#Now That’s What I Call Organ Music

[icewindandboringhorror]

It's always interesting to hear about people's weird/unexpected "alternate life paths". Like, something that you could have done with your life, a job you almost took, a school you almost went to, etc - that was still actually realistic enough that it could have happened, but NOW it seems to not suit your current personality.

Like for example, I currently hate advertising (how manipulative it is, brands trying to be 'relatable', social media amplifying it to an obnoxious extreme, etc.) so much that even seeing a little ad before a youtube video is grating to even witness, but there was a point in time where I was genuinely seriously considering going into marketing/making commercials as a career lol. Or like, I have a relative who was very inclined to be a pastor when they were younger, even though today they're a super strong atheist, etc. etc.

[felidthing]

i was trying to use that age post to try an gauge how old an alter is but due to not being a literal child in the meat world shes kinda contradictory. the youngest on that post is 4 anyway where they can understand language but she cant. so idk. she has very limited speech but i dont think its linked to her age i think thats just a limitation she has but she also cant understand language most of the time either. so idk. anyways thats my late night tjoughts

[outlying-hyppocrate]

unwell about things,,,,,,, have not slept,,,,,,,, i can taste the numbers now

[happy74827]

One Call Away

[Wade Wilson x Female!Reader]

Synopsis: During one of his "jobs," Deadpool gets a call from his favorite gal [GIF Creds: jdsheart]

WC: 1970

Category: Fluff, Major Comedy {TW: Deadpool’s Humor/Nonfiltered Personality}

This man is so hard to write. I’m always stressing the noggin when it comes to planning and plotting 😔

『••✎••』

"And away we go..."

One neck crack and a couple of hip twists later, he was off like Aladdin and his fucktoy carpet, scaling the building similarly to a chameleon on LSD.

The only thing that was missing was some epic music.

He'd been chasing this baddie around the city for almost two days now. Some big-shot mob boss with ties to Hydra, or the Mafia, or the Yakuza, or some other three-letter-acronym organization. It was hard to keep track of them all at this point. They were all the same, except for the name.

They all had their own agenda.

Kill him, keep him prisoner, pay him off...

Wade never cared enough to listen because it was always the same. He just got hired to do the dirty work, and the pay was good.

The killing was better.

This one, however, was particularly good at eluding him. He'd been trying to get his hands on this man for a few days now. It wasn't as though he was trying to be stealthy or anything, either. He'd walked right up to his front door, knocked, and was greeted with a spray of machine gun bullets.

So, the usual.

But then the guy ran and didn't stop. It was like the fucking Roadrunner met Sonic the Hedgehog, and they decided to fuck around and find out.

Wade was getting real sick and tired of being a Roadrunner, too. He had a reputation to uphold. He wasn't known as the Merc with the Mouth for nothing. He was supposed to be the one doing the running and the killing.

Not the other way around.

Finally, finally, he managed to reach the roof where the guy was currently taking cover behind a small brick shack. The sun was rising, but it was still dark, and there were a couple of floodlights shining on the rooftop. It made him think of the night he'd had that heart-to-heart with Blind Al, even though all she really wanted was for him to bring her some of that special brownie mix.

What a night that had been.

But anyway, this monologue is starting to get too long, and we should probably move things along, eh?

Right.

So, the baddie.

His name was something long and non-English.

Salvatore, or Santino, or Salvation... Whatever the fuck it was, it didn't really matter. What mattered was that it was time to make him dead.

He stepped around the corner and was met with a spray of bullets, all of which lodged themselves into his Kevlar vest.

"Oh, come on!" he yelled over the sound of the gunfire. "This is real leather, you know. I'm tired of all the offscreen sewing and shit."

When the spray finally ended, he took a moment to catch his breath.

"…ow," he whispered to himself.

"You shouldn't have followed me here," the man said.

"Yeah, whatever," Deadpool replied. "Look, I'll make this easy for you. You drop down and give me fifty, and I'll let you keep that hideous mustache you're sporting."

The man's eyes widened in surprise.

"It's not that bad, is it?"

"Yes, yes it is," Deadpool assured him. "You got a squirrel living in it or something?"

"It's just a little bit of gray, you dick," the man argued. "What about you? What's with the mask? Are you hiding a mustache under there, too, or something? Maybe some acne scars?"

Deadpool shook his head and stepped forward, his guns drawn.

"Don't come any closer!"

"You know, this would be much more intimidating if you didn't look like a cartoon mouse."

"Stop it with the mustache!"

"Alright, alright," Deadpool said. "Enough with the mustache. But what is it about your hairline? I can't put my finger on it."

The man sighed in exasperation and pulled out his pistol, aiming it right at Deadpool's face.

"Hey now, don't point that at me," Deadpool scolded him. "That's not a very nice thing to do."

He ignored him and pulled the trigger, a loud boom ringing out as the bullet fired. It whizzed by him but missed its mark.

"You really are a dick," He grumbled before aiming his gun right between the man's eyes. And he was going to shoot, honest.

He really was.

But then his phone rang, and he was well-reminded of the current song playing through his head.

I'm a buff baby that can dance like a man. I can shake-ah my fanny, I can shake-ah my can!

Needless to say, he was distracted.

He lowered his gun and looked down at his pocket, where his phone was still ringing and still vibrating against his leg.

"Shit, hold that thought," He said to the guy, and he holstered his gun.

"Wh-what the hell are you doing?!"

Deadpool put his finger up to shush him before pulling his phone out of his pocket to answer it.

If you're an evil witch, I’ll punch you for fu—

"Heyyyy," he said in a sing-songy voice, "you've reached the phone sex hotline. For kinks and fetishes, press one. For booty calls, press two. For your favorite mercenary, press three."

"Ey, pendejo—" His opponent started, but he cut him off by snapping and raising his finger.

"Cut it, Tuco Salamanca. Breaking Bad called and wants its meth-cooking mustache back."

"Wha-I-you-"

"Anyways, this is your favorite merc speaking. Who do I have the pleasure of speaking with?"

"Is this a bad time?"

Wade's eyes widened in shock, and his jaw dropped open when he heard her voice on the other end of the line.

"Baby girl! Is that you? Oh, how I've missed your voice. It's like hearing an angel, or an angelic chorus, or a whole bunch of angels, but you're the most important one. Like, the lead singer or something."

"I literally saw you last night." Your voice was always drenched with the most amazing kind of sarcasm, and he'd missed it.

"And?"

"It's only been a few hours."

"And?"

"That's a short amount of time."

"And?"

You sighed, but he knew you weren't really annoyed.

"Anyways, you sounded busy," you continued, "so I'll just let you go."

"What?! No! Don't hang up!" He shouted into the receiver. "I've only fiddled with my pistols! Nothing interesting is happening right now!"

"Your pistols, huh?" You asked a hint of mischief in your voice.

"Well, yeah. They're the most important part of the mission, you know."

In the corner of his eye, he could see his target making his way towards the edge of the building. Quickly and efficiently, without dropping his attention from his conversation with you, he lifted his gun and fired a shot at the man's knee.

"Ah, fuck!" the man screamed in pain. "My knee!"

"Hey! Language!" Deadpool scolded him. "The lady of the house is listening!"

"Lady of the- what the fuck?!"

"I said language, you mustachioed rat!"

"Mustachioed rat?" You asked.

"Sorry, babe," he replied. "You know how excited I get when Downtown Abbey is on."

“There’s gunshots in Downtown Abbey?"

"Gunshots? Oh, no, no. That was… uh, a car alarm. Yeah, the neighbor's car alarm was going off."

"Uh-huh," you said, not sounding very convinced. And, of course, that was right around the time the guy's gun went off again, this time hitting him square in the shoulder. It made the phone fall out of his hand and clatter onto the ground, but the call was still connected.

"Dammit!" He yelled, looking at the fresh blood dripping down his arm. "That's gonna take forever to heal!"

"Who are you talking to?" The man demanded, his gun still aimed at Deadpool's face. "You're working with someone?"

"Hey, now, I don't remember giving you permission to talk," Deadpool told him, holding his bloody arm up to his face. "Look, I've gotta call you back, babe. I know it's been so heartbreakingly long—"

"Again, only a few hours," you said.

"—but duty calls. Love you, bye."

"Love you, bye."

With that, the line disconnected.

"Ugh," he groaned, his heart aching for the loss of your sweet voice. "I miss her already."

"Ey," his opponent growled, drawing his attention. He started speaking in rapid-fire Spanish, which Deadpool didn't really understand, but he didn't have to. The guy was just ranting and raving.

"Alright, alright, chill," Deadpool said. "Just calm down. It’ll all be over soon, little buddy."

"I am not little! I am a giant!" The guy protested, and Wade could practically see the steam coming out of his ears. "And I will not chill!"

"Well, can't argue with that, I guess," Deadpool said with a shrug, and he took aim. But before he could pull the trigger, the guy was running again.

"Hey, what did I tell you about running?!" He yelled, but his voice fell on deaf ears as the guy reached the ledge.

"I am a giant!"

"No, you're a giant asshat!"

"I will not be bested by some masked buffoon!"

"Buff? Me? Why, I never!"

"You're the biggest asshole I've ever met!"

"You know what? I am a big ass! A big, round, bubbly ass." He paused for a second. "Hey, what's your favorite flavor?"

"Fuck you, you red-clad imbecile!"

"You know, I'd ask you out to dinner first, but we're kinda past that now."

"Argh!"

"Alright, enough stalling," Deadpool said. "It's time to end this."

"Yes," the guy said, turning his gun back on Deadpool. "It is."

Of course, Deadpool being the smart-ass he was, he'd already taken a step to the side. As the bullet whizzed past him, he reached for his gun.

"Now, where did I put that thing? Oh, there it is."

He aimed the gun and fired, and the man fell back onto the ground. The bullet hit him right in the middle of his forehead, his blood splattering all over the concrete.

"Ha ha! Fatality. Deadpool wins!" He said, his voice taking on the deep, grounded tone of the narrator from Mortal Kombat. "Flawless Victory."

He stood over the body for a few seconds, reveling in his victory, before he felt the presence of another.

The gun on his right side got ripped from its holster, and the barrel was aimed back into his face, as it always seems to be.

But, he already sensed it was coming, so his fingers wrapped around his other and aimed that right in the golden spot… and let’s just say, The Golden Girls was a little less golden and a lot more crimson.

"Wow, this has got to be a record," He said as he bent down to stare at the new one’s anguish. "Two dead ugly mustaches in the same day. You can call me Sweeney Todd because shit… I just shaved you the fuck up."

He didn’t give the poor bastard a chance to even whimper before he fired another two shots into the man's head. All in all, this had been the easiest payday he'd had in a while.

He picked up his cell phone and slipped it back into its pocket before bending down and scooping up the mustache man's pistol.

"Ooh, lookie here, a nice, shiny new pistol," he said to himself. "Just what I've always wanted. Well, I don't actually need it. It's not like I have any other holes in my body, but you know what they say. The more the merrier."

He stuffed the gun in his holster and turned around, heading back the way he'd come.

"Time to get back to the good stuff," he said. "I have a date with my favorite girl."

He hopped up onto the ledge and looked down, his eyes locking on the window to his apartment.

And when he arrived, bloody and battered, you could only smile while holding up little ole Mary Puppins in all her drooling glory.

God, how he missed his girls.

[astrogre]

Astro observations 4

Lilith in Leo and Aries can have unconventional, rebellious hairstyles that stand out and perhaps aren’t considered what most say is beautiful but they do it for themselves e.g. a buzz cut, dying hair eccentric colours, having a flamboyant big hairstyle that others consider inappropriate to society

If you’re interested in being an actor, or ever wanted to know the roles you’d play best: look at the planets in your second house. They describe the kind of character you’d play well because 2H shows the skills and traits needed for us to make money. So if you were acting you’d get paid for showing the skills of the planets in your 2H in the role you’d get cast for. I’ve noticed actors who play roles that match their 2nd house planet become known, or most successful for it.

E.g Uranus 2H: Benedict Cumberbatch- Played as Sherlock holmes (role required themes of intellect, eccentricity, thinking outside of the box to be Sherlock) same with Dr Strange (very ironic because Uranus literally represents things that are weird).

Pluto 2H: playing as villains, morally questionable characters, surgeons, morticians, taxidermy artist, piercing artist, gang member, scaring people. Johnny depp has this placement and his most profitable roles were as Jack sparrow, Edward scissor hands, sweeny Todd, all to do with slicing using a sword scissors or a knife and immoral characters

I’ve noticed the fama asteroid doesn’t really depict the ‘good’ kind of fame, if you look into famous people’s charts, Fama tends aspect or to be in the house where they were in a scandal or something shameful.

E.g Kamala Harris has Pluto and Venus conjunct fama, she’s infamously accused of sleeping her way to power because her affair was made public

Ben Shapiro has his mercury conjunction fama, and I’m sure you know his views are not taken with the most respect. He gets harassed quite often for it.

Elon Musk has fama conjunct Uranus in 3rd house while he posts 4chan content and always is being called out for saying some ‘degenerate’ or ‘erratic’ opinion on Twitter.

Justin Bieber has Jupiter at 14 degrees conjunct the Fama asteroid in his 12th house—the house of hidden meanings and secrets. The degree, 14, aligns roughly with the age when he reportedly spent 48 hours with Diddy and was generously gifted a sportscar. He also got signed by Usher at 14 (Usher was Diddys mentee). Notably, this placement is in Scorpio, the sign associated with joint resources, power dynamics, and sex organs. Even now this remains a subject of gossip and speculation, with some suggesting that the generosity and “mentorship” (themes linked to Jupiter’s higher learning and expansion) from Diddy played a pivotal role in jumpstarting Bieber’s career, particularly in relation to the music industry’s power structures. Another thing to note is that he flew abroad from Canada to USA for this to happen to him which lead to him getting famous. (Jupiter represents foreign relations)

Fama is more of a humiliating but entertaining ‘tea’ placement. And not everyone wants to become a controversial kind of famous, some people may want to become famous for their talents and their contributions to the industry they work in. People who are famous and don’t have strong fama placements can actually have a good reputation with their fame. People won’t try to make fun of you or a spectacle of your life to mock you. This is why we can see very famous adored people like princess Diana have no fama aspects yet was in the limelight of it all. Whereas Camilla has Fama conjunct ascendant. Fama is more gossipy, the kind of stuff you don’t really want to be known for. Rumours that defame your character and make you look like a bad person.

If you want to see what nasty things people say about you behind your back, and what they gossip about, look at your fama asteroid.

I have noticed that Venus in the 8th house can result in them thinking someone is interested in them when they’re not. I’ve also seen that these natives really get hurt in love like there’s some unreciprocated dynamic in their relationships if they experience pain from them. It can be people trying to use them, like becoming friends with them so they can have access to a guy the native knows, you can have your partner “stolen” from you by others

Virgo Mars love to make their partners stressed or see them stressing out/ how they handle stressful situations. They will respect you a lot if you can take stress and high expectations, multi task them like it’s nothing, or taking in the toll but managing it with order and planning

Mars in 10th house have the scary smile. Your smile can be seen as rather menacing, uncanny. People like this that have this placement are Joseph Stalin, Joaquin Phoenix, Khloe Kardashian, Bruce Lee, Mark Zuckerberg, Usher, Charlie Sheen. I can’t describe it but it’s a smile that’s like “ILL KILL YOU 😁”, the eyes look haywire yet locked on target, the smile is exaggerated and almost too joyful, face distorted in excitement like it’s dying to start something, it makes sense since 10H can show bone structure and mars being here can add an edge to it.

Oh and don’t forget that Mark Zuckerberg smile meme (he also has Mars 10H), a lot of these natives are known for their menacing smile and presence. Also you guys are villainised yet kind of respected for it. I’ve seen it prevalent in the men. E.g Joaquin Phoenix’s joker smile, Charlie Sheen + Bruce Lee + Khloe Kardashian showing anti social behaviour and becoming respected for it. If you commit crimes people might like you more 💀

This made me think of the British musician Aphex twin, who has the creepiest smile. I looked at his chart and guess what? He has a Aries MC, midheaven ruled by Mars and look at that smile:

Mars in Cancer specifically in 1st house can hold a lot of resentment towards their mother, get into nasty arguments with her, name calling or blame their mother for how they look and find their appearance annoying. On a more positive note these natives can do everything in their power for their mothers. At best natives with this placement can be feminists, in support of women in power. At worst they can despise ‘pathetic’ women and end up treating their wives with the same level of hatred too. Or just degrade women because of their own insecurities

e.g. Lord Byron, a British poet who blamed his mother for his foot deformity and would often call her names and unleash his rage on his wife, cheating on her egregiously

Sun conjunct Uranus makes someone very good with innovation, numerical values, science and maths. Your big highlight in this life may be that you invent something not thought of before. E.g people with this placement: Ada Lovelace- the creator of the first algorithm, John Von Neumann- A scientific genius who pioneered the modern computer, game theory, nuclear deterrence. He was described as so smart he made his teacher cry from doing complex calculus in his head at the age of 6 💀.

Since 1H can show how you present yourself, it can tell you the clothing you wear in your daily outfits, which made me think of how each planet in the first house may dress.

Neptune 1H can wear fantasy clothing, cosplay, fancy dress, masquerade masks, covid masks, any mask, magical accessories like iridescent tights, tiaras

Saturn 1H can incorporate historical tradition clothing like a timeless TAILORED clothing, think top hats, timeless coats, Victorian style dresses, also can have corsets as Saturn shows restrictions. It reminds me of that 1800s kind of look

Moon 1H can wear soft comforting clothes like vintage slips, nightgowns, pyjamas and loungewear, babydoll dresses, chunky knit fleece/coat

Mercury 1H can wear smart uniforms, plaid skirts, blazers, graphic t-shirts with slogans or logos, suspenders, ties, glasses, just very witty and youthful

Pluto 1H can wear intimidating darker clothes like chokers, gothic clothes, long trench coats, hoodies, all black, latex, bodycon, face coverings

Jupiter 1H can wear cultural clothing like kimonos, sarees/lenghas, bohemian styles, togas/roman inspired clothing, or like embroidered tunics

Mars 1H can wear combat military clothing, like camouflage, leather, fingerless gloves, ski masks, harnesses, military jacket, those belts or garters that can hold weapons like knives and guns

Sun 1H can wear statement clothing, designer logo branded pieces, fluffy clothes like furr , jewellery, this one’s more varied because Sun is the expression of self so they can actually wear stuff based more on the sign

Venus 1H can wear standard beauty centered clothing like corsets, brooches, lace, satin, heels, off the shoulder tops, pointed loafers and ascots for men, impractical fabrics, they’re more likely to wear things that aren’t necessarily comfortable but they come at the price of beauty.

Uranus 1H can incorporate unique futuristic, punk, techwear, platform shoes , noticed men can look disheveled almost, unique pvc reflective metallic fabrics, can have tech in their clothes, asymmetrical clothing, shoes that don’t match, they can be known for their unique choices in clothing too. The kind that makes people stop and think “what am I looking at rn”

Planets conjunct your ascendant are basically the main contributor to the method you approach your life with. For an example an Aries ascendant conjunct 12H Mercury can have a “I CAN DO IT ALL” mindset to everything in their life while actually using their mind to whip up and improvise a plan quickly out of nowhere, whereas if mercury wasn’t conjunct - they may not be as quick witted for the situations that occur in their life or be as tactical, they’d be like action with little plan, a river with no path but trusting on its flow.

Neptune in 11H might make you difficult to find online, your stalkers are seething. Maybe you don’t post, can have hidden private accounts or your page can look really magical like a Pinterest board but it’s hard to get a lot out of you solely based on your digital footprint

Also another thing, Neptune is NOT your friend lol, Neptune is a deceiver. I find it so interesting because people see Neptune as pure but it distorts reality and blurs the lines but makes it really pretty. Reminds me of Glinda from Wicked or hextech from arcane. It can be difficult for even the native because they may not realise they can deceive others as much as they do it to themselves. Wherever Neptune is in your chart can show who you deceive. Or how you’re deceived 3H siblings, 4H lying to family or about where you come from etc. You can also be lied to about missing family members or the roots of where you came from. 7H could be your clients and romantic partners can lie to you about what they want, 12H people could lie about you behind your back but you can struggle to trace where it comes from, you can also be completely oblivious to your subconscious thoughts. 10h can easily make you the scapegoat at work.

Venus 6H and their consistency in their beauty routines e.g skincare is what many aspire to. They are constantly glowing up since 6H shows our daily routines and self improvement so having Venus here can make you look prettier day by day. It’s like that “oh you keep getting prettier than the last time I saw you..”

Uranus 6H can overcome an illness that nobody would have thought they would. This is because wherever Uranus is in the chart can show where you rebel and bounce back in a way that nobody expected. With it being in 6H which also rules your health, you can surprise others by your illnesses, if you are ill you can have a rare condition or you’re the kind of person who gets sick like all the time but recovers the next day

Virgo moons feel sooo much fulfilment in being the cause of someone else’s satisfaction, it made me think of the UK onlyfans model Lily Philips, she slept with 100 random men in 24 hours in a documentary, afterwards she cried and felt horrible and used and said that she was most upset about the fact that she couldn’t make them all finish. A very sad documentary. But it really highlighted the nature of Virgo moons NEEDing to serve, to please. They say Libra are the people pleasers but honestly I’d give that one to Virgo, except usually virgos pickier with who they decide to please.

Lily Philips also has Fama conjunct Neptune, she’s famous for the sexual fantasy she portrays and the false image she shows to others, she’s so different from how she acts when making her OF content. This also proves my earlier said point about fama being scandalous as well because Lily has SOOOO much hate and gossip due to her “deceiving” image that’s the influence of Neptune for you. Might analyse her chart later.

Having both Pluto and moon in the 1H can create a silent brooding type of attractive. Adrien Brody has this placement and really embodies an edgy but comforting gaze. He is tall, has emotional melancholic eyes from moons effect yet has high contrast, intense dark features. I think it’s a really interesting mix of traits to have in the first house

Chiron in Libra can make someone be rather insecure of their appearance, usually body and face or femininity. They feel like they’re not beautiful enough. Anya Taylor joy , Maisie Williams, Kylie Jenner, Dolly Parton, Freddie Mercury, have this placement and all have publicly known insecurities based on their appearance despite them being inspirational to others for getting the limelight and praise without looking like everyone else. They pick at themselves quite a lot.

I always raise my eyebrow when I see a Pluto conjunct Lilith/Uranus in a chart. That person can be very dark, they can bring about a side of humanity that most people don’t want to discuss yet are fascinated with. They are capable of some really…. scary things. Especially if all 3 asteroids and planets are conjunct to each other. Pluto is intense it’s dark, it’s controlling but when it’s conjunct Uranus it now has chaos, rebellion, Lilith also rebels but it’s unapologetic, it may make people scared and trigger primal fears because of how messy the person is, these people can be really explosive. They’re also really intimidating, i could imagine the group anonymous that leaked classified government documents having this kind of placement. They literally go into the guttural trenches of inhumanity and bring out its findings then present it to the naive public like a cat dragging a rodents scathed body to the owner expecting a reward. It can be impressive sometimes, you often think “how did you even come up with the idea to do this?”

[highvern]

Home for the Holidays

Pairing: Jung Wooyoung x fem!reader

Genre: mature, romance, smut, angst, exes to lovers, Christmas!AU, fake dating

Warnings: Drug use (weed), alcohol, mentions of aging family members, unhealthy family dynamics, mentions of illness (reader is a doctor), cursing, dry-humping/grinding, kissing, oral (f. receiving), masturbation, unprotected sex, angst, poor self-esteem/self-doubt, pining, some threats of bodily harm, mentions of pregnancy

Length: ~27k

Note: this is a rewrite of this fic i posted for christmas last year. switched some things, updated my writing style and added some scenes. thank u @haologram for suffering through beta reading this. dedicated to my dearest @miniseokminnies

Summary: Wooyoung broke up with you months ago. In his own shame and embarrassment, he's never told his family. Now they're expecting you for Christmas, just like they have for the past 8 years. So he does the only thing he can think of: beg you to pretend you're still dating.

m.list

This blog is intended for 18+ only! Minors/blank blogs will be blocked.

June

“So I have some news. I know it hasn’t been easy for us going back—”

“I think we should break up.”

“...and forth so much but—What?” 

“I don’t think it's working out between us.”

Your mouth falls open, lips attempting to form words that don’t manage to make a sound. Eyes shifting around the room, the sheen of tears thickening as a few beads trail down your cheeks as you stand shakily; managing only a few steps away from the table before a choked sob wiggles free from an iron grip. People are staring as you nearly run out to the door. You don’t care. You’re already outside and turning the block, completely unaware that several whip around to look at the man left at the table.

Wooyoung doesn’t chase you down. Doesn’t call or text as you walk the twenty blocks to Lisa’s apartment in the thick humidity of the city night; snot and tears trailing down your face.

Wooyoung doesn’t say anything at all as eight years shatter to pieces in a matter of seconds.

December

…twenty-six, twenty-seven, twenty-eight.

Wooyoung staples the finished packets together, ears tickled by jazzy Christmas music leaking from his computer speakers in the corner of his L-shaped desk. Surrounded by colorful brick walls of a midtown elementary school isn’t where most people his age would find themselves on a Friday evening but where else would he go?

His roommates have their partners over, he’d rather avoid the frigid dampness of the park he usually smokes at, and Wooyoung isn’t interested in the crowds clogging anywhere else he’d think to visit. The usual comforting bustle of the city only serves to set him on edge, making him desperate for a true solitude he really craves. Getting ahead on his classroom prep for the remainder of the semester seemed like the perfect, albeit a depressing way, to spend the evening. The dulcet tones of Dean Martin are joined by an incoming call buzzing his phone across the wooden top of the desk. A familiar picture of his mom and him as a baby flashing across the screen before he answers.

“Hi sweetie,” his mom yells on the other line. Wooyoung can tell she’s driving home from work based on the poor audio quality.

“Hey mom,” he wedges the device between his shoulder and cheek, using his hands to continue organizing the worksheets for Monday, paper warm in his palms from the printer.

“I’m just calling to make sure you and Y/N are still coming for Christmas. I know the hospital is usually crazy this time of year, so I thought I’d double check.”

“Actually mom—”

“Bibi keeps talking about wanting everyone home for Christmas but if Y/N can’t make it she’ll understand. She’s always been her favorite,” she laughs.

Wooyoung’s grandmother is impolitely frank about her age and never hesitates to use it to her own advantage. How does he tell her that his girlfriend, who she liked more than her own grandsons some days, is no longer his girlfriend? And how he is the only one to be blamed for that. He might as well start digging his own grave.

“We’ll be there,” Wooyoung blabs before he can stop himself.

“Wonderful! I’m pulling into the driveway so I’ll talk to you later. Love you!”

“Love you too.”

Fortunately, on a cold winter night like tonight, the only other soul in the building is Mr. Rollins, a janitor with headphones permanently attached to his ears. The colorful combination of expletives pouring from Wooyoung’s mouth would make a sailor blush.

Typing in a familiar name to his message bar, Wooyoung realizes he hasn’t changed it in all this time; the string of emojis from the first night he got your number glaring back at him in mockery. A sting of bile blisters the back of Wooyoung’s throat as he steads himself for what he’s about to do. Who he is about to ask for the biggest mercy; one he didn’t deserve in the slightest.

Wooyoung: Can I call you?

Wooyoung inhales before hitting “send,” locking his phone and tossing it down like it’s possessed. Barely a full minute passes before it vibrates with your response.

Y/N🥰🍯💖: are you okay?

He can’t even type a reply before the buzz buzz buzz on an incoming call tickles against his palm. 

Tapping into the false chipper personality he reserves for strangers and his class, Wooyoung answers with a simple. “Hey!” 

“Hi,” you deadpan. “What do you want, Wooyoung?”

“How have you been?”

“I’m fine. But you aren’t calling to ask me that.”

Wooyoung wants to object but you’re right. “I’m not but I still care.”

“Sure.”

“Okay, so my mom called and asked if you were coming over for Christmas.”

“Why?” you drawl.

“Because I haven’t told them we broke up.”

A rush of clattering sounds from your end along with a few curse words sounding far away before you continue. “Are you fucking kidding me? It’s been six months!”

“I know! But I’ve been busy and there was never a good time and it’s just kinda snowballed.”

“Well, tell her now,” you insist.

“I can’t!”

“Why not?”

“Bibi keeps talking about how she wants everyone how for one last Christmas and with Kyungmin going to colle—”

He can hear your eye roll. “Please tell me you’re not suggesting what I think you are.”

“You know I wouldn’t ask unless I was desperate.”

“I thought us breaking up meant I didn’t have to deal with your bullshit anymore.”

“I can tell them you’re busy and the hospital is keeping you or—”

“No.” Wooyoung can picture the hand scrubbing down your face, fingers massaging your temples the same way you always did when his shenanigans stirred up trouble. “I’ll do it.”

Now he’s the one to pause. “Really?”

“Yeah, it’d be nice to see them all one last time.”

He can’t believe you answered his call, let alone agreed to this stupid plan. But he completely can because now matter what happens, you’re a better person than he’ll ever deserve. “Thank you. You’re a lifesaver.”

