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100vern · 3 months ago

Note

hi. i would like to request seungcheol (obviously). all i request is enemies-to-lovers. you may do with this what you wish. i leave it up to you to decide exactly how you will ruin my life 😌

tysm for the request my beloved !! he is so enemies to lovers coded i had TEWWW many thoughts (and started three separate wips oops), but here we are. i hope u enjoy this !! can't wait to get the collab fics out of the way so i can torture u further with baseball dk. i picked dodgers hat!cheol just for u. ♡

— we need to talk

pairing: choi seungcheol x f. reader summary: sometimes the only way to win the game is to not play, but sometimes it's not a game at all��sometimes it's four years of emotional build-up with nowhere left to hide. genre: enemies (kinda) w benefits to lovers; frat/university au; smut, angst?, fluff rating: explicit. minors do not interact with this or any of my work. warnings: frat boys. gendered language and insults. swearing. mentions of drugs & drug use (vernon is literally a drug dealer 🤷🏻‍♀️) as well as alcohol. possessive, jealous seungcheol who is extremely down bad and kind of an asshole and would be toxic af irl but is fine in fanfiction probably. this is maybe more "people who used to fuck and started disliking each other along the way bc they can't figure out their feelings" to lovers than enemies. there are very slight, very meaningless mingyu x reader undertones here. jeonghan is a bastard. feelings you think are unrequited but alas! this got softer than i intended oops. smut warnings: seungcheol truly is a man driven to the brink of madness bc of pussy idk what to say. kissing. hair pulling. mentions of masturbation. the dynamics shift in this one a lot, but to be overly cautious i will say dom!cheol and slightly dom!reader undertones that are not implicitly stated or defined. seungcheol uses the term "whore" once, sorry. oral sex (f. receiving). pussy slapping. unprotected sex. if i missed any pls lmk. wordcount: 8k. no i do not know what a drabble is, leave me alone. author's note: title from the song of the same name by waterparks but this was actually brought to you by "i'll never stop" by nsync bc it's their best song and fit the vibes perfectly. anyway, i still do not love writing smut but i am insane over this man so whatever, we persevere. everyone go shower mj in lots of love bc she's the best and deserves it. also everyone say thank u @the-boy-meets-evil for looking over this for me. i did not look at this again after she beta'd it so any mistakes are of my own stupidity. <3

Seungcheol is incensed.

What in the fuck are you thinking, showing up here? Ignoring him, walking by him with nothing more than a brush to the elbow and that sultry, electric gaze? A pair of painted-on jeans and a sheer top?

Who the fuck had invited you?

He looks around the room, gaze heavy under his furrowed brow. Bass thumps in his ears, the music so loud he can feel it in his chest. Still, his feet stay planted on the floor, already sticky with spilled alcohol and god knows what else. He needs to find Vernon—just needs something to get through this very unexpected (and very unpleasant) surprise, take the edge off.

But he can’t see through the sea of people. They’re everywhere, occupying every inch of available space in the house, but he just needs a glimpse of that mop of cornflower blue hair. If he could just—

Instead, he sees a streak of white-blond in his peripheral vision. “Soonyoung!” he calls, grabbing the man by the arm. “Hey, have you seen Vernon?”

Soonyoung stares up at him with glassy, bloodshot eyes, his breath already stinking of alcohol as he shrugs and says, “Dunno, hyung. Think he’s upstairs.”

Fingers still wrapped around his bicep, Seungcheol heaves a sigh. “Go find Jeonghan. He’s on babysitting duty and you’re already fucked.”

“I’m fine,” Soonyoung argues, slurred words giving him away immediately.

Seungcheol scoffs. “Bro, you can barely stand and you reek of shitty vodka. Go drink some water.”

As he sends Soonyoung away, he can feel eyes boring into him, tension wound tight in the center of his back that refuses to dissipate no matter how many times he rolls his shoulders. He turns slowly, already knowing exactly what he’ll find, but knowing does little to stop the hitch of breath as he takes you in.

And he hates it. Fuck, he hates the effect you have on him more than anything.

Hates that he’s still pining after you. Hates that all you have to do is look at him and he’s putty in your hands. Hates that you’re the first person he looks for in a room, the last person on his mind before he falls asleep. Hates you, hates that all of this is unreciprocated, because if Choi Seungcheol is anything, it’s proud. He’s rich, he’s good-looking, he’s pre-law, and the president of this fraternity, for fuck’s sake—he should not be hung up on a girl.

But he’d been doomed from the beginning. Ever since you’d been assigned to him as a challenge to overcome, an impossible task to conquer, he’d been helplessly, pathetically smitten with you.

And fuck if you didn’t know it, too.

So, it’s a game now. A lifetime’s worth of pining for Seungcheol all because his frat was misogynistic and refused to keep up with the times. They’d nodded in your direction and laughed at the confusion on his face, the knot between his brows. Seungcheol couldn’t figure out why his initiation was to fuck a girl, one his brothers wouldn’t even address by name, but when he’d approached you at a party and you’d immediately told him to go fuck himself, he’d figured it out pretty quick.

Call it determination, call it a stubborn streak that refused to quit, but the two of you soon came to a reluctant agreement: you would let Seungcheol lie to his frat, figuring he was attractive enough that people thinking you’d slept together wouldn’t be complete social suicide, and he’d owe you a favor you’d keep in your back pocket for as long as it took to cash in.

Which hadn’t taken long. The stress of finals that first year had gotten to all of you, and it wasn’t long before you were at his door looking for his drug-dealing roommate and a quick fuck.

That was the second time Seungcheol had been doomed to hopeless pining, because once he had you, he knew it’d be impossible to let you go.

Short of outright saying the words, he’d all but told you as much during some alcohol-induced brain shortage junior year. And, in turn, you’d all but laughed in his face.

Right.

Of course.

That was to be expected.

So, you’d continued your… well, whatever this is: quick fucks when both of you were bored or lonely or horny, usually under the influence of something illegal; a mutually tense but beneficial relationship for each of you, because you had been Seungcheol’s initiation and the initiation itself awarded him connections and opportunities. You got a back-up plan. A safe body and warm bed to retreat to when the need arose—one who clearly wanted it to be something more, but was, all things considered, fine with the current arrangement. Didn’t pressure you.

But, as was also to be expected, it was never going to be that simple when feelings got involved. When he started feeling slighted. When he wanted you so bad he ached with it sometimes and it was beneath you to care. Which is why he really, really needs to find Vernon. If he’s going to endure an entire party with you, he’s not going to do it sober.

He takes the steps two at a time, feet stumbling onto the landing as soon as he reaches it. Vernon’s door is the third on the left, and he can hear a separate, distinct bass line from the one booming downstairs that hums louder the closer he gets.

And Vernon knows. Of course he does, because he’s yanking his door open before Seungcheol has even raised a hand to knock, the stench of weed seeping out into the hallway, and all he needs is a quick look at Seungcheol before he pulls the door open wider and says, “Ladies and gentlemen, the President of the United States of America,” as if he’s speaking into a microphone. When Seungcheol doesn’t react, he awkwardly tacks on, “Hi, hyung. I’m assuming she’s here.”

