a man you’ll soon call your husband, with his neatly trimmed beard and prominent cheekbones and long eyelashes you are slightly jealous of and so much more…

He meets your gaze, breathless with similar thoughts, that little tug on the corner of his mouth telling you all you need to know, but then he nudges your face to its previous state by a small clasp of your chin, and you’re watching him through the reflection, leaning forward when he starts to fumble with your skirt once again.

The moan that leaves you is totally incapable of being unobscured as he enters you anew. The change in the angle along with the visual stimulation has you teetering on the edge quite easily, like him, but he denies it, maintaining slow movements and choking out any noise that dares to leave him.

Of course, all is impeded when the door is knocked-

“Occupied!”

“Occupied!”

Your voices are synchronized, high and tight. The clock stops for a moment for your bodies, as if the stationary status makes it any less scandalous, and both of you fixated on the doorknob.

It never turns. Never.

Still, the dilated pupils remain a little longer, joined over the mirror, with big puffs of breath and shaking hands.

“Do you think they-“ There’s not an exact word that you can find to explain what has just occurred, but the sentiment is clear.

“Probably.” And the answer too is just as clear.

Well, the only thing lost is the trivial achievement of never being discovered before the wedding.

A wedding which is hours away.

So, you push back, wiggling your hips. His unrestricted sound is all you need to regain your spirits back, and you do it once more. Just like that, the wheels are turning. 

“You realize there’s a bed behind us, right?” He asks as he slowly thrusts into you.

“Yes, but I like the view better here.” 

[cranquis]

Your recent reblog made me sad, but also makes a lot of sense. I've been following you since I was in medical school, and I'm now in my fifth year of specialty training (I am not American). I did occasionally wonder why I've been seeing less of the kind of content you used to put out.

All I can say is - thank you for the work you do. I've seen enough online to get an idea of what you must face on a daily basis. I think I'm lucky that somehow, the doctor-patient relationship overall hasn't deteriorated to such an extent where I live (yet at least), but I definitely understand the frustration and despair of trying to communicate with people who aren't coming into the conversation in good faith.

You've always been a kind of role model for me in terms of your passion for your work and your open sharing about your faith. I guess I just wanted to say that I hope you find hope and joy in your work, even if those you serve aren't wise enough to appreciate what you do for them.

Hi, my colleague! Hey first of all, thank you for your kind words of encouragement and affirmation. Negative med-related interactions (online or in person) anymore just roll off me, but the positive ones still give my heart a thrill! :) And congrats on your continued journey down the medical pathway.

Second, I'm glad your message gives me the chance to clarify for all my long-time Cranquis Pants* that I still do enjoy my work. I have been doing the exact same Urgent Care job in the exact same location (with quite a few staff turnovers) ever since I finished residency 17 years ago! I still enjoy the bulk of my patient interactions, I continue to hone my diagnostic skills, I feel very confident in my procedural skills, I have a reputation in our local medical community as a reliable and thorough physician, and I have a loyal group of patients who routinely nag me to "quit urgent care and become a regular doctor so we can be your primary care patients". My staff likes and respects me (despite my best efforts to ruin that on the daily, with my puns etc); I like my staff and appreciate the hard work they do in the face of the same administrative and societal opposition that I encounter; I am not distressed when little kids freak out during physical exams (and my success rate of turning those frowns upside down with playful interactions and silly sound effects is pretty darn good).

I am blessed with amazing work-life balance, more than the majority of Family Medicine-trained physicians I suspect. I carry no pager, I take no call, I leave my work at home when I go home. I know my schedule months in advance, I have a shift template that gives me plenty of week-long stretches off, and I have my Sabbaths 100% free to attend church and spend time with my family. My pay is decent and my benefits are solid, my debts get paid and I have a roof over my head. My kids and wife are happy to see me come home. Personally, I really have nothing to complain about.