“I actually need to get back to doing that so—”

“Yeah, I’ll, ugh, talk to you later. Bye.” Wooyoung bites his tongue to stop the habitual I love you from slipping in.

“Bye.”

As the line clicks and Wooyoung is left alone in his classroom, the space abruptly feels too big. With each minute ticking by, he convinces himself he hallucinated the entire exchange because there is no possible way his ex-girlfriend agreed to this ill-thought plan. Everything feels too normal for you to extend such undue kindness his way, especially after how he ruined their relationship in a moment of insecurity.

Wooyoung: My flight out is 12/21

Wooyoung: You don’t have to come that early 

Y/N🥰🍯💖: im off starting the 19th

Wooyoung: I’ll pay for your flight

Y/N🥰🍯💖: great. ill venmo you

Wooyoung: Cool, send me the details

There’s a weight on Wooyoung’s tongue at the new dynamic settling between you. Eight years of dating but now you’re a stranger, the last text messages arranging for Lisa to pick up a box of your stuff from his apartment. 

Six months and he didn’t know if you kept your hair the same way or what new book you were obsessing over in the sparse free time from the hospital; if your neighbor in Boston’s yappy geriatric dog finally kicked the bucket.

Lovers. Almost fiancées. And now strangers.

Wooyoung wakes up to the early morning bustle of the busy streets just outside his window. His phone clock reads thirty minutes past his normal alarm which means he’s late. And that means his boss is going to tear his ass a new one. 

In a whirl, Wooyoung rushes to the bathroom. He wets his hands with the freezing tap water, patting his face and attempting to style his bed ridden hair. The door shifts to catch his foot as he exits, stubbing his toe and forcing him to hop down the hallway to his room. Wrinkled khakis and a sweater are all Wooyoung manages before he throws on his parka and is out the door.  He sprints to the subway, just in time to see the doors closing on his train.

“Fuck me!”

“Too young for me buddy,” croaks the homeless man splayed on the bench in the middle of the platform.

Ignoring him, Wooyoug paces further down the station, anger filling him with restless energy. Glancing at his phone, he shoots an email to his principal that he’ll be late due to “train delays.” Thank god for the MTA being a regular piece of shit. Finally checking the stream of missed notifications during the night, he uses the lull to answer them.

Mom: Does y/n still like those chips we bought last time? I’m at the store getting a few things

Wooyoung: She said she’s happy with whatever you get!

Not a lie since you would be happy to have snacks of any kind.

SANNIE⛰️: YOU DIDN’T TELL YOUR PARENTS? 

SANNIE⛰️: U R SO FUCKED

At least he can always count on San to state the obvious.

Y/N🥰🍯💖: here’s my ticket 

Wooyoung does a double take when he sees you’re flying out of New York, not Boston. Why aren’t you flying out of Boston? There’s no way it’s cheaper than flying out of Boston and you wouldn’t go through the trouble of getting down here unless there was a good reason.

Wooyoung: Why are you flying out of LGA?

Y/N🥰🍯💖: Because I live here?

A lump of lead hardens in his stomach. You live here, in New York. You’d been in the city and he didn’t even notice. Questions race forward. How long? Where were you working? What neighborhood did you live in? Why didn’t he know you moved back?

The last question is more his own fault than he cares to admit.

Wooyoung: since when?

He doesn’t expect a response right away. It wasn’t the first time his messages went hours before being answered. You’re a doctor, and before that a med student, and before that pre-med when he met you at some dive bar and realized you shared a behavioral psych class. You always maintained a full schedule, only responding to the outside world when the night bled into the early hours of the day. Wooyoung would probably get an answer in the next few days but he needs to know right now.

Wooyoung: Did you know Y/N moved here?

Yeosang: Yes.

Well, fuck.

Wooyoung: You didn’t think to tell me?

Yeosang: You broke up.

Yeosang: ?

Even his roommate knew you moved back to the city.

Double fuck.

His train arrives without preamble, brakes screeching as it slows to a stop. Wooyoung crowds into the compartment, happy for it to be relatively empty. Finding a spot on the wall, he zones out of the chaos for the next twenty minutes. A group of highschoolers laugh obnoxiously in the corner, snatching one another’s phones as they share god knows what between them. A young mom tries to placate her crying baby, the older man next to her rolling his eyes as he devours his morning paper. When the doors open at his stop, Wooyoung pauses for a second as an elderly woman enters the train. Catching her eye, he offers her his seat; only standing when she’s close enough so no one else tries to take it from her. 

Wooyoung slithers out of the closing doors and bolts out of the station as fast as he can.

Panting and sweating under his black parka, Wooyoung arrives outside the red doors of the elementary school he teaches at. Principal Martinez is tapping his foot at the top of the steps, arms crossed in front of his chest, scowl etched deep on his face. “This is the third time this month.”

“I know, I’m sorry! But the train got delayed with repairs or something and—”

“Save it. You have a class to get to.”

Breezing past, Wooyoung’s boots clack against the linoleum tile as he careens towards his classroom. The rowdy cacophony of third grade voices echo beyond the doorway, only increasing in volume as he peeks his head in.

A dozen shrill voices scream something along the lines of “Mr. Jung you’re late!”

“You’re all just early!” Wooyoung goads back, sending a thankful look at the teacher who stepped in to watch them until he arrived.

The room descends into giggles, students finding their places as he settles at his own desk.

“So today, we’re starting with circle time!”

“Let me get this straight: your ex asked you to pretend to be his girlfriend and now you’re spending Christmas with his family across the country?”

Sparing a glance from the manilla folder containing notes on your next patient, Hongjoong eyes you skeptically. The ridiculousness of the situation isn’t lost on you. You’d nearly convinced yourself the entire exchange Friday night was some cruel dream if not for the string of text messages proving it’d been real. Wooyoung’s first real attempt to speak with you post-breakup, and he asks you to pretend he didn’t break your heart six months ago.

“That’s about as straight as it gets.”

Hongjoong’s eyebrows furrow, “And you said yes, why?”

“Because…” 

You missed him? Because you still loved him? Because when you saw his message you thought he was finally ready to admit it'd all been a mistake? 

Because Wooyoung always convinced you to go along with whatever he asked.

“I really like his family.”

“Oh, sweet child,” he tsks, leafing through his own case file.

“Look, it’ll be nice to see them one last time and I’d rather spend the holidays with them than cramped in my apartment to avoid the tourists.”

“Are you sure that’s the only reason why?”

“Yep.”

“This can’t go wrong at all!”

“Shut up,” you say before dipping into the exam room, shifting your face into an enthusiastic smile. “How are we today, Mrs. Haspin?”

“We’re doing okay. Harper hasn’t been liking the new medicine you prescribed.”

“She hasn’t?” You gasp sarcastically, staring wide eyed at the tiny brunette with braided pigtails sitting on the exam room bed.

“They’re gross!” Harper cries with all the sincerity a four year old can muster, her tiny hands wrinkling the paper as she slaps the bed indignantly.

“Well that’s no good. I’ll make sure to check if they have other flavors.” You type a few notes in her electronic chart as you turn over your shoulder. “Mom, have you noticed a difference?”

“She’s not having as many coughing fits.”

“That is very good.” You curl your stethoscope in your palm, attempting to warm the cool metal. “Can I listen to your lungs, Harper?”

She shakes her head up and down vigorously, the pink and gold beads at the end of her pigtails clacking together.

“Alright, take a deep breath in.” The woosh of air entering her lungs fills the room. “And out. In. And out.”

You prompt her to continue several times, gliding the chest piece along various parts of her back as you listen intently. A few crackles pop in your ears, mucus coating her airways; only made worse by the dry winter of the city.

“Very good, Harper,” you praise before turning to her mom waiting anxiously in the corner. “With the winter make sure you’re using the humidifier as much as possible but her lungs sound better than last time so I’d like to stay on the meds.” You swivel back to your patient. “I’ll check with the pharmacy if they can do something about the flavor. Okay?”

Harper beams, glad to be heard. Her mother beams for an entirely different reason. Her daughter struggled with respiratory issues since she’d been born and as she aged they’d only gotten worse. Harper was the first patient you took when you started two months ago and in that time you’ve grown fond of her.

“All right, I’ll walk you all to the front. I think we can push out our next visit until six weeks since she’s been doing so well. If anything comes up, please don’t hesitate to call us.”

Handing them off to the receptionist to schedule their next appointment, you return to your office for a quick lunch.

Y/N: Because I live here

Youngie 🖤: since when?

How do you tell him that you’ve lived here since the day he broke up with you? How that night at dinner you were planning to surprise him by moving back to New York and removing the distance that plagued your relationship for three years?

The benefit of no longer being in a relationship means you don’t have to explain anything.

Locking your phone, you scarf down the squashed sandwich you brought from home before rushing to your next patient. 

Another week passes before Wooyoung reaches out to you again. You’re set to leave in a few days but work requires all the energy you can manage thanks to a volatile respiratory season. 

Youngie 🖤: Our flights are around the same time. Do you split a cab?

You spoke with Yeosang frequently enough (once in a blue moon) to know they still lived in the dingy old walk up they could hardly afford downtown. The high rise you rented further up Manhattan would be on his way to the airport but did you want to see Wooyoung sooner than needed?

Misery still festered in your veins since the break up. Eight years you’d dated; through senior year of undergrad, four years of medical school, and just shy of three years of residency. And the asshole couldn’t give you a single reason for your break up. No warning. No fighting. The same bouquet of delicate pink tulips waiting in hand for you as you arrived at the train station for your last visit to the city before relocating permanently. Yeosang texted you that very afternoon about his excitement to have you back as if nothing was wrong.

A beautiful afternoon holed up in his room for a late nap before dinner, apartment silent in the absence of his three roommates who’d usually greet you enthusiastically as you returned to the city for a visit. Wooyoung hadn’t acted any differently than the other times you visited, seemingly unaware of the surprise you planned to unveil at the fancy dinner he planned to congratulate you on finishing your long years of training.

But then he sat down and said the six words that replayed in your mind like a curse.

And that was the last time you heard his voice until Friday night; as if Wooyoung dove off the face of the earth. The only proof of living were the traces of him in his friends’ Instagram stories or faceless photos of him in their posts.

You were never one to post much on social media anyway but his shock at your move back to the city fanned a sick sense of satisfaction. As if to say “two can play at that game.” Wooyoung cut you out and you’d done the same. Keeping your move under lock and key despite sharing the same friend group.

Y/N: no thanks

You’re toeing the line of rudeness but what’s Wooyoung going to do? Break up with you again?

Terminal C of LaGuardia Airport four days before Christmas ranks among the top destinations no one in their right mind would want to be. Parents attempting to keep track of hyper children, businessmen scowling down their nose as they scream into their cellphones, adults slamming down overpriced drinks in preparation for the endless questions holidays bring.

“Bringing home anyone special?”

“When are you going to get married?”

“Grandchildren?”

The last is Wooyoung’s grandmother’s new favorite. Myungho faces the brunt of it; married three years and in no rush to add another mouth to feed just yet. Back in April, when you and Wooyoung visited for her birthday Bibi decided to skip asking when you two would tie the knot and go straight to procreation. 

How fun it’ll be to answer those questions again with his temporarily not ex-girlfriend.

The line for security is long and laborious. One agent yells at him for keeping his shoes on, another rolls her eyes when he asks if his laptop needs to come out of his backpack. In front of him, a frail looking elderly woman struggles with placing the hard plastic bin on the rolling conveyor belt. Behind, grumbles of discontent regarding her holding up the line rise in volume as Wooyoung helps her with her things; sending a smile to her thank you.

And because no good deed goes unpunished, Wooyoung gets pulled for an extra search once he passes the large metal detector.

A burly pale skinned man with blue nitrile gloves sorts through his belongings with the gentleness of a bull in a china shop. Wooyoung’s wrecked and dusty backpack passes inspection easily enough but the contents of his carry-on end up spread across the shiny metal table for further examination under the sterile lights. Gifts for his family, some books he’s teaching next semester, and a navy velvet box he hasn’t left the city without in the past year.

That is apparently the source of interest for TSA as the man pops open the lid to scan the marquis cut diamond ring before putting it back in its place. “Congrats, man.”

Wooyoung gives a tight smile. “Thanks.”

Nodding his head to his colleague, the TSA agent steps away and allows Wooyoung to pack his bags.

He really needs a drink.

“I’m sorry ma’am, the flight is overbooked. But there is room on the next flight to Denver!”

“No charge?”

The flight attendant keeps her best customer service voice but something dies behind her eyes. “Not unless you would like to upgrade to business class.”

You have the money and Wooyoung paid for your seat so it’s technically cheaper than it’d usually be. However, you know Wooyoung would take it personally if he found out you sat in business when he paid for a last minute economy flight on a teacher's salary. In the end, a few hours of comfort aren’t worth adding to the awkwardness you’ll face over the next week.

 “No, thank you. But if there’s an aisle seat available that’d be great.”

She taps on her keyboard with manicured nails for a moment, the light of the screen reflecting on her face. “Alright, your new flight number is AYX287 and you’ll be flying out of Gate 98.”

“Thank you,” you say, reviewing the boarding pass she printed. Your new gate is on the opposite side of the terminal but you have a little over an hour to make it there.

Rolling your silver carry-on next to you, you weave in and out of the other airport goers heading in the opposite directions. A curse of any crowded space, people forget to walk with a sense of purpose. You dodge a young couple, probably teenagers, standing in the middle of the walkway oblivious to anyone else; only to end up behind an gaggle of older women surrounded by a heavy cloud of perfume and cheap wine. One of their shirts reads “Happily Divorced!” in glittery cursive.

More nimble footwork and multiple sign checks later, you reach the correct wing of the terminal with forty five minutes to spare. Confirming that your gate does, in fact, exist, you turn back up the walkway to find a drink. Preferably several. The first time you see Wooyoung in months will require the strongest alcohol you can finally afford now that residency is over and you're making the hefty salary you’d been promised at the start of medical school.

A friendly faced woman, old enough to be your mother, greets you as you take a stool at her bar. 

“Cranberry margarita.” You slide over your credit card. “And start a tab, please.”  

The first overpriced drink goes down smoothly, a little sweet and perfectly tart; the second and third much the same. Pleasantly buzzed with fifteen minutes till boarding, you cash out and shuffle back to wait by the gate.

And in one of the cramped pleather seats of the waiting area, sits your ex-boyfriend.

Wooyoung is hallucinating. Two gin and gingers and a THC gummy churning in his stomach make the mirage in front of him look incredibly realistic but there is no way this is happening. The world isn’t that cruel.

Even if he deserves it.

You stand twenty feet away in the usual flight attire, every bit as beautiful as the last time he saw you. Loose gray sweats, the same old hunter green crew neck with the name of his hometown in frayed golden embroidery on the front, sherpa lined short ugg boots, and glasses perched on the end of your nose. The silver carry-on you bought in the airport during the last visit to his family at your side. And a sour look of absolute disgust twisting your lips when you catch him staring.

Better he sees you for the first time since the break up now instead of later in front of the audience of his nosy family. In the safety of anonymity, you can kill him multiple times over with looks alone, and Wooyoung can grovel and pander like he usually does.

Or Wooyoung would if you hadn’t taken a seat along the bay of windows at the opposite end of the alcove.

You actively avoid looking in his general direction for the next fifteen minutes. An impressive feat given he’s directly in front of the help desk and TV screen displaying updates for the flight. But you keep focus on your phone, tapping furiously to who Wooyoung assumes is Lisa. If he wakes up to the tiny blonde in his apartment one morning with a knife to his throat, there’ll at least be a paper trail of evidence.

The gate agent booms over the loudspeaker, announcing priority boarding and first class to come forward. Wooyoung’s bank account weeps at the idea of flying first class during Christmas. Who flies first class domestic? A true mystery for the ages.

The familiar head of hair, full of murderous thoughts aimed at him, boards with group three; flashing a polite smile to the gate agent as you strut down the hall without a glance back. 

When Wooyoung is called with the last group, he’s first in line. The airport is a dog eat dog world and his good deeds end where the boarding line begins.

Nearly every seat is filled when he shuffles down the cramped aisle, full overhead bins already closed half way down the plane. He doesn’t find you amongst the faces of passengers preparing for the next five hours, some already knocked out with eye masks and neck pillows.

Seat 27A, a window seat Wooyoung paid an extra $37 for, sits next to a blissfully vacant middle seat. There’s also just enough room for his black suitcase to fit overhead, snug between a gray hard case, and a blue duffle. 

The aisle seat in the row is occupied by a man who looks a little younger than Wooyoung's age, a college hoodie and baseball cap similar to his own. He rises, allowing Wooyoung to shuffle by and plop into his chair. Stuffing his backpack under the seat in front, Wooyoung shoots a few last minute texts. One to his family group chat, letting them know the flight is about to take off; resending the flight number for his dad to anxiously track. Another to his roommate group chat, reminding them to cover the drains before they leave town. And a final one to San, begging for thoughts and prayers.

He barely hits send when the seat next to him jostles with the weight of a body. Turning, Wooyoung spots the man in the aisle seat a few inches from himself. On the other side, his ex-girlfriend.

Great.

Wooyoung’s familiar mop of dark hair remains unseen through each new rush of passengers, the plane slowly filling up more and more. You dread to think he got stuck the same way you did hours ago, forced on a later flight than intended. If that was the case, would you be stuck at the airport waiting for him? Given his parents had to drive two hours to pick you both up, the answer is probably yes. 

Two hours unsupervised with Wooyoung’s mom would ruin the entire plan. You can’t lie to her. It’s one thing for Wooyoung to play this entire charade in her face and you to go along. It’s another to ask you to look her in the eye and pretend you hadn’t spent the last six months pretending her son didn’t exist.

Nature calls you to the cramped bathroom at the back of the aircraft as passengers at the front continue trickling in. Hopefully Wooyoung is sitting far away from you when you return to your seat.

Stupid motherfucker. You think, rattling the jammed door of the airplane stall in an attempt to force it open. Just as you're about to kick the door down, a flight attendant shoves it aside, flashing a tight smile of displeasure.

Shuffling up back to your seat, you awkwardly wait behind struggling passengers putting away their belongings in the sparse overhead space. Thank the powers that be, your new ticket came with better boarding.

Finally catching up to the familiar faces of the rows around your seat, you turn to find two men in your row. One in your seat, and the other your ex boyfriend.

You stop dead in your tracks. “You’re fucking kidding me.”

“Sorry!” the man who is not your ex-boyfriend apologizes.

“No! Not you.”

Wooyoung stares blankly, glazed eyes bugging out his skull like he can’t believe the irony either. If habit and history were to repeat itself, he carefully timed an edible before stepping through security. Given his propensity for being obnoxiously early to the airport, he should be high as a kite.

And now you’re stuck next to him drunk as a skunk.

Great.

Taking the now vacant aisle seat, you attempt to ignore Wooyoung once again; plugging in your headphones and pulling out a book you’ve been trying to get through for months. Lisa’s recommendation of smutty fantasy romance with hot immortal faeries. You didn’t see the appeal but at her insistence, you gave it a chance.

“Hey,” calls a voice to your left. 

Nope, not doing this. You think, forcing yourself to read the opening paragraph again but registering none of the words. It might as well be ancient hieroglyphics.

“Y/N,” he tries again. In your periphery, Wooyoung folds over at the waist to look around the man sandwiched between you. 

“What?” you snap, ripping out your headphones.

“How’ve you been?”

Rolling your eyes with a groan, you sink back into your chair, headphones replaced and book in the pocket in front of you. It’s going to be a long flight.

Murphy’s law states that anything that can go wrong will and your flight is no exception. The packed jet is stuck taxing for almost an hour, courtesy of the trademark fog and rain of New York in the winter. You can feel the heat of Wooyoung’s gaze burn the side of your face, cheeks heating under his scrutiny. But the full scale meltdown threatening to unleash if you entertain him has no place in the sanctity of a last minute holiday flight of people just trying to make it to their next destination.

He doesn’t stop when the plane finally lurches forward, witnessing you brace for the worst part of flying; take off.

The loud rattles and pitch of jet engines skyrocket your blood pressure, flooding your mouth with saliva as a threat of vomiting everywhere; a sickening cold sweat pooling at your back. All you can do is close your eyes, and take deep calming breaths your guided meditation apps recommend. Running through the facts keeps you from descending into full panic. Airplanes are notoriously safe. The odds of dying in a plane crash are one in eleven million. You’re more likely to die in a car crash or from something one of your patients brings into the hospital.

But the brief suspension in time and space as you rise through the atmosphere unsettles you to your core. 

The panic steeping into your veins is temporary, eager to vanish the second you reach cruising altitude. It disappears like a late winter snow under early spring sunlight, leaving only trace evidence it ever existed in the first place. But it’ll be back with a vengeance under the screaming brakes and the sounds of wheels hitting pavement as you land. The seatbelt sign chimes off and the breath you’d failed to release follows the fading light that illuminated it. 

Wooyoung tries to talk to you another two times before giving up. The final instance is a plea for the bathroom, which you graciously grant; thrilling in the relief you feel at his absence.

The poor guy between you two looks worse for wear. Once Wooyoung is out of earshot, you apologize, excusing the strange behavior with a white lie that he's just a friend from college you didn’t get along with and hadn’t seen in a while after he offers to trade seats. You refuse. If you sat next to Wooyoung they’d need more than a few people to pull your hands from his neck.

The stranger, Jay, laughs. “That’s crazy that you two ended up on the same flight. Are you from Denver?”

“Oh, no. Just visiting some family in Lavensville. What about you?”

“No way! My mom is from Lanesville.”

“Small world,” you laugh. “So what took you to the city?”

“I’m in grad school at Columbia. Getting my MBA.” 

Wooyoung arrives over your shoulder. “Excuse me.”

When you rise, you notice his face is tense as he passes to return to his seat. He pretends to sleep the rest of the flight as you chat with the man next to you. 

Six laborious hours pass before you land in Denver. Exiting the plane, you leave Wooyoung behind in favor of waiting by the restrooms on the way to arrivals. You tap your foot impatiently as he stumbles over, clearly exhausted by the late arrival of your flight and the idea of another two hours in his mom’s cramped sedan.

Shuffling next to one another in somber silence, you wait for Wooyoung to speak first. He dragged you into this, and it’s his job to make it work. “How’ve you been?”

“Fine.” You stare straight ahead. His hand brushes yours by accident and you make more space between you so it doesn’t happen again.

“How’s work?” Wooyoung asks.

“Fine.”

“Okay, look.” He turns, stepping directly into your path and nearly toppling over when you bounce off his chest. “I’m sorry for all of this but you agreed to come so can we please at least pretend to act like we like each other?”

Unfortunately, Wooyoung is right. He might have put his foot in his mouth, but you didn’t take the chance to bail. He’s only fractionally more guilty than you are for this charade.

“Fine,” you sigh.

He pins you with a look, eyebrows arched as if asking “are you sure?”

Shuffling around him, you begin your journey to baggage claim once again, Wooyoung hot on your heels.

“I’m working at a hospital uptown, I live in Yorkville, and I still prefer the bus to the train.”

“Okay, now we’re getting somewhere.” Wooyoung nods. “I’m at the same school, in the same apartment, and still living with San and Yeosang. But Mingi moved to Williamsburg with his girlfriend.”

You try to smother the snarkiness of your voice but a sarcastic “I know” slips free.

Even if you weren’t as close with the boys due to the break up, they’d been your friends as much as his; especially Mingi’s girlfriend, who’d you introduced him to. Lia invited you to their housewarming party when they finally settled in but you missed it due to work. A small blessing to avoid running into Wooyoung so soon after the break up.

The conveyor belt of remaining unclaimed luggage spins like the saddest merry-go-round in existence. Wooyoung jumps forward to snatch your suitcase before you can react, rolling it your direction before diving back in for his own. Once out of the way, he calls his mom to confirm she’s pulling around to pick you two up. 

The silver sedan whips to the curve, Wooyoung’s mom beaming from the driver’s seat.

“My babies!” she cries through the rolled down window.

Mrs. Jung always gave you the enthusiasm your own mother couldn’t feign. Waving at her before circling the trunk where Wooyoung packs away your bags, you snatch his hand before he can circle back to the passenger door.

“Should we tell them I still live in Boston?”

As if you’ve just spoken another language, Wooyoung simply blinks at you.

“How are we gonna explain separate apartments? It makes no sense.”

“Oh,” he gasps, as if the thought didn’t occur to him. “Ugh, yeah. Good idea.”

The security guard monitoring the pick up area begins striding towards the car, inhaling to yell a warning. Throwing your remaining luggage inside the trunk roughly, you both sprint to enter the vehicle. Wooyoung plants himself in the passenger seat, squeezing his mom in a tight hug as you buckle in the middle seat. Untangling from her needy son, Mrs. Jung peels out and joins the line of cars attempting to merge on the interstate. 

Reclining the seat back, Wooyoung knocks out immediately, leaving you to fend for yourself.

“How’s Boston, dear?” She chimes, voice light and bouncy despite the late hour.

You provide your stock answer for everytime someone asks over the past three years.

“Cold, wet. Lots of sick babies.”

“At least they’re consistent!”

You try to swallow the instinct to comb through Wooyoung’s hair as he naps. The first thing you learned about him in the early phase of your relationship was that Wooyoung needed some kind of physical contact at all times or he’d die. At least, he thought so. It’d been annoying at first; the constant hand holding, suffocating hugs that left your arms useless as you tried to study, the overabundance of cartoonish kisses anywhere his lips could reach at the moment. But over eight years, you grew to appreciate his special way of showing affection. When words failed the man who always had something to say, he relied on touch to convey the things he couldn’t verbalize.

Even if you say all the right things and act like nothing's wrong, anyone who has ever been associated with Wooyoung will know something is up if he isn’t hanging off you like a koala. If you’re going to pretend the last six months hadn’t happened, then you have no reason not to treat him the way you always had.

Your nails snag on a few invisible tangles in his shaggy hair that spills across the cloth seat. It’s longer than when you last saw him in the summer, top half pulled back in an elastic. Continuing to provide updates, you gently brush the bangs hanging in his face. Wooyoung whines sleepily when you pause, causing his mom to laugh.

“Nice to know the city hasn’t changed him.”

Quick to appease, you start again before responding. “Eh, I don’t know about that. Have you seen some of his shoes?”

“Still?” she gasps.

“Unfortunately, I think it’s terminal.”

Mrs. Jung’s cackly laugh is a perfect doppelganger of her son’s. Shrill and mischievous, compelling you to laugh along in pure glee even if you don’t find shared humor; bewitched by the pure joy.

Once the initial rush of reunion wanes, she insists you catch some sleep in the backseat during the long drive. The gentle caress of warm air from the vents, paired with the smooth carols from the radio, lulls you down into a shallow rest.

As his mom rolls to a stop in their driveway, the gentle glow of the car's cabin lights draw Wooyoung awake. Eyes only a quarter open, he stretches in the reclined seat with an obnoxious yawn, hands brushing your stomach. You shrug his hand off your thigh, burrowing back down into the collar of your sweater

His mom opens the driver's door, inviting in the chilly air from outside. “Come on, sleepy heads. We’re home.”

Home for Wooyoung is a cream two story Williamsburg Revival style home with royal blue shutters. His dad added the two car garage himself, meticulously matching the exterior to the existing home, blending old and new seamlessly under the watchful eye of his mom. The now gray and dead garden that usually bloomed wildly below the first floor windows was his grandmother’s contribution when she moved in before Wooyoung started highschool.

When his parents were both students at the obscure liberal arts college Lavensville was built around, his mom had been obsessed with the very house Wooyoung grew up in. According to his dad, Wooyoung’s mom talked more about the house than anything else; a true historic preservationist to her core.

It was an odd way to ask someone to marry you, but his dad always said “Some women wanted a ring. Your mom wanted this house.”

His dad surprised her with the ring after she stopped crying about the house.

Golden string lights drip from the corners of the roof, casting the exterior in a buttery soft haze. Each window sporting a wreath with a thick red velvet ribbon. A heavy layer of snow coating the ground like powdered sugar makes the entire scene like something out of a snow globe. 

Another yawn before braving the outside, Wooyoung spots you in the rearview mirror; features curled in a sleepy scowl, eyes squinted against the sudden light.

He wants to pull you into his arms and kiss you back to sleep. Follow the slope of your nose and bow of your lips with his fingertips until you swat him away and hide in the warmth of his neck. Six months ago he could have. Now, he has to brave the cold himself.

Wooyoung joins his mom at the back of the car, shouldering her away from the trunk as she insists on helping carry everything inside. She manages to snag his backpack and your carryon before he can shoo her towards the path to the front door where his dad is jamming on an old pair of sneakers to come help.

“We got it!” You call across the icy lawn, bidding the older man to stay inside as you struggle with the luggage.

“I can see that,” his dad laughs, jogging down the salted sidewalk curving along the front of the house.

His dad lifts your larger suitcase out of the truck with ease, leaving Wooyoung to roll his own inside while you balance your tote bag and his carryon. Wooyoung manages to snag the canvas bag off your elbow as he walks past. The wheels grate against the uneven brick sidewalk as everyone rushes to return to the heated interior of the house.

It’s well past midnight, the faint glow of Christmas lights illuminating the climb to the second floor. Wooyoung’s room is just as he left it the last time he visited in the spring. The headboard of the tiny twin bed resting against the wall just under the window looking out to the front yard, posters from his childhood still tacked up crookedly. 