Seungcheol nods, dumbly, and stands as awkwardly in the center of the room as someone who’s about to ask their roommate for drugs tends to be. “Yeah.” Shoves his hands in the pockets of his overpriced jeans so Vernon can’t see the sheen of sweat.

“You looking for somethin’ specific?” he asks, rifling through the top drawer of a tall dresser. “Like, is this an I’m about to fuck her the rest of the night visit or an I need something to help me forget she doesn’t actually like me visit?”

The words come like a reflex. “Fuck you,” he seethes. Vernon’s not wrong, per se, but he didn’t have to go and just… say it like that.

Vernon just shrugs, one side of his worn-out collar slipping down his shoulder as he does so, and Seungcheol can’t tell if he’s actually dressed for the party or not. “Gonna guess it’s the second one, then.”

Seungcheol scoffs. “Well, it’s not,” he insists, knowing damn well he should let it go, that he’s just digging himself a bigger hole, but the truth sits in the pit of his stomach like lead.

And, really, he knows he just needs to accept it. That little strand of hope hasn’t brought him anything but more pain—allowed him to delude himself into thinking it could be something more, something tangible—and it’s time to let it go.

You don’t want more.

You don’t want the label and the relationship.

You don’t want him.

He knows this, but it still tastes sour in his mouth. Still tastes like the chill of autumn when you’d first showed up at his door all that time ago. Tastes like all the blunts you’ve shared and the liquor from all the parties you’d snuck away in the middle of. Tastes like the sharp notes of your perfume, the ones that’d coat his tongue when he’d kiss down your neck—the same notes that stain his bedsheets.

Mostly, it’s the pitying look Vernon’s giving him that hurts the most. He’s above pity. Doesn’t need it, especially not from Vernon Chwe, but it hurts all the same to be on the receiving end of it.

“Give me whatever you’ve got.”

Vernon’s face quickly morphs into surprised concern. “Uh, I’m not sure that’s a good idea. I mean, I’ve got some pretty heavy shit here.”

Heat flares in his belly. The pity was bad enough—now he wants to be patronizing? “Then give me whatever the fuck you think I need,” he snaps. “I don’t care. I don’t have time for this shit.”

“Well, you definitely need to chill,” Vernon mumbles. “You want some dabs?”

“No. Something…” The word feels thick in his mouth. Stronger implies that Seungcheol does heavy drugs, and that’s not true. “Else,” he finally finishes.

Vernon sighs as he continues rifling through the drawer. “Your dad would fucking kill me if I gave you my real heavy shit, so…” He pauses, eyebrows raising in triumph as he finds what he was looking for: a small baggie filled halfway with some nondescript powder. “You want a bump?”

Maybe he should be ashamed at how quickly he agrees, at the urgency and greed with which he grabs the baggie from Vernon’s fingers, but he just needs something. Needs the distraction, the brain fog. He shoves it in his back pocket next to his wallet. “How much do I owe you?”

Vernon wrinkles his nose. “Nah. Consider that one a freebie. No offense, but you’re a real piece of shit when you’re like this.”

The implication only pisses him off more. Seungcheol is loaded—he can afford to pay his drug dealer, thank you very much—but he’s not like anything. “I’m sorry?”

True to his nature, Vernon barely shrugs. “I’ll put it on your tab, hyung,” he says in a way that implies he’s not at all going to do that and is only saying so to get the fraternity president off his back.

Jeonghan (23:12) Better come get your girl. Kim Mingyu’s dick looks like it’s halfway up her ass by now. Jeonghan (23:12) Uh oh! I think I just saw a testicle

Seungcheol stares down at his phone, hands trembling in anger. Of course it’s Mingyu. That pathetic loser has been taking up residence on the subs bench ever since you’d made out with him months ago in an admittedly successful attempt at payback. Seungcheol had hooked up with some downgrade at a party one time and you’d gone and made out with his friend. It was hardly a fair trade.

Seungcheol (23:14) Good for Mingyu, he can deal with her then Seungcheol (23:14) I’m busy Jeonghan (23:14) Doing what? Jerking off in the upstairs bathroom again? Jeonghan (23:15) Do you know what size condom he wears btw? Looks like I might need to fetch him one if you don’t want to take care of another man’s baby Jeonghan (23:16) Although, to be fair, you might want to sit this one out. He has way better bone structure than you. Might be a blessing in disguise Seungcheol (23:16) Fuck you Jeonghan (23:16) Better be nice to me, Choi Seungcheolie~ that might be the only fuck you get tonight

Seungcheol needs better friends. He needs a lot of things, really, but number one on his to-do list is to never let Jeonghan be on babysitting duty ever again. Somehow he’d forgotten how obnoxious Yoon Jeonghan is when he isn’t stoned and half-asleep on a couch somewhere.

For now, he just stomps down the hallway; locks himself in his room and doesn’t bother to turn on the light. He’s not going to be here long. Just enough time to do this line, change his t-shirt, and come up with a game plan, because he’s not going to let Mingyu even entertain the thought of being able to have you but he also can’t appear desperate. Not just to you, but to everyone else. Choi Seungcheol is not clingy, especially not over a girl.

Especially especially over a girl who doesn’t even want him like that.

But the longer he sits in the dark, the more trouble he has finding his resolve. Can’t bring himself to dig that baggie out of his pocket. Can’t drag his t-shirt over his head. Can’t bring himself to think about anything other than Mingyu’s hands all over you, and fuck, does that image drive him insane.

Does he touch you like Seungcheol does?

Does he coax those same jagged whimpers from your mouth like Seungcheol does?

Does his semi-hard cock feel as good pressed against you?

God, he’s so fucked. Utterly and completely fucked. And he wonders if this would be as bad if he’d just kept his mouth shut, took that secret to his grave instead of fooling himself into thinking it could be more. If it wouldn’t have devolved into… this. You’d always told him not to get attached, that sex was just sex and there was no need to ruin a good thing. But Seungcheol is a selfish man, always has been, and what if? is a dangerous question.

Jeonghan (23:36) Wow, you’re a fucking pussy. Stop hiding in your room like a little bitch. Seungcheol (23:36) Fuck off

He can’t go down there. Not because he’s a coward, but because he’s barely tethered to his sanity as it is. Something about you brings him out of his mind, makes him toss whatever good judgment he has left to the wind. Seungcheol is far too impulsive when it comes to you, reckless in ways that have all twenty years of his social training weeping in a corner; have alarm bells ringing in his brain. So, no, he can’t go downstairs right now because he knows he’ll do something stupid. Stick not only his foot but his entire lower body in it. He should’ve listened, yet here he is, dick pulled halfway out of his jeans because the thought of you alone gets him hard but his pride won’t let him jerk off to the image of anyone touching you that’s not him.

Forget whatever Jeonghan had called him. He’s a fucking fool. A moonstruck, delusional fool who’d tricked himself into thinking he could swim when he can barely tread water.

You (23:41) Something wrong?