But the bloom is off the rose for my profession as a whole. The politics and trends of the US health care system continues to disenfranchise physicians, devaluing the years and $$ invested in becoming physicians, over-valuing patient satisfaction scores and inexpensive labor and glitzy administrative initiatives and staff rumor mills more than evidence-based, experience-driven clinical medicine. The power structure is upside down, as if doctors ought to be automatically doubted and disdained by pharmacists, insurance companies, administrators, patients, and APCs because of their systematic educational journeys and reliance upon scientific evidence.

And one of the saddest results is watching medical professionals turn on each other. The fragmentation and super-specialization of every aspect of medical care creates artificial "us v. them" scenarios; specialists and primary-care battling over who does the paperwork for pre-op visits and FMLA, ER and Urgent Care arguing about how much workup should be undertaken by the UC when the patient is obviously going to need ER management, primary-care so overwhelmed with insurance-required goals that their patients can never get same-day/soon-day appointments, pharmacies so understaffed that it's easier for them to tell the patients that "the doctor never sent the prescription" when in reality ...

I could go on.

I miss the old days (said the geezer on the internet), when I could enthusiastically support a pre-med student's dreams of getting into medical school and "helping people as a doctor someday." Now I wince at the idealism in a high-schooler's eyes, and try to find a nice way to say "there's more options for helping people than just becoming a doctor... be sure you have your motivations straight, because medicine is not what it was even 10 years ago..."

So hope and joy in my career? Hope for the profession of physicians, I have little. But I make the joy in my practice when I can make it, and I only expect to find joy in my non-medical time with family and hobbies and travel and friends and the lifestyle which my medical career still does make more feasible than otherwise.

*Probably not the term historically assigned to "fans of this blog", back when I posted frequently -- it's been a minute -- but if not, SHOOT that was a missed opportunity.

[piningpebbles]

the dream smp journey: attempting to make the lore of the dream smp more accessible.

so back when i first wanted to get into the dream smp i had absolutely no idea where to start. i asked some people and they told me pretty much “look up dream smp + [insert youtuber name] and start there” and so i did, but i quickly came to realize how much i was missing from the story by not seeing all the different points of view.

so i decided to make my own playlist.

it was just for myself at first, but as i got more obsessed with the story, i also gave the link to some friends of mine so they could have the full experience, and they loved it. so i kept updating it.

my goal was to try and make a capsule of the entirety of the lore on the dream smp across almost every single POV, because while i do appreciate those who make recap videos, they always miss something and it’s usually with peoples’ POV who aren’t considered to be “main characters” which sucks because one of my favorite things about the dream smp was how everyone was their own main character with their own individual storyline you could get invested in.

i’ve seen every single video in the playlist, and did my absolute best to discern what should be included and what didn’t need to be. 

for instance, while i personally enjoyed streams where they’d just goof off, this is a lore-centric playist so i didn’t include all of them unless one of the jokes or such gets mentioned/becomes important later on. or if there is a lore event happening but two people have almost identical streams to one another then i decided between the two of them which one to keep. or if the cc themself made an edited version of their experience, i would decide whether to go with that or keep the original vod

it’s far from perfect. i tried to keep up with it as long as i could I STILL HAVE VIDEOS IN MY WATCH LATER THAT I PLANNED TO ADD but simply put while the dream smp storyline got longer and longer it became harder to keep up with. i watched pretty much all the streams when they happened but failed to update the playlist accordingly so right now it has almost everything up until ”Hitting on 16.”

i always wanted to finish it before i posted it, but i’ve been seeing people talk about how they miss the experience of watching the dream smp and while i obviously can’t provide the full interactive experience that the dream smp offered as it came out, i knew i couldn’t just keep this in my back pocket and thought i could at least offer a good chunk of the experience for you guys to still be able to keep!

here’s the playlist, spanning over 300 videos.

there’s also a semi-canon playlist (not nearly as thorough) for events that get mentioned by the cc’s a lot or are just cool to have and i wanted to include them somewhere so here it is also!!

to go along with it i also made a masterpost (can you tell i love making lists) which is what every single video on the playlist is supposed to be (and was last i checked, but videos get taken down every so often so there might be a couple missing here and there).