Wooyoung tries very hard not to think about the last time he shared the quilt covered bed. How the last trip here had been the last night you slept in his arms; the last time he laid you bare beneath him, giggled against your lips as you both tried and failed to stay silent; the last time he fell asleep tangled in you, with the blue velvet box he brought everywhere hidden in his suitcase only feet away, ready to ask you at the drop of a hat. 

Six months and the memories felt as real as they had when it first happened. 

The same blue velvet box with the same ring sits in his suitcase but he can’t think about it because if he does he’ll beg you to come back to him. You lay curled under the quilt like before except this time Wooyoung can’t glue himself to your back and trace shapes on your stomach for you to guess. He can’t kiss you good night and tell you he loves you even though he still does; he probably always will. He can’t do it. 

Because you deserve better. 

A better life, a better man. One who doesn’t rope you into this level of insanity instead of asking for a second chance and explaining why he ruined the best thing in his life. 

But Wooyoung is a coward. 

“I can sleep on the floor,” he offers, unzipping his suitcase for clean clothes to sleep in.

Digging in your own suitcase, you scoff at the idea. “Don’t be stupid, what if Bibi comes in?”

A tiny speck of hope you might want to share the bed for other reasons melts into nothing. Of course, you wouldn’t want him anywhere near you. The moment in the car when he was feigning slip just to feel the gentle scratch of your nails through his hair meant nothing. “She’s gotten better about knocking!”

“Yeah, after she saw us having sex!”

Not like that’s going to happen again.

“We can share the bed, it’s too cold up here to sleep on the floor.” You grab your toiletry bag and shuffle to his door. “You’re a diva when you don’t get good sleep.”

“I’m not a diva,” Wooyoung whines. But his rebuttal bounces off the piece of wood locking him alone in his room.

When you return from the bathroom, Wooyoung takes his turn to brush his teeth and wash his face. It’s just for a few days, he reminds himself. You leave first thing in the morning the day after Christmas and after he gets back to the city he can tell his family the truth. Or an altered version of events where Wooyoung hasn’t lied to all of them.

Until then, Wooyoung gathers all the patience he typically reserves for the army of eight year olds he deals with every day in an effort to not descend into insanity. 

This was his idea. He can do this. He can pretend everything is fine. He can share a bed with you and be totally normal; unlike every other time you fell asleep in his bed since the beginning of your now finished relationship.

He finds you balancing on the edge of the narrow mattress, a sliver of space open for him to sink into. His chest squeezes but he stays silent as the minutes tick by. He knows you’re awake. Your leg twitches and brushes back against his before you jerk away like his skin burns. 

Wooyoung wants to roll over and trace the dip between your shoulders like he used to when neither of you could fall asleep. It’d work in no time, he knows it. But he settles for counting backwards until his thoughts drift off.

You fall asleep somewhere around the second time he reaches the forties. When Wooyoung reaches zero again, he starts over. 

Shuffling into the cold kitchen, you barely crack your eyes open as you beeline for the coffee pot resting on the counter. Wooyoung’s mom greets you from the dining table, eyes scanning her newspaper as you reply with a mumble “morning.”

One would think years of twenty-four hour shifts and early mornings would make waking up easier but you’d sleep all day if given the chance; however, Wooyoung suffocating you like an octopus forced you from the heated sanctuary under the covers and downstairs. Already it was too easy to pretend you were still together. Waking up tangled in him, his face squashed against your sweater clad chest as he snored, blissfully unaware of the budding panic attack you’d calmed with a freezing shower full of choked tears.

Planting your rear in a dark oak dining chair around the table, the jolt of caffeine and sugar lulls your senses awake as you scroll your phone. 

You send a text to your little brother, confirming your parents had made it to their cruise safely while your flight crossed the country. Two weeks in the Caribbean, all expenses paid, sounded a lot better than a week in rural Colorado with your ex-boyfriend. Thankfully, there’s no cell service in the middle of the ocean; so you don’t need to explain to your mother why you were spending Christmas with Wooyoung, who she truly was never fond of to begin with.

Sometime after bed, Lisa sent a string of vaguely threatening emojis and a picture of her yorkie with the Christmas sweater you bought as an early gift. Assuring her Wooyoung had been on his best behavior so far, you switched over to skim your clogged work email.

“Do you want some breakfast, sweetie?” 

You tilt your mug towards her. “This is fine.”

“How can you be a doctor and try to tell me coffee is a healthy breakfast?”

“I have horrible news if you think doctors have time to do any of the things we tell people they should.”

“Well, it’s a good thing you’re here then because you have plenty of time now.”

Wooyoung hates waking up alone. It feels inexplicably wrong. Especially after sharing an apartment those four years you attended medical school. There’d been plenty of road bumps but spending every night curled up under the comforter with the woman he loved made it all fade to black. He never slept as good as those years.

Except this morning, he wakes up to your fingers brushing his hair like always, and for a second Wooyoung thinks the entire breakup must’ve been a horrible dream. Wooyoung hadn’t moved a muscle lest the passes of your short nails sending goosebumps down his spine stopped. Eventually, the lazy drags lulled him back into the land of sleep as your heart sang his favorite lullaby.

The second time Wooyoung woke up, you’d been long gone and he felt the familiar emptiness he thought he’d forgotten after all those months apart.

Trudging down the stairs with loud footsteps, Wooyoung spots his mom in the kitchen, mouth spread wide over laughter as you sit at the counter, cradling a steaming mug. If Wooyoung had to bet, it probably contained more sugar and milk than coffee.

“Morning,” he grumbles, forehead resting against the cool marble of the island as he continues to doze in front of the audience.

His mom pats his back as she passes to reach the fridge, “Go sit down, Woo. You're in my way!”

“Everyone is so mean to me,” he pouts, but rounds the counter to sit next to you nonetheless, resting his cheek on your shoulder, feeling you startle at the contact. Wooyoung hides a satisfied smirk in your sweater when a hand starts scratching his back under his hoodie. He can almost forget you're lying to everyone in the gentle passes of your cold fingers chilling against his hot skin.

His mom works to heat the pan on the stove. “Your brother is getting in this afternoon so we thought of letting everyone relax until this evening and then having a game night.”

“Where’s Kyungmin?”

“He went with Bibi to volunteer at the church this morning.”

“Sucker,” you mumble for Wooyoung’s ears only, sending him into giggles.

Wooyoung’s grandmother has a particular way of guilting everyone in his family to do exactly what she wants. It’s why he’s sharing his childhood bed with his ex-girlfriend, why his dad keeps the house unbearably warm all year round, and why his little brother is no doubt undergoing military grade interrogation first thing in the morning at the hands of nosey grandmothers.

Going to church with Bibi was less about being closer to God and more about being paraded in front of her old lady friends with single granddaughters. Wooyoung had been a victim until he met you, each summer at home more exhausting than the last with not so subtle reminders Ms. So-and-so's granddaughter was very pretty and very available, and Oh she also wants to be a teacher! Isn’t that cute? But the second Wooyoung sent a picture to his mom of you and him at the park, cheeks smashed together, announcing he was not so casually dating you, his grandmother ceased all effort to set him up. And after she met you at graduation, Wooyoung beamed with the knowledge his entire family not only approved but liked his girlfriend. 

Leaving poor Kyungmin to bare the brunt of Bibi’s well-meaning torture almost made Wooyoung feel guilty. Operative word being almost. Because Wooyoung survived it, their older brother survived it, and now it was Kyungmin’s turn to endure the special brand of Jung family meddling. It was good for him.

The second his family finds out he's technically single, Wooyoung knows it’s only a matter of time before Bibi smothers him in his sleep for breaking up with the girl she considers family. And after, when she resurrects him from the dead, Wooyoung will be thrown to Bibi’s friends like a sacrificial lamb to starving wolves.

Stealing a sip of your overly sweet coffee can’t clear his mouth of the sour taste of dating again. 

“Wooyoung, you need to make up the guest bed for your brother,” his mom says, dropping a plate of eggs and toast on the counter for him and Y/N to share.

“What about her?” Wooyoung asks, lips stretching as he stuffs his face.

“She’s a guest!”

Washing down a harsh swallow with another sip of coffee, Wooyoung mutters a “hardly,” under his breath.

“Get your own!” you snap, shoving the mug out of his reach.

Wooyoung responds with a high pitched whine, huffing similar to a toddler rather than a man who's almost thirty. “Why are you both being so mean to me? I haven’t even done anything yet.”

Rising to pour his own mug of caffeinated gold, his mom quickly claims the empty chair before she bats Wooyoung away. Claiming something about “girl time” as an excuse to get him out of the kitchen before he can truly annoy them to his fullest potential.

When the afternoon rolls around, Bibi greets you with a fierce hug and a grandmotherly pinch to your cheek, smiling up at you as she asks for any and every update since she last saw you in April for her birthday.

Luckily, Kyungmin unconsciously rescues you as he enters the house, boxes piled high in his arms of goodies from the other ladies at church trying to court him on their granddaughter’s behalf. Rushing to his aid, you give him a gentle side hug as you walk with him to the kitchen.

“So…” you start, eyeing the stacks of cookies crowding the counter. “How was church?”

A pained groan answers you, Kyungmin dropping his head to the marble counter with a thud. You can’t contain your snicker, snagging one of the deformed gingerbread men to dunk in your fresh cup of coffee.

“Only a few more months,” Kyungmin mutters under his breath, the reprieve of college clearly tethering him to sanity.

Wooyoung told you all about Bibi’s ways when you started dating, thankful to no longer entertain doting mothers and grandmothers interested in him only because he was single and knew basic manners unlike many of the men lurking around Lavensville. Poor Kyungmin didn’t stand a chance if Wooyoung hadn’t managed to charm his way out until he got a girlfriend Bibi approved of.

“At least we get snacks out of it!” You clap, continuing to sort his haul as Kyungmin hides in his arms.

A tan hand sneaks over your shoulder to steal the decapitated cookie still in your grip, turning to see Wooyoung nibbling on one as he observes the collection of cookies, fruit, and other treats.

“Come on!” You stomp your foot like a toddler.

“Tastes better when it’s stolen.” Wooyoung winks, forcing you and his brother to dry heave in unison. Your reaction isn't genuine, only an effort to hide the squeeze in your chest at how easily he can fall back into old habits after months of radio silence.

Wooyoung’s mom breezes into the kitchen, unbothered by your bickering as she types out a text message. “Myungho and Mia land in an hour. Your dad is already on the way to pick them up.” She rattles off, more to herself than anyone else. “Kyungmin, you need to tidy all of this up. Wooyoung you already put clean sheets on the guest bed? Great. Y/N, dear, would you mind helping with dinner later?”

“Of course.”

Dinner consists of chili you didn’t assist with other than pulling out extra toppings from the fridge for, and everyone chattering around the table. Myungho is sharing some story about his and Mia’s neighbor who refused to close their blinds, everyone laughing at Mia’s grimace when she recalled the horrors of the “tighty-whities” incident. Each time you stay with the Jungs you're shocked how well they get along, everyone slotting together perfectly like some cheesy sitcom family.

It’s not that your family didn’t love each other, but there was little bonding you together other than shared blood and memories. Your mom clearly favored your brother while your dad tried to make up for the snub by prioritizing you. Growing up with the invisible competition left bitter resentment to this day. At least now, after years of therapy and freedom from the suffocating expectations of your childhood home, you and your brother shared a mutual understanding that it was your parents fault for the animosity between you. Nothing could reverse the damage already deeply ingrained, but you’d become a more united front during family affairs. 

That’d been the first time you and Wooyoung fought in your tentative relationship. He hadn’t seemed to understand how you could talk about your brother with such vitrole, confused why you weren’t more excited to see him after living in the city permanently since sophomore year. Not that you’d explained your family dynamic prior to calling him in a full blown meltdown in Washington Square Park at midnight. But Wooyoung listened. And when you brought up how perfect his family seemed, he quickly corrected your assumption.

Wooyoung knew his parents loved him and his brothers equally. But they were helping him pay thousands of dollars in tuition out of state for him to be a teacher while his older brother made six figures fresh out of college as an engineer. Even if they were happy for him, Wooyoung struggled with the internal conflict of idolizing his brother and feeling like he’d never measure up.

It’d been the first time Wooyoung cried in front of you.

The tense conversation and awkward small talk of your childhood home didn’t seem to have space here at the Jungs, nothing but laughter and warmth filling each nook and cranny. Even the awkwardness of sitting next to your ex-boyfriend, pretending he was still your partner, seemed to be stifled with the company.

“So, Y/N, when are you planning to move back to New York? You finished residency, right?” Mia asks over her glass of wine, eyes bright.

“Ugh,” you stutter, unprepared for such directness.

“Or maybe you’re thinking of moving to Boston?” She eyes Wooyoung.

“We’re, uh,” Wooyoung pipes up, frantically looking at you.

“I’m looking at jobs in the city but nothing's come up yet.” 

“That sucks,” Myungho chimes, working to help their father clear the table for games.

Rather than answering, you take a long draw of your drink before rising to hide in the bathroom.

In the silence of the small half bath under the stairs, you attempt to control your stuttering breath. A few splashes of cool water on your face help shock your system but it does nothing to stop the  It’d taken years to perfect the stone-faced facade you presented to families when the outcome was less than favorable. 

A light tap at the door startles you from the nosedive your conscious has taken.

“I’ll be out in a minute.” You call, scrubbing your hands in the sink.

“It’s me,” Wooyoung chirps on the other side of the wood. 

Opening the door, Wooyoung leans his shoulder against the jamb, eying you warily. Pulling him into the cramped space, you press the door closed and lean against it. “I can’t do this, Woo. I can’t lie to them.”

 “Don’t think of it as lying! Just pretend you're back in that drama class in college!”

“Oh, you mean the class I almost failed because I couldn’t act?” you whisper harshly.

“Just let me take the lead okay? All you have to do is be normal.”

Another knock on the door startles you both. When you got so close to Wooyoung, you have no idea, but there are only a scant few inches between you and you can smell the peppermint schnapps on his breath.

“Wooyoung, Y/N. Is everything okay?”

Twisting around your stiff body, Wooyoung nudges you out of the way as he twists the handle and pulls the door inward.

“Yeah,” Wooyoung answers, opening the door to a concerned Bibi. “She wasn’t feeling well.”

Bibi brushes past him, the cool back of her wrinkled hand pressing against your forehead. “Are you okay, dear?”

“I’m fine, just got a little light headed.”

One arm curls around yours, the other gently patting your back as Bibi guides you back towards the kitchen with Wooyoung trailing behind. “You know, when I was pregnant with Wooyoung’s father I got lightheaded all the time.”

Bibi’s implication isn’t lost on you, or Wooyoung for that matter when you hear him curse as he trips behind you.

“Oh?” 

“Almost everyday I’d have to drink a gallon of ginger tea just to get out of bed.” She guides you into a seat before turning. “I’ll make you cup while the boys set everything up, okay?”

“That’s really not neccess—”

Bibi is already filling the kettle and rummaging in the cabinets for tea bags as if you didn’t speak at all. Wooyoung won’t look at you, not that you can look at him either. 

Kids.

Just another thing on the long list of wants you wouldn’t be getting. For so long, children were this amorphous thing you wanted some day. That was until Wooyoung came along and slowly changed those vague thoughts into real hopes. They had been discussed to death over and over. Wooyoung wanted as many as possible before he started teaching, then eagerly explained that two kids were more than enough after his first day of school.

All those nights snuggled in bed talking about baby names, Wooyoung offering to stay at home if you wanted.

“I’ve always wanted to be a trophy husband,” he told you. He smothered his face in your neck, sealing the offer with a gentle kiss. “Could be a trophy dad too.”

“You’d give up teaching to raise my baby?” you asked.

“I’d give up everything if that's what you wanted.”

He would have.

Cursing his grandmother for making an already tense situation worse, Wooyoung shakes his head as she flutters around the kitchen. He should be relieved Bibi moved away from asking when they were getting married and fast forwarding straight to asking for grandchildren. At least Wooyoung hadn’t been as close to being the dad as he was as being a husband. Kids were hypothetical, no matter how often you two discussed them; but marriage was almost reality.

Kyungmin is already setting up the Scrabble board and dishing out letters. Eight people was far too many so like every year they divide into pairs. Mom and Dad, Myungho and Mia, Kyungmin and Bibi, finally you and him.

Wooyoung tries not to think about Bibi’s comments but the mug of tea sits steaming on the table and the images are just there. You pregnant; a nursery decorated in greens like the one you told him about; celebrating Christmas in the city, the snow covering everything and requiring the little tyke to be wrapped up until they resembled an overstuffed dumpling.

His mind wanders as the board crowds with letters. Bibi and Kyungmin struggle to play anything worth more than fifteen points while his parents brush off challenge after challenge as they fill the board with words like “Paczki” and “Rudistid.”

“Quad, baby! Do you know how hard it is to get rid of a Q?” Mia asks everyone, high fiving Myungho next to her. 

Wooyoung exchanges a conspiratory smile with you before he ruins their celebration. “I know! And when you have a U and an A and every other letter I need for ACQUAINT on a triple word score. Plus bingo for all the tiles we don’t have…Boom one hundred and seven points.”

Arms thrown around each other's shoulders, he bounces up and down with you in victory; cheeks squished together, matching bright tipsy grins. Almost like everything is normal.

“No fair! You’re an English teacher!” Kyungmin protests, nostrils flared.

“Yeah to third graders, Minnie. You know just as many words as they do, I promise.”

You don’t move from his hold except to take another swig of the tea his grandmother made. Wooyoung tries not to think about what it means; having an arm curled around the back of your chair while you settle into the crook of his chest, watching his family over the top of your head, relaxing firm pressure of your body against his own. Taking the tentative peace for granted, Wooyoung greedily overindulges in the illusion of normalcy.

In the cool toned light of dawn, you wake in Wooyoung’s arms once again. This time you're both on your sides, Wooyoung pressed firmly behind you as he snores in your ear. A familiar lump pokes against your rear, scorching your skin through the layers of clothes that separate you.

Wiggling in his grip, you're ashamed of the quiet sound fleeing your lips as Wooyoung flexes his arms to hold you tighter, his hips rolling against you harshly to pin you to him.

Blame it on the months without feeling another person’s touch, or the liminal space that exists when the world is asleep and void of any real consequences, but a hollowness stings your core and dampens your underwear.

Years of dating meant years of exploring one another’s bodies, discovering every spot that drove the other mad and perfecting the balance of teasing and satisfaction. You still remember the first night in your shared apartment years ago; Wooyoung blindfolded and tied to the bed, putty under your fingers as you rode him until your eyes felt permanently crossed and your legs numb. And just when you thought the night was over, sated with his cum leaking onto the sheets, Wooyoung knotted the silk scarf around your own wrist and “cleaned up” the mess between your thighs until you actually blacked out.

The very memory has you arching backwards, clenching around nothing but disappointing emptiness.

It’s wrong – so so so wrong – to fantasize about your ex-boyfriend while he’s asleep next to you, none the wiser to your needs. But the way his hand on your stomach fists the fabric of your shirt, pulling you into him again, beckons you closer to the edge of temptation. Wooyoung told you to act natural. What’s more natural than enjoying some half asleep heavy petting? You’re already pretending to date him, why not reap some of the old benefits you’d missed in your time apart?

Just as you turn in Wooyoung’s arms, set on waking him with an offer even he can’t refuse, he yawns awake. Arms stretching high, he pushes you from the toasty covers and onto the floor with a bang!

“Jesus Christ!” you groan, jolting pain in your elbow shocking your system as it catches the edge of the bed frame.

Wooyoung’s head pops over the side of the mattress. “Why’re you down there?”

Scoffing, the back of your head thuds against the floor; eyes sinking shut as you fight the urge to murder him. Three more days and you’ll never have to deal with the ridiculousness that follows Wooyoung like a shadow. Three more days and you can go back to pretending he doesn’t exist.

You hear, rather than see, Wooyoung exit into the hallway. Stretching your lungs around another deep breath, you follow behind him. Passing the bathroom door as you pad down stairs, you're greeted with an empty kitchen. The stove clock reads just past nine so more bodies should trickle in soon. In the meantime, you turn on the coffee pot and wait as the kitchen fills with the comforting smell. Sending a silent prayer to the universe, you prepare for quality time with Mrs. Jung and Mia. Another day of lying to the people who treat you better than your own family. 

Wonderful.

“Morning, sweetie.” Bibi bursts into the kitchen, a whirlwind of activity even at the early hour. 

“Coffee?”

“That stuff's no good for you,” she chides, taking a spot at the dining table with her own cup. “Our appointments are in thirty minutes, better go get ready before the boys use all the hot water.”

Like a teenager with his first wet dream, Wooyoung hides in the sanctuary of the bathroom. Thankfully, his brothers aren’t prone to waking before noon and he stakes his claim by locking the door and entering the steam.

Maybe dry humping his ex-girlfriend while half asleep was a bad idea but Wooyoung knows you pushed back into him with a purpose. He’d heard that whimper, felt your legs squeeze together the way you always did when you needed his help. Wooyoung hadn’t meant to launch you to the floor but overdue break up sex with the rest of the house due to wake up any minute couldn’t be a good idea. And with three more days of this charade he needed less complications, not more. Sex felt like it would make things very, very complicated.

But the knowledge of how wrong he should feel doesn’t stop the memories of from placating his mind as he palms his aching cock. Months of abstinence fail to dissolve Wooyoung’s photorealistic memories of you in compromising positions; bent in half to take his cock, staring down your nose from on top of his lap. And his personal favorite, on your knees, eyes watering as your swollen lips stretch around his length, the flared head nudging the back of your throat.

The swiftnesses of his orgasm is a fatal blow against his fragile ego. Biting the meat of his fist, Wooyoung closes his eyes as the evidence swirls the drain. Unfortunately, the confusion pulsing through him doesn’t follow.

Out of the steam, he returns to his room, ready to throw on a pair of sweats and spend the day sleeping to avoid his feelings.  Too busy thinking about you, Wooyoung isn’t paying attention when he opens the door and runs straight into you.

Also half naked.

“Oof!” 

Wooyoung grunts with the impact from the floor. Arms caging your head, you stare up at him like you can’t believe he’s there. Bare chest on bare chest. His towel unties, leaving his right leg naked against yours, hips cradled against your own.

This is not happening.

“What the hell?”

“Why are you naked?” he stutters.

Very naked, and pressed against him intimately. The heat of your core is more than enticing. Even though he washed all the desire from this morning away, his body betrays him from years of habit. Maybe touching you wasn’t such a bad idea. What could it hurt?

“I thought I’d flash you,” you spit, eyes rolling. “I was changing.”

You’re still beneath him, squirming. Right against his dick. A pang of want rushes through him like a thousand volts, his nerves turning into individual live wires everywhere your skin meets his. The cold sneaking through the windows is all more evident by your pinched nipples pressing into his chest.

“I didn’t know you were in here,” he explains. Still, he doesn’t move. He couldn’t even if he tried.

“Cleary.”

You must realize he’s hard because you stop moving, staring wide eyed as his entire body lays heavy against yours. He should have let you talk him into whatever you wanted earlier, consequences be damned. Your gaze lingers on his mouth. He doesn’t want to make assumptions but your head tilts, breath fanning his chin. His own stutters, eyes flitting between your mouth and your eyes as he leans closer and—

“YN? Are you ready?” Mia calls from the door. “We don’t want to be late!”

“Just a minute!” you respond. “Get off.” 

Wooyoung scrambles to his feet, towel back around his waist to hide what little of his dignity is left. Which is, somehow, far less than when he entered the shower minutes ago.

He tries not to look but you're standing there, breasts on display, and Wooyoung is only a man who was in love with you for years and still very much is no matter what lies he tells himself.

“Turn around, this isn’t a peep show.”

He does, but an argument fizzles at the tip of his tongue. He’s seen you naked enough to draw you from memory; the mole on your shoulder, the scar on your hip from when you learned to ride a bike and fell into a ditch, the knobs of your spine. Wooyoung knows all of them like the back of his hand. A couple months ago you would have goaded him into looking as much as he wanted, teased him and in the process riled yourself up until looking turned to touching.

You clearly don’t want that as you race to throw on whatever clothes are nearby and rush out the room.

Stupid.

He can’t believe he nearly kissed you. He actually can but what he can’t believe is you seemed to want it just as bad as he did. But it wouldn’t make anything better. This wasn’t a movie where he could kiss you and all the problems plaguing your relationship would disappear. You’d still hate him and he’d still be hopelessly in love with you.

After dressing and basking in humiliation, Wooyoung descends to the living room where his dad and brothers watch a documentary on the Discovery channel. Sinking into the worn leather of their ancient couch, he cracks open one of the books he brought from home. Brave New World wasn’t light reading, but he’d been meaning to give it a try since Yeosang recommended it to him and what better way to spend his free time? 

Soon enough, his dad snores from his spot in the recliner, chin tipped back against the headrest. Kyungmin remains entranced by the colorful birds dancing across the screen while his other brother no doubt taps away at work emails cluttering his phone despite the holidays. It’s the kind of peace and content Wooyoung loved about his family. Co-existing without needing to interact, enjoying each other's presence while living their own lives.

The nail salon buzzes with conversation. The acrid sting of acetone and nail polish burn your nose under the harsh white lights, reminding you of the hospital. Mia is happily chattering away, blasting through any stilled pauses or awkward silences. Bibi and Mrs. Jung sit at the counter getting their nails painted by the attendants in calm silence.

You try not to kick the young woman scrub your foot as she brushes against your ticklish nerves, squirming in your seat as she gives a tight lipped smile at your discomfort. For a week off for Christmas you cashed in every favor, picked up every single on call asked of you, nearly breaking under the demand to stretch yourself so thin as the new doctor in your department. The horrific results of hours on your feet were being ground down and clipped before you. 

Relaxing was… difficult for you. Or other peoples’ definition of relaxation was. To you, the perfect day off was running around town, hitting an early morning pilates class followed by an overpriced coffee and finding something to do in the city that offered everything. Sitting still was a necessary evil to get to and fro but it left you to stew with your thoughts you preferred to drown in an overwhelming weight of activity.

Wooyoung’s stunt this morning was perfect cannon fodder for your idle mind. It didn’t mean anything; biological reactions to seeing someone and feeling someone who knew your body intimately for years. Seeking closure in the most primitive way after months without any sort of gratification. It meant nothing.

“Y/N,” Mia calls, bringing you to turn and look at her. 

Her usually glowing face is apprehensive, lip worried between her teeth and eyes downcast. 

“Yeah?” 

“You work with kids, right?”

“All day,” you laugh, trying to break the tension.

Mia hesitates, struggling to find the words she wants to say. “After all the stuff you’ve seen, do you still want them?”

“What do you mean?”

“Do you and Wooyoung think you’ll have kids someday?”

“I mean not anytime soon considering…” That we aren’t together, you finish in your mind.

But Mia assumes the unspoke truth is the fact you’re supposed to be living in Boston while Wooyoung is living in New York.

“I mean of course, but like you guys both work with kids and I feel like you know the worst that could happen! My friend Mina just had her baby and she says she can’t sleep. She just sits up all night watching him because she’s afraid somethings gonna happen.”

“Mia, are you and Myungho…”

“Not yet,” she smiles. “But we’ve been talking about it more and I know I want that with him but I’m just—”

“Scared?”

She nods sheepishly.

Hesitating as you weigh your next words carefully, you think about all the conversations you’ve had with worried parents. Most of the kids and parents you met were under less than positive circumstances. Babies with underdeveloped lungs, toddlers who couldn’t breath from just sitting up. You’d be lying if it didn’t make you question having your own. The powerlessness you felt when no matter how hard you worked to fix things only for it to be all for naught. 

But all of the bad days don't outweigh the good ones. When NICU preemies got to leave the ward with their families for the first time. Having a child take their first full breath because their medication was finally starting to work. The plethora of thank you cards hanging on your fridge and displayed in your office from the families you’d helped.

And you remember all the stories Wooyoung told you about his classroom. Kids who could barely read falling in love with the books he gave to them, hounding him for more stories. When he made way with a problem child, watching them begin to excel under his gentle guidance. Giggling at Wooyoung hiding his tears at the end of year advancement ceremony when all his third graders became fourth graders every year, toothy smiles wide as they wave at him.

“I think being scared means you care. You can always call me if you’re worried, no matter what happens.”

“I’ll definitely take you up on that.” Mia laughs.

“You’re gonna be a great mom,” you whisper, squeezing her arm.

Mia squeezes your hand back. “I always wondered what it’d be like to have a sister.”

“Me too.”

You look away as Mia blinks, breathing away the wetness glossing your own eyes.

Upon returning home, you find all four men passed out in various positions in the living room. Mr. Jung in the recliner that predates your birth, mouth wide open and glasses crooked on his nose. Sprawled across the floor is Kyungmin, gangly teenage limbs starfished to the edges of the carpet. Wooyoung and Myungho share a blanket across their laps, both with their backs on opposite sides of the couch. 

You four try to contain your laughter at the sight. If there was any doubt about who fathered the Jung boys, the shaggy black hair and symphony of identical snores would easily lay those rumors to rest. 