Oh, here we fucking go, he thinks. Because this is Seungcheol’s game—one he’d perfected years ago, the one where he’s coy and chilly, never too eager, never committed. Just a little bit of a tease. Barely enough to keep them on the hook, a little needy; still enough to keep them coming back. But you’d taken one look at him all those years ago and had him pegged immediately. Figured out his game and learned the rules, used them against him. Now you watch him flounder with a smile on your face.

Seungcheol (23:42) Never knew you were so needy baby. First you show up uninvited and now youre missing me?

But just because there’s now a player two doesn’t mean he’s doomed to lose. He knows how you look when you’re on your knees for him. Knows how you sound when you’re begging to cum and stuttering out his name like you’re singing hymns. Knows how you look with your eyes rolled back after he’s fucked you dumb. Kim Mingyu doesn’t know shit.

Seungcheol knows he’s the only one fortunate enough to experience you like this.

And god does it kill him.

You (23:44) Don’t act stupid

A pleased exhale of laughter, an equally-smug smirk. Yeah, this is still Seungcheol’s game, the crown still sitting atop his head. You can let Mingyu grind his dick against you all you want, but Seungcheol is still the one you’re seeking out, pouting at the fact he hasn’t come to find you yet.

You (23:44) Mingyu invited me

Oh, you’re good—know just which buttons to press and how much pressure to use. Whatever smug expression Seungcheol had been wearing slides off his face immediately, tongue pressing into his cheek.

Seungcheol (23:46) And yet youre looking for me? You (23:47) Don’t have to look for you to know you’re upstairs sulking in your room because Jeonghan tattled on me like a fucking five year old Seungcheol (23:49) Maybe you should come up here then Seungcheol (23:49) Away from prying eyes

You don’t reply immediately. It’s just long enough for Seungcheol’s brain to conjure up something indecent—the way you’ll straddle him, the way his cock will feel pressed against the apex of your thighs; the goosebumps that’ll raise on his arms when you work your tongue along his neck, that spot near his collarbone you know he likes. His cock throbs against the confines of his jeans when he thinks about the devastated look on Mingyu’s face when you make up some excuse to get away from him, to traipse up the stairs and fall into Seungcheol’s bed, when he realizes he’s not going to have you.

You (23:56) It’d be pretty rude to leave my date, don’t you think? You (23:57) If you want me so bad, come down here and get me yourself

Seungcheol doesn’t play games; doesn’t compete because he has no competition. He’s always been given whatever he wants on a silver platter, no questions asked, so he’s wholly unprepared for this turn of events. What he knows he should do (respond to your text and tell you to fuck off, that you know where he is should you stop being a brat and change your mind) is not what he does (tucks his dick back in his jeans, finally throws on a clean t-shirt, and takes his time descending the stairs so he doesn’t look too eager), because logical thought gets tossed out the window entirely wherever you’re concerned.

“Ah, if it isn’t our resident pissbaby making his grand re-entrance.”

Seungcheol clenches his jaw for the nth time and glares. “Fuck off, Jeonghan.”

The man in question laughs—the annoying raspy one that grates on Seungcheol’s nerves—and hands over a cup of something brown and pungent. “Well, judging from your attitude, and the fact you’re barely hiding that boner you’ve got, you clearly didn’t spend your time away jerking off. What finally got you down here, the promise of cheap whiskey I nicked off some freshman or the fact that your girlfriend’s about two seconds from getting a public indecency charge courtesy of Kim Mingyu?”

Well. Jeonghan may be an asshole but he’s not wrong. Even through the crowd of people and the haze of whatever’s in his cup and a contact high, Seungcheol spots you immediately. Your back is pressed against Mingyu’s chest, his fingers gripping tight at your waist as you roll your hips in time with his. Whatever manufactured filth he’s whispering to you draws a smile, causes you to reach up and tug sharply at his hair. Fuck, Seungcheol can almost hear Mingyu’s moan from across the room, and his blood quickly heats to a rapid boil.

Another chuckle from the demon beside him. “Stop fucking laughing,” Seungcheol snaps, still unable to take his eyes off of you. “Fuck this. I’m going back upstairs. Make sure everyone’s out of here by three. I’m not paying for another noise citation.”

Jeonghan rolls his eyes. “I’m absolutely not going to do that.” He shoves a bottle of something in Seungcheol’s hand. “Take this and think of me when you’re crying yourself to sleep because Mingyu stole guaranteed pussy right out of your hands.”

“Why do you do this?” Seungcheol asks, shoving at Jeonghan’s shoulder roughly. “You never know when to fucking quit.”

Another streak of white-blond. “Hey, no fighting!” Soonyoung slurs, trying his best to push Seungcheol to the other side of the kitchen with his useless, limp arms.

This attracts the attention of Joshua, who struts into the room looking straight out of Fashion Week, much like he always does. He hasn’t even broken a sweat. “Aw, are Mom and Dad fighting again?” he asks, his lips tugged into a smirk. He ignores Seungcheol’s scowl as he fixes himself a drink. “You know Mingyu only does it to get a reaction out of you,” Joshua adds, quieter this time, as if he’s telling Seungcheol a secret only meant for the two of them to share.

“What’s her excuse, then?” Seungcheol fires back, because even if he doesn’t like it, Joshua’s right. This is exactly the kind of behavior he’d expect from resident campus whore Kim Mingyu, but he never expected you to go along with it.

Joshua cocks an eyebrow. “She doesn’t need an excuse, Cheol. She’s not your girl.”

Even though it’s a truth he already knows, it somehow hurts worse being spoken in plaintext, a hushed conversation in a crowded kitchen. Being let down gently. Seungcheol knows he needs to make a decision. He needs to let you go and start moving on with his life; can’t be having these quasi-meltdowns during frat parties anymore. Can’t be possessive and spiteful. You don’t want him. Everyone knows you don’t want him, so that’s all there is to it. Maybe you’ll want Mingyu and he can finally wash his hands of this forever, scrape the jealousy off his tongue.

He steels himself. Rolls his shoulders back, cracks his neck. Navigates the crowd in the living room until he reaches you and your so-called date. Grabs you by the elbow—gentle enough that it doesn’t hurt but firm enough to send a message—and says the two of you need to talk. Upstairs. Now. Mingyu just smiles like he knew this was coming and presses a pointless, wasted kiss just below your ear. Seungcheol tells him to fuck off, too, and Mingyu grins wider, tongue darting out to wet his lips.

As he guides you to his room, he doesn’t think about the way your hand fits in his. Doesn’t think about how this is going to be the last time he has you. Doesn’t think about who’ll have you after. Doesn’t bother to wonder if you’ve finally changed your mind like he had all those other times he’d walked this same familiar path with you in tow. Because it’s the last time. Whatever happens once it’s over is out of his control.

Perhaps that’s what it’d always been about. Seungcheol has always been spoiled and selfish and so terribly, terribly desperate to prove he’s more than his family name and family money. So, yeah, he’d wanted the control; wanted what was never his for the taking. You’d always been the opposite—his perfect little counterpart. Always so pliant and careless and free: everything Seungcheol tried so hard to be but couldn’t, and that’s where the switch flipped.

Someone like you isn’t meant to be controlled.

What he used to want so badly now tastes rancid in his mouth.