i hope to update this one day and have it fully finished, but with my schedule (full-time college student babyyyy) and simply the hundreds of hours of content i’d need to sift through it just seems impossible (and frankly just really intimidating) to challenge alone right now. so i also wanted to give this to the community to maybe be able to do what i couldn’t!

my hope with this is that if someone in a year or two (or whenever really) is interested in the dream smp they won’t have to sit through recap videos and instead can watch the real thing in a single playlist connected to the doc. my dream is for the masterpost and the playlist to go hand-in-hand, being like a guide people can follow that would also link to other moments and lore that is saved but just not avaliable on youtube, so we don’t have all these moments just lost to time.

i want to make this collaborative, i’m hoping this will maybe spark others to share what videos/moments they have saved and stored with each other for the dream smp and maybe together we could complete this thing somehow!! make the playlist and masterpost i dreamed of (the one right now is scuffed, but at least it’s something). the dream smp is one of my absolute favorite pieces of media out there and i want to share this with people but (as you can probably tell) i have no idea what i’m doing!! any step to help make the story more readily accessible is a good one, though!

i know i’ve missed things but i’ve done my best. and while not the perfectly polished thing i hoped it would be when i sent it out to the world maybe it could be a good building block for the community to use. so please share this!! reblog it!! all that jazz!! i want this to be for everyone!!

anyways, this is a long post. but the whole reason i got into the dream smp in the first place was because of the awesome fan content i saw and this crazy and creative community and i want to be able to give back, if i can.

[blessedarethebinarybreakers]

Hey, this is going to be long and wordy but I’m kinda desperate. Lately I’ve been having doubts about whether Jesus actually said what’s recorded in the gospels and whether those accounts are true, and the uncertainty there scares me, especially since I know the gospel writers almost certainly had their own agendas and that’s why accounts of the same event can sound different, why the birth narrative was skipped over or not, etc. On top of that I’ve seen posts from Jewish users outlining why Judaism typically doesn’t accept Jesus as Messiah/why you can’t be Jewish if you believe that, and their arguments seem pretty sound. So it all boils down to this big scary question of “What if this whole Jesus-as-Messiah thing was just the result of projection onto some random guy who seemed to be the real deal because the writers were so desperate to be rescued from the Roman occupation?” It sucks cuz I’ve been enjoying my renewed interest in church (for the most part) and while I’ve tried my best to learn not to take the Bible literally all the time (yay for growing up in an inerrantist doctrinal tradition 🙄), I still want to take it seriously and I still want to believe in Jesus as savior/Lord/etc. I don’t want to just be like, “Yeah I don’t buy the whole Messiah thing but I can still follow his example!” I want there to be meat behind why I follow, if that makes sense. So inasmuch as this could be my OCD being bored and trying to take hold of whatever it thinks would bug me the most (wouldn’t be the first time!), I would really appreciate any advice you have. I know there may not be any certainty or reassurance to be found here, but I still want to hear from someone who’s been there before so I can chart a path forward, and I think this is an important question to wrestle with. Plus I remember from one of your posts you said you have seminary notes on this exact topic so I’m curious lol.

"Gospel Truth": how do we know what Jesus really said and did?

Hey again! Sorry for the long delay on this one but I wanted to do some research before responding! You're right that these are important questions, and you're absolutely not the only one to feel doubt and anxiety over them. You're also right that I can't offer you certainty, but I do hope you'll find encouragement here, and places to go as you continue your journey.

This got super long (as always lol), so let's start with aTL;DR:

In this post, you'll find that there's a lot that we can surmise is very probable about Jesus' life story, but that ultimately we can't know much for certain — and that's okay. In Evolving in Monkey Town: How a Girl Who Knew All the Answers Learned to Ask the Questions), Rachel Held Evans gets to the heart of the matter:

"I don’t know which Bible stories ought to be treated as historically accurate, scientifically provable accounts of facts and which stories are meant to be metaphorical. I don’t know if it really matters so long as those stories transform my life."