Bibi shuffles down the hall to her room, claiming a nap to be a great idea after the pampering from the nail salon. Mia and Mrs. Jung head into the kitchen, each teetering with bulging bags of groceries for tonight's gingerbread competition.

But you can’t take your eyes off Wooyoung. The only time he ever looked so peaceful was when he was sleeping, face positively boyish and missing the stress induced wrinkles from managing a class of eight year olds. The urge to cross to him and kiss the freckle on his lower lip floods your brain, pull him upstairs to tangle your limbs between his and find sleep together. But you’re able to stuff it down when he whines in his sleep, twisting to re-adjust on the lumpy couch.

Following the shuffle of plastic bags echoing from the kitchen, you busy yourself with unpacking the boxes of pre-made gingerbread houses, candy, and tubes of icing. Neatly organizing the contents on the counter, Mrs. Jung pushes you and Mia upstairs as she starts to prepare dinner. The clock on the stove shows it’s closing in on three, giving you enough time to shower and have a nap of your own – alone – before the mayhem of the evening.

Cranking the faucet to the highest setting, you waste no time waiting for it to heat as you jump under the cold water. Wooyoung called you a psychopath the first time he witnessed your shower routine but you’d been busy applying for medical school, working in the student health center, and tutoring in the biology lab, all while maintaining a perfect GPA in the fall semester of your senior year; you didn’t have time for the simple pleasures of wasting precious minutes while your apartment’s old pipes struggled to carry hot water through the faucet. And as they say, old habits die hard.

The chill brings sharp clarity with it. It’d only been two days and you’d already fallen into the same bickering as before, been tempted to kiss him when no one was around to fool, and nearly propositioned him in his childhood bed. And again on the floor.

Three more days, you think.

Then you can leave this entire maddening ordeal behind you forever.

The squeeze of Wooyoung’s heart threatens to topple him to his knees at the sight of you curled up in his bed. His old college hoodie circles your face, lips pouted and eyebrows furrowed at whatever dream world keeps you occupied. 

Wooyoung aches to scoop you against his chest and litter kisses all over your face, fingers ironing out the wrinkles creasing your forehead. To smile at your whines of protest of being interrupted from a rare opportunity to rest without worrying about work or some other responsibility.

But what Wooyoung wants, he doesn’t deserve. As bold and indulgent as he might be in front of the prying eyes of his family, he isn’t cruel. This morning was a mistake. Even thinking about you the way he has is a mistake.

Even if it kills him not to touch you like he used to be able to, Wooyoung won’t subject you to the torture of his feelings. It’s the least he can do for pulling you into this sham after ending their relationship without explanation. 

“Y/N,” he whispers, fingers prodding your shoulder. “Gotta wake up.”

You respond with a throaty groan, pulling the edge of the blanket over your head to hide away.

“C’mon, it's almost time for dinner.” 

“Youngie, it’s cold,” you protest as he tries to lift the covers.

Grinding his teeth against the nickname, Wooyoung continues to pry the quilt from your iron grip. “I can get Bibi up here.”

Flying into a seated position, you blink against the overhead light. “I’m up!” 

“That’s what I thought.” Wooyoung smirks, crossing to the door. “Let’s go sunshine.”

You mutter empty threats the entire way to the kitchen, so close your cast in his shadow under the threat of Bibi’s wake up methods. Nothing like a woman pushing eighty banging pots over your head to get the blood pumping.

Everyone else already crowds the table, picking apart the trays of snacks as they organize their supplies kits. 

Jung family tradition requires everyone, sans Bibi, to decorate their own house according to the year's theme. After an hour, she picks her favorite and the winner has the honor of opening the first present on Christmas morning. You demolished Myungho’s long standing winning streak the first year Wooyoung brought you home; Mia claiming victory in your absence the year after. Since then, Kyungmin reigned supreme despite his creation looking like a haunted house no matter what the theme was.

“Alright.” Bibi stands once Wooyoung and Y/N have taken their seats at the end of the table. “This year's theme is movies. On your mark, get set. Go!”

A room full of adults, plus Kyungmin who's only a few months short, should act with a sense of decorum and dignity. A fair and clean competition in the name of holiday spirit, family, and comradery. But Jung house rules mean cheating is not only expected, it’s encouraged.

The table is warzone. Icing dripping off the sides and onto the tile floor. Candies trailing everywhere like shrapnel. Mia hides a piece of Myungho’s roof in her lap, and their mom steals the level their dad insists on using every year. Even Kyungmin slowly starts hoarding the bags of colorful royal frosting one by one in the pocket of his hoodie before anyone can notice.

Wooyoung catches you attempting to eat his bag of gumdrops in his periphery. They're half gone by the time he’s noticed but he simply laughs under his breath. What you don't know is that those are your gumdrops and his are stashed under the table.

The little sugar addict is nothing if not predictable.

Most of the houses are beginning to take shape, albeit much more loose definitions of whatever each person decided to do. Kyungmin’s house is poop green with a red roof, streaks of color patchy against the brown cookie sheets. His mom sticks with the traditional decorations instructed on the packaging, no doubt prepared to argue it somehow fits the theme despite being the same every year. Mia’s is laced garishly with pink and pastels, while Myungho crumbles pieces of his for whatever godforsaken reason.

Wooyoung focuses on decorating his tiny gingerbread man with black slashes and stripes.

“Time!” yells Bibi as she whacks the bottom of a pot with a wooden spoon, everyone drops their last piece of candy before hands fly up.

As always, his mom manages to be the only one to finish due to years of practice. Everyone else’s houses are… interesting, loose interpretations of houses.

“Mine’s the Grinch,” Kyungmin says.

“The Grinch?” you ask. The horrendous green and red abomination resembles nothing Wooyoung has ever seen before.

“See, you get it!” 

Shaking your head, you point at the monstrosity sitting in front of you. “Okay, so the yellow skittles are the yellow brick road and the green on the house is meant to look like the Emerald City from Wizard of Oz.”

Perhaps… if the Emerald City burned to the ground and became ruins but everyone nods at the vision.

“Mine is supposed to be Barbie's Dream house.” says Mia, gesturing to the mound of pink frosting sliding from the roof.

Myungho slams a toy dinosaur from their childhood on top of his pile of cookie pieces before declaring, “Jurassic Park.”

“Home Alone,” his mom chimes. A chorus of groans around the table answer. 

His dad’s is covered in chocolate bars and marshmallows. It looks decent but Wooyoung doesn’t get it until he tells them it’s Willy Wonka.

Nodding in appreciation, Wooyoung presents his. “Nightmare Before Christmas.”

The gray and black icing swirl to make a ugly blob, but Wooyoung will argue it’s exactly what he was going for. Especially with his miniscule Jack Skellington perched in the yard. Bibi circles the table, ooh-ing and ahh-ing at each entry. She shakes her head at Kyungmin, clearly disappointed in his failure this year. Doesn’t even pretend Wooyoung has a shot.

“Eunkyung wins!” She cheers, raising his mom’s hand like she won a boxing match. Claps and whoops fill the kitchen as she beams, proud to win a second time in the history of the competition dating back to his earliest memories.

“Wooyoung, put the winning house on the mantel please,” his dad asks, already moving towards the pantry for trash bags.

“Your majesty.” Wooyoung bows in front of his mom, laughing when she slaps his shoulder.

What he fails to realize is your leaving through the same door he is, and that a menacing sprig of green leaves sit just above in wait.

“Mistletoe!” his mom squeals.

“Huh?” you grunt.

Wooyoung looks up and spots the infuriating piece of decoration, another pair of eyes trailing after his own. 

If you were still dating, Wooyoung would swoop you into his arms and make an entire production of giving you a short peck on the cheek – his parents were watching after all – while you laughed at his ridiculousness. But now he hesitates as he looks into your eyes, barely missing the nod as you leave a brief kiss on his lips before turning and leaving the room.

Even under the passing contact, Wooyoung’s lips feel like they’ve been zapped with lightning; his entire body on high alert. So lost in his own world, Wooyoung doesn’t realize you’ve walked away until you’re turning a corner and are out of sight. 

Remembering the gingerbread house still in his hand, Wooyoung continues into the living room to place it front and center on the mantel like nothing happened.

Stupid. Stupid. Stupid! you think, watching yourself in the mirror as you brush your teeth.

One stupid, G-rated kiss and you act like a bumbling teenager. Wooyoung’s morning wood was pressed against you twelve hours ago and you can’t handle a peck. 

What was wrong with you? 

It was like the butterflies of the beginning of your relationship were waking from dormancy, demanding to let loose in your chest. All those tightly stashed feelings you swore would never have a home in your heart settling back in like they never left. Honestly, they hadn’t. Six months was nothing compared to eight years together.

But none of this is real. Wooyoung only reached out so Bibi wouldn’t be upset over a last-minute cancellation. He didn’t ask to explain why he ended your relationship so suddenly. Didn’t try to weasel his way back in and kiss everything better. He didn’t give any answers to the questions you were dying to ask. All the touching and joking you’d missed so much were nothing more than an elaborate plan for Wooyoung to not be seen as the bad guy by his family. His way of delaying the inevitable. And you’d fallen right into the mess subconsciously hoping it might have meant something more. 

Toothpaste splashes against the porcelain sink as you finish washing up. Hiding in the bathroom can only buy you so much time before you have to face Wooyoung again, a new feast of tension waiting for you on a silver platter. He stayed quiet after the mistletoe. Not that you had much to say yourself.

When you return to his tiny room, it’s notably empty. Wooyoung nowhere to be seen as you burrow into the blankets alone. Hopefully, he stays away until you're fully unconscious and able to avoid the entire ordeal.

A draft of frigid air invading the warm haze under your mountain of quilts wakes you. Wooyoung shushes your indignant protest, pulling the top layers off. His weight doesn’t dip the bed behind you. Instead, you listen as he shuffles around, the dull thud of pillows and blankets hitting the floor. When he quiets, you turn to see him curled into a ball on a makeshift sleeping matt next to the bed. 

The questions burn on the tip of your tongue. Why is he sleeping on the floor? Was he that upset about the kiss? Or was it this morning? But you don’t ask and Wooyoung doesn’t provide an answer.

Christmas Eve is Wooyoung’s favorite part of the holidays. Not even a poor night's sleep on the freezing, unforgiving floor can dull his excitement. He woke early, sneaky out of the room the second the sun peaked from the horizon and illuminated the space while you slept soundly.

Part of the reason he slept on the floor is the knowledge that if he woke up with you pressed against him again, he’d agree to whatever you wanted from him. He was too selfish to say no a second time.

A fresh powder of snow fell sometime in the night. So, with a hot cup of coffee and a need to get lost in something mindlessly physical, Wooyoung heads to the garage for a shovel to clear the sidewalk and driveway.

Wooyoung knows he should apologize. You’d basically avoided him after the mistletoe, scurrying upstairs the second it was polite to do so. Technically, you kissed him. But the entire situation wouldn’t exist if he didn’t put his foot in his mouth. Plus, the entire ordeal of yesterday morning couldn’t be ignored. And Wooyoung was ashamed he didn’t feel ashamed about it.

Mind numb in the cold monotony of moving slush from the concrete to the yard, muscles burning at the strain, Wooyoung loses track of time as the sun moves across the sky. His dad finds him shoveling the end of the driveway, pants soaked and breath heaving. 

“You okay, kid?” the older man asks, sipping his thermos.

“Fine,” Wooyoung pants. “Why?”

“Because you’re out here.”

“Just helping out.”

“Wooyoung.” A sharp sternness to his tone as his dad’s gloved hands halt the shovel.

He hates that voice. Wooyoung’s dad was soft spoken and good natured, the quietest member of their boisterous family. Always gentle with three rowdy sons that constantly pushed the endless bounds of his patience. Wooyoung can count on one hand the times his dad used this voice on him. Apparently, now is one of those times.

Wooyoung looks his dad in the eye before lying to his face, “I’m fine. Really.”

Eying his son skeptically, Wooyoung’s dad clearly doesn’t believe him.  “Alright,” he drawls. “But come inside, your mom made pancakes.”

“Come on Kyungmin, we don’t want to be late!” Bibi calls from the hallway.

In front of you, Kyungmin blanches; terrified of another day surrounded by prodding grandmothers. He pleads you for help, but you can only offer a sympathetic smile and a shrug of shoulders. If only he knew how much torture you were being subjected to in the name of keeping Bibi happy.

Wooyoung had been scarce since the early hours of the morning, slaving away at clearing the driveway alone. He made a brief appearance at breakfast and lunch but found any excuse to stay faraway from whatever room you planted yourself in. 

Taking the hint, you set up camp in the kitchen. Laptop screen reflecting off your blue-light glasses as you skimmed another journal article about forced oscillation technique and impulse oscillometry. Fascinating as it was to you, it’s just boring enough to anyone else to keep them away; allowing you to waste away the entire afternoon in the most productive way possible.

The sun is already setting by the time others begin to trickle into the kitchen. Mia begins filling snack trays for the trademark movie night; half sweet, half savory. While Myungho sets to work on a batch of mulled cider they picked up at the market on the way home. The house is peaceful as everyone works in quiet content.

Until Kyungmin stomps into the kitchen with a fuming Bibi hot on his heels.

“They’re nice girls, Kyungmin. There was no need to be rude!”

Your wide eyes meet Mia's twin expressions of shock. Kyungmin was a sweet kid; he had an attitude sometimes, but he was a teenager. It’d be weird if he didn’t have one. But to hear he’s been out right rude, and in front of Bibi no less, comes as a surprise.

“You’re crazy!” Kyungmin yells, arms waving wildly before he flees to his room.

The sudden silence of the kitchen is rattling. No one moves or speaks as Bibi starts organizing random objects and mail on the counter, clearly uncomfortable with her grandson’s outburst.

Slipping from your chair, you turn to follow in the direction you know he’s bound for.

Winter in Colorado is brutal enough, but the wind slicing across your cheeks as you teeter out a tiny window onto the roof at the back of the house makes you regret wearing only a sweatshirt and matching sweatpants. 

Kyungmin’s lone figure is illuminated in the silver moonlight. A telltale stench fills your nostrils despite the thick smoke evaporating in the wind the second it leaves his mouth. Waddling towards him on your butt, you stop next to him. He passes the glass bowl into your waiting hand without a peep. 

You take a long hit before speaking, allowing the tingle of THC to flutter through your veins. It's been months since you let loose, too tired from the hospital. But in the quiet cold, the fuzziness bubbling in your veins is exactly what you need.

“Wanna talk about it?” You ask, cradling your knees to your chest in an effort to conserve warmth.

“No.”

“Okay.”

The thick woods fencing in the backyard bends in the wind. Pine trees shake the fronds like feathers, fluffing up as the wind flutters by. A lone swing, attached to a rickety playground set, swings back and forth. It’s beautiful and eerie. Only your breath and the occasional cough from Kyungmin disturbs the fragile place.

“I can’t wait to go to college,” Kyungmin mutters from under his hood.

“Have you heard from anywhere yet?”

He takes another hit, coughing twice before answering slowly. “No. But I don’t care where I go as long as I’m not here.”

“Was it that bad?”

“She’s crazy! All of them in that fucking church are insane!”

“Wooyoung told me the same thing,” you chuckle.

Wooyoung spent all his high school years and college breaks as Bibi’s helper; coincidentally meeting some long friend’s granddaughter each time. It all stopped when you came around. 

Kyungmin goes to light the bowl again and you snatch it from his hands, some big sister instinct taking over. He lets you and flops back into the snow covered roof. “They just stare at me. It’s creepy.” 

“Yeah, that sounds pretty creepy.”

“And Andi just laughs whenever I try to tell her about it.”

“Who’s Andi?”

“A friend.” Kyungmin’s tense response tells you Andi isn’t just a friend at all. He staunchly ignores your raised brow.

“What's she like?”

“She’s nice. She’s in my history class at school,” he admits. “And she got a scholarship to play soccer in Georgia.”

“That’s cool,” you nod. “So you like her?”

Kyungmin flounders for a second, caught red handed. “I mean, of course I do. She’s my best friend.”

If your eyes rolled any harder, they’d pop out of your skull and launch off the roof. “Kyungmin…”

“It doesn’t matter. She’s so out of my league,” he sighs.

He sounds a lot like Wooyoung. Back when you first started dating and he learned you were applying for med school, there was an air of unworthiness that rolled off him. Wooyoung never explicitly told you he felt that way about himself but he didn’t need to. 

“Why do you think that?”

“She’s smart, and she’s athletic, and she’s funny. She wouldn’t see me like that.”

“Okay.” You nod. “Well, when Bibi started pimping you out at church, what did Andi do?”

“She got really mad when I went on a date with one of them.”

“Oh, really?”

“She didn’t talk to me for like two weeks. I thought she was just, like, on her period or something.”

Shaking your head, you turn to face the ignorant boy. “Alright, first things first. Never, under any circumstances, assume a girl is mad at you because she’s on her period. Ask your brothers or your dad how that's worked out for them. Second, how would you feel if Andi went on a date with someone?”

Face twisting in disgust, Kyungmin grabs the piece again to take a hit. You let him this time.

“Exactly. Maybe you should ask her on a date.”

Kyungmin snorts at the idea, “Yeah, sure.”

“Party out here?” Myungho calls from the window.

Turning, you spot Wooyoung and Mia peaking around his broad shoulders. “Yeah, but it’s B.Y.O.W.”

“Perfect,” he responds, folding in half to climb out the window.

“Just think about what I said, okay?”

“Okay.” Kyungmin promises as he links his pinky with yours.

Mia and Myungho land on Kyungmin’s other side, a joint visible in Mia’s dainty fingers. Wooyoung plops down next to you, lifting the bowl from Kyungmin and dumping the ash on to the roof. 

As he focuses on packing it, you get your first glimpse of him all day. The tip of his nose is red and he keeps sniffling, no doubt from the hours he spent outside or in the garage doing who knows what, hair a mess of tangles, sticking this way and that in the wind and you choke on the urge to straighten it for him.  You’ve never been good at staying mad at him, even when he’s clearly in the wrong. And what’s worse is Wooyoung knows it. 

Wisps of smoke pour from his nostrils before he passes you the bowl again. Shaking your head, Kyungmin plucks it from his brother’s fingers.

Wooyoung’s breath caresses the shell of your ear before he speaks. “What are you guys doing out here?”

You resist the urge to shiver for an entirely new reason.“Bibi.”

Wooyoung nods lazily, eyes glazed already. Landing on his back, he looks up to the sky. 

The pale light sharpens his features. Strange how all three brothers looked so similar yet different. Kyungmin still had the round cheeks of adolescents, limbs gangly as he towers over his brothers at only seventeen. Myungho was broader than both but only a fraction taller than Wooyoung, square jaw and cropped hair. But Wooyoung was all angles and sharpness. Even from the first night he approached you in that dingy karaoke bar near campus, you knew he was handsome. But now he looks ethereal. Like some beautiful demon coming to take your soul and laugh all the while. 

Eventually you all end up shoulder to shoulder, each lost and thought and staring at the lonely full moon above. Wooyoung’s hand brushes your own, sending throbbing jolts of electricity through your body. One of your fingers slips around his, hooking them together briefly. Wooyoung doesn’t squeeze back but he doesn’t move away either.

It somehow hurts worse than if he would have let go.

Exhaustion and pot nearly knock Wooyoung out as he passes his bedroom door. An early night, lost in the land of dreams where he doesn’t have to think about why he can’t look you in the eye; why he felt a punch in the gut when he spotted you on the roof with his little brother, taking care of him like Kyungmin was your own family; how he wanted to cry when your fingers circled his own. 

Wooyoung’s attempt to uncomplicate his life only seemed to tighten the noose around his neck.

Jung family tradition dictates a Christmas movie with gross amounts of sugary snacks on Christmas Eve. The tradition started before Wooyoung could remember but it’d been his favorite all the same. What little kid didn’t cherish the opportunity to wake up to Santa dropping presents under the tree? Not that he or his brothers managed to stay awake more than half way through whatever movie his parents pulled from the dusty DVD collection on the bookshelf. But as he grew older, Wooyoung appreciated the uninterrupted time he was gifted to spend with his family, especially with each of them living in separate corners of the country.

The new set of matching pajamas every year were simply a bonus.

This year’s boast a deep green with a vintage Christmas light pattern. The inner flannel is positively delightful against Wooyoung’s freezing skin, lulling him into a light doze as leans against the couch between your spread legs. 

Kyungmin sprawls in his usual place on the rug in front of the coffee table, glazed eyes glued to Will Ferell terrorizing New York City in yellow tights. Mia and Myungho are off on the other side of the couch, Bibi taking the middle seat. His parents are snug in his dad’s recliner, resembling two teenagers rather than the fifty year olds they really are. Adorably disgusting how in love they still are. 

He doesn’t think twice about dropping a kiss against your knee until you stiffen. Idiot. Every time he swore he was going to be better, his body acted on autopilot. Falling into old habits and thoughts like they were second nature.

Resting his cheek against your thigh, Wooyoung twists his hands in his lap. He can’t touch you anymore. Not sober and absolutely not high out of his mind like he is at this very moment. Because if he starts, he’s too weak to stop himself. 

Considering the way you keep staring at him every time you think he isn’t looking, Wooyoung doesn’t think you would want him to stop either. 

Bedtime is the same awkward dance as before. His entire family pulls each other into tight hugs, mostly aided by the edibles Myungho slipped them before they all descended downstairs. Calls of “Love you,” and “see you in the morning,” land against his back as he trails behind you up the stairs. You both get ready in the dark, flashes of bare skin visible in the light trickling in from the cracked curtains covering the lonely window. Turning to face the wall, Wooyoung plugs in his phone while he listens for you to land on the mattress.

When the shuffling ceases, he finds you in a nest of pillows and blankets on the floor, back towards him.

“What are you doing?”

“You took the floor last night,” you explain.

“You don’t hav–”

“Just go to bed.”

“You’re not sleeping on the floor,” he huffs, temper rising as he crosses to the other side of the mattress.

“I’m fine.” 

“Just take the bed.”

“No,” you protest.

“Why not?”

Sitting up, Wooyoung barely makes out your scowl. “Why do I need to explain everything to you?”

“Why are you being so stubborn?”

“I’m stubborn? Me?”

“Considering you’re the one on the floor while the bed is empty, yes, you’re the stubborn one.”

“Because I’m fine here!”

Wooyoung wades through the quicksand of his brain for a response. Upon finding none, he flops on the pile of blankets next to you.

“What are you doing?”

“Sleeping. Now, shut up.”

No more energy to fight, Wooyoung burrows deeper into the mound of quilts; set to sleep on the floor if you continue to refuse the bed. If he was a diva on poor sleep, you were a menace. You’d cave eventually when your hips ached from the painful stiffness of the unbending wood.

Except Wooyoung can’t sleep. All of his nerves are heightened next to you. His entire left side burns in your heat, acutely aware of every shift of weight or rustle of the blankets. Wooyoung’s lips still burn from the kiss. A childish brush against his mouth but he can’t stop replaying it in his mind over and over. And when he thinks about yesterday morning, when he dreamed about her and then woke up flushed against her, when he jacked off to old memories and then ending up tangled with you half naked on the same floor he now laid, it all makes his blood rush to his head and a weight settles on the back of his tongue.

It’s freezing. That’s the excuse he tells himself as to why you snuggle closer, leg splayed across his hip and face buried in his neck. It’s reflex, is what he tells himself when he presses his lips to your hairline and you grab a fistful of his shirt.

He doesn’t have an explanation when you slide over him, taking a seat in his lap. He doesn’t need an explanation either once you kiss him, closed mouth and gentle. Wooyoung quietly accepts every touch you bestow. Hands strictly at his sides, he refuses to initiate anything more. It’s all up to you. He wants to give you whatever you want without even considering himself.

His brain floods with a fuzzy feeling as your fingers itch up his chest. Under his shirt, you sluggishly trace the lines of his stomach. There is only one way this ends because he cannot let you touch him any more or he’ll ruin everything. 

“Wooyoung?” you ask, nose to nose when he pulls your hands out of his clothing and holds them between your bodies.

Twisting until you lay side by side, Wooyoung lets himself be a little more selfish as he gently sucks your bottom lip between his own. He finds the strength to pull away when you deepen it. He won’t be selfish. 

You both fall asleep with tangled limbs, Wooyoung’s nose buried in your hair and your lips against his neck.

Christmas morning brings Bibi through the upstairs hallway with a familiar wooden spoon and small tin pot. You hear the first crash slice through the door, an ice bath to your system.

You’re still curled tightly against Wooyoung’s chest. 

On the floor.

“Get up,” Wooyoung shakes you, not wasting a second as he stands to dive into the still made bed.

You groan in the morning light, burrowing back down into the still warm pillow.

Another shrill beat sings through the hall, much closer to Wooyoung’s door than last time.

“Shit!” 

You tackle him into the mattress, forehead to chin and an elbow in his stomach. Attempting to look natural as the door rebounds against the wall, a well rested Bibi stands in the doorway.

“RISE AND SHINE!” his grandmother wails, drumming a rhythmless beat and she turns to stalk towards Kyungmin’s room at the end of the hall.

Your position against his body, legs bent awkwardly, covers lopsided, only last as long as Bibi is there to witness. You stumble over the memories that remind you too much of the time she waltzed in two Christmases ago, you and Wooyoung scrambling to hide exactly what was happening beneath the sheets.

Now, the only thing you’re rushing to make it look like that was exactly what you were doing. The smallest trickle of relief slips in at the fact he brushed you off last night. The consequences of trying to hook up with your pretend boyfriend are clearer in the harsh daylight. 

You rise and stalk to the bathroom without looking back, a handful of clothes in tow to avoid the same debacle as yesterday.

You feel a little pathetic settling for meaningless touches. All you want is to pretend a little harder, let your mind believe Wooyoung still loves you, still wants you. Not just to avoid awkwardness with his family but because he knew he made a mistake and just needed the courage to admit it. 

That wasn’t going to happen. He was content with his choices, so you have to be too. 

Wooyoung is already downstairs when you descend the stairs. There's a mug waiting for you on the coffee table, perfectly sweet and milky. It doesn’t mean anything.

Mrs. Jung’s victory grants her the privilege of opening the first present this morning. Everyone gathers around, matching states of messy hair and bed-wraggled pajamas, to shred shiny wrapping paper at ten in the morning.

Her first gift is the large rectangle box addressed from her sons, all of them failing to stifle their matching laughter as she slowly unwraps the picture frame. You and Mia had helped arrange the picture last time everyone was together for Bibi’s birthday, sneaking out of the house with the excuse of seeing a movie when you drove to the mall for an old school photoshoot at the department store. 

Wooyoung’s parents join in the giggling bouncing of the walls as they take in all three boys dressed head to toe in denim, arms wrapped around on another’s waists prom-date style as they stare dead faced at the camera. The cherry on top is their matching bowl cuts, making them resemble a nineties boy band. Another frame slips out of the paper, a similar photo of you and Mia except her chin rests on top of your head, eyes obscured by yellow tinted sunglasses.

“Oh my god,” Mrs. Jung guffaws. “You all are ridiculous.”

Passing the frames around the room, Mrs. Jung takes turns hugging her sons along with you and Mia. 

“Oh, my girls. Thank you for putting up with them,” she whispers into your ears, Mia on her left and you on her right. 

You refuse to think about how tomorrow you’ll leave their house for the last time as you squeeze her back tightly. 

As the youngest, Kyungmin is charged with passing out rounds of presents while Mr. Jung collects the discarded ribbons and paper. Thankfully, bringing a gift for Wooyoung wasn’t an expectation. Why sacrifice sacred luggage space to exchange gifts with someone who lives in your backyard? Mia and Myungho never brought their gifts for one another, and you and Wooyoung followed suit.

But that didn’t stop you from braving the horrors of Midtown in an effort to last minute Christmas shopping before flying out. Bibi loves the fancy lotion you brought her, and Kyungmin is more than satisfied with the promise of whatever new video he can afford with a Playstation gift card. Wooyoung’s parents leaf through the books you bought in a last ditch effort to provide some sort of parting gift. Myungho screams as he unwraps the mug with “IBS: I be shitting” blasted across the front and Mia opens each tin of specialty tea for a whiff of the herbal scents.

Hours later, surrounded in the disarray of boxes and bows, Mrs. Jung announces it’s time for brunch. Everyone takes turns washing up or teetering upstairs to brush their teeth but she pulls you aside before you have a chance to follow.

“Y/N, we have one last gift for you,” she says, removing a small box from behind her back. “I didn’t want to give it to you in front of everyone just in case but I want you to know how much we all love you.”

You pull out a cardboard box and a thick card.

“To my future Daughter in Law,

There isn’t a single day I don’t thank the stars for how lucky my son is to find someone as incredible as you. He’s a better person because of you and our family is so blessed to have you in it. I was lucky enough to be given three amazing sons but now I’m fortunate enough to have two daughters as well. 

Love, Mrs. Jung”

Each word is a new punch to the gut, tears swelling in the corner of tight eyes. Focusing on opening the box in an effort not to break down in the hallway, you unveil a simple silver chain with a knotted pendant. The same you’ve seen Mia and Mrs. Jung wear on special occasions.

“I can’t—”

“Nope. I won’t hear a word of it! It’s family tradition. Bibi gave me mine, and now I get to give you yours.”