The door locks behind you. Seungcheol doesn’t meet your eye as he says, “You got what you wanted. Are you done being a fucking brat?” It’s not a tone he usually takes. Usually he’s dirty, a little possessive, willing to let you set the pace. He doesn’t miss the way your breath hitches. “I asked you a question.”

“Seungcheol—”

He clicks his tongue, stalks closer until you’re nearly in his grasp. Your eyes close instinctively as if you’re expecting his mouth on yours. Instead, he threads his long fingers in your hair and pulls. “What’s so hard about answering a simple yes or no question? Did you really want Mingyu’s dick so bad you’ve gone dumb all of a sudden?”

You gasp. “No.”

“No what?” Seungcheol chides. “No, you’re not done being a brat? Or no, you weren’t just downstairs acting desperate and pathetic for mediocre cock?” He runs his thumb across the seam of your lips, follows their movements as you speak.

“I wasn’t—”

A low, mocking chuckle. “You were, baby.” Sounds condescending; speaks to you like you’re a stupid child. He’s so close to you now. Can smell the tang of your skin, the sticky notes of your perfume. Feels your breath fan against his own sweat-slick skin. Still avoids your gaze, because as domineering as he appears, he knows he can unravel just as quickly. “Take your clothes off. This is the last time I’m gonna fuck you and I’m not going to ask twice.”

Now you truly look caught off-guard. “What?” Still he ignores you, expensive silver rings clinking into a dish on his dresser one by one, expensive watch following. “What do you mean the last time?”

Deft fingers play at the buttons on his shirt. Not silk, but just as expensive. “Shit. You’re really testing my patience, you know.” You’re still standing at the edge of his bed, staring dumbly as if he’s just going to start spilling all his secrets, give you some kind of explanation. “I believe I told you to strip.”

Unlike Seungcheol, your fingers tremble as they work at buttons and zippers and hemlines, push down denim and remove heels. It’s clear you’re trying to work out what he’s playing at—if this is some punishment for fucking around with Mingyu or if he really means it—but you’re not going to risk asking. Things between the two of you are already tense as it is. Seungcheol has never been wound this tight, never been so ready to snap.

“That’s it,” he praises once you’re left in nothing but a skimpy underwear set you know he likes. “Look at you. Fucking gorgeous. I bet that’s why you think you can get away with embarrassing me, huh?” He grabs your chin, forces you to meet his gaze for the first time since he’d dragged you up here. “Get on your knees. I’m getting tired of repeating myself.”

It’s not an unfamiliar sight—as it is, you usually leave Seungcheol’s room with bruised knees on a good night—but it settles differently in his gut this time. Because he’d dared a glance at you once and knows he can’t do it again, so he watches the top of your head as you fumble with his belt buckle and looks away whenever he thinks you might risk a glance upwards. Finds some point on the wall to focus on. Hisses through his teeth when you pull his cock from his briefs, your hands cold against his flushed skin.

All he wants to do is kiss you. Draw this out. Give you a memorable last time, maybe mark you up a little. He really wants to savor the feeling of your tongue on his cock, but all he can focus on is the fact that he’ll never be enveloped in that wet heat again. He’s never going to feel your mouth working him over, feel you humming around his length because he knows you love the weight of it, you love wrenching away that little bit of control, turning him into a mess.

But he’s not going to dwell. He’s going to thumb at the hinge of your jaw, force it open just wide enough for his cock to fit inside. Then he’s going to fist your hair into a makeshift ponytail, grip it tight, use it to guide your mouth until there’s only an inch of space between you. He’s going to stare down at you, silently revel in how fucked out you look already even though he hasn’t touched you. He’s going to watch the way your fingers dig into your thighs because they can’t touch him. Then he’s going to say—

“Beg me. Beg me to let you suck my cock.”

There’s a flicker of hesitation. Seungcheol doesn’t talk to you like this. This is not the kind of dynamic the two of you have, and Seungcheol finds himself wondering if things would be different if it was. If he’d never started going so easy on you. Would you want him then? Or would you have left a long time ago?

He’s half-expecting you to do that now. You look ready to bolt, to pull your clothes back on and tell him to go fuck himself on the way out. Probably go straight back to Mingyu, let him fuck you hard but routine, the way Seungcheol usually does, the way he knows you like. He expects you to leave, and this is the last time, anyway, so he figures he has nothing left to lose.

“I’m going soft,” he snaps, the admonishment harsh on his tongue. When you look up at him, his jaw is clenched, eyes narrow. “You have one fucking job and you can’t even do that properly? Who’s going to want a dumb little whore that can’t follow simple instructions?”

He watches your eyes squeeze shut involuntarily. Wonders if he’s gone too far before deciding he doesn’t care if he has. It’s the last time, anyway, so it’s not like it matters. Watches the indents in your thighs grow deeper. Watches you inhale and try to steady your breathing.

Watches your eyes snap open, any trace of hesitation long gone. “Did you make that other girl beg for you?”

Seungcheol snorts, amusement showing all over his face. “Is that what this is about? You’re still mad I hooked up with some other girl so you act like this?” He clicks his tongue at you, fists his cock, slicking it up. “Are you jealous?”

“No,” you answer simply, “I’m just trying to figure out why you think you can speak to me however the fuck you want.”

Seungcheol’s hand stutters along his length before it stills, your words sharp and immediate against his skin. He should’ve known. Shouldn’t have thought something like this would work on you, that you’d like it, and he’s halfway to soft and throwing his hands up and tucking his dick back into his briefs when you say, “Answer the question.”

“What?”

You tsk. Move your hands from your thighs to his, nails pressing just deep enough to leave crescent moons behind that match your own. Something for someone else to see. “Did you make her beg for you?”

Seungcheol’s brain power decreases the higher your palms go, when your thumbs press into the dimples of his hips. Can barely choke out a hissed yes, yeah, fu-fuck when your hand covers his, fingers wrapping tightly around his own as you guide it back and forth, up and down the length of his cock. “What did you make her beg for, Cheol?”

“To—to to-touch me.”

You hum. Tighten your grip on Seungcheol’s hand and laugh as his hips roll involuntarily, seeking the friction. “Touch you how? Like this?”

“Yeah—fuck, yes, like this.”

“Did she? Did she listen to you like a good girl?” Your hand leaves Seungcheol’s only to collect the precum at his tip. “Don’t get all shy now, Cheolie.” You suck your thumb into your mouth and he whines. “Was she a good girl for you?”

You sit back on your haunches. Watch him jerk himself off. “Yeah,” he finally says, word cracking in the middle. “Boring, though. Not like—not like you.”

“No one is like me,” you admonish. “I could’ve told you that for free, before you went off and fucked someone else.”

“Not an idiot,” Seungcheol replies, the pace of his hand quickening. He’s playing a dangerous game; approaching the cliff edge at a dangerous pace. “No-nothing comes for free with you.”

All you do is smile, lopsided and smug. “Mm, that’s true. Guess your little dom moment earlier can just be chalked up to momentary stupidity, hm?” Seungcheol wants to nod, wants apologies to tumble from his lips until you shut him up, but his palm is so slick against his dick, fist tight enough to white out his vision. “Did you make her beg to suck your cock?”