This is a time where scholarship & faith go hand-in-hand: using the minds God gifted us, we study and learn what we can; and we cultivate faith in the things we can't — a faith that doesn't deny doubt, but makes room for it, and calls us into community so that we can wrestle out meaning together.

A couple other notes before we kick off:

Please know that you don't Have To Study All The Things if you decide it's healthier for you not to go chasing those rabbit holes. You don't need to be an expert in Biblical studies to be a "good Christian" or to take scripture seriously or to get to know God deeply.

I trust you know yourself and how your OCD works better than I could. So I'm going to share the information I have, and leave it to you to determine for yourself how much information you need in order to feel reassured, without giving your mind new problems to ruminate over.

So here's a link to a Google doc that has A Lot of information — like, too much lol. But save it for after you read this post; I'm putting the most relevant & important info here! If you finish this post and feel satisfied, you never even have to look in the doc.

However deep you go, if you find yourself getting overwhelmed, know that whatever you are feeling is valid and probably pretty common, and take a break! Do a calming meditation or an activity you enjoy to help regulate your mind and body. If possible, have someone you can unpack this stuff with — or have a notebook ready to journal in. <3

Okay, all that outta the way, let's dig in!

Who wrote the Gospels?

Tradition goes that the authors of the four canonical Gospels are three of Jesus' closest disciples — Matthew, Mark, and John — plus a disciple of Paul — Luke. But academics have determine that this tradition is very improbable; it's much more likely that none of the four authors knew Jesus personally, and that the earliest of them (Mark) wasn't recorded till the 60s — decades after Jesus lived and died!

When people learn this, it often leads to something of a crisis of faith. If these writers didn't even know Jesus firsthand, where the heck did they get their information?? And come to think of it, why do their accounts differ? Is some of it made up? Is all of it made up??

The anxiety and fear that wells up is normal, and it's healthy to acknowledge that you're feeling it. But once that first shock abates, it's possible to discover a sort of freedom in the knowledge that the Gospel writers (and all the authors of the biblical texts) were human, with human biases and specific goals fitting their unique context; and that they didn't have all the answers!

This realization can free us to approach scripture without certain expectations (that it's all inerrant and prescriptive, etc.), and allows us to bring our doubts to the table with us. If something in the text seems questionable — particularly if it seems to promote bigotry and injustice rather than God's love — we can consider whether something in its author's cultural context might be responsible for that part of scripture.

So taking some time to learn the unique contexts of each writer can be quite enriching to how we engage the Gospels. For a chart that sums up the Gospel writers' unique contexts, audiences, and priorities, see this post.

For even more, you'll want a book that digs into that stuff — I recommend Raymond Brown's An Introduction to the New Testament (the abridged version!!). As you learn about the Gospel writers, I hope several things become evident:

First, that they weren't just making things up whole cloth, or relying on a game of "he said she said" telephone for their information! Each one drew from different primary or secondary sources, eyewitness testimonies or written texts (many of which no longer exist, but scholars have pieced together evidence of, like the famous "Q source" that both Matthew and Luke drew from).

Yes, each author does have an agenda in writing about Jesus, and in how they tell his story. But that's not a nefarious thing; it's true of any text, whether biography, poetry, novel, song — you don't take the time to write something without a purpose in mind! With variation between their specific goals, overall each Gospel writer's agenda was to persuade their audience that Jesus is worth following, and/or to offer encouragement to those who already believed.

Another thing that modern readers sometimes interpret as intentionally deceptive is that, yeah, the Gospels contain things that aren't strictly factual, and that the writers knew weren't strictly factual. This is because ancient ideas about history & biography are very different from our own. When we read a biography, we expect it to be all facts, with citations proving those facts. But the ancients were much less concerned with making sure every detail was accurate; instead, they were focused on making their specific point about whatever thing or person they were writing/reading about. So yes, they might embellish one detail or leave out another in order to fortify their desired message. They cared more about the Truth as they interpreted it than a purely factual account.