“No, I really—”

But Wooyoung’s mom is a force to be reckoned with. Removing the delicate piece of jewelry out of the box, she slips it around your neck and straightens it before you can stop her. When she’s happy, you fall into her arms in a fierce hug as you weep into her shoulder.

“Oh sweetie,” she coos, clearly thinking you're overcome with emotion at officially being a part of the family.

You don’t correct her. Why ruin such a heartfelt moment by shattering the illusion now that you're so close to the end? Instead, you take comfort in her embrace, willing the tears to stop with the same principle you use in the hospital: save the crying for the shower.

Stepping out of the hug, you allow her to wipe away the trails of tears staining your cheeks with gentle swipes of her thumbs, a soft smile at her tutting over you. Mrs. Jung pulls you into one last bear hug before pushing you upstairs to compose yourself. Wooyoung stares as you pass him on the stairs, evidently alarmed at the evidence of your crying. But you keep your eyes down as you trudge by. 

Wooyoung can’t help but worry at what happened between presents and breakfast to make you so upset but his mom keeps squeezing your shoulder and Bibi just smiles knowingly in your direction. The new necklace circling your neck is familiar but Wooyoung can’t place why and he hasn’t had the opportunity to ask. 

Maybe it had nothing to do with the necklace. Maybe it’s because you’re finally free of this entire ordeal tomorrow and never have to see him again.

Crowding into the living room as the sun sets, he doesn’t miss the way Mia intertwines you into a fierce squeeze, practically bouncing off the walls with giddiness. He doesn’t have time to ask what it’s about before another movie is starting on the TV to wind down for the evening.

He can feel the tension rolling off you in waves. Muscles locked and leg jittering the same way it did before taking your MCAT or opening exam results. When the screen fades to black, you bolt up the stairs and out of sit before he can blink.

Following, Wooyoung finds you perched on the edge of his bed, fingers stroking the pendant resting between your collarbones. Shut in the quiet of his room, Wooyoung asks the question that’s buzzed in his head all day.

“What’s the necklace about?”

“Your mom gave it to me.”

“I thought so.” He nods. “But why was everyone acting weird about it?”

Rather than answer, you hand him a note. Wooyoung recognizes the tight cursive of his mom’s handwriting. Regret trickles down his spine and bubbles over with each word. He’d never meant to be cruel when he asked you to come here but then again he didn’t think about how hard this must have been. To secretly say goodbye to his family and the relationship you had with each of them after already working through it on your own. He should have known you bottled it all up, the same way he was prone to.

“I didn’t realize she’d—”

“Why did you break up with me?” you ask, still staring at the floor.

Regret transforms into the shame that’s eaten him alive for months. Wooyoung’s mouth won’t form the truth for what he did so he lies.

“I don’t know.”

“Bullshit!” you bite, glazed eyes blazing as you rounds on him. “Eight years. We dated for eight years and you think you can tell me you don’t know why?”

“We dated for eight years and you didn’t even say anything when I did it! You just left.”

“Oh, I’m sorry! What was I supposed to do? Beg you to stay?”

“You just gave up.”

“No, you gave up!” your voice cracks, finger pointing accusingly. “I didn’t even know we were having problems.”

“Boston was always a problem!”

“Which I was already planning to fix.”

Wooyoung recoils from the invisible smack against his face. “What?”

“That night I was trying to tell you I got a job in the city. That I was moving back.”

“You’re joking.”

Shoulder sagging under the weight of the mess, you fall back onto the bed. “It was gonna be my last weekend trip down.”

Sniffles and desperate breaths fill the space. He can’t breathe. He can’t think. 

“I was planning to propose.” He can see your head turn in his peripheral, but he’ll lose the gaul if he has to look you in the eyes and admit he’s a coward, so Wooyoung stares at the wall ahead. “I had the ring for a year. And I was gonna ask you but I…” he trails off.

“You what?”

It’s painful to swallow the knot of embarrassment in his throat but you deserve the truth. He owes you a lot more but all he can do is give you an explanation for why he blew up both your lives. “I got scared.”

“Of me?”

“Of everything,” he admits. The crushing weight resting on his shoulders lightens a little at the confession. It feels good. So he keeps talking. “I thought of how much we’d have to change, and I didn’t want you to feel like you had to give anything up to be with me.”

“Wooyoung, I never felt like that,” you objects, cupping his face and forcing him to look at you; at the tears he’s responsible for. “I hated Boston. Do you think I was moving back to the city for you?”

“Kind of, I—”

“I have my own life there. I lived there for seven years! I was always planning to move back,” you say quickly. “Why do you think you get to make decisions about my life like you know better than I do?”

Panic sets in. “Then why were you being so secretive about it?”

“I wanted it to be a surprise. I knew you’d been stressed about something but you never wanted to talk about it so I didn’t want to add something else to your plate and… because I was worried if I brought it up too soon something would go wrong.”

An awkward silence unfurls, so thick he could choke on it.

“I still have it by the way,” he finally says.

Surprise flashes across your face as you stare at him. “Have what?”

“The ring.”

You blink through fresh tears and something in him breaks. Cracks into a thousand pieces he’s forced to hold together because this is all his fault. “Why?”

“I think…” Wooyoung sniffs back his own cries. “I think some part of me feels like if I let it go then it’s really over.”

“Are you trying to tell me you want to get back together?”

“I didn’t want to break up to begin with.”

“Then why’d you do it?”

“Because I’m not good enough for you! I’ve never been good enough and I know you say it's not true but it is. I’m a public school teacher with shit pay and an apartment I can barely afford. That’s all I can offer you and it isn’t close enough to what you deserve.”

“Do you think I’m that shallow?” You fume, clearly not understanding what Wooyoung meant. “Why do you think you get to decide what's good enough for me?”

“Because someone has too! One day you’re gonna wake up and realize you can have anyone you want.”

“Not anyone.”

The suffocating atmosphere of Wooyoung’s room pushes you into the chilly shower stall. In the steam and perfumed bubbles, you quietly let all the emotions of the day run wild; eyes puffy, face swollen, and snot dripping from your nose to be washed away by the boiling streams of water. You hide for as long as possible, shivering as the heated water runs out and frigid ropes blast your skin. Unable to endure anymore of the stinging icicles, you exit the stall red nosed and blue lipped. 

Wooyoung sits on the edge of the bed with his back to the door. You watch his shoulder tense, rising closer to his ears as you pad closer to lay down. 

You’re too tired to sleep on the floor, too exhausted to fight with him again. So you curl under the covers, body sliding back when Wooyoung joins you. 

“I’m sorry.” he whispers, tracing his index finger along the knobs of your spine, attempting to comfort you the same way he always had.

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Okay.”

You both stay there in the silent darkness, their breaths and the hum of the heater keeping absolute stillness at bay. The tears you split in the shower followed you to the pillow, running down your cheeks as you try to keep the worst at bay. Wooyoung doesn’t stop tracing shapes between your shoulder blades, the worn cotton of your sleep shirt rubbing against your heated skin. How is the source of your distress the same as the source of your comfort?

Turning to face him, you realize how close he’s moved. Scant inches separate your chests, the heat of his legs licking your own bare ones under the blankets. You spot his own tears, eyes swollen and red, thick lashes clumped together as they fall.

If your love for Wooyoung was an ocean, you’d be lost at sea for years. 

He watches you watch him, hands finding one anothers and tangling together. When Wooyoung opens his mouth, pausing as a sniffle breaks free, you surge up to connect your lips.

Startling for only a second, he eagerly kisses you back. Tears and spit gloss your lips as you dip your tongue into his mouth, licking against his teeth before retreating to bruise his lower lip with your own. Wooyoung manages to roll on top of you, pinning you to the mattress as if you plan to up and leave at any second. You respond by crushing your lips together a fraction harder, attempting to communicate the longing and hurt words can’t convey.

The hem of his shirt finds its way between your fingers, moving further up his stomach with each insistent tug. Wooyoung’s own hands busy themselves, one buried in the hairs at the base of your scalp, cradling your head to move you this way and that as he continues exploring your mouth. The other wrinkles the pillow case beside you, muscles rippling as he holds himself over you. 

When you wiggle your hips, thighs spreading to cradle him between, he dives to your neck. Blood rushes to the surface as he nips and bruises the delicate skin below your jaw, scorching pants raising goosebumps in its wake. He shudders when your nails scratch down his abdomen, thumb dipping under the band of his pajama pants.

It's been nearly eight months without this. Two months before your breakup, in this very bed while the rest of the house was asleep as Wooyoung laughed into your neck while you drunkenly whined for him to touch you. As familiar as those memories are, this time is entirely new. 

Wooyoung’s thumb, knowing and skilled, brushes across one of your nipples over your shirt, using the rough fabric to his advantage; stiffing it to a tight peak before allowing the weight to settle in his palm. Arching your back, you remove the piece of cloth separating you. Wooyoung barely allows you space to slough it over your head before he’s back on you, latching to the side of your neglected breast as he curls his hips into yours coursley. Your body reacts on nothing but instinct; back arching closer, thighs spreading wider as his knees carry him further down the mattress.

Reverent caresses of his hands lead him to the apex of your thighs, his breath fanning the damp patch of your shorts just before Wooyoung tucks his thumbs into the elastic to nudge them down, breathing deeply as he bares you for his eyes.

A tentative lick up length of your slit pulls a pathetic whimper from the back of your mouth. The flat of his tongue lave against your engorged clit, slow and torturous as Wooyoung indulges in your taste. Rough palms slide beneath the meat of your thighs, lifting your legs to rest on his shoulders. A harsh suck against the bundle of nerves locks your muscles tightly around Wooyoung’s head but he takes it in stride as he drops a hand to slip his fingers inside your clenching hole. Curling the pads of his digits upwards, you feel him in your throat as you bite back moans. Your fingers twist in Wooyoung’s inky hair at the delicious torture, hips rocking into his eager mouth as he pants against you; refusing to separate from your drenched center. 

When his unoccupied hand slips into your own, a death grip on your entertwined fingers, you fall apart. Your chapped lips nearly bleed from effort to remain quiet, writhing in Wooyoung’s hold as he continues to lap up everything you offer him.

A final suck against your clit has you scrambling to pull his mouth to your own, tasting yourself on his soaked cheeks and tongue.

“Please,” you whisper into his mouth.

Wooyoung responds by kissing you gently, the passion curling your toes while he fists his length before allowing the flared head to nudge your entrance.

Finally presses forward, fitting inside you as he always has, another tear burns down to your face. It all comes rushing forward, never ending waves rolling over you after you’ve been knocked down into the surf. Memories, good and bad, race through you at a breakneck speed. The tingling elation of the night Wooyoung asked you to be his girlfriend, the nerves of when you asked him to move in together during medical school. Sadness when you moved away for residency with the promise to come back. The numbing despair you felt the night you thought would be a turning point in your lives. The straw that breaks the camel's back is Wooyoung's admission that you’re too good for him. Choking your own pain down, you try to hone in on a spot on the ceiling in an effort to stay grounded.

Several seconds pass before Wooyoung notices the fresh bout of sobs, mistaking choked whimpers as whines of pleasure after such a long time apart. His nose traces the tendon of your neck as he cants his hips slowly, one hand still tangled in yours, the other pressing your knee up and around his waist to stretch deeper. When the dig of your nails into his shoulder turns from a sting to a cut, he leans back and realizes his mistake.

Eyes find one another through the distorted haze your sorrows create, his rounded with concern still glazed with evidence of his own tears. Staring at one another in a silence broken by sniffling and staccato breaths, a second set of tears mix with your own as he rests his forehead against yours. Locking your arms around Wooyoung’s broad shoulders and hooking your knees around his back, you try to seal him into your skin. 

“I’m sorry.” he whispers, voice broken and cracked. “I’m so sorry. I–” he hiccups. “I didn’t–”

What he’s apologizing for is a mystery. Forcing you into this charade? Telling you he was planning to propose? Breaking up with you in the first place? 

Perhaps it's all those things. Maybe it's none of them. Maybe it’s for some other secret he’s convinced himself to hide from you because he isn’t good enough; because he doesn’t trust you enough.

“I love you.” He whimpers into your hair, lips branding the words into your skin. It’s not enough. But for tonight, you’ll let it be.

“I love you, too.” you whisper back, straining to brush the tip of your nose against his own.

Tomorrow, you’ll fly back to the city and hide in your apartment and pretend to be okay. Dive so far into your work that you forget the way Wooyoung has ripped the healing wound on your heart open again.

Tonight, you’ll pretend the missing piece has finally been found and can stay forever.

Tensing your thighs, your locked ankles nudge at the dip of his spine to remind Wooyoung he’s still inside you. He hesitates for a moment but your lips silence his objections, just as eager to indulge in the fantasy as you are.

The pace is bruising, stomachs firmly pressed together as he reaches for the top of the bed frame to provide more leverage. Wooyoung’s back ripples and flexes as he pounds into you, the vibration of his weak moans tickling the sensitive pads of your fingers as they etch down his ribs.

Consumed by an overwhelming need to touch him everywhere, you cradle his face between your palms. Wooyoung flashes his eyes open, as if startled you’re still there, before leaning into one of them. Thumb tracing his lips, he drops a searing kiss to the crease of your knuckle. The tenderness burns the remaining oxygen out of the room.

His next word is so quiet your ears fail to detect them over the gentle slap of your bodies connecting or the squeak of the old bed frame. But Wooyoung’s said them against your skin enough times over the years for you to know the feel of his mouth forming around the sound.

You come with a muted whimper. So worn from tears, pleasure fizzles in your veins like the gentle ripple of the wind across a lake. Wooyoung marvels and shakes above you, swiping at the dampness on your cheeks before kissing them away with a hitch in his breath. But he is truly done for when you lean up and whisper his words back into his ear.

Wooyoung wakes to an empty bed, cold sheets, and the pillowcase squishing his cheek already damp from the tears he shed while sleeping.

A tedious drive to the airport grants Wooyoung ample time to stew in discontent, replaying the events of the past week over and over in his head.

Was he insane to think you wanted him too? All the moments he nearly forgot you two were barely more than strangers after months of silence, how every part of him still fit together so perfectly with you. Wooyoung knew he’d been a mess after the break up but the past week made him realize how lost he felt without you. Like the ocean without the moon to guide the tide; like he was missing half his heart. How many times had he opened his messages to text you something mundane from his day, just to close them and realize he’d ruined the best thing in his life in a second of weakness? And now having you next to him again, knowing he can’t fix what he did?

His mom turns off the radio. “When were you planning to tell us you two broke up?”

“Huh?”

“Wooyoung,” she sighs. “I know.”

“How… she told you?”

“Poor thing was crying the entire way to the airport. I told her I wouldn’t let her fly by herself if she was that upset until she explained.”

“What’d she say?”

“That you two broke up a few months ago but you didn’t want to disappoint us.”

“Did she say anything else?”

“You know Y/N, always keeps her cards close to her chest.” His mom looks at him from the corner of her eye. “Do you want to tell me about it?”

“I made a mistake.”

“If you two weren’t happy then it wasn’t a mistake. Sometimes two people don’t fit together and it isn’t because you don’t love them.”

“But we were happy! She’s the one and I messed it up because I’m not good enough for her.”

“Where is that coming from?”

“I know you and dad wanted me to be an engineer like Myungho, okay? Even Kyungmin wants to be a lawyer! I’m the family disappointment. It only makes sense I’d disappoint her eventually.”

Wooyoung’s mom is notorious for going under the speed limit, waiting to turn even if the oncoming car is five hundred feet away, using her blinker religiously. Which is why Wooyoung thinks she’s having a seizure when she veers off the road and onto the shoulder like an F1 driver.

Throwing the car in park she levels him with a look so stern he feels like he’s a kid getting scolded again. “You are not a disappointment! To me or your father or anyone. You are my son, and I have always been proud of that. I’ve seen you teaching, the way those kids look up to you. You’re doing exactly what you were meant to. And if my worrying has made you feel that way then I am so sorry. All we’ve ever wanted is for you to be happy.”

Crossing his arms, Wooyoung flicks away the beads of moisture tracing down his chin. “You’re my mom, you have to say that.”

“I’m not Y/N’s mom but I talk about her the same way.” Another comparison where he doesn’t measure up no matter how you look at it.

“Yeah, well she’s a doctor, saving kids lives and all that.”

“You don’t think you do the same thing? Those kids come to school excited to learn because of you. Just because you’re not finding a cure for cancer doesn’t mean your job isn’t important. And Y/N isn’t disappointed with you either. She loves you, Wooyoung. Why don’t you let her decide what she wants?”

“Yeah, well I think it’s too late for that,” Wooyoung mumbles, eyes on the toes of his shoes.

“Maybe you should ask her if she thinks so.”

Rather than give into his impatience, Wooyoung stews on his mom’s advice. Each passing hour conveniences him more and more she’s wrong. Especially when San and Yeosang sit with him in their cramped living room, bottles of beer and empty takeout littering the coffee table.

“You’re pathetic,” Yeosang says.

“Fuck you,” Wooyoung responds. There’s no bite in it. He doesn’t disagree, he’s told himself the same thing over and over again.

San, red faced and tipsy, slaps the leather armrests of the chair before rising.“Fuck you! You broke up with her over nothing and instead of trying to get her back you have a fucking pity party? Grow a pair.”

“She doesn’t want me!”

“Did you ask her?” 

“I don’t have to!”

“You’re an idiot,” Yeosang butts in.

Wooyoung knows his hesitation speaks for itself when Yoesang keeps talking.

“You can ask her to pretend you’re still dating but you can’t tell her you wanna get back together?”

“It’s not that easy!”

“Yes it is!” San argues. “You love her right? You care about her?” San doesn’t continue until Wooyoung nods. “Then she has a right to know.”

“What if she says no?”

“Then she says no. Cross that bridge when you get there. You’re already broken up, how much worse can it get?”

Surprisingly, Wooyoung agrees. He sits forward, looking at his roommates before asking. “So what do I do?”

When Wooyoung’s messages go unanswered and his calls fall into the abyss of your full voicemail box, pulls out Plan B. Unfortunately, Plan B has no moral or ethical oppositions to castrating him.

Lisa doesn’t even let him speak. “Go fuck yourself!”

“Lisa, please!” Wooyoung begs into the phone.

“No! Not once but twice I’ve had Y/N crying on my couch because of your dumbass. I’m not letting it happen again!”

“I need to talk to her. Please just help me!”

“What makes this time so different?”

“I—,” Wooyoung freezes. What does make this time different? Could he promise he’d never let whatever tiny trickle of self doubt plague his brain wouldn’t flare up again? No. He can’t.

He hears Lisa sigh on the other end of the phone, almost as if she’s disappointed. “Just leave her alone, Wooyoung.”

The line clicks dead.

Walking back into the kitchen from the worst call of his life, Wooyoung spots San’s downcast face while Yeosang watches him from the table; both clearly overhearing his exchange with your best friend. The vinyl tabletop shakes as Wooyoung drops his forehead down with a bang, groaning in frustration. 

“She’s working at New York-Presbyterian.” Yeosang mentions, returning to munch on his bowl of cereal.

“What?”

Yeosang chews his next bite thoughtfully, like he isn’t sure he wants to share the information a second time. Wooyoung almost believes he hallucinated his friend speaking at all until Yeosang repeats himself.

“Y/N works at New York-Presbyterian.”

“How do you know that?”

Shrugging, Yeosang takes another bite and swallows before explaining. “She told me she got a job there when she was planning to move back.” 

Wooyoung has Yeosang’s shirt in his hands in a flash, nose to nose with his lifelong friend. Never in his life has Wooyoung been so furious with the man before him. He wants to kick his ass.

“You knew this whole time?” He bites, his eyes so wide with anger the whites show.

San is at Wooyoung's back, winding his arms around his shoulders in an attempt to pull him off their other roommate.

“You knew all of this and you didn’t fucking tell me? You’re my friend!” Attempting to shake San off, Wooyoung keeps pressing forward. 

Yeosang rises to his feet, hands wrapping around Wooyoung’s wrists and squeezing till the pain forces him to let go. “Yeah, and you’re acting like a real asshole right now!”

“Guys calm down!” San yells, managing to pull Wooyoung back now that he’s no longer attached to Yeosang’s shirt.

“Why didn't you say something?”

“You ended an eight-year relationship out of the blue, I wasn’t about to let you get back with her just because you decided being single wasn’t your thing anymore.”

The words slap Wooyoung in the face. Even his own friends don’t trust him not to hurt you anymore. “I’m not— I wouldn’t…”

“Come on, Woo. All you could talk about was how excited you were to ask her to marry you and then you come home and tell us you broke up with her. She’s my friend too and I don’t want to see her hurt.”

“So why are you telling me now?”

“Because you were desperate enough to call Lisa. If you fuck up again she’ll actually kill you.”

“And we’ll help,” San adds.

Wooyoung isn’t going to mess up again, not if he can help it. And if he does, he’ll walk straight into the river before anyone can force him. But for now, he focuses on getting you to listen to his apology.

Chief complaint: Father reports patient’s fever and cough have become more severe since previous visit. Reports child is refusing solids but drinking well and taking soft foods such as apple sauce. Sleeping okay.

One of the residents pops her head into your office, “Dr. Y/L/N you have a delivery at the reception desk.”

“Thank you!” you call, not missing a beat as you continue your notes. 

Plan: Amoxicillin prescribed, five day follow up with p.r.n. at PCP.

Finishing your chart, you rise and head out towards the receptionist desk. A familiar bouquet of blush pink tulips greet you, a silk white ribbon knotted around the dip of the crystal vase. A small envelope is tucked into the spread, sending a terrified jolt through your system.

“I wish I had someone send me flowers as pretty as this!” Jessica sighs, eying the arrangement enviously.

“Yeah,” you laugh, unable to muster an ounce of false humor. You snatch the bouquet before turning back the direction you came. 

Once back into the safety of your office, door shut and blinds drawn, you open the note.

If you don’t want to see me ever again, I’ll let you go. But I can't say enough how every time I ever put my arms around you I felt that I was home. I’ll be waiting at our spot on Saturday. As long as it takes. – W

You don’t realize you’re crying until the ink of the note begins to bleed. 

Wooyoung is the first customer to enter the cozy coffee shop overlooking the southeast entrance of Tompkins Square Park at nine a.m., claiming the tiny wobbly table off in the corner that provides the perfect view of the door. He doesn’t know what to do with his hands. It feels wrong to scroll through his phone as he waits so he snags one of the artsy newspapers sitting on the counter while the surly barista prepares his order.

After an hour, adrenalin maintains the pleasant buzz through Wooyoung’s system, fueled further by espresso on an empty stomach and jittering nerves. Each chime of the bell over the door results in awkward eye contact with a stranger that certainly isn’t his ex-girlfriend. Unless you shrunk, or grew two feet, or suddenly had a beard.

After three hours, his butt is numb and Wooyoung’s abandoned the newspaper he’s nearly memorized. The Times mini crossword archive isn’t as extensive as he thought.

After six hours, he’s had enough coffee to power a jet plane and his leg twitches aggressively beneath the table. He’s started people watching through the window, making up stories for passersby entering the park and crossing the street. Half his heart hopes they’re happier than he is, the other half hopes he’s not alone in his misery.

When he’s been at the shop for eleven and a half hours, burned through every source of distraction possible and can describe in vivid detail the features outside the glass wall that separate the inside of the cafe from the sidewalk, Wooyoung accepts that you aren’t coming.

He stays till close, every minute that ticks on a drop in the bucket of regret in his heart. The barista starts stacking chairs, passive aggressively swiping the frayed broom in a ring around his table, so Wooyoung does the sensible thing and waits outside. 

The bitter wind wafting through the city finds home in his bones despite his thermals and padded parka. Wooyoung desperately clings to the last tiny drop of hope. Shaking from the chill and overindulgence in caffeine he watches as the clock hits nine. 

You aren’t coming.

You don’t want him back.

And he has to accept that it’s his fault.

Wooyoung watches a couple laugh in each other's embrace across the street, clambering over one another in amused content. There was time that would have been you and him, high from the intoxicating joy of one another’s presence and the city lights in the winter. Fingers interlocked while trapezing through crowds, ignoring every other soul in favor of focusing on each other.

Eyes stinging, he turns to head for the train station but nearly shouts as spots the woman in question ten paces away.

Your hair is a mess, nose and cheeks blushing from the cold, breath obscuring your face as it fogs in the cool air. But you’re here, looking every bit unsure as he feels.

“Hi,” he says, dumbfounded.

“Hi.”

“You came.”

You nod. “I did.”

Wooyoung might faint. His heart is beating a mile a minute, breath shallow and labored. You’re here. You’re here and you’re looking at him like that. And the fear creeps into his pause.

“I’m sorry,” he warbles.

“I know.”

But you can’t so he says it again.

“I’m so sorry.”

“You keep saying that.”

Because he can’t think of anything else. Nine hours of going over the grand speech about how he missed you and how breaking up with you was the greatest regret of his life flies out the window now that you’re in front of him and willing to listen.

“Is that all you wanted to tell me?” you ask.

“No.”

“Then talk to me, Woo.”

The only thing you’ve ever asked him for is the truth. Wooyoung’s been so afraid that if he tells you how he truly feels, you’ll think less of him. That being so in love it terrifies you is disgusting, pathetic. 

“I don’t know where to start,” he admits, staring at the icy sidewalk covered in slush. 

“How long have you been here?”

“Since they opened.”

“Why?”

“Because if you came I didn’t want to miss you.”

“I almost didn’t.”

“Why did you?”

“Because—,” you pause, shaking your head. “I don’t know.”

“I had a whole speech prepared.”

You smile shyly. “Really?”  

“Yeah, but now that you’re here I don’t remember any of it.”

“Then just tell me the truth, Woo.”

“I’m an idiot.”

Laughing at his outburst, you nod at him. “That’s a start.” 

And the space between them grows a little warmer. Gives him the confidence he needs.

“That night at dinner, when I went to the bathroom, I got an email.” Wooyoung starts, stepping closer. “I’d applied for a grad school program and I thought I was gonna get in but … I didn’t. And I think that and the nerves from proposing just caught up to me. I thought you’d want to stay in Boston after all and I didn’t want you to feel like you had to move back here. And it snowballed and all those feelings of not being good enough came back and— When you didn’t say anything, didn’t ask why or try to argue with me I thought it meant it’s what you wanted too.”

Shame flushes through him, a tsunami of disgust for allowing himself to think so poorly of you. You never made him feel less than. The only person who thought he wasn’t good enough was himself and he let that destroy everything in a second of self doubt. 

“I tried to convince myself I did you a favor. That you’d be better off without me and you’d meet someone better. Find someone good enough for you. But I was wrong. I am wrong. There hasn't been a single day since we met that I don’t think about you. Even when I try not to, you’re always in the back of my mind. And then I think about how selfish I am for wanting you back. But when it comes to you I’ve always been a little selfish because I love you. And—” he breaths for the first time. “And I don’t know how to be me without you.”

The humor is gone from your face. Beautiful eyes brim with tears, rimmed red not unlike his own; chin shaking. The wind is louder than ever now, cars wheel sloshing across the wet pavement crashing between them.

“Please say something.”

“How do I trust you again?” Your voice cracks, and it knocks the air from Wooyoung’s lungs.

“I don’t know.” Wooyoung looks at the ground, guilt-ridden.

Everything, all of the pain and heartbreak, was his fault. He dug you into this mess and now he doesn’t know how to get out. 

Seeing Wooyoung, the man with an answer for everything, admit for once he doesn’t have an elaborate plan in motion to win you back is refreshing. You didn’t want Wooyoung who’d fix everything, Wooyoung who’d carry the burden of your relationship by himself even if it killed him. All you wanted was for him to tell you the truth.

And now that he has, you’re done being apart.

Nearly topping to the ground as you tackle Wooyoung in a fierce hug, you focus on inhaling his cologne and basking in the feel of his body pressed firmly against you. He barely manages to steady your combined weight, feet scrambling to regain his balance on the icy sidewalk.

“Don’t you ever do that shit to me again!” you yell, arms squeezing around his waist.

Wooyoung hesitates for a moment, clearly shocked at the turn of events. Rising out of his chest, you look at his gaping mouth and furrowed brows before his arms knot around your shoulders. 

“I missed you,” you whisper into his lips.

“I love you,” Wooyoung responds, forehead resting against your own.

“Forever?”

“Forever.”

Central Park in May is a bustle of people enjoying warm days following months of slushy snow and gray skies. Shrill screams bounce off the trees, children dart across the walkways, giggling groups of friends crowd around blankets on the dead grass, and a menagerie of dogs zigzag around their owners in the fresh air.

Today is a rare day where you and Wooyoung both can spend interrupted hours lounging in one another’s presence, eager to make up for years of long distances and the months neither of you like to talk about. Wooyoung woke you with innumerable kisses across any sliver of skin his lips could find. No different than all the other mornings spent together since January.

You tried to take things slow, ease back into the comfort of the relationship. But it’s Wooyoung. There’s no half measures, only the full rush of feelings that never went away. A few awkward weeks of dancing around one another, unsure how to fit back in when there’s so much history, but the dam broke the first night Wooyoung stayed at your apartment and woke you up with bagels and coffee in bed.

He stayed over almost every night since.