Truth be told, Seungcheol can’t remember much of anything right now. He’s perilously close to coming, right at that precipice, and each filthy word that slips from your mouth just pushes him further to the edge. He remembers Chan inviting him to a party. He remembers a few drinks, a few hits from a blunt, compliments of Vernon; he remembers a girl making eyes at him from across the room—eyes that had looked a lot like yours in the haze of his crossfade. He remembers a locked bathroom and the sound of his voice as he told that girl how to touch him so it felt like you. He remembers her doing whatever he told her to, remembers how eager and submissive she was, how she didn’t mouth off to him the way you always do—

Remembers how unsatisfying it’d been when he came.

You’ve ruined him.

Not a revelation. Not even close to one. Seungcheol has known this for a long time, but that doesn’t mean annoyance doesn’t flare in his belly at the reminder. You don’t want him. Being so hung up on you isn’t doing him any favors, just means he’ll have a longer drop when this is all over. God, what the fuck is he doing?

He wants you so badly he’s aflame with it. He wants you so badly he can barely look at you anymore. He wants you so badly it consumes him, drives him insane, has him all fucked up and seething. He wants you, he wants you, he—

Loves.

Reality washes over him like a cold wave. Knocks him backwards, drowning, desperately trying to remember how to breathe. In, out; in, out—and none of it changes a goddamn thing.

Four years of this. Four years of touches exchanged in the dark, behind locked doors. Four years of yearning and trying and failing. Four years of everything getting lost in translation, because it’s hitting him now, but shouldn’t he have felt it before? Shouldn’t all those ‘drive me fuckin’ crazy, can’t fucking stand you’s he spoke into the crook of your neck rang hollow?

“Cheol—” you say, because you asked him something, tried to play along with this whole stupid charade, and he knows he’s frozen, just standing there, hand still wrapped around his cock, and he needs to say something, he needs to fix this—

“I’m a liar,” is what he comes up with. You’re still staring up at him, brows furrowed, pinched in the middle. Move, he wills himself, but nothing happens. “I’m a liar,” he says again, because if he says it enough you’ll believe it. “I’m sorry. I’m—”

“What are you talking about?”

He swallows. I’m in love with you, he wants to say. Feels the weight of the words on his tongue, heavy and pressing, and he thinks you should know. Even if you don’t feel the same, he thinks you deserve to know, but the way you’re looking at him—

He can’t bring himself to say it.

But he can—“Can I show you instead?”

Slowly, you nod. Seungcheol nods, too, still feeling off-kilter as he cradles your face in his hands, thumbs in the contours of your cheeks. Moves them down your neck, your shoulders, down the length of your arms. You meet him halfway, twining your fingers together, and he helps you stand, careful and considerate. At full height, he places a hand in the small of your back to tug you closer, kisses you like it’s the end of the world. Whines into your mouth at your familiar taste, and if he lets himself be delusional enough, he can pretend there’s form and substance to those sounds, that their edges are squared-off to form the words he wants to say.

Because it really might be the end of the world. Seungcheol has never known how to play the cards he’s been dealt when it comes to you. Always gets it wrong. Feints one way when he’s meant to go the other, takes the field with two left feet, always playing catch-up. Maybe the mistake was treating it like a game. Maybe the mistake was strategizing, only playing to win, because he lays you gently on his bed, fits his body in the space you create for him between your legs, and realizes he already won a long time ago.

He won the first time your eyes met. He won the first time he’d kissed you, more nerves and teeth than anything else. He won the first time you tucked yourself against his side and stared at his bedroom ceiling, half-smoked joint between your fingers, and made fun of the stupid flag he’d hung up. He won every time you took all the bullshit he threw at you and dished it right back. He won every time he had the privilege of tracing mindless shapes into your soft skin.

Every second of your time you chose to give him—all victories.

He presses in further. Groans when your hands move to his shoulders and grip tight; when your nails dig into the skin of his back. “I’ve been so stupid,” he says, punctuating his words with a nip at your ear. Smirks out of the corner of his mouth at your shuddering breath. “Haven’t I?”

“Yeah,” you answer, rolling your hips upward. He grabs at you desperately, tries to keep you still; hisses when you swat his hands away and redouble your efforts. “You’ve been a fucking asshole for a—for a while.”

You can’t see the way he pouts. Wonders, too, if that would work on you, if it’d earn him one of those rare moments of tenderness. “Well I’m trying to—shit, baby—trying to make it up to you, but you seem pretty determined to make me bust right now.”

He can see the way you roll your eyes. See the way the corners crinkle after as you laugh softly, breathlessly, still trying to chase a high Seungcheol refuses to provide. “You deserve it. You tried to dom me, you dickhead.”

Embarrassment sits obvious on his ruddy cheeks. He hides his face in the crook of your neck so you don’t see it, don’t have something to poke at him with later, but you’re having none of it. You thread your fingers through his hair and tug gently, forceful enough to have him pliable, and there it is: there are stars in your eyes as you stare up at him, tender and soft just like he hoped you’d look, and he misses the feeling of your nails on your scalp until you’re tugging at the delicate chain around his neck and pulling him closer. “Just kiss me and we’ll call it even.”

This is how it feels to get struck by lightning, he thinks. Every part of him is on fire, and he’s content to burn as his lips find yours. He sighs happily into your mouth, hikes your thigh higher around his middle, presses in to lay claim to what little space is left between you. Seungcheol is so close he can feel the rapid pace of your heartbeat, because this is not the way you usually kiss. What used to be dirty and quick, a means to an end, now has intent, purpose. He’s kissing you like he wants to steal the air from your lungs to replace it with something better.

Trails those same kisses down the length of your body. Open-mouthed at your neck, your collarbones, the space between your breasts. Teasing and slow in the space between each rib, just to watch the way your skin pebbles. Hungry and insistent at the sensitive skin of your inner thighs, because if he’s feeling this unhinged, he wants you right there with him. Can’t bear the thought of still being in this alone. Not anymore.

“Legs over my shoulders.” You listen immediately, and Seungcheol mutters a quiet fuck at the sight before him. “God, you’re so wet.”

“No shit—”

He swats at your clit, delighting in the way your body jolts. “Hush. The only thing I wanna hear out of your smart mouth from now on is my fucking name.” And then he’s diving in.

He eats you out like a man starved; like he could do this every day for the rest of his life and he still wouldn’t be satisfied. Can’t help but rut against the mattress at the way you taste, the way your thighs tighten around his head, the sting as you pull at his hair. Places both hands beneath your ass to lift and drag you closer to his waiting mouth—licks at you wet and feverish, all of this seemingly more for him than it is for you, and you’ll get tired of it soon, just like you always do. You’ll tell him—

“Do it right, Cheol, please—”

And he’ll pull away and tsk, swat at you again. His responding laugh will be cocky and derisive when your body trembles again, frantic with the need for more. “What did I say, baby? Do you not trust me to make you come?” You cock an eyebrow, torn between throwing some sarcastic remark at him and following the rules long enough to get what you want. His voice grows serious as he presses a soft kiss to your core. “I will always take care of you.”

The rest is muscle memory.

