( Wander Home )

      “Thank you.” He mused, brushing the tips of his own fingers through her long, brown locks and tucking them over her shoulder, his head slanting to give her room. A very quiet groan sank from his nostrils as he found himself loosely winding his arms about her lithe waist, pulling her, until the only length between them was her fumbling hand.

      The request took him by surprise. He had always been attentive to her, caring, but not passionate. He’d kiss her anywhere and observe every patch of milk skin that covered her beautifully structured bones, carving out shapes over the hidden sinews until he could map them in his head. But there was an element missing; he’d tried - heaven knew he tried, but love was something external. He admired it, he showcased it, and and he presented her with as much love as he could muster in their situation, but he could never crack it. He could never quite tap into the shell and taste the sweet honey waiting inside.

      Joonmyeon’s throat bobbed with a swallow as his hands rolled down her sides, stopping at the fabric settled perfectly at her hips. He’d tried so many times. But now he would try again. Gaeul felt it too - that absence of passion that stemmed from a result of rushed tactics.

      “Yes,” He finally replied, pressing forward to kiss the corner of her mouth. “Don’t think about what we’re trying for. It’s alright if it doesn’t happen straight away.” Joonmyeon flashed another warm smile and dropped his hands even further to pick her up by the thighs, carting her over until they’d both dropped to the bed, him hovering on top.

      “We’ll have fun.”

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      Two weeks. Another letter. Joonmyeon had tried to keep a cheerful demeanor; he needed to stay strong for his wife and child. After all, confidence and patience had won him his current job, seven years running. But his confidence ran low when his fingers touched the golden seal. He knew exactly what the letter was for- a final form that was meant to be mailed back within one business day, with a document of proof of conception attached. They had no such document. Suho was beginning to run out of hope and revert to something else - something he wouldn’t have dreamed of if they didn’t already have a baby.

        The wooden chair beneath him suddenly felt like stone. His wife sat across from him with a tiny spoon in her hand, rocketing toward their full-cheeked daughter. He had to shove the letter into his pocket when Gaeul looked at him, his expression quickly lighting with a nervous smile.

(( homosexual encounter shouldn’t be hard he’s surrounded by priests 

Send ‘◎’ and I’ll generate a number from 1-10 for a situation where my muse blurts out ‘I love you’ to your muse. (Mixture of fluffy, nsfw and angsty)

When reunited with your muse

They were the high school’s sweethearts, together since the first year to the last one and even though they weren’t the most popular students, everyone had acknowledged that they were the cutest couple of the school, the perfect representation of true and honest love that was strong enough for them to go through anything. She was quite the bookworm but bright and cheerful, he was the captain of the soccer team, more quiet unless he was around her. They were deeply in love and it was like an evidence for them to get together. 

Until real life got in the way. 

He got recruited by a professional and international soccer team that had him moving to Europe and she remained in Seoul. At first, they tried to keep in touch through mails and phone calls but it was too tiring for each of them. The light was still there, but it was fading, a small flicker in their heart where a fire had been usually burning strongly. 

They broke up during a rainy day on November. 

It’s a bright sunny day when Gaeul, 24 years old now, goes back to her high school for a reunion with her teachers and ex classmates. There’s rumors that he’ll be there too but she doesn’t want to get her hopes up, she certainly doesn’t want to expect anything if it’s only to be disappointed in the end. 

Her hear flutters as she walks through the familiar doors of her high school and she is suddenly overwhelmed with memories. Memories of laughter under the cherry trees, of walking hand-in-hand during each break even though he didn’t enjoy public skinship– he knew how much she loved it. 

She is early and chooses to go to the cherry tree, the last one of the row of cherry trees at the back of the high school and that was the witness of many things: her love confession, their first kiss, their lunch,their cuddles and many more sweet things. She just wants to go there for the last time. To relive the memories that she’ll lock in her heart forever. A last goodbye. 

He is here. 

She recognizes him, even after all of these years apart. He hasn’t changed much, he is just older, looks stronger but just as handsome and charismatic as he was when they were sixteen years old lovers. 

It feels like she has never stopped loving him. 

Their eyes meet. His own widen and she gives him a small smile, shyly tucking her brown locks behind her ear. 

She wants to say so many things to him. Hello, how are you? I’ve seen your match, you look amazing. Maybe we could catch up with some coffee? Instead, she says, “I love you.” She doesn’t feel embarrassed like the first time she has confessed her love to him at this exact right place. She is honest with herself and with him even after all those years; she has never been able to lie to him anyway and he has always known how to read her. A perfect fit, they were. 

“Daddy!” The eye-contact is broken, and so does her heart when she watches the little boy, not older than two, running over to Joonmyeon with bright eyes and stretched arms. He lifts him up and kisses his cheek, avoiding to look at her. “Who?” The kid asks, pointing at her. 

She smiles. “Just a memory.” 

      “Thank you darling, but I’ll eat after.” He replied, his thumb briefly tracing the dip in her hand before letting it go, watching her trail up the stairs with their child in her arms. Once she was out of sight, he breathed a small sigh, running a palm over his cheek and wandering to the kitchen. His actions were on autopilot as he pulled a glass from the nearest cabinet and began filling it with water, his eyes glued absently to the fridge.

      Since the day they were married, he felt guilty. It was unspoken between them, but he often wondered why it was so difficult to treat her as a business partner. Many couples had children, respected each other, and carried on with their lives. They used words like “Honey” and “Darling” as if they knew what color sparked excitement in one another, or what movie they watched three times over in the late hours of a sleepover.  

      When he called her that, it felt genuine. He cared for her. But he didn’t know what kind of flowers she enjoyed most, the darkest corners of her mind, or the brightest day of her life. It felt like a stage, where they were both bound by tight strings and heavy makeup. The water began to flow over the glass and trickle down his hand when he zoned back in, shaking his head and craning his neck to sip away the excess, his feet quickly carrying him down the hall and to their bedroom. He ignored the dark feeling in his stomach that indicated something all too familiar - the guilt of subjecting her to this type of thing nearly every night. But he’d learned to snuff it.

      Water choked his tongue when he stepped into their room, a drizzle of it dampening his shirt as his free hand moved to pat it away, though his eyes couldn’t break from his wife. She was beautiful. She was always beautiful, but on occasion she would wear such things that accentuated every bit of her figure. Wiping his mouth in embarrassment, he set the glass of water aside and let out a breathy laugh, closing the door behind him.