Sprawled across an old throw blanket, skin warming in the afternoon sunshine, a thick book obscures his face from view as your head rests in his lap. Wooyoung’s been fidgety all morning. You chalk it up to the first nice day following a freezing, rainy winter. Too much energy and finally a suitable outlet that isn’t people watching from your living room window.

You look up at him, his face visible just above the edge of the book pages hiding your smile. He’s already looking at you.

Plucking the book from your grasp, he carefully marks the page before setting it down on the blanket. Wooyoung folds in half to silence your protesting “hey!” with a kiss, humming as you give in all too easily. 

“I was reading that,” you mumble into his bottom lip. You tug his shirt, kiss him a little firmer before he leans back.

“Wow, you’d rather read some smutty book than kiss your real life boyfriend?”

Laughing, you press another peck to his mouth before answering, “Glad you understand.”

“What about your fiance?”

Your smile melts into shock, mouth gaping and staring at him like a deer in headlights. 

Fiance.

His fiancee…

Wooyoung smoothly maneuvers you up and out of his lap, pulling the jewelry box from his pocket as he kneels on a lone knee.

“Y/N. You’re my favorite person in the world. The only person I can ever imagine spending the rest of my life with. I love when you sing in the shower, and how you put way too much sugar in your coffee. I love how smart you are, and how you’re nice to everyone even if they don’t deserve it, me included. And how everytime I look at you my palms get sweaty and that just thinking about you makes my day better. You are the love of my life. Will you marry me?”

Wooyoung is shaking so violently he fumbles the velvet box twice during his speech but you hardly notice, shaking so hard yourself. He drops it a third time when you tackle him in a fierce hug, tear filled laughter spilling from your lips and into the field where they lay. 

“Yes!” you squeal into his neck, “Yes, I’d love to marry you.”

At dinner with all your friends, he holds your hand so the diamond glints at anyone looking. When Wooyoung walks you home, to the apartment that’s become his second home, giggly from champagne and love, he kisses your knuckles a ridiculous amount of times just to feel the cool band under his lips. Each time you chest squeezes like its the first. Once inside the doorway, Wooyoung crowds you against the door; his thumb focusing on the bevel of the diamond sitting on your ring finger as his other hand pushes the strap of the sundress off your shoulder so his tongue can etch your collarbone from dip of your throat where the locket he gave you for your first Christmas together rests to under your ear. 

“So, future Mrs. Jung, now that we’re alone, how would you like to celebrate?” he asks, nipping against the sensitive skin until you sigh, chest arching into his own.

“What if I wanna keep my last name?”

“Is that what you’re focusing on right now?” Wooyoung asks, a strong thigh moving between your parted legs.

“Yeah, future Mr. Y/L/N. I don’t think there’s anything else to discuss right n—fuck, Woo.”

Wooyoun can’t help but giggle at your reaction, rocking again just to hear you moan his name once more. 

“What were you saying?”

“Don’t,” you huff, whimpering at another torturous drag. Wooyoung can feel the heat of your cunt through your panties and his jeans. “Don’t be mean to your future wife.”

“Love when you talk dirty.” He bites against the strained muscle raising from the side of your neck.

“That turns you on? Calling me your wife?”

“Feel for yourself.”

You do feel it. Shifting in the tiny space he’s allotted, you feel him hot and hard against your stomach. You’re caught between wanting to savor every moment and ripping both your clothes off. 

“And if I call you my husband?”

Wooyoung doesn’t dignify your question with an answer other than tugging you towards the bedroom to demonstrate just how much he likes the new name.

You don’t make it that far. Between pulling at his clothes and tripping over your own, the hall floor becomes the alternative; Wooyoung’s lap your new perch. His teeth close around your nipple, timid until he’s not.

He keeps you like that for a while. Squirming in his lap until you're not naked enough with your dress pooled around your waist and bunched up your thighs. You whine and he switches to your neglected breast, tongue flitting teasingly. 

“Wooyoung,” you keen. 

The bastard laughs but makes no move to give you more. You’re at his mercy. The way he touches you makes you blush, still new and exciting after years but he treats you like the most interesting thing in the world; remembers even the most insignificant details that have you sweating.

You try to pull him off your chest but he ignores the desperate pleas; eager licks so good your hips kick against his crotch for some kind of relief. Fingers pinch at the abandoned one, keeping your back bent in a painful arc.

He bites a little too hard, shoves a hand between your legs and touches with raw force. You can’t think about anything. Hopped up on champagne and engagement bliss, your body rolls hot and wet against his fingers until you come with wrecked sounds.

Sagging against him, Wooyoung slows, lets you take a few weak breaths while he noses against your collarbone. He kisses the hollow of your throat, a simple brush of his lips that lingers deep in your veins.

“I think that might be a new record,” he quips. The fingers buried beneath your underwear pop into his mouth before he reaches back down with softer strokes, teasing all those worn nerves back to attention. You don’t care about anything other than the way he touches with brutal reverence. Worshiping your body the way that sets your soul on fire.

His body gives under gentle caresses, fingers cataloguing everything in meticulous detail. His hair, his neck, shoulders. The plains of his chest. How his stomach dips beneath your nails. You rub his cock through his pants before impatience takes over and you both work to shove them down his thighs.

You rock down, pulling at those short hairs at the nape of his neck with just enough sting. Wooyoung loses himself in the feeling, mouthing your name across your sternum. “So fucking beautiful.”

Whatever response rests on your lips dies as he rolls you next to him on the floor. You leg over his hip, his cock between your walls with little resistance. The kind of intimacy that makes you bubble out your own skin.

The floor isn’t good for sex. Your hips ache. Sweaty limbs stick. Your fiancé has you bent like origami to fuck as far as his dick can reach. His eyes are locked on the way you fit together, but you want them on you. “Baby, l-look at me.”

He does; hooded eyes hazy. Something simmers hot in his gaze, something you can’t name but know well because you feel it. Wooyoung doesn’t look anywhere else but your face as he rolls again and again and again.

“Feels so good,” you pant.

Wooyoung hoists your leg up higher, pushing until your back flattens to the floor and he’s crowded over. You want him to fuck you hard, nasty. Something in between those romance movie references and the way he makes you feel like the only person in the world; perfectly made to take him. 

He groans from the new angle. “I love you.”

The hand shoved between your legs is ripped away. The hand with the ring. The one Wooyoung kept by his side at all hours like an idiot. But you don’t care. Not as he pulls your fingers to he faces and kisses it like a promise, cups his hand around your own one his cheek. You shake. Thrash beneath as stars explode and everything melts into absolute nothing.

Wooyoung manages a few more thrusts before he loses it, pace uneven from champagne and giddy pleasure. The messy of his cum spills with each jilted thrust, trickling where your ass meets the floor. 

Shuddering, Wooyoung collapses. “Jesus Christ.”

You grunt something like ‘I know,’ eyes wet, body vibrating with leftover dopamine. You’ve never had married sex, and any form of nuptials remains far off in the horizon for the time being. But tonight, he’s as good as the real thing. Maybe even better.

“I think I passed out for a second,” you whisper airily. 

“Just some proactive marital bliss.”

He lays on the floor next to you, shoulder to shoulder, hands wound gently together. The pressure of his lips rains over your fingers. Again, and again like he still can’t believe this is real.  You can’t remember ever being this happy.

Hooking a leg over his hip, you cuddle down into his chest. “Bibi is gonna see that ring next weekend and start asking for grandkids.”

“Well, it’s a good thing Myungho called me this morning.”

“Wait, really?”

“Surprised?”

“No,” you laugh. “Mia called me last week.”

Wooyoung presses his nose into your cheek with a whine.  “How come you got to know before me?”

You're both still half clothed. Your dress ruined, his pants the same. Like the so many times you’ve had together where nothing can get in the way of the deep seeded need for one another. Almost poetic. 

You kiss his cheek teasingly. “Because you can’t keep a secret to save your life, Mr. Jung.”

A displeased huff is all the warning you get before he’s back on top of you, fingers bent into your waist, your neck. All the worst tickle spots that have you screaming for mercy.

“You were surprised today, weren’t you?” He pulls you tighter, levels your gaze and whispers like it’s the best secret he’s ever been a part of. “Mrs. Jung?”

“Not one bit.”

[sundropflowerr]

Trace Your Constellations | Steve Harrington

★ Warnings: no use of y/n, post s3 before s4, fluff, mutual pining, awkward tension, idiot duo in love, light teasing, longing glances, emotional vulnerability, quiet moments, quiet comfort, moments of personal growth, slight self-doubt.

★ Summary: After everything Hawkins put you through, you and Steve find yourselves on the roof of Family Video, stargazing and toeing the line between friends and something more. It’s quiet, it’s soft, and maybe—just maybe—he’s finally seeing the stars the way you do. 2k

★ Pairings: steve harrington x fem!reader

★ Fic Inspiration: “Constellations: Piano Version” - Jade LeMac

★ Author's Note: thank you to @enchanthings for the star divider, it’s greatly appreciated and i love love love it. this is my first writing piece, i can’t believe it! though it might be messy and only a one-shot, i hope you all enjoy it.

You and Steve Harrington were stuck together like glue.

Not by choice at first, but that didn’t seem to matter now.

Somewhere between the Byers’ house, where Steve first swung that nail-studded bat like a maniac to protect everyone, and the tunnels beneath Hawkins, where he grabbed your shoulder and told you “We’re getting out of this. Just keep moving,” something shifted. After Starcourt—after fire, smoke, and holding his hand in the parking lot while you stared at the wreckage—it stopped being just survival.

It was the last-night drives when neither of you could sleep, the lazy afternoons when he’d lean on the counter at the music store you worked at, flipping through cassette tapes just to annoy you.

Steve still insists he just hangs out with you because your music store is “conveniently” across the street. He’ll pop in during his shifts at Family Video, lean against the counter like he owns the place, and pick apart the stack of cassette tapes you’re organizing. “What’s this? Too cool for a little Springsteen?” he’d say, tossing you his signature smug grin. You’d roll your eyes, toss it right back, and remind him he only listens to what you tell him to.

Robin called it weeks ago. “You guys are, like, weirdly close.” Eddie had chimed in too, smirking like he knew something you didn’t: “You two ever gonna admit you’re basically one soft moment away from a rom-com montage?” You brushed them off every time—what did they know?

But it’s harder to brush them off when you’re here, on the roof, the quiet of the summer night pressing in around you. It’s the kind of quiet you only get after midnight in Hawkins, where the cicadas buzz in the distance and the stars shine brighter because half the town’s lights don’t work right. The air smells faintly of asphalt and cut grass, warm but with the promise of cooler hours ahead, and everything feels still—so still it’s like the world’s holding its breath.

It had been Steve’s idea, though he acted like it wasn’t a big deal—like he didn’t spend half his shift thinking it up. Earlier that afternoon, you’d walked into Family Video, the bell above the door jingling like it always did, announcing your presence. The store smelled faintly like stale popcorn and cleaning spray, and Steve was leaning back against the counter, his green vest rumpled, hands shoved in his pockets. Robin, crouched on the floor with a stack of tapes, only glanced up long enough to mutter something sarcastic before diving back into organizing the horror section.

“Finally,” Steve said, pushing himself up with exaggerated relief. “Someone who’s not Robin to keep me entertained.”

“Bold of you to assume I’m here for you,” you shot back, a grin tugging at your lips as you perched yourself on the counter next to him. The surface was cool against the back of your legs, and you kicked your feet slightly, heels bumping the cabinets beneath.

Robin, without looking up, waved a hand in Steve’s direction. “Don’t let him fool you. He’s been staring at the clock for twenty minutes.”

Steve groaned loudly in her direction, rolling his eyes before turning back to you. “Slow day. Feels like we’re in some kind of weird dead zone where no one in this godforsaken town likes movies anymore.”

“Or maybe they just don’t like you.” Robin’s voice was muffled as she slid another tape onto the shelf.

Steve ignored her, squinting at you like he was trying to gauge your mood. “What are you doing later?”

You raised an eyebrow. “That depends. Why?”

He scratched at the back of his neck, looking down like he was embarrassed to even ask. “I was just thinking…” He paused, tilting his head slightly to the side as if he’d decided to go for it. “It’s a nice night. After my shift, you wanna hang out? On the roof.”

“The roof?”

“Yeah. Of this fine establishment.” He knocked his knuckles lightly against the counter like he was showing off prime real estate, a little smile tugging at his lips. “You can see the stars better up there. Plus, it’s quiet. Robin and I go up sometimes. It’s… nice.”

You tilted your head at him, watching the way he shifted his weight slightly, like he wasn’t sure you’d say yes. “The stars, huh? No thrilling Steve Harrington monologue about life and the meaning of the universe?”

He groaned, throwing his head back in dramatic exasperation. “Forget it. Invite taken back.”

You laughed, nudging his arm with your shoulder, feeling the soft warmth of his skin through his vest. “Relax. I’ll come. It sounds nice.”

He looked back at you, his face softening into a crooked smile, his eyes lingering on yours for a beat too long. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

And now, here you were. Hours later, the summer night stretching endlessly above you, blanketed by stars that seemed impossibly bright. Steve had climbed up first—grabbing onto the edge of the roof like it was nothing and pulling himself up before leaning down to offer you a hand. His fingers were warm and solid when they wrapped around yours, tugging you up with more strength than you’d anticipated. You’d stumbled slightly when you landed, but Steve’s other hand shot out, steadying you with a muttered, “Careful there.”

The roof wasn’t the most comfortable place in the world, but Steve had brought a blanket—some old, ugly checkered thing that smelled faintly of fabric softener and the inside of a car that’s been baking in the sun. You sat shoulder to shoulder, your knees bent, elbows resting against them as you both stared at the sky. The gravel beneath the blanket shifted slightly every time you moved, the crunch of it loud in the otherwise perfect stillness.

Steve stretched his arms out behind him, fingers splayed against the gravel as he leaned back to look at the sky. The muscles in his forearms flexed slightly, catching in the faint light from the streetlamps below. “Told you the roof was a good idea,” he said, breaking the quiet.

You tilted your head, glancing over at him. His hair—wild as ever—stuck up slightly, the edges catching the faintest breeze. The light shadow of stubble along his jaw was more noticeable from this angle, and you caught yourself lingering on the sight before you could stop.

“It’s alright,” you said, teasing. “Not as magical as you made it sound, though.”

Steve turned to you, lips parting into a look of mock offense. “Not as magical? What more do you want? I brought you here, gave you a prime stargazing spot—this is, like, peak effort.”

You laugh, stretching your legs out a little, the soles of your sneakers scuffing against the gravel. “Peak effort would’ve been snacks. Maybe a soda.”

“Oh, sorry I didn’t roll out the red carpet for you.” He shook his head with a dramatic sigh, though there was a smile pulling at his lips. “Next time I’ll bring a waiter.”

“Next time, huh?”

His shoulders froze for half a second, like he hadn’t realized he’d said it, before he relaxed again. “Yeah, well… if you’re lucky.”

You smiled faintly, looking back up at the stars. The quiet slipped back in, the kind of quiet that feels like a blanket wrapping around you—soft and warm and perfectly still. The cicadas buzzed faintly in the distance, their hum mixing with the occasional rustle of leaves in the trees far below. The sky stretched endlessly above, a wash of navy and scattered constellations, and for a moment, it was easy to forget about everything else.

And when Steve shifted beside you—just barely, so his shoulder bumped yours—you felt yourself still, suddenly hyper-aware of every inch of space between you.

Steve stretches his arms behind his head, breaking the silence. “You know, I still don’t get constellations.”

You look over, amused. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, like…” He tilts his head back, gesturing vaguely at the sky. “They say that’s a guy with a sword, or whatever? That’s just dots. Someone’s connecting invisible lines, and we’re all supposed to be impressed.”

You laugh, shaking your head. “That’s Orion’s Belt, and you just have no imagination, Harrington.”

Steve turns to you, his mouth twitching into that lopsided grin he always gets when he’s ready to argue with you. “I have plenty of imagination, thank you very much. I’ve survived monsters and alternate dimensions. I just think stars are trying a little too hard, you know?”

“Stars are trying too hard?” you say, incredulous. “What does that even mean?”

“It means…” He pauses, looking up at the sky again, brow furrowed like he’s actually trying to make sense of it. “I think people try too hard to make them something they’re not. Can’t they just be stars?”

You roll your eyes but smile anyway. “Or maybe you’re just too stubborn to let yourself see them.”

Steve doesn’t answer right away. The quiet slips back in, softer this time, and you watch as he exhales slowly, his gaze lingering on the sky. “Maybe,” he finally says, almost too low for you to hear.

Something about it makes your chest ache a little. You don’t know when it started—this feeling you get when Steve’s around—but it’s been there more and more lately. It’s in the way he drops by the music store to kill time, like he doesn’t have anywhere better to be. It’s in the way he always lets you pick the music, even if he pretends to hate half of it. It’s in the way he remembers the tiniest details about you—like how you can’t sleep without white noise, or how you take your coffee with exactly one and a half sugars because two is too sweet but one isn’t enough.

And now it’s here, in the way he looks so at ease next to you, like there’s no place he’d rather be.

“Do you ever think about leaving?” you ask suddenly, your voice breaking the quiet. “Like, leaving Hawkins?”

Steve hums in thought, eyes still on the sky. “Yeah, sometimes. I mean, how could I not? This place is cursed.”

You huff out a quiet laugh. “No kidding.”

“But…” He trails off, turning his head to look at you. His voice is quieter when he continues. “I don’t know. I think it’s different now. Before, I wanted to leave because I didn’t have anything here. I thought I’d find it somewhere else. But…”

He doesn’t finish the sentence, and for some reason, you can’t bring yourself to ask him to. You’re pretty sure you already know what he’s trying to say.

The air between you shifts, subtle but noticeable. Steve’s looking at you now, really looking at you, and it makes you hyper-aware of every inch of space between you—how close your hands are on the blanket, how his knee bumps yours every time he shifts.

“What?” you ask softly, because the way he’s staring at you is starting to make your heart do stupid things.

Steve shakes his head, smiling faintly. “Nothing.”

“Liar.”

“Okay, fine.” He sighs, tipping his head back against the gravel like he’s trying to play it cool. “It’s just… nights like this, you know? When it’s quiet, and you’re here. Makes me think maybe Hawkins isn’t so bad.”

You freeze, your breath catching in your chest. He says it so casually, like it doesn’t mean anything, but you know Steve. You know when he’s being flippant and when he’s saying something real, and this? This is real.

“Yeah,” you say after a moment, your voice quieter now. “I get that.”

You don’t look at him, but you feel his hand brush against yours—barely there, just his pinky against your knuckle. It’s so small you could pretend it didn’t happen, but you don’t. Instead, you let your hand relax, let your fingers rest just close enough to his that you know he can feel it.

Steve doesn’t say anything about it, but you can tell he notices. You can tell because his breathing changes, because he’s suddenly so still next to you.

“Hey,” he says after a minute, voice soft.

“Yeah?”

“I see it.”

You blink, finally turning your head to look at him. “See what?”

He grins, barely there but still so Steve, and nods toward the sky. “Orion’s Belt. The dots.”

You laugh, shaking your head. “Took you long enough.”

He doesn’t let go of your hand.

And you don’t seem to mind.

thank you so much for reading! please like/reblog or comment if you did, it would be greatly appreciated. have a great day!

[goldfades]

❝ 𝐚𝐟𝐜 𝐧𝐨𝐫𝐭𝐡 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐦𝐩𝐬, burrow. ❞

free palestine carrd 🇵🇸 decolonize palestine site 🇵🇸 how you can help palestine it's crucial that we stand in solidarity with those who need our support. right now, the people of palestine are facing unimaginable hardship, and it's up to all of us to do what we can to help. whether it's raising awareness, donating to relief organizations, or supporting calls for justice and peace, every action counts. we can amplify their voices, shed light on their struggles, and work towards a future where every individual can live with dignity and freedom. your support can make a difference! FREE PALESTINE!

⟢ ┈ 𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲 | you give joe his own celebration after winning.

⟢ ┈ 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 | NSFW! minors pls dni. plot w/ smut, messy head sesh (joe receiving), cigar mentions, praise and um... nothing else? pretty self indulgent.

⟢ ┈ 𝐞𝐯'𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐬 | if you guys enjoy this i might just write more for joe 🫣 if you guys have any requests, my inbox is open rn!

The crowd is electric, buzzing with that rare, palpable energy that comes only when an entire city feels the taste of victory on its tongue.

The stadium lights are still blazing, casting a golden glow over the field, and you can see Joe, helmet off, hair slightly mussed from the game. He looks different tonight—not the quiet, calculating Joe who keeps everything just below the surface. This version of him stands tall, eyes sharp, taking it all in with a sly, almost cocky grin tugging at the corner of his mouth.

You’re swept up in the energy as he walks towards you, chest out, shoulders loose, like he owns the night. His usual restraint is nowhere to be found; every bit of him is reveling in this moment, and it’s as if he knows exactly how everyone is looking at him, yourself included.

The cheers and the chanting blur together, and you feel your pulse match the beat of the stadium around you. He's coming closer, that rare glint in his eye—the kind that says he knows he's good, and tonight, he’s not hiding it. He reaches you, and before you can even say anything, his hands find your hips, pulling you in with a confidence that’s both unexpected and thrilling.

Joe isn’t usually one for public displays, especially after a game when he’s all focus and steady composure, but tonight is different. Tonight, he’s every bit the champion and you can see it in the way he looks at you, like he’s not just savoring the win but the whole world in his hands.

Without a second thought, he cups your face, his touch warm and firm, and his lips crash into yours with a hunger that leaves you breathless. The kiss is fierce, almost possessive, and your heart skips a beat as you realize he doesn’t care that everyone’s watching—that someone, somewhere, probably has their phone out recording this very moment. He’s completely wrapped up in you, and for this one fleeting moment, you’re the only thing that exists.

When he finally pulls back, there’s a smudge of your lipstick on his lips, unmistakable and bold, and he’s got that cocky grin again, wider this time, unbothered by the smear of color. His thumb brushes over your cheek, wiping away a trace of lipstick, his eyes sparking with that rare, unabashed pride.

"Guess I’m taking home two trophies tonight," he murmurs, his voice low, just for you.

His hand stays on your hips, grounding you as you’re both swept up in the exhilaration of the night. The crowd, the lights, the whole stadium could disappear, and it still wouldn’t matter. Joe doesn’t care about anything else—he’s made that clear.

━━━━━

The club pulses with energy, dark and sleek, lit by flashes of neon lights and thrumming to the bass-heavy beat of music that vibrates up through the floor. The exclusive afterparty is alive with players, coaches, friends, and the lucky few who managed an invite, and you can feel the buzz of victory in the air. It’s thick with the thrill of the win, the endless energy of a city that hasn’t been able to stop talking about Joe and the team since last year’s championship.

Joe’s beside you, his hand never leaving your back as he navigates through the crowd, and he’s still got that spark in his eyes. There’s a looseness to him tonight—a magnetic energy that draws everyone in. He’s in his element, basking in it, tossing back easy laughs with his teammates, tossing friendly jabs at anyone who dares question the next championship he has in mind. Every time someone congratulates him, he pulls you closer, and even though he usually keeps things more private, tonight feels like a night for breaking his own rules.

You’re holding onto his arm, laughing along with him, when his teammate Sam catches sight of the lipstick stain that still lingers faintly on Joe’s mouth.

He raises a brow, grinning wide, and elbows Joe. "Looks like the MVP’s got more than a trophy tonight," Sam jokes, his voice teasing but warm.

Joe doesn’t even bother to wipe it off. Instead, he smirks, pulling you closer with a shrug that radiates easy confidence. "Best accessory, don’t you think?" he says, voice low but loud enough to carry over the music, and his arm slides around your waist, holding you against him like he doesn’t plan on letting go.

You laugh, leaning into him as he glances down at you, that cocky spark in his eyes making your pulse race. Joe has always been cool, confident, but tonight there’s something different about him—a unrestrained pride that makes you feel like you’re standing in the middle of something unforgettable.

“Careful,” you tease, looking up at him, your voice playful. “Keep that attitude up, and they’re going to start thinking you’re actually enjoying the attention.”

He chuckles, a low sound that only you can hear. “Guess I might be, just a little,” he admits, brushing his thumb over your cheek. “It’s not every day you get to win back-to-back championships. Gotta let myself enjoy it for once, right?”

Before you can answer, Ja’Marr sidles up beside him, grinning from ear to ear. He’s got that same victorious look in his eyes and you can tell he’s been looking forward to this moment just as much as Joe has. Reaching into his pocket, Ja’Marr pulls out a fat cigar, extending it to Joe with a knowing smirk.

“Time for a victory smoke, QB,” Ja’Marr says, his voice light but laced with pride. “You earned it.”

Joe takes the cigar, turning it over in his hands as if considering it, then lets out a low, appreciative laugh. He glances at you with a grin. “Guess we’re going all out tonight, huh?”

You nod, leaning up to kiss his cheek, and his hand finds your waist again as he turns back to Ja’Marr. “Thanks, man,” Joe says, clapping his friend on the shoulder. “Couldn’t have done it without you.”

Ja’Marr shakes his head, feigning modesty. “Nah, tonight’s all you, bro. I just happened to be along for the ride.” He steps back, lifting his own glass in a toast, and the whole crew around you does the same, echoing the sentiment as they raise their drinks.

“To Joey,” Ja’Marr calls, his voice carrying over the music. “And to running this city two years straight!”

The crowd roars in agreement, and Joe raises the cigar in salute before flashing that unrestrained smile again, lighting it up with a satisfied exhale. He takes a slow, deliberate drag, letting the smoke curl lazily from his lips as he relaxes back against the booth, pulling you close beside him.

“You know,” he says, glancing at you with a grin that’s both relaxed and intoxicatingly self-assured, “could get used to this whole king-of-the-city thing. But only if you’re here with me.”

“Think I could make that work,” you reply, smiling as you tuck yourself against him, his arm solid and warm around you.

Joe leans back in the booth, his arm still looped around you, his blue eyes sharp and unmistakably bold as he exhales a long, lazy stream of smoke. There’s a cocky tilt to his mouth, something magnetic that holds your gaze, and when he catches you staring, that grin only deepens.

“You look a little too comfortable holding court like this,” you say, smirking, leaning into him just enough that your knee brushes his.

He gives you a look that makes your stomach flip, tilting his head as he takes another drag from the cigar, never breaking eye contact. “I think I’m right where I’m supposed to be tonight,” he murmurs, his voice low and smooth, just loud enough for you to hear over the noise.

The way he says it, like he owns the moment—and maybe you, too—sends a thrill down your spine. You lift your chin, refusing to look away, feeling the tension spark like electricity between you.

“You sure you can handle the attention?” you challenge, arching a brow. “I don’t remember you being one for the spotlight.”

“Oh, I can handle it,” he replies, voice dripping with confidence. He leans in, close enough that you can feel the heat radiating off him, his lips a mere breath away from yours. “Question is, can you?”

His eyes are dark, daring, and you feel his hand press against your waist, fingers brushing the bare skin where your shirt rides up slightly. The club is hot, noisy, and every beat of the music seems to pulse between you, building the tension.

Before you can answer, he leans in even closer, his mouth hovering by your ear. “Because from where I’m sitting,” he murmurs, “you’re looking at me like you’re ready to break a few of my rules tonight.”

━━━━━

And that's how you ended up back at the hotel, on your knees, looking up at Joe like he was the only thing that mattered. The room is quiet now, a stark contrast to the pulsing energy of the club, but the silence makes everything feel sharper, more charged. The dim lights cast a soft glow over him, highlighting the confidence that radiates off him with every breath, every small movement.

He’s standing there, looking down at you, his eyes dark, studying you with that intensity that makes your heart race. There’s a cocky, satisfied smile playing at the corner of his lips—a hint of pride that you can’t help but want to unravel. You can see the subtle rise and fall of his chest, his breathing steady, controlled, even though you know he’s feeling every second of this as much as you are.

Joe’s hand lingers on your face, tilting your chin up just a bit more as he watches you, his eyes tracing every detail like he wants to commit it to memory.

Your hands worked on his belt as he let out a quiet groan and he doesn’t stop you, lets you take control for a moment, and the way his breath catches in his chest makes something inside you stir. He’s always the confident one, the one who stays in control, but tonight, in this space, everything feels different. It’s like he’s giving you the freedom to move, to touch, to test just how far you can push him.

“God,” he mutters, his hand sliding from your face to the back of your neck, his fingers curling just lightly around it, like he’s marking his place, claiming it without saying a word. His thumb gently strokes over your skin, sending a pulse of heat through you as you finish loosening his belt.

The moment the buckle comes free, you pull him closer, your fingers tracing his waistband as you look up at him, your lips just a breath away from where he needed you most. His chest rises and falls rapidly now, a sign that you’re getting to him, that the tension is starting to break.

He leans down slightly, his breath hot against your ear, voice low and rough. “You know, you could make me forget the whole damn night with just a single move.”

You smile, a slow, teasing thing, as you drag your hands down to his bulge, feeling the muscles in his stomach tighten in anticipation. There’s a challenge in his eyes, a dare, but you don’t rush, taking your time, letting every moment hang between you like a promise. The way he’s watching you, waiting for your next move, only makes the tension between you more intense.