The rest has a chorus of Cheol, Cheol, Seungcheol spilling from your lips as he suctions his own around your clit. The rest has you grinding your pussy against his face. The rest has him groaning at the way he’s so wholly consumed by you: the taste of you on his tongue, face soaked, two fingers pressed deep into your cunt. The rest has him saying that’s it, baby, come on my face, I know you can and feeling delirious when he finally pushes you over the edge; when your walls clench around his fingers, breathing fractured, when you grab at him until you’re eye-level and you’re licking into his mouth to taste yourself.

Tastes a lot like I love you.

“Want you to ride me,” he says, gaze half-lidded and pleading. You whine as he moves his thumb back to your clit, tracing slow, slow, slow circles, oversensitive. “Will you do that for me?”

The party seems so far away. Grows even further away when you nod and straddle his lap. Seungcheol sits up, tells you to wrap your legs around him. Can’t stand not touching you; needs every inch of his skin to be covered by you like a bruise—something deep that’ll last for days, weeks, months. The mottled colors will change, but it’ll still be there.

“Need you, Cheol,” you whisper, kissing his eyelids. He hadn’t realized he’d closed his eyes.

“You have me,” he answers, but it sounds foreign to his ears—sounds wretched, like the words have been punched out of him. It sounds like forfeit. “Always have.”

You pull back. Study his face. Run over his plush bottom lip with your thumb. It feels like an eternity of silence before you speak. “No, I haven’t,” you insist, tone insistent but delicate, like you’re trying to convince him of it, too. “Not like this.”

I love you.

You lift your hips just enough to sink down on his cock. Seungcheol’s moan is loud and unabashed, not afraid to let anyone hear the way you make him feel. All he can think is familiar: he knows your blinding white heat; has made countless homes in your tight grip he still holds the keys to; has done this so many goddamn times it’s second nature.

He was an absolute fool to think he could ever walk away.

You roll your hips, taking him deeper like you’ve got something to prove, body moving on its own sinuous accord. Seungcheol loves you like this, when you know exactly what you want and aren’t afraid to take it. When you press sloppy kisses to his neck, the column of his throat. When he grabs at your hips, tries to move you faster along the length of his cock, and you swat his hands away. When your rhythmic up-and-down turns into a slow grind that has you gasping and breathless, pussy spasming around him.

“Goddamn, I love this pussy,” he chokes out, fingers gripping tightly at the sheets since he can’t touch you. He’s mindless with pleasure, feels himself start babbling nonsense he can’t make sense of, and it’s overwhelming, having you like this. Isn’t sure how he’s survived this long, but maybe you were right.

Maybe it was never like this before.

Usually he’d take you from behind, quick and dirty, hands digging into the meat of your ass, palm cracking down on it every now and then, imparting white heat of his own. Usually he’d have you beneath him, knees pressed to your chest, all condescension as you told him, eyes rolled back, that he was too deep, that you couldn’t take it, and he’d rub at your clit and tell you you could as he dragged another orgasm out of you. Usually he’d be so frenzied and worked up he’d take you against the door, sweats pushed to mid-thigh, forearms straining as they held you up.

So, yeah—this is different. This is a patient, sensual dance to the finish line. This is Seungcheol in his rawest form: a live wire, vulnerable, anxious. This is the unknown, because something has to come after but he doesn’t know what it is.

This is Seungcheol throwing caution to the wind, leaning in close enough to taste the salt on your skin, and saying, “I love you.”

This is Seungcheol planting his feet and fucking up into you, unwilling to hear your response. Sometimes ignorance is bliss, but sometimes bliss is just bliss, and he’ll willingly take either.

This is you coming undone on his cock, breathing rapid and ragged, pupils blown wide as you stare at him in awe.

“Say it again.”

Someone slams into the wall just outside Seungcheol’s door, and all at once the real world creeps back in: the thrumming bass line of the music downstairs; laughter, shouting, and yelling; fists banging on shut doors—but he hears you loud and clear. Presses each word into your mouth this time and groans when you swallow them. Barely makes a sound as he spills inside of you, feeling like every nerve in his body is aflame.

The two of you are quiet for a time as you try to catch your breath. Seungcheol only moves to grab his duvet and wrap it around your shoulders, smiling fondly at the small thank you you mumble, seemingly still bogged down, well-fucked.

He presses a tender kiss to the corner of your mouth.

“Okay?”

You nod, push at him until he lays back and pulls you with him, lets you use his firm chest as a pillow. That flag you’d made fun of before isn’t up there anymore, but Seungcheol feels warm at the memory anyway, almost laughs at the comment he imagines you’d make.

Clears his throat. Tries to find his courage. “I really am sorry,” he tells you again, because it doesn’t matter if he loves you if he doesn’t know how to be good at it.

“I know, Cheol,” comes your easy reply. You’re tracing shapes on his stomach that have his muscles contracting. “I know you love me, too.” You sigh, press your lips to his rib cage. “Who knew it’d only take making out with Mingyu to get you to admit it.”

A wild laugh tumbles out of him. “Fuck off.” He can feel your grin.

“You got a fucked up way of showing it, though.”

He hums, holds onto you a little tighter. “Go easy on me, I only figured it out about an hour ago.”

“An hour?” you faux-gasp, make like you’re about to leave. “I’m outta here. I know my worth. If I’m going to say it back to someone, they need to be in love with me for at least two.”

He chokes at the implication, heart threatening to beat right out of his chest and into yours. He knows he looks exactly like the moonstruck, loved-up loser he is, and he coughs to cover it. “That’s what I said,” he lies. “Two hours. You must’ve heard it wrong.”

No, it was never like this.

#seungcheol x reader #seungcheol smut #scoups x reader #scoups smut #seungcheol imagines #seventeen x reader #seventeen smut #seventeen fanfic #seungcheol fanfic #scoups fanfic #jewel writes #fic: wntt

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highvern · 2 months ago

Text

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.”

#cromernet #kvanity #ateez #ateez smut #wooyoung #wooyoung smut #wooyoung x reader #jung wooyoung #ateez x reader #ateez fanfic #wooyoung fluff #wooyoung angst #ateez fluff #🫡 highvern

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lovebugism · 8 months ago

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I have an idea for and eddie x reader fic where f!reader really wants to get into dnd but had no idea where to start, and is afraid of getting further teased by family and bullies at school. Tsym, your writing is the best! 🖤🖤

i can't stop writing part twos to stuff apparently, so please enjoy the unofficial second part of this fic! — the new girl learns about the hellfire rumors (shy!r, hurt/comfort, cw for brief mentions of bullying | 1.5k)

A familiar face waits for you outside Mr. Kaminsky’s chemistry lab. Eddie Munson, anticipating your arrival around the corner, grins with all his teeth when his unexpected presence takes you by surprise.

You stumble back on unsure feet — a little like you had when you first met (though you don’t fall on your ass this time, thankfully) — then smile before you mean to.

“I’ve been going here for two weeks, you know?” you tell the boy towering over you, peering at him beneath your lashes. “I think I know my way around by now.”

Eddie bounces a shoulder in a lazy shrug. “Well, better to be safe, don’t ya think?”