On a similar note, each Gospel writer understands Jesus and the meaning behind his story a little differently — hence why they all tell things in slightly different orders, and characterize Jesus differently, etc. This is also understandable — we all interpret stories differently; we all come to different conclusions even when we have the same or similar information. See the section in the google doc titled "each Gospel's essence" to learn more about the different ways each writer characterizes Jesus, and why they may have interpreted him the way they did.

On that topic, let's get to your question about...

Jesus — Messiah, or no?

If you read the Gospel of Matthew and take it as pure fact, you'll determine that Jesus is the Messiah his people were waiting for — that he did indeed fulfill various scriptures. But if you read Mark, you won't find that argument at all! To the author of Mark, Jesus clearly did not match the stipulations of the awaited-for Messiah — and for Mark, that's kinda the point: that Jesus is something new and surprising, unlike anything human beings expected, upturning our ideas of power and salvation.

...So how did they come to these vastly different views??

Well, Matthew was a Jew writing to persuade his fellow Jews that the Jesus movement was worth joining; to do so, he felt he had to "prove" that it fit into Jewish tradition. So he prioritizes showing how Jesus is a righteous Jew who abides by Torah, and that he is indeed the Messiah they've been waiting for.

(It's also worth noting that when Matthew writes, over and over, about Jesus "fulfilling" various bits of Hebrew scripture, that verb "fulfilling" doesn't mean what it might sound like to us — that a given text was always and only about Jesus, with the prophet having Jesus in mind when they wrote it. Rather, to Matthew "fulfilling" the text meant "filling it up" with more meaning — adding to its meaning, not replacing the old meaning. More on that, with citations, in the Google doc.)

Meanwhile, Mark's author was a Jew writing mostly to gentile members of the early Jesus movement. He knew they wouldn't care whether or not Jesus fit the Jewish expectations for a Messiah! (In fact, giving Jesus a bit more of a "Greek" flair would appeal to them more.) So Mark doesn't perform the mental and rhetorical gymnastics that Matthew does to try to make Jesus fit the Messiah requirements.

So which Gospel got it right?

For many matters of scripture, I say "it's open to interpretation!" or "Maybe both are right in different ways, conveying different truths!" But for this particular case, it is very important as Christians to accept that Jesus absolutely does not fit the Jewish requirements for their Messiah. To argue otherwise is antisemitic — it's supersessionist, meaning it claims that Christianity supersedes or replaces Judaism.

We might understand, as the author of Mark did, Jesus to be a messiah — which just means "anointed one" in Hebrew (the Greek counterpart is "Christ") — without making antisemitic claims that Jews "failed to recognize their own Messiah." (In fact, there are multiple messiahs in scripture, e.g. in Isaiah 45, the foreign king Cyrus is referred to as God's messiah; though later scriptures like Daniel do start talking about a specific Messiah who will usher in redemption & a new age for the Jewish people.)

We can understand why some of the biblical authors, like Matthew, interpreted Jesus as this specific Messiah as a result of their own specific context, without agreeing with their view. See this post about “Anti-Jewish Content in the New Testament: Why it’s there and what we should do about it” for more on this important topic.  (You can also find even further resources on supersessionism in this post.)

...Okay, so we've looked at the authors of the Gospels a good bit. We've learned that their idea of a "biography" is very different from ours — that they didn't consider it bad to rearrange, leave out, or embellish accounts — but what does that leave us with when it comes to knowing who Jesus "really" was?

What can we know for sure about Jesus?

Let's look at the facts. The first one is: we don't have any. Not any 100% certain ones, anyway. The guy lived before audio recorders and cameras; we're relying on written and oral accounts, which can be fabricated.

However, there are points about the Jesus story that are regarded as almost certainly historical by the vast majority of historians today, so let's look at those first:

Jesus almost 100% certainly existed. There is enough historical evidence (both inside and outside the Bible) to confirm this — even non-Christian historians almost unanimously agree that there was a historical Jesus. (Phew, am I right?)