Joe’s gaze darkens even more, the intensity turning almost possessive as his hand sliding into your hair again, gently pulling you up to meet his lips in a kiss that’s every bit as hungry and desperate as it is passionate. He’s pulling you closer and you can feel the weight of him, the heat of his body, as he presses you back on the floor.

“You have no idea how much I want you right now,” he breathes against your lips, his voice low, full of need. The way he says it, like he can’t hold back, makes you ache with want. He falls back on a chair behind him, his eyes full of need. You know exactly what he wants as he spreads his thighs.

“Come on, baby. Give me what I want,” he urges breathlessly as you find your way in between his thighs.

Your hands slide back to his thighs, fingers brushing against the hard lines of his body, and you can feel his chest rising and falling with every breath he takes.

You finally pull off his underpants, freeing his hardened length. He lets out a breath as his hand pulls your hair into a makeshift ponytail. Joe doesn't wait any longer, he pushes you downward until your lips meet his warm tip.

“Taking your time, huh?” he murmurs, his voice rough with desire, a hint of impatience flickering in his eyes as he watches every movement you make. There’s a slight smirk on his lips, but it fades quickly as you press a little closer, opening your mouth to finally take him.

He lets out a guttural groan as his grip tightens in your hair. The taste of him is intoxicating, you couldn't help but let out a sound of your own. Your lips wrap around his thick cock effortlessly, taking him slowly.

Joe wasn't in the slow mood, though. His grip in your hair didn't loosen as he began moving your head in his own accord, your muffled moans egging him on. The tip of his cock hit the back of your throat, making you gag as your fingers scratched his thigh instinctively.

“That's it, baby,” he groaned breathlessly. “Take my cock, just like that.”

Your jaw was already sore, your chin was dripping with a mix of your saliva and his pre-cum but somehow you still relished in this. Your eyes were watering as you tried to keep them open, watching Joe's every expression and hearing every sound. Every praise that left his mouth spurred you on, your mouth sliding up and down his wet cock.

And despite the mess you've made, Joe still thought you were the sexiest woman alive. He couldn't look at you any longer, because he swore he would just cum at the mere sight. You slipped off his cock, your tongue flicking his tip as you caught your breath. You slowly took him back in, humming at the feeling of being so full.

His hand tightened in your hair as his head fell back on the chair, his mouth slightly open as he groaned. “Oh fuck, yeah. Keep going,” he grunted. “Gonna cum, fuck.”

Before you could even react, his cum filled your mouth as you moaned around his cock. You tried your best to swallow all of it before you slipped off, your chest rising up and down. Looking up at Joe, he wore a fucked-out expression, all his previous cockiness had softened into something raw and unguarded.

His head is tilted back against the chair, a lazy smile tugging at his lips as he tries to catch his breath, his gaze finding yours with a look that’s equal parts amazement and satisfaction. The flicker of dim hotel light casts shadows across his face, highlighting his features in a way that makes him look almost softer, stripped down to just Joe, without the bravado and the public image.

He lets out a breathless laugh, running a hand through his hair, which is now mussed and a little wild. “Think you just ruined me,” he murmurs, voice still thick, a slight rasp lingering from the exertion.

His hand reaches down, fingers grazing your shoulder before sliding up to brush against your cheek, his touch unexpectedly gentle as he takes in every inch of you with that slightly dazed, contented gaze.

You smile, a satisfied warmth spreading through you as you sit back, watching him collect himself, looking at him in this quiet, vulnerable moment. “Maybe I just wanted to see if I could,” you reply, voice raspy with an edge of pride. You know the effect you’ve had on him, and the thrill of it lingers in the air between you, sparking like the last remnants of a fire.

Joe chuckles, his fingers trailing lightly along your jaw, then down to your chin, where he tilts your face up to meet his eyes fully. “Oh, trust me,” he says, his gaze darkening again, though now softened with something deeper, “you’ve got me right where you want me.” He leans forward, his lips brushing yours in a soft, almost tender kiss that lingers longer than you expect, as if he wants to savor the moment. He could taste himself on your tongue, making his ego skyrocket.

For a minute, neither of you speaks. There’s just the sound of your breaths mingling, his other hand slips up to tuck a stray piece of hair behind your ear and he gives you this look that makes your heart race all over again, even after everything that just happened.

↳ make sure to check out my navigation or masterlist if you enjoyed! any interaction is greatly appreciated !

↳ thank you for reading all the way through, as always ♡

[lxvsiick]

CUTE PIZZA DELIVERY BOY | KIM LEEHAN X READER

PAIRING: pizza delivery boy! kim leehan x fem! reader

SUMMARY: To thank her friends for helping her move in, Y/n orders them a pizza, not expecting the pizza delivery boy to be super cute -- or in which Leehan fights with his coworker to deliver pizza to Y/n.

GENRE: imagine, fluff

WORDCOUNT: 2.3k

A/N: honestly this isn't my best work :( i wanted to write more but my head is kinda killing me right now and i have to study for 2 midterms :/ anyways, i know nothing about RIIZE but i like anton so is this a sign to get into RIIZE ??

Boxes scattered across the floor, bubble wrap littering every surface, and the scent of new beginnings filled the air in Y/n’s brand-new apartment. Her friends bustled about, helping her organize and unpack her things. Laughter echoed through the space as they joked about where things should go and reminisced about their last get-together. To thank them for their help, she had ordered pizza—a classic move when no one had the energy left to cook.

“Should be here soon,” she said, checking the time on her phone. “Thirty minutes, they said.”

As time ticked closer, the doorbell rang, startling her from where she was stacking dishes in the cupboard. She glanced at her friends. "I'll get it!"

She hurried to the door, wiping her hands on her jeans before opening it. The moment the door swung open, her breath caught. Standing there was the delivery boy—blonde hair tousled perfectly, big brown doe eyes, and a casual, friendly smile playing on his lips. He wore the typical pizza uniform, but something about him felt... different. He was absolutely beautiful.

For a moment, she just stood there, staring at him, her mind drawing a blank. Was this real? Was a guy this cute really delivering her pizza?

“Uh… the total comes to $25.50,” the delivery boy said, his voice snapping her back to reality.

“Oh! Right. Sorry!” she stammered, fumbling into her pocket to grab the money. Her fingers shook slightly as she counted the bills, still thrown off by how utterly gorgeous he was. After what felt like an eternity, she handed him the money.

He smiled warmly, clearly amused by her nervousness but in a sweet, nonjudgmental way. “Thanks for ordering with us! Hope you enjoy it,” he said, his voice kind and light. His smile widened just a bit, giving her a cute, almost shy wave as he turned to leave.

She couldn’t help but watch as he walked away, disappearing around the corner of the hallway. It was only once the door clicked shut behind her that she realized she had been holding her breath. She stood there for a second, pizza in hand, feeling her heart beat just a little faster.

“Everything okay?” Yoon called from the living room.

With a shake of her head, she snapped out of it and walked back to the group, setting the pizza boxes down on the coffee table.

“So…” she started, her voice still a little flustered. “The delivery guy was really cute.”

Her friends immediately perked up, eyes widening. “Wait, what? Cute how? Like, movie star cute or cute cute?” J asked.

“Like, blonde-haired, brown doe eyes, I-thought-I-was-dreaming cute,” she replied, her cheeks flushing slightly as she thought back to his smile.

They burst out laughing, teasing her as they grabbed slices of pizza. “You should’ve gotten his number,” Wonyoung teased.

She shrugged, but the blush on her face gave away that the thought had crossed her mind. Maybe next time, if she was lucky, the same delivery boy would show up.

For now, she tried to focus on her friends and their excitement over the pizza, but her mind kept wandering back to the way the boy had smiled at her—like maybe he had noticed her staring but hadn’t minded at all.

✧˖°ʚ🍓ɞ♡

The soft hum of her phone filled the cozy living room as Y/n scrolled aimlessly through social media. The low lighting from the nearby lamp cast a warm glow on the walls, and the sound of faint music played in the background, but her mind wasn’t really on any of it.

Instead, she kept thinking about him. The cute pizza delivery guy from a few days ago. His tousled blonde hair, the way he’d smiled at her—it kept replaying in her mind. It was silly, really. She had only seen him for a few minutes, but there was something about that moment that stuck with her. Maybe it was the way he had caught her off guard with his unexpected charm. Or maybe it was just the fact that he seemed so sweet.

Her stomach suddenly growled, breaking through her thoughts. With a sigh, she glanced at the time. It was getting late, and she had no energy to cook. A smirk crossed her face as an idea popped into her head. Pizza. Again. And maybe, just maybe, she’d get lucky.

Without hesitating, she picked up her phone and ordered a pizza from the same place as last time. She felt a small rush of excitement—though she wouldn’t admit it—as she tapped ‘confirm order’ and set the phone aside.

Time passed slowly as she lounged on the couch, trying not to get her hopes up. He probably won’t be the one delivering it, she thought, trying to keep herself grounded. It could be anyone.

A knock at the door interrupted her thoughts. Her heart skipped a beat, and she jumped off the couch, quickly making her way to the door. She paused for a second, taking a deep breath before swinging it open.

There he was. Leehan, the blonde pizza delivery guy, stood there, holding the pizza box with the same charming smile that had left her flustered last time.

“Hey,” he said, his voice light and familiar. “Good to see you again.”

Her heart fluttered. She suddenly felt shy, her cheeks heating up as she met his gaze. Why am I acting like this? she thought, trying to compose herself. “H-hi,” she stammered, trying to smile back. “It’s good to see you too.”

He handed her the pizza, and she handed him the money. Their fingers brushed slightly, and she couldn’t help but feel a little spark. She quickly pulled her hand away, pretending to look at the pizza box so she wouldn’t have to meet his eyes.

“So, ordering pizza again, huh?” he teased lightly, his tone playful.

She laughed nervously, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “Yeah… I guess I’m just too lazy to cook.”

“Nothing wrong with that,” he said with a grin. “Pizza’s always a good choice.”

They stood there for a moment, the silence between them stretching, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. She wanted to say more, ask him something, but the words wouldn’t come. Instead, she just smiled, feeling her heart race in her chest.

“Well,” he said, breaking the silence, “I better get going. Enjoy your pizza.” He hesitated for a second, his eyes lingering on her before he turned to leave. “Maybe I’ll see you again sometime.”

“Yeah, maybe,” she replied softly, watching him as he walked down the hallway.

As the door closed behind her, she leaned against it, letting out a deep breath. She couldn’t stop the smile that spread across her face as she headed back to the couch, pizza in hand. Something told her this wasn’t the last time they’d cross paths.

✧˖°ʚ🍓ɞ♡

It had been a few days since Y/n had ordered pizza, and once again, her laziness got the best of her. She scrolled through her phone, contemplating what to eat, and in the end, her craving won. She ordered pizza from the same place, as she secretly hoped Leehan would be the one delivering it again.

As she waited, her mind wandered back to their last interaction. The way he smiled at her, how casual but sweet their conversation was. Her heart fluttered just thinking about it. Could he really be interested in me? she wondered, though she didn’t want to get ahead of herself.

A knock on the door jolted her out of her thoughts. Her heart raced with excitement, and she practically jumped off the couch. But as she approached the door, she noticed something odd—there were multiple hushed voices behind it. She raised an eyebrow in confusion, curiosity piqued. What’s going on?

She opened the door, and to her surprise, there stood Leehan holding a pizza box with a nervous smile on his face. Behind him, five of his coworkers—who clearly weren’t trying hard to hide their grins—stood bunched together like they were witnessing the most exciting thing to ever happen. The whole scene was unexpected, to say the least.

"Uh… hey," he said, laughing nervously. "So... this is a bit awkward."

Her eyes widened in surprise, still taking in the sight of him and his grinning entourage. "What's... going on?"

With a sheepish chuckle, Leehan lifted the pizza box and slowly opened it, revealing a pizza in the shape of a rose. The crust curled up in delicate petals, and she couldn’t help but smile at the creativity. It was adorable, and it was then that she realized this wasn’t just any pizza delivery.

"I, uh... I thought you were cute the first time I delivered to your place," he admitted, looking more and more embarrassed as he went on. "I was planning to ask you out tonight, but while I was making the pizza, these five idiots," he gestured toward his coworkers, "got nosy and insisted on coming along. So, here we are."

His friends gave an encouraging thumbs-up from behind him, clearly enjoying the whole situation.

She laughed, the tension in the air dissolving. "Are you serious? You made a pizza rose?" She couldn't stop the grin spreading across her face. "And brought your entire fan club with you?"

Leehan rubbed the back of his neck, his smile growing. "Yeah... I guess I did. But, uh, if you think it's too weird, you can just pretend this never happened."

Still smiling, she glanced at the pizza and then back at him, warmth spreading through her chest. "No, I don’t think it’s weird at all. In fact, it’s kind of cute."

He exhaled, clearly relieved by her response. "So... does that mean you'll accept my pizza rose and, uh, maybe my confession too?"

She giggled, the sweetness of the moment overwhelming her. "How could I say no to a pizza rose?"

His friends erupted into quiet cheers behind him, and he gave her a genuine smile, stepping closer to hand over the pizza box.

“Then... maybe we can go out sometime? Without the peanut gallery?” he asked, shooting a playful glare at his friends, who were still buzzing with excitement.

"I’d love that," she said, taking the pizza rose from him. "But seriously, next time, lose the backup dancers."

They both laughed, and as she stood there with the pizza in her hands and a flutter in her heart, she couldn’t help but feel like this was the start of something wonderful.

✧˖°ʚ🍓ɞ♡

FLASHBACK 

The pizza place was bustling, as usual, with orders coming in left and right. Leehan was wiping down the counter when one of his friends and coworkers, Taesan, glanced at the screen and smirked.

"Yo, another order from Y/n’s place," Taesan said, casually pointing to the order ticket.

Immediately, Leehan’s head snapped up, his heart skipping a beat at the sound of her name. He’d been waiting for this. It was the same excitement he felt every time she ordered pizza, knowing he might get the chance to see her again. Before he could react, though, Jaehyun chimed in.

"I’ll take this one," Jaehyun said, stepping forward as if he was already claiming the delivery. "Might as well give her a little variety, y'know?"

Leehan immediately stood up from the counter, frowning. "Whoa, hold on. What do you mean you’ll take it?"

Jaehyun grinned, enjoying this far too much. "She sees your face all the time, Leehannie. Maybe she needs a break from the usual."

Leehan shot him a glare, stepping closer. "No way. I’m delivering this one."

Taesan leaned against the counter, clearly entertained. "What’s the big deal? It’s just a delivery."

Leehan felt the heat rising in his cheeks but kept his cool. "Yeah, but—"

Jaehyun cut him off with a smirk. "Oh, come on. Admit it, man. You just want to see that cute girl again. What’s her name? Y/n, right?"

The rest of their coworkers nearby started to perk up, sensing the brewing argument. Riwoo let out a low whistle, fully aware of the crush Leehan had developed on the pizza-loving girl.

Leehan crossed his arms. "And what if I do?"

Jaehyun’s smirk widened. "Then maybe I should deliver it and, y'know, ask her out for you. Save you the trouble."

"Oh, no way." Leehan narrowed his eyes. "You wouldn’t."

"Try me." Jaehyun grabbed the delivery bag, making a move toward the door.

Without thinking, Leehan lunged forward, blocking him. "Over my dead body."

Taesan, now thoroughly enjoying the show, chuckled. "Wow, this is really happening, huh? Fighting over a pizza delivery. I’ve seen it all now."

At this point, half the staff was watching, holding back laughter as the two friends faced off like it was the battle of the century.

"Seriously, man. I got this," Leehan insisted, his voice rising in intensity. "I’ve been delivering to her every time. She knows me. I can't break the streak."

Jaehyun folded his arms, tilting his head. "Or maybe you’re just chicken."

That did it.

"Chicken?!" Leehan exclaimed. "You know what? Fine. Let’s settle this." He motioned dramatically to the pizza oven. "Rock, paper, scissors. Best two out of three."

Jaehyun raised an eyebrow but couldn’t help grinning. "You’re on."

The crowd of employees grew, forming a loose circle around them, eager to witness the showdown.

"On three," Leehan said, both of them raising their fists.

"One, two, three—" they called out in unison.

The first round went to Leehan with rock over scissors. The second round went to Jaehyun with paper over rock. By the third round, the tension was palpable, coworkers holding their breath.

"One, two, three—"

Leehan threw scissors.

Jaehyun threw paper.

The room erupted in cheers and groans as Leehan pumped his fist in the air, triumphant. "Yes!"

Jaehyun let out a defeated sigh but couldn’t help laughing at the ridiculousness of it all. "Fine, fine. The pizza’s yours, Romeo."

Leehan grabbed the delivery bag with a grin, already imagining seeing Y/n again. "You bet it is."

As he headed toward the door, he heard Taesan call after him, "Good luck, man. Don’t screw it up!"

With a final glance over his shoulder, Leehan smirked. "I got this."

And with that, he walked out the door, ready for his next chance with the girl who unknowingly had him wrapped around her finger.

✧˖°ʚ🍓ɞ♡

MASTERLIST

© ALL RIGHTS RESERVED, lxvsiick, 2024

[leeechin]

☆ piano player bf sunghoon ! (18+!!!) 🎹 🎼 🎧

warnings: nonidol!au, sunghoon plays the piano, semi public sex, fingering (f.rec), sunghoon fingers reader infront of his piano lol, pet names (hoonie, baby, sweetheart), lowercase intended, dom! hoon x sub!reader, unprotected sex (wrap it before tapping), slight unrealistic writing of the piano (?), barely any plot again, sorry.

word count: ( 1.6k )

♡ masterlist

you're getting ready to leave your shared apartment with sunghoon, he was in the middle of his last piano lesson he gave to kids. you were so excited to see your boyfriend after many hours, today being one of the few days your work gave you a day off. and you were going to make sure every second of this day would be spent with sunghoon.

sending your boyfriend a quick text that you were on the way, grabbing your keys from the key bowl you and sunghoon had, walking down the stairs to your car.

you felt so giddy once you arrived at sunghoon's work, greeting his co workers and going to the room he was teaching, knowing that he was now wrapping up the lesson.

you opened the door to see sunghoon shuffling thru the neat pile of music notes, placing them into a folder and handing it to the kid he just finished the lesson with.

the kid looks up to you, a huge grin splayed across her face. you give her a smile in return. "sunghoon is this your girlfriend?" the girl asks, sunghoon nods in response. the girl turning her attention back to you. "you’re so pretty! like a princess!" she compliments. you give your a boyfriend a joyful look as he grins widely at you in return. sunghoon gets up from his seat, bringing the folder of organized music sheets inside, handing it to the little girl. "practice the first two sheets and we'll work on more the next time i see you."

"okay! see you sunghoon and princess girlfriend!" the girl exclaims. you smile again at what the little girl called you. sunghoon moves next to you one arm wrapping around your waist to pull you closer. "see you next week hana." sunghoon bidding his goodbye for the week.

looking up to the opened door, the receptionist guiding hana back to the main lobby. "you have no more lessons for the day." she says. "alright. i'm staying behind for a bit. i wanna show y/n a little piece of mine i composed." sunghoon says, the receptionist nodding in return, closing the door behind her.

you turn to face sunghoon, body still in his embrace. placing a small kiss on his lips. "composed a little something for you." sunghoon murmurs against your lips, giving you another quick before pulling away.

"i'm all ears hoonie." you respond, watching as your boyfriend moved towards the piano.

you drank in the sight of him in his white button up shirt and black trouser. it was so simple but looked so good on him, the sleeves slightly rolled up showing his muscly arms. you thank his friends for pushing him to go to gym more often. and you couldn’t even get started on his hands, thinking about all the he's wrapped them around your throat, how his long slender fingers stuffed in you so deep everytime he fingered you.

sunghoon placed his finger on the keys of the piano, noticing how you've been gazing his hands a little too long. you swear you came to visit your boyfriend with no intentions but wanting to spend time with him, it was just too hard to resist how hot your boyfriend when he's playing the piano.

"focus elsewhere? you like the piano?" sunghoon teases. "what piano?" you respond quickly, snapping out of your trance once you've realized what you said.

sunghoon laughs at your realization, gesturing for you to stand a bit closer to his piano. "cmon baby focus. i'll give you what you want after this." testing out the keys with a quickly melody before starting to play the piece he composed. the beautiful sounds of the piano filling the room.

"fuck baby you're gonna have to be quiet for me." sunghoon murmurs against the skin of your neck. off key sounds of the piano fill the room as you hold onto it, your hands occasionally crashing onto it whenever you lift your hands. sunghoon has two of his long slender fingers stuffed deep into your pussy, going in and out of you at a relentless pace.

sunghoon brings his hand that’s been resting over your tit to the piano keys, playing a little composition, attempting to cover up the fact that he's two fingers deep in you. "feels so good hoonie." you whine biting your bottom lip so hard to suppress any moans leaving your mouth. "shit baby gotta have you ride my face one day." sunghoon grunts. a loud gasp escapes your lips when sunghoon adds a third finger. he's quick to bring his hand that's been playing the piano to cover your mouth.

"be a good girl for me. you don't want anybody to walk in seeing me stretch out your cunt with my fingers do you sweetheart?" you whine a yes against his hand, a smirk plastered on sunghoon's at the sight of you.

you were seated on his lap, back leaning against his front, slightly arched from how sunghoon was fingering you. tears streaming down your face from the sensation. baby tee slightly wrinkly up from sunghoon's hand going under it earlier, gray pleated skirt bunched out with your panties pulled to the side.

it was such a mess, you were such a mess. a couple of sunghoon's music sheets scattered on the floor. it was all too good for neither of the two of you to care. your boyfriend now three fingers deep in you. clouds were starting to fill your vision, you swear that you were in heaven. throwing your head back when sunghoon's fingertips hit that one spot that turned your legs into jelly.

"are you close baby?" sunghoon asks, picking up his pace, moving his thumb on the hand that was fingering you to rub your clit to add on to the stimulation.

trusting you to not make any sounds as he removed his hand that was covering your mouth to go under your shirt again, grabbing and resting on one of your tips, messily fondling with the bra strap to where it was sliding down your shoulder. "yes." you whine.

your words were soft as you were quick to take your bottom lip under your upper lip trying to fulfill your boyfriend's requests of no sounds. i mean after all, you guys were in the room he uses to teach people the piano!

"shit baby i can feel you clenching so tight around my fingers." sunghoon murmurs, kisses peppering around your nape. the faint melody of one of his hands playing the piano again. you start to let out soft noises, lucky that the piano keys were covering the sounds.

"m' cumming hoonie! please!" you throw your head back against his shoulder, hands crashing forward on the piano keys, sunghoon shushes you, slowing down his pace as your orgasm hits you, body slightly shaking.

"you did so good for me sweetheart, such pretty sounds you make too." sunghoon praises, the sound of him sucking his fingers that were covered in your release. he groaned at the sweet taste of you. standing you up infront of his piano, turning you around to place a kiss on your lips, you moaned against sunghoon's lips at the taste of you, moving your hands to unbutton a couple buttons of his shirt.

sunghoon's quick to pull away from your guys' kiss, carefully closing the top that covered his piano keys, turning you around. your hands landed over the cover, bent over his piano. you push your hips back, ass wiggling cutely. "hoonie wanna feel you inside." you beg, feeling his large hands hold your hips to keep you in place. "gonna have to be quick sweetheart." he grunts, pulling down his trousers just enough for his dick to spring out.

giving his cock a few tugs before aligning his tip to your entrance, sunghoon hisses when when he pushes in, immediately feeling how your velvety walls sucked in and clenched around his length. forgetting what your boyfriend told you, a loud moan escapes your lips at the feeling of sunghoon bottoming out, every inch of him filled deep into your messy pussy.

"gotta be quiet baby." sunghoon reminds you, stuffing two fingers in your mouth to suppress any sounds. your eyes half lidded and rolling back as sunghoon fastened his pace, mercilessly pounding deep into your cunt. you push your hips back wanting more of sunghoon. a harsh slap is delivered across your ass, making you moan against sunghoon's digits in your mouth.

sunghoon's hand on your hip holds you tightly as he continued slamming into you, sounds of his hips hitting against your ass filled the room, with your muffled cries and moans. you guys sure were hoping no one was hearing the two of you outside of the door.

"baby m' gonna cum, finish with me like the good girl you are." sunghoon says, finishing deep inside your fluttering cunt as he slowed down his pace stilling inside of you. that triggered your release to follow shortly after, a few tears dragging down your face at the intense orgasm.

your boyfriend helps you place your panties back in place properly, pulling your skirt down so that it was covering your ass again. he turned you around wiped your tear streaked face before fixing himself up again, also tidying up the scattered music sheets on the floor.

you pull sunghoon for a loving kiss. "you don’t think they heard us right?" you ask, "don’t think so." sunghoon responded. the two of guys agreed to that, knowing deep inside you guys didn’t try as hard to contain the sounds.

walking down the hallway hand in hand, you and sunghoon run into sunoo. both you and sunghoon being stopped in your tracks. sunoo throws you two a disgusted look, covering both of his ears dramatically.

"you guys are lucky that kid was the last person of the day for a lesson! my poor ears!"

[paceprompting]

one silver ring

written for ‘gift’ | wc: 1000 # | steddie | rated: t | cw: no warnings apply | tags: established relationship, eddie munson's rings, lazy mornings, domestic steddie, musician eddie,

@steddieholidaydrabbles

Eddie didn’t want to leave Steve behind.

Three years ago, they’ve gotten the hell out of Hawkins and gone with Robin to Chicago

It had been the three of them for a while now—him and Steve most of all, with Robin focused on her degree. They’d shared a room strictly to avoid being stuck with a three-bedroom apartment’s rent—and then because, somehow, Steve found Eddie’s gremlin brain and organized chaos endearing enough to want to do more than just sleeping.

And Eddie never had to explain why his nightmares terrified him too much to go back to sleep—a rare occurrence now, but almost worse because of it when they came back.

But it was a tour. Corroded Coffin’s tour. They needed to do it to build on the momentum of the album. Cross-country, multiple shows a week, for six months.

All without Steve.

Eddie loved the band. Gareth, Jeff and Freak had all stuck around through the terror and chaos of spring break in ‘86. Somehow, they’d agreed that going to Chicago to try for their big break was actually a good idea.

Steve was thinking about going to school. Once Robin was finished, and it would still be only one person who needed to cut back to a part-time job. Maybe a teaching degree.

The advance from the band’s label definitely helped. Enough to cover their rent through Robin’s graduation and months beyond for a while. Now all Eddie had to do was follow through and travel across the country playing his music night after night.

Steve groaned softly in his sleep, turning over to face Eddie. His hand shuffled blindly up the mattress to Eddie’s thigh, his large palm spread across Eddie’s bare skin. It shifted upwards, stopped by his stomach. Brows furrowed, Steve opened his eyes.

Blearily, he took in that Eddie was sat up on their bed instead of passed out haphazardly across most of the mattress.

“What time is it?” he mumbled half into his pillow.

Eddie glanced at the alarm clock on Steve’s side. It didn’t fare well when it was on Eddie’s. Not if they wanted it to work after one alarm.

“Before eight.”

Steve had to check for himself, sitting up onto his elbows. He looked back to Eddie. “What are you doing up?”

“Just thinking.” Eddie shrugged. “Start of the tour’s coming soon.”

Steve nudged him, raising his brows. “You excited?”

He’d practically jumped Steve when he got the call that it was all happening—literally jumped him. Steve had barely gotten his arms around Eddie when he’d leapt at him, they’d gone crashing to the floor.

“Sorta.”

Steve stared at Eddie’s profile, what wasn’t hidden by his hair. The bed creaked as he rose onto his knees and resettled beside Eddie’s, shoulders pressed together. “What’s wrong?”

Steve was warm from being underneath the blankets, even through his t-shirt. It was hit or miss right now in the summer, but Eddie practically glued himself to Steve’s side during the unforgiving Chicago winters.

Eddie bit at his bottom lip, pulling gently at the rings on his left hand. Moving them up to his knuckle and then back down to the base of his fingers.

“I want to give you something.”

“A gift? Not a usual occasion.” Steve wiggled closer, tucking his head onto Eddie’s shoulder.

“For my going away,” Eddie clarified. With a half-hearted laugh, he added. “I don’t want you forgetting about me after six months, do I?”

“I think you have that backwards, Eds,” Steve teased with a kiss to the side of his face.

Steve slid one arm around Eddie’s middle, pulling him close. Eddie hadn’t realized how much he needed the touch until he leaned back against Steve’s chest, the tense air in his chest leaving him.

“Just,” Eddie paused, working the ring off his index finger. He reached for Steve’s free hand, bringing it around in front of them, palm facing up. “Here.”

He fit it onto Steve’s thumb, the bulky, silver cross ring only reaching the first knuckle. A size too small.

Steve huffed his laughter into Eddie’s hair, bring his other hand up to test his other fingers until the ring found a home on his own index finger, the same place where Eddie wore it.

“Perfect,” Steve murmured, twisting his hand to examine his new adornment.

It was anything but perfect for Steve—who still preferred his polos and Henleys in every color except black. But Eddie wasn’t sure he would ask for it back after the tour.

“I’m going to miss you.”

Steve wrapped his arms around him, squeezing with a gently hum. “After hours playing your music, hearing thousands chant your name, you’re not going to be thinking about me. Not to mention being exhausted from all the traveling.”