He flashes you a crooked smirk and tosses a leather-clad arm over your shoulder. You notice quickly that he’s got nothing in his ringed hands, not even a backpack, while you carry a mountain of textbooks in your aching arms.

With Eddie’s help, you weave through the bustling hall of Hawkins High, which would otherwise trample you completely. The crowd seems to part for him instinctively — whether it’s intentional or not, you can’t tell. You don’t think Eddie notices it, either. He guides you to the west end of the school like doing so is muscle memory. You’re starting to think he knows your schedule better than his own.

“A lot of people would pay good money to have me as their personal escort, you know?” he jokes and tilts his wild head to his shoulder. A few untamed curls tickle the apples of your cheek in the process. He scrunches his nose down at you. “So you should be thanking me, really.”

Your face warms for a reason you can’t name. From the close proximity, maybe, or from the weight of your gratitude. Equal parts of both, perhaps. “Thank you,” you murmur shyly.

Eddie falters, sneakers scuffing against the tile. He’s still getting used to how kind you are; and how softly you look at him. “I was— I was being sarcastic. Don’t actually thank me,” he stammers, cheeks flaring pink. “Jeez. You’re too sweet for your own good, you know that?”

You giggle when he sweeps you around the corner. The sound is pretty enough to make him smile, though it ebbs much quicker than he’d like. It takes Eddie a moment too long to realize why, ‘cause he’s too busy ogling at how pretty you are. Which makes the sight before him borderline gagworthy.

“Well,” an infuriatingly familiar voice huffs. “Look what the cat dragged in.”

Jason Carver, clad in his bright green letterman, stands at the center of a bunch of guys, also wearing bright green lettermans.

You recognize a couple of their faces. Andy is the one with the sandy curls who spends all of biology cracking sex jokes. Patrick is the tall one with the Bobby Brown haircut who helped you with your locker once when the combination wouldn’t budge.

The rest are nameless and unfamiliar. Save for the blonde boy in the middle of them, with the hundred-dollar haircut and the bright white smile. Everything you’ve learned about him has been entirely against your will.

Eddie blinks slowly at the crowd of muscled teens, not nearly as startled by the sight of them as you are. His dark eyes flit to the side, where they crowd at the entrance of the Hellfire room, and then back to Jason. “Well, are you gonna let us through, or do we need a password?” he deadpans.

Jason’s thin lips quirk at the edges. “Where are you guys off to?”

“You’re a smart guy, Carver. I’m sure you can figure it out.”

The boy’s stone blue eyes dart between the two of you for a moment, before settling finally on you. “He’s not trying to recruit you into his cult, is he?” Jason squints.

Eddie tenses beside you. His warm arm slips from your shoulders and leaves you fighting back a shiver. An agonizing second passes before you get the courage to speak. “C-Cult?” you echo, noticeably unsure.

“Yeah,” Jason nods with wide eyes and a voice that borders on sympathetic. “They’re Satanists— him and all his Hellfire buddies. The five of ‘em? They’re bad news, sweetheart.”

Eddie’s chest tightens. Not because of Jason’s stupid melodramatics (he’s used to those now) but because he’s calling you sweetheart. And you’re not his fucking sweetheart. Eddie knows you’re not his either, exactly, but the principle still stands anyway.

“Oh! You can count!” Eddie muses with an emotionless laugh. “I bet you know your ABC’s too!”

Jason’s face cracks only slightly. His sharp jaw clenches enough to make his temples shift. His suffocating gaze never wavers from yours.

“I’m just trying to look out for you. That’s all,” he murmurs like he’s telling a secret, but obviously wanting Eddie to hear all of it. “Don’t get wrapped up in Munson’s shit, alright? He’s dangerous. He’ll swallow someone as sweet as you whole before you can blink.”

When Jason passes you, he caresses your elbow with a touch you assume is meant to be comforting. You tense like he’s burned you instead. He walks on by and takes his friends and too-strong cologne with him.

Eddie grits his teeth and stares daggers down the emptying hallway. He doesn’t want to cause a scene like he typically would — for your sake — but staying silent leaves him with no real place to put his anger. His rage simmers like a fire behind his ribcage, and he keeps it all to himself. Just like Jason wanted.

“Fucking douchebag,” Eddie grumbles as he storms into the Hellfire room. You follow cautiously behind him, watching silently while he paces around the empty classroom. The boy talks wildly with his hands. “I can’t stand him— He’s like a fucking goblin with an intelligence score of zero—”

“What… What was he talking about?” you wonder in a mousy voice, clammy hands wringing. “Back there? About the… the cult?”

“Nothing,” Eddie groans. He huffs and tilts his head back, revealing the tendons of his milky white neck. “He just thinks a couple of nerds playing D&D are worshipping satan, which is just… I mean, he throws balls into hoops in his spare time, but you don’t see me calling him a goddamn neanderthal, do you?”

He turns to face you, wide-eyed, like he’s expecting an answer. Then he sighs, bringing his chin to his chest and hiding behind his hair. “Nevermind. I actually do call him that, so… I guess it’s fair…”

“Does he always bother you like that?” you question, chest sparking with an emotion stronger than you used to. Strangely protective and very foreignly angry.

“Me? God, no— He’s not that big of an idiot,” Eddie scoffs, then turns suddenly serious. His dark eyes narrow across the room at you. “Has he been bothering you?”

You shift your weight under his smothering gaze. “No… Not like that, anyway. I’m usually with you, so… He mostly leaves me alone.”

Eddie sighs. His chest deflates with the heavy breath. He grows quickly shy as he closes the distance between you, arms crossed over his chest like a shield. He averts his gaze and swallows hard. “I’m— I’m sorry, by the way.”

Your brows pinch. “For what?”

He shrugs sheepishly, scratching at the back of his neck. “I don’t know. I just… I feel like I should’ve done more—”

“You did enough.”

“—I should’ve stuck up for you.”

“It’s not your job to stop assholes from being assholes, Ed.”

He doesn’t want to smile, but you make it distressingly hard not to. Especially when you’re grinning up at him like you are now. Especially when such vulgar words are spilling from such a pristine mouth.

“Well, I did kinda promise to keep you safe.”

“You have been, Eds,” you tell him with a pretty laugh, smiling so hard you’re squinting. “There’s no one else I’d rather be around, so… That’s gotta count for something, right?”

“That’s just because you’re crazier than I am, sweetheart.”

Your face flares, warmed by the term of endearment — far more when it’s spilling from his mouth than Jason’s. “Well, Hellfire’s for crazy people, I’ve heard. So I guess I’ll fit right in.”

Eddie’s button eyes go wide. His chin falls to his chest as he flashes you a solemn look. “You… You still wanna join?” he wonders, half shocked.

You take his surprise for distaste and cower all over again. “I mean… If you— If you’ll have me, I guess—”

“Of course!” the boy assures, far quicker and far louder than he intended. His voice rings through the empty classroom and he clears his throat, trying to play it cool. “I just thought that after Jason, you’d—”

“Screw Jason,” you blurt, foreignly harsh in a way that makes his heart skip. “I don’t care what he thinks. I like spending time with you.”

A smirk flickers at the very corner of Eddie’s mouth. “Really?”

“Really,” you echo. When you feel yourself start to drown in his chocolate eyes, you turn to the wooden figurines sitting on top of the table beside you. “You’ll have to teach me how to play, though. I have exactly zero clue where to start.”

“That’s okay,” Eddie shrugs, taking a daring step closer. He smirks and fights the urge to hold you — to caress your arm like Jason had, and to erase any remnants of his unwanted touch. His ringed hands tremble with yearning. He balls them into fists at his side.

He smiles through the aching. “Just means we get to spend more time together, right?”

#published by bug #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson x you #eddie munson #stranger things #stranger things imagine #stranger things x reader #stranger things fic #stranger things fanfic #stranger things fanfiction #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson fanfiction #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson fic #st drabbles #eddie spaghetti drabble

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k0mmari · 1 month ago

Note

hrllo!! :)

I just want to say that i loved Locked and Loaded!!! It is such an amazing fic!! But i noticed that its tagged as bingyuan on ao3.... is this really endgame bingyuan? (nothing against it!! Its just with the fact binghe isnt born and.... yeah he just isnt born yet so im just curious on how it happens.... obviously you dont have to answer this!! Especially if by answering it you spoil the plot!!! Im just a tad perplexed) :)

Hello, and thank you so much for sending your question!

The short answer would be: Yes! Maybe! Probably!

The long answer:

It’s a bit of a complicated question to answer now since, I’ll be honest, I didn’t plan this fic as much as I should probably have done lol

When I first started writing it, I didn’t expect this first part with sy and sj to get this big, it was honestly supposed to be like, 5 chapters long, so when I was putting in the tags I put them according to this expectation. Of course, as we can see, it got a bit bigger than that! Oops!

And, as I was writing it, I contemplated a lot of times if I should change the bingyuan tag for another ship or remove it entirely; that’s actually why in the end notes of chapter 13 I even asked if it would be better to separate the ‘first act’ and ‘second act’ in different fics altogether, since it feels a bit deceptive for me to put the bingyuan tag but is been 100K+ words and, as you’ve put it, Binghe is nowhere close to even existing difhudjfid. But, since everyone said to just put it all under one fic, I did!

(Ngl I may still end up separating them and putting them under the same collection, since I’m still not sure how long it’ll be till the end of this ‘first act’)

Also also, backtracking a bit to when I said I might consider different ships, I honestly may still consider them! I’ll still answer that bingyuan is endgame for now, since it was what I planned since the beginning, and I would feel bad for the people who have been patiently waiting for that to happen, but I can’t confidently say that 100% it’s bingyuan.

Anyways, sorry for all the yapping LOL, I’ve wanted to talk about this for a while and this gave me the opportunity. Have a little binghe doodle as an apology :)

#locked and loaded fic #ended up yapping a lot sorry #luo binghe #svsss

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froggibus · 7 months ago

Note

Saw your post!! Any thoughts on what Junkrat, Mei, Venture, and Sombra might do if their respective s/o's wanted a prize from a claw machine? Who can actually do? What do they do if they can't?

Claw Machine - Junkrat, Mei, Sombra & Venture

Genre: fluff, little crack

Summary: how your s/o would win (or steal) you a prize from a claw machine

CW: sombra’s a jerk, established relationships, theft (in a funny silly goofy way), Ven gets stuck in a claw machine, none of these people are good at games sorry

thanks so much for giving me a cute fluffy req ^^ I really appreciate it. sometimes writing so much smut gets a little overwhelming so I am grateful for fun little ideas like this!! 💓 hope you’re having a great day lovely someone pls remind me in the morning to give this a proper banner

@kitsune-loves-fics wrote a beautiful continuation of Venture’s part! come check it out here 💓

Junkrat:

insists he’s the best at claw machine games

he is not.

however he will spend all day and all the money he has just so he could get you whatever prize you wanted

unrelated but Mako is probably crazy at claw games

keeps promising he’ll win it for you but progressively gets worse and worse at the game

eventually gets annoyed and starts shaking the machine

please walk away it’s so embarassing

if that doesn’t work he will literally break the glass and just grab the toy for you

gets down on his knee like a dork and hands it to you

“for you, little cricket”

grabs your hand and runs away giggling from security

you’re legally obligated to keep the toy forever or else he’ll get sad

Mei:

probably average at the claw game

she won’t try all day but if you really want it, she’ll give it at least ten tries

gets kind of confused when she can’t win and decides to apply some science to it

literally calculates a bunch of math based on how fast it moves, how far away it is, size of everything etc

the math still doesn’t help

some kid probably comes up and does it on the first try and she’s staring at them like ‘how’

is completely focused on this damn claw machine now just to get you a little plushy

please bring her a drink or something to boost her mood

when you walk away she’ll try to put her hand in the machine but her arms are too short :(

in the end she recruits snowball and together they manage to get you your little plushy ^^

however she feels so guilty about it after she has to confess to you

Sombra:

she will never let herself be defeated by ANY machine

she’ll probably tell you to win it for yourself and lean against the machine with a smirk while she watches you

you’ll pout at her and beg for her help but she wants to see how ‘dedicated’ you are first (whatever that means)

eventually she gives in (she can never resist you) and steps up to try the game

and immediately loses.

doesn’t even try again, she just hacks it and forces it to do whatever she wants

doesn’t just grab you one plushy, she practically cleans out the whole machine

“liv can we just leave? people are starting to stare?”

“just one more, cariño”

it will not be just one more, but how can you resist when she’s being so sweet?

Venture:

dork ass steps right up the minute you press your face on the glass and coo about how cute it is

“don’t worry babe, I got this”

(they really do not)

they will hyperfocus on it and play it for literal hours

they’re not even bad at it—they keep winning prizes, just not the one that you want

you could leave for ten minutes and come back and they’ll still be trying it

after maybe an hour of playing they get you to stand on the side and shake it for them

if that doesn’t work, they try to shove their arm up there but they’re so muscly they get stuck

you end up having to call the fire department to get them unstuck lol

and the owner of the place feels so bad (or maybe embarrassed) for you guys that they unlock the machine and just give you the toy

masterlist | overwatch masterlist

(if you enjoy content like this, interactions go a long way! comments, likes & rbs are always greatly appreciated ^-^ !!)

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littlemissmentallyunstable · 4 months ago

Note

Can u write an enemies to lovers fic of Grayson X reader??? Plsss!!

thank you for your request and I apologise for the delay in writing it, my request list has been mountainous for a little while now and this particular fic actually also had lots of rewrites before the final piece. It began as an academic rivals sort of thing, then became family-feud but finally ended with whatever this is. I’m praying you enjoy this 🤍🤍

title: we’re just project partners

pairing: grayson hawthorne x (first person) reader

synopsis: you’re partnered with the one person you hate to complete a project you love… but what if he’s not as bad as you thought

warnings: swearing, gray-bae is being a nasty little b-word (BUT ITS FOR THE PLOT OKAY)

a/n: I am alive!! It’s just taken me a week and a bit to post again, I’m writing three fics at once so this one just happened to be done first

taglist: @lovethornes @whatsamongus @wish-i-were-heather @inmyheaddd @never-enough-novels @fleuriosa @