Almost all historians also agree that several parts of Jesus' story almost definitely happened: that he was baptized in the Jordan; that he traveled around teaching and offering miracles (whether or not they agree he actually had the power to perform real miracles, of course); and that he was arrested and crucified by the occupying Roman Empire.

Some of these almost-irrefutable claims lend plausibility to others: if he traveled around teaching, what was he teaching? Why not the sermons, the parables recorded in the Gospels? And if he was crucified — the death of a criminal, an insurrectionist — what did he do to get himself crucified? He must have done something to cause Rome to see him as a threat to their Empire — why not some of the sayings and actions that are recorded in the Gospels, like his claim to be "Son of God" (a title used for Caesar); his protest march into Jerusalem satirizing Caesar; and his disruption at the Temple?

The attempt to determine which parts of scripture are "authentic," i.e. things that really happened / things Jesus really said," is often called "The Quest for the Historical Jesus."

Over the decades, scholars interested in this pursuit have developed various "criteria of authenticity," which they use to try to determine how probable any given bit of the Gospels is. In the google doc, I summarize the history of this "quest" and describe some of the most popular criteria. But what's important to understand is that these criteria have major limitations �� they're often applied somewhat arbitrarily, for one thing, and ultimately they can't "prove" for sure whether something in the text is definitely historical or definitely not. So honestly, this is not a field of study that I recommend everyone go immerse themselves in! When I do, I have fun for a while, then kinda end up more overwhelmed by how much we can't know.

Still, sometimes these criteria of authenticity do yield some interesting points. For instance, the "Criteria of Embarrassment" (yes, that's what it's called lol) asserts that anything in the text that would have been embarrassing to its author is more likely to be historical fact — because why would the author have made something up that puts them in an unflattering light, or might be used to argue against their message?

For example, a lot of Gospel stories depict Jesus' disciples being kinda clueless, or saying petty things, or failing miserably (e.g. the denial of Peter). Why would the Gospel authors have wanted to make these earliest believers, who are meant to be role models for their audience, look so bad? This criterion says that wouldn't — that they must include those stories because they really happened, rather than being things the author made up to make their point.

Or take the Criterion of Multiple Attestation, which determines how many sources include a certain saying or event. The more sources contain a specific story, the more plausibly "authentic" that story is, since it means that different unconnected communities knew that story. Logical enough.

So yes, there are ways to consider the historicity of the Gospels — but not definitively. So the question becomes: is the historical knowledge we do have enough for me to feel some level of, I don't know, peace? stability in my faith?

And, at the end of the day, how important to me is it that every single thing the Gospels say is completely factual?

Back to what matters: the Good News

Facts are great — God gifted us our minds, and various scripture stories show God encourages us to wrestle with the text! — but we are called to faith as well.

Furthermore, taking the Bible seriously means accepting it for what it is — a collection of ancient texts compiled by humans, even if guided by Divinity — rather than insisting it be what it is not. For the Gospels, that means accepting that they are not biography, but story, and prioritize Truth over fact.

My pastor friend Roger puts it like this:

“For me, it isn’t about deciding which things Jesus really said or didn’t say. That’s a road that goes nowhere. As a pastoral response, I take scripture at face value and work to empathize with the people in and behind the text. Through that empathy, I can find some meaning that connects with what we’re facing here and now.”

When we acknowledge that the Bible includes human interpretations of the Divine, and that we bring our own human interpretations to our reading of it, where does that leave us?

It leaves us in need of conversation, of an expansion of our perspectives by talking through scripture in community. We do that conversing with friends, or attending Bible studies at church, or reading a variety of theological texts — getting as many unique understandings of Jesus as we can, joining our ideas together to get an ever broader glimpse of the Divine.

There's a reason Jesus taught in parables: he didn't want there to be one definitive answer to matters of life and faith! He wanted to ignite conversation, to draw us into community — because it's in community that we are the image of God, the Body of Christ.

So keep on wrestling, wondering, talking it through (taking time to rest when needed — there's no rush!). We discover scripture's meaning for us in our own place and time through the wrestling, together.