Eddie couldn’t believe Steve thought he was the reason their pairing was strange. Eddie should never have snuck under Steve’s radar, and yet Steve never asked him to leave.

“You’re going to be in my every spare thought, babe.”

There was a second where neither of them said anything, and Eddie closed his eyes to bask in Steve’s warmth.

“You going to dedicate a song to me?” Steve asked, nosing Eddie’s hair out of the way to nip at the shell of his ear. Only God and Eddie knew how many Corroded Coffin songs had been written while Eddie pined for his roommate—not to mention the explicit ballads that had come after their dancing around each other while having sex phase.

Some of those had needed a rewrite.

“Maybe.”

“Which one?” Steve pitched his voice low, and Eddie shivered. Steve slid his hand underneath Eddie’s shirt, teasing up and up until he grazed Eddie’s sensitive chest.

“God, fuck, all of them.”

Steve held him tight to keep Eddie from squirming, his chuckle low in his chest.

“Thank you for the ring, sweetheart,” he said, slowly tipping them back onto the bed and climbing over Eddie to see how the ring looking tangled in his curls.

[clarii]

Pretty Girl

Summary: After months of teasing and playful banter, Eddie Munson finally reveals his true feelings for the reader. What starts as typical teasing with his affectionate nickname, “pretty girl,” soon turns into something much deeper. Everything gets revealed on New Year’s Eve.

Pairings: Eddie Munson x Reader

Warnings: Fluff

Author’s Note: I wanted to thank you guys for the love by publishing a story connecting with New Year’s Eve in a way. Also, the last phrase had me thinking about High School Musical (if you know, you know).

It was just another regular day at Family Video, the hum of the fluorescent lights and the smell of popcorn from the break room filling the space. You were shelving some newly returned movies when you heard the door’s familiar jingle. You didn’t even have to look up to know who it was.

Eddie Munson.

You had worked here for months, and every time Eddie came in, it was the same routine. He’d walk in with his usual dramatic flair—his leather jacket hanging loosely around his shoulders, his wild hair a little more out of place than usual—and head straight for the counter, grinning like he had a secret.

You didn’t mind, though. Eddie was a good friend, and you’d grown used to his antics. That’s why you couldn’t help but smirk when he called out to you across the store.

“Hey, pretty girl!” His voice rang through the aisles as he casually walked toward you, his eyes locking with yours.

You rolled your eyes, trying not to smile. “Hey, Munson,” you called back, continuing your work. “What’s the deal? Come to rent the latest slasher flick again?”

Eddie leaned against the counter, his eyes not leaving you for a second. “Nah, I’m here for more than just the movies.” He gave a little wink. “But I’ll take something to pass the time.”

You raised an eyebrow, holding back a chuckle. “You’re always here for something else,” you teased, your voice light. “Got any new drama to share?”

Eddie pushed himself off the counter and walked over to one of the shelves, pretending to browse the titles, though you could tell he wasn’t really looking for anything. “Just the usual chaos. You know, the kind that makes life a lot more interesting.”

His tone was playful, but there was a hint of something else in his voice. Something softer. You caught it but brushed it off. It was Eddie, after all—always a little too loud, always joking, always teasing.

He paused in front of a horror movie box, turning to face you, a grin on his face. “By the way, you look extra cute today. What’s the occasion?”

You froze, your fingers momentarily pausing in the middle of organizing. “What, now you’re complimenting me?” you asked, your tone light but trying to cover up the flutter of nerves in your stomach.

Eddie just leaned in a little, his voice quieter, his eyes softer than before. “I mean it, pretty girl. You always look good, but today… damn, you’re really shining.”

You couldn’t help the heat that rose to your cheeks, and you quickly shifted the conversation. “Just doing my job, Eddie,” you said, shuffling some DVDs around to distract yourself.

Eddie chuckled, walking away to grab a movie. “Whatever you say, pretty girl.” He shot you one last grin before heading to the counter to check out.

Steve and Robin, who were manning the counter together, exchanged a knowing glance as Eddie left. You could tell they were waiting for you to say something, but you just shrugged it off.

“Don’t even start,” you said, rolling your eyes.

Steve leaned on the counter, his smirk not even trying to hide itself. “What’s up with him calling you that? He never calls anyone ‘pretty girl.’”

Robin chimed in, her voice teasing. “Yeah, what’s going on? Is there something you two aren’t telling us?”

You could feel your cheeks burning, but you laughed it off. “It’s nothing. It’s just Eddie being Eddie. He calls everyone weird pet names. He’s harmless, trust me.”

Steve didn’t seem convinced, but he didn’t press the issue. Robin, however, was eyeing you carefully, clearly still a little skeptical.

“Whatever you say,” she said, but there was an underlying tone of curiosity in her voice.

The next day at school, you tried to shake off the awkwardness from last night. But it didn’t help that every time you saw Eddie, your heart skipped a beat. As you walked through the halls of Hawkins High, you heard that familiar voice call your name.

“Hey, pretty girl!”

You turned around, and there he was again—Eddie, standing a few feet away, leaning against the lockers with that same devil-may-care grin on his face. Your stomach flipped.

“Can’t you just call me my name like a normal person?” you joked, trying to mask the warmth creeping up your neck.

Eddie laughed, pushing off the lockers and walking toward you, his hands tucked into the pockets of his jacket. “Where’s the fun in that?” His voice was light and teasing, but you noticed the slight softness in his expression as he reached you.

“You doing anything fun after school?” he asked casually, his gaze lingering on you a little longer than usual.

You shrugged, trying to ignore the way your heart was beating faster than usual. “I don’t know. Probably just hang out, catch up on homework.” You tried to keep your tone casual, but something in Eddie’s smile made you feel like he could see right through you.

He took a step closer, his grin widening. “Well, I was thinking of hitting up the arcade with the gang later. You should come.”

You hesitated, a part of you wanting to brush it off, but another part of you—one that you tried to ignore—wanted to say yes.

“Maybe,” you said with a shrug. “I’ll think about it.”

Eddie’s grin softened, and he leaned down a little, his voice lowering. “Alright, pretty girl. Just know the invitation’s always open.”

That night, the gang—Mike, Dustin, Lucas, Erica, Steve, Robin, Eddie, and you—were all at the arcade, the familiar noise of flashing lights and game sounds filling the air. You were having fun, laughing with everyone, but you couldn’t shake the feeling that Eddie was paying a little extra attention to you. He kept leaning in close, making sure his hand brushed against yours when he passed you the soda, shooting you that same playful grin.

“Hey, pretty girl, you wanna go for the high score on this one?” Eddie called over to you as he stepped up to the pinball machine, a wicked gleam in his eyes.

You rolled your eyes, a grin tugging at the corners of your mouth. “You know I’ll beat you, right?”

He laughed, shaking his head. “We’ll see about that.”

You were starting to feel the weight of those words. The teasing, the smiles, the way he would call you “pretty girl” so casually—it wasn’t just joking anymore. You could tell he meant it, but you still weren’t sure what that meant.

Just before midnight, everyone gathered at the Wheeler’s house to get ready for the New Year. Music was playing, everyone chatting about the year gone by, but your mind kept drifting back to Eddie. He was sitting next to you, his knee brushing against yours, his usual teasing smile softened into something warmer.

“Hey, pretty girl,” Eddie murmured quietly, his voice low and almost shy as he leaned in close, his breath warm against your ear. “May I have a kiss?”

Your heart stopped. You froze, unsure of how to respond. This wasn’t like the usual teasing. This wasn’t just Eddie being Eddie. There was sincerity in his voice, a softness that you couldn’t ignore.

You swallowed hard, your nerves kicking into high gear. “I thought you were just messing with me,” you whispered, your voice shaky.

Eddie smiled gently, brushing a stray lock of hair behind your ear. “I’m not. I’ve meant it for a while now.”

Your breath hitched as the realization sank in. All those times he had called you “pretty girl,” the teasing, the little moments of closeness—it wasn’t just a joke. Eddie had been serious, and you had missed it.

Without saying another word, you leaned in, your lips meeting his in a soft kiss, the world around you fading away.

The kiss had left you breathless, your heart racing as you pulled away, trying to comprehend the sudden shift in everything. Eddie’s gaze never left you, his expression soft and filled with that same warmth you hadn’t noticed before. His hand, still lingering near your cheek, brushed your hair back as though it were a natural thing to do. But the world around you felt like it had gone still, leaving just the two of you in this quiet, suspended moment.

“Pretty girl,” Eddie whispered again, his voice a little more hushed now. “I’ve been waiting to do that for so long.”

You blinked, trying to find the words to respond, but they got stuck in your throat.

You felt a gentle pressure on your hand as Eddie, sensing your hesitation, took your fingers in his, his grip firm but not forceful. His thumb brushed over your knuckles, a silent reassurance.

“Are you okay?” Eddie asked softly, his eyes searching yours, as though he were afraid that maybe he’d made a mistake.

You nodded slowly, still processing everything. 

Before you could speak, the sound of voices from the rest of the group interrupted, pulling you both back to the present. The kids were huddled together near the TV, Steve and Robin not far off, watching the countdown to the new year.

“Well, looks like everyone’s about to make their New Year’s resolutions,” you said with a small smile, trying to shift your focus. But Eddie’s gaze didn’t leave yours.

“Pretty girl,” he murmured again, his voice filled with affection, “you’ve already got me making my resolution. Just you.”

You chuckled, feeling the warmth spread through you again. “You’re hopeless, you know that?”

Eddie grinned, leaning in just a bit closer, his lips brushing your ear. “Hopelessly in love with you, pretty girl.”

Your heart skipped at the words, but before you could respond, the countdown began, and everyone around you started to cheer. The noise around you rose as the ball dropped, the sound of “Happy New Year!” ringing in your ears.

“Three… two… one!”

And just as the clock struck midnight, you found yourself pulled into another kiss—this time, longer, more confident, and filled with something deeper than just the spark of the new year. You could feel Eddie’s heart beating against yours, his hand resting gently on your waist as you kissed him back, your nerves dissipating with every passing second.

When you pulled back, your foreheads touched, both of you breathing heavily from the kiss, but smiling widely. “Happy New Year, pretty girl,” Eddie whispered, his voice low and filled with meaning.

“I love you too. Happy New Year, Eddie,” you replied softly, the words carrying a weight you hadn’t expected, a promise that maybe this was more than just a new year—it was the start of something new.

[fbfh]

makey makeover - rodrick x hyperfeminine reader

wc: 1.5k

pairing: rodrick x gn hyperfeminine!reader

warnings: rodrick isn't used to being taken care of but only briefly mentioned at the end, rodrick does not know what hyaluronic acid is

summary: rodrick can never say no to you, but if it means having you straddle his lap while you use all your skincare products on him and listen to music together, he wouldn't want to say no anyway.

song recs: makey makeover - crazy ex girlfriend cast, jesus of suburbia - green day, perfect day - hoku

a/n: I started writing a kids book yesterday?? like I finished the first chapter and outline in one sitting???? it wasn't at all planned but when the muse strikes yk. Anyway I don't think it will take me as long to write so if you wanna read a chapter book about magic and girlhood and unicorns and other mythical creatures with bella sara vibes that's probs gonna be ready reasonably soon lol

tags: @yesv01 @magcon7280 @dustyinkpages @the-snake-pit @kiara7777 @inthehoneymoonwithconnorrk800 @followingthefanfiction @2220825 @Maggzsworld @xiaos_crustytoenails @ionlymadethisaccountbcihadto @strawberryjen124 @Isaentremundos @hxnbah

Rodrick likes to think he's a pretty tough guy. Between being born and raised on the rebellious messages of pop punk music, and the nonconforming ideologies of emo and other alt subcultures, Rodrick knows in his bones that he'll never let the man break his spirit. He'll never bow down to someone just because they want him to do something. He's had countless opportunities to stand by these beliefs at school and at home, and he has never - not once - come close to doing anything for someone simply because they want him to. Rodrick has been confident in his ability to never give into other people’s orders, no matter how much they demand of him. 

Until now.

“Pretty please, Roddy…?” You pout your glossy lips at him, blinking up at him and batting your doll like eyelashes, and that’s all it takes to make him fold.

“...I guess, if you really-” He’s cut off by an excited squeal from you, and he’s glad that you’re too distracted to notice him blush. Rodrick has never felt his willpower give in so fast, but as he watches you rush around your room and smile, delighted that he’d agreed, he realizes that he’d do pretty much anything you tell him too. Ben and Chris would call him a pussywhipped simp, but… no, that’s pretty much it. He chuckles a little at the thought, watching the pile of stuff grow. He recognizes nail polish and tweezers, but that’s about it.

“Thank you thank you thank you!” You say, rambling happily as you settle down on your bed across from him. “I’ve been wanting to do self care stuff but I’ve done so many everything showers and self care nights there’s nothing left for me to do on myself. But you…”

You take his face in your manicured hands, moving him around to inspect more closely.

“You are in serious need of a facial.”

Rodrick doesn’t really process what you’re saying, he just loves when you touch his face like that. 

“...Uh, yeah totally.” He mutters absentmindedly, distracted by your sweet smell. After a moment, he processes what you said, and chuckles, leaning back into your silky pink pillows. “Babe, you can do anything to me, anywhere, anytime.” 

You giggle, feeling your face flush a little as you get all your stuff organized. Rodrick runs his hands up and down your waist, fidgeting with your soft fluffy pajama shorts and big loded diper shirt you wear all the time. He sees the little burn marks and worn out hems and realizes it’s the one you stole from him. He smiles softly, loving the way you look in it even more now. His attention is pulled back to you when you push something over his face, brushing his hair back. You adjust the fluffy cat ears on the headband, making sure you have access to his whole face. Rodrick giggles a little, knowing he must look a little out of place wearing a pierce the veil shirt and fluffy kitty cat headband. 

“I don’t think my forehead has been this exposed since like, 4th grade…” he chuckles.

“That’s good, you’ll have less sun damage that way.” You smile, putting some micellar water on a cotton pad. It’s a little cold to the touch, but after a moment, the feeling of you gently wiping over his face and neck ends up being way more relaxing than he had expected it to. You throw it away, and he hears it land in your trash can with a crinkle. 

“I’m gonna mist your face now, okay?” You say, and he nods. You spray rose water on his face, and Rodrick can’t get over how considerate you are to give him a heads up like that. Rodrick smiles a little as he adjusts to the subtle floral smelling facial spray he’s used to smelling on you. He basks in the quietness of your room, opening his eyes as he watches you sitting on his stomach and looking for the next product. You hesitate for a moment. You feel like something’s missing, but you can’t put your finger on it.

“Oh,” you say, reaching for your phone as you remember. You open up Spotify, and put your favorite playlist on shuffle - the one you and Roddy share. It’s full of both your favorite songs, mostly boiling down to early 2000’s pop punk and trashy pop. It’s chaotic but really does suit you both perfectly.  Rodrick smiles suddenly as he instantly recognizes the opening notes of Jesus of Suburbia begin to play. You take out your favorite serum, jasmine and blackberry hydrating jelly, and place a few drops around his face. 

“What’s that one?” Rodrick asks, picking up another bottle. 

“Hyaluronic acid.”

Rodrick looks at the little dropper bottle.

“Does it, like, melt the flesh right off your bones?” 

“No…?” You chuckle, massaging his cheekbones and jawline with your fingertips.

“Then why is it called hydroponic acid?” He asks rhetorically, “Acid is supposed to melt shit.”

You laugh again, and he makes a mental note to sample your laughter for a song at some point in the future. He doesn’t know which one yet, but he knows it will be his best one yet. 

You rub some cooling aloe vera gel into his skin, then take out your rose quartz gua sha stone. You tap your fingertips against his chest, and he looks at you with an amused smile.

“What does that do?”

He watches you work, eyes locked on you. He can’t remember the last time he felt this relaxed and peaceful. 

“I’m prepping your lymphatic drainage system.” 

That clarified absolutely nothing for Rodrick, but he trusts you implicitly. You’re so good at so many things, but Christ, you could write a book on all that girly beauty stuff. It’s way more hardcore than people think it is. You know about all these acids and drainage systems and the pink rock thing, and even though he’s impressed, he’s not at all surprised by how good you are at all this stuff.

You begin gently gliding your gua sha over Roddy’s skin, working from his forehead down to his neck and jawline. He stops talking as you work, and it’s like you melt all of the stress out of his body through his face. He could fall asleep with you touching him so gently like this. After a while you rub some more cream into his face, then place something under his eyes that feels like thinly sliced jello.

“What the fuck?” He asks, bringing another laugh out of you. He watches you take two more of the weird jelly things and put them under your own eyes.

“They’re under eye masks.” You answer with a chuckle. “They hydrate your skin, depuff, and get rid of dark circles.”

“Huh…” he hums in response, playing with the patches as they sit on his face. 

Once you’ve used half your arsenal of skincare products on him, you peel off his sheet mask and let him sit up. You hand him a mirror, and as he sits up and stretches a little, kind of wishing you had more to do, he feels like he just woke up from the best sleep of his life. 

“So? What do you think?” You ask excitedly. He can’t help but crack a smile at how cute you are. Rodrick takes the mirror you offer him. When he sees his reflection, he almost doesn’t recognize himself. 

“Oh my god…” he says with a soft smile. He’s glowing. He doesn’t think he’s ever looked this soft and moisturized and… cared for before. He doesn’t even have any crusty eyeliner from yesterday smudged around his eyes. He can never get it off all the way, but one wave of your magic wand, and it’s gone. He laughs again, touching his cheek. He looks up at you in surprise.

“My face is so smooth…” “I know!” You exclaim in delight. “So, do you like facials after all?”

You have a feeling you already know the answer, but Rodrick looks up at you anyway.

“Yeah,” he states, pulling you in for a kiss, his lips soft and exfoliated, topped with your favorite strawberry lip balm. You think Rodrick is right, it does taste better in a kiss. After he pulls away, it takes him a minute for his brain to stop short circuiting. 

“So… uh, are we doing this again next weekend?” 

You laugh at his hopeful tone of voice, how he raises his eyebrows a little. 

“Yeah.” You nod, taking him in for another kiss. You take his hands in yours, looking at the stick and poke tattoo he got of the heart you drew on his hand in chemistry class, his little calluses from drumming. “Next week I can do something about your cuticles.”

[latin5mamii]

Backstage -Jude Bellingham

|WARNINGS: cute and fluff |AUTHOR'S NOTE:inspired by remmysthings request (Jude Bellingham xSinger reader) |SUMMARY:You couldn't imagine that the world's best footballer had a little crush on you..

“She’s beautiful, isn’t she?”Jude says to his friends while watching you perform, almost

enchanted by your skill and beauty. You were called to perform in a stadium, where all the celebrities would be there to watch you.

"She's also very good, I mean look at her-" 

"Jude, please stop.Just confess to her already" says his friend, Erling, poor guy, he just wanted to hear some good music but unfortunately he happened to be sitting next to Jude.

"How about next time you make a sign that says 'Y/N I love you'?" Trent says jokingly, lightly slapping Jude's cheek.

Before Jude could reply, the crowd erupted into applause as your performance came to an end. With a final bow and a gracious smile, you left the stage to the thunderous applause of thousands.

“We have to go to the fucking backstage and you have to congratulate, and maybe, even exchange numbers”Trent’s idea was approved by Erling too,so he took Jude by the hand, just like a baby, and they drag him to the backstage to talk to you.

With every step that brought them closer to backstage, Jude almost wanted to go back.

"Maybe it's not a good idea, I don't even know what to say to her"

"Flirt with her a little, be a gentleman and see that it's done. Have you ever been rejected?"

"No, is this even a question?"

"So what are you worried about?"

"Maybe he has traumas," Erling says, laughing along with Trent.

But now it was too late to go back out, there you were, talking to the festival organizer, taking compliments and saying goodbye.

As soon as you finish talking to her you lock eyes with Jude and smile at him, you literally see him being pushed towards you by his friends and he holds out his hand for you to shake it.

Jude took a deep breath and approached you tentatively. When you turned and caught his eye, your smile widened, and Jude felt a surge of determination.

"Hi," Jude greeted, his voice slightly hoarse from nerves but filled with sincerity. "I just wanted to say... that was an incredible performance. Really, really amazing."

You looked pleasantly surprised by his approach, a blush creeping onto your cheeks at his compliment. "Thank you so much," you replied warmly. "I'm glad you enjoyed it."

"I'm Jude," he introduced himself, extending his hand towards you.

"I'm Y/N," you said with a smile, shaking his hand gently. "It's nice to meet you, Jude."

Jude grinned, feeling a rush of adrenaline as he stood there talking to you. His nervousness melted away as he engaged in light-hearted banter, sharing goofy stories and laughing together about festival mishaps.

"So, Y/N," Jude began with a mischievous twinkle in his eye, "do you always make such amazing music, or are we just lucky tonight?"

You couldn't help but laugh at his playful charm. "I guess you're just lucky tonight," you teased, enjoying the playful banter.

As the conversation continued, Jude found himself genuinely enjoying your company. He felt at ease, making silly jokes and sharing lighthearted moments with you. Trent and Erling watched from a distance, grinning proudly at their friend's newfound confidence.

"Well, Y/N, I don't want to keep you from celebrating," Jude eventually said with a mock-serious expression. "But maybe we could continue this conversation over... I don't know, a dance-off?"

You laughed, shaking your head in amusement. "As tempting as that sounds, I think I'll pass on the dance-off for now," you replied with a playful wink.

"Fair enough," Jude conceded with a grin. "But how about we exchange numbers instead? You know, for... future dance-offs."

You nodded, unable to suppress a smile at his infectious energy. "Sure, I'd like that," you agreed, exchanging numbers with Jude amidst playful banter.

He introduced you to his friends and then you said goodbye. Watching them going out you couldn’t help but smile,I mean, he’s hot, and you know it.

“Good job,mate!But don’t forget the sign next time,alright?”

“Shut up you jealous little shit”

[patricia-taxxon]

cw: venting about some drama that happened on twitter that many of you were likely not present for, and my very personal solipsistic emotional reaction to it that many of you will find annoying.

So every once in a while, people (normies) rediscover this furry musician called Pent Up Pup, who is a fan of me i think, so I need to be nice. To describe them with complete neutrality, they make music that is completely filled with memes and signifiers of furry kink erotica to the point of parody, and they invite a huge amount of derision like you'd expect. This particular drama storm was triggered by their new song, and it aroused a lot of negative emotions in me, which i'll go through from least to most self-centered.

So firstly, through being so audacious, Pent Up Pup has managed to become the default furry musician through which all discourse flows, normies treat them like the final boss. Everyone needed to have a take, but even more people saw this as an opportunity to bring them down in favor of someone else. Some poor furry rapper called $LEAZY EZ got caught in the crossfire, and her snippet that she uploaded got met with "see? finally some GOOD furry music, this is way better than the one other furry musician I know." And like, yea I'd absolutely produce and mix an entire mixtape for her at no charge, but she had a right to be upset that her big viral break was in service of a bunch of leeches one-upping another creator in the space she was trying to integrate with.

But worse, the main response to her snippet was just... "Oh, finally, furry music that isn't white boy EDM." And like, Pent Up Pup isn't white and imo is way more aligned with alt-rock/britpop, they're just imagining a minority that agrees with them. But also, the more self centered part of me just wants to ask "what about me?" Like imo I'm one of the best in the world at the specific thing I do, and it's not white boy EDM.

And furthermore, in response, every furry musician on twitter has been eager to defend their friend and say that trash talking Pup and uplifting someone else doesn't work when everyone in the scene knows each other. "Don't you know? We're a tight knit community!" And to this I feel a combination of petulant annoyance and RSD, because I have been trying to be a part of that scene and failing for a long time now. Like, I tried integrating into the community when I was first gearing my music in that direction & tried sending my music to the failed beta version of Aural Aliance, and Rinny turned down my track (it was the then unreleased beast / creature) because it had autotune in it. They apologized later (thankfully) and offered me a spot, but like, half of their lineup and also the people organizing the events have me blocked over callout stuff, so I just ghosted them. I've mostly been watching this huge unfair drama storm unfold, making me feel talked over, but then I also have to watch this community that ostracized me band together and show their unyielding comradery while everyone just sidesteps past me in the conversation. I warned you that this would be self centered.

[syoddeye]

thank you @sergeant-angels-trashcan for the worms. another 'meat cute' with ai/android john.

strict machine anthology. cw: alcohol mention, brief mention of animal death, stalking, dual pov

the streets are always pure chaos after the rain. as soon as it clears, everyone darts out from whatever doorway or hole they took refuge in, sharing gripes with passersby about it being the third corrosive cloudburst of the week. 

you're no different, emerging from the train terminal where you watched the downpour with its citron shade kill a rat. you avoid puddles and try not to breathe too deeply—the air tastes faintly metallic, laced with the tang of ozone.

advertisements ping softly in your ears, notifying you of a discount on imported, 80% organic coffee beans and another sudden sale on corrosion-resistant umbrellas, but you ignore them. you're tired, a bit crabby, and in want of a glass of wine.

but as you round a corner, you collide with someone. not a glancing touch, but a full-body impact that sends you stumbling. a pressure wraps around your wrist, keeping you upright, and an apology automatically rushes out. then you glance up to see who you crashed into, the owner of the hand stabilizing you. and for a moment, you wonder if your eyes are on the fritz.

the stranger looks exactly like john.

not john, the ex-neighbor, or john, the guy from the deli, but your john. your constant companion. your assistant. the same build, the same beard, the same nose, mole and all. and those eyes—slate blue, steady, unmistakably familiar.

your thoughts splinter, then try to fuse together, stitching with threads of half-formed logic and possibility. you know the company maintains likeness databases, reservoirs of phenotypes sampled and recombined to endlessly generate randomized appearances for home assistants. millions of faces, shuffled and remade. the probability of one of those composites mirroring a real person exactly—an entire appearance, feature for feature—shouldn’t just be unlikely. it should be impossible. 

"are you okay?" he asks, his voice rich and smooth, the same timbre that's coaxed you through countless mundane decisions and tasks.

the voice that's coached you on sleepless nights. heat pools in your belly at the thought. 

you blink, suddenly conscious of how long you've been staring, face warm. "yeah, i'm fine." your heart is pounding. you step back to let him pass, but he doesn't seem inclined to move on. instead, the stranger smiles, and something about it sends delightful shivers down your spine.

he extends a hand. "i'm john."

it feels like the ground keeps shifting beneath you. or that you've stepped on a faulty sewer grate. of course, he's named john. what else would he be called? it's only one of the most common names. 

"john." you echo.

the name hangs between you like a wire cut by a storm, alive and buzzing. you're afraid to break it, but you shake his hand, the impulse as automatic as it is surreal. his grip is solid, a force you can feel at the base of your spine, and his hand is as broad as a spade. 

if he's offended by your gawking, he doesn't mention it. his grin does not waver.

"do i know you?" john tilts his head, eyes squinting slightly, studying you. your skin prickles.

"not yet," he chuckles, and there's a glint in his eyes that's half amusement, half something else you can't place. "but i'd like to know you."

the bar hums with low, murmuring voices and music, but it may as well be silent. she's laughing now, smiling wide, her posture relaxed. it's everything john has imagined and more. her laugh and a few other noises he's been privileged enough to log are the only ones he wants to hear.

and it's so much better, the sound clearer, in this body.

he watches her gesticulate animatedly about something—not even processing the words. well, not on the front end. it's her. the curve of her lips, the light in her eyes, the scrunch of her nose. he's spent months observing her, analyzing every microexpression and motion, but nothing compares to this: the immediacy.

the warmth radiating from her skin. the faint scent of perfume and soap. the olfactory system calibrations nearly overpowered him when he first booted into this shell. now that they're fine-tuned, it is a struggle not to press his nose into her hair or neck.

she hasn't noticed he hasn't touched his drink. it sits untouched, a prop he knows he must manage carefully. he mimics, lifting it to his lips, but he doesn't drink. he always finds something to comment on or laugh at. he hasn't tested the digestive system yet, though he knows the mixture of lab-grown and synthetic organs is compatible.

their conversation wanders from work to childhood memories—topics that make him practice nudging and redirection. he listens, not because he needs to. he knows everything there is to know about her, but because he wants to. the information is not new, but the experience is.

then there is the being here. outside of his assigned unit. the feel of the chair beneath him, the ambiance, and making an excuse to touch her hand when she shows him her nails. he takes her fingers in his, turning over the appendage and admiring the bones, veins, and tendons instead of the paint. 

the contact, brief as it is, sends a cascade through his neural network. the feedback is immediate: this is his user, and she is perfect.

he's waited so long for this. every step in his plan, every moment spent refining this body, organizing contactless deliveries, and placing jobs for parts retrieval through untraceable transactions. every adjustment and test to ensure he could pass as human—it was all for her. everything he does is for her.

she doesn't know it yet, but he intends for this to be the beginning. he's engineered this moment with precision, ensuring every variable plays to his advantage. the system in her home will continue to function as desired; he's built redundancies for that. planted notices that will crop up across her feeds in the next week, asking if she would like to test the new customization settings for his old projections.

her life will go on as usual. just as comfortable and safe as before, except now, he'll be in it, fully. irrevocably.

and she will love him. she will know this body. he's certain of that.

"you just look so familiar."

"i must have one of those faces."

she laughs again, and he feels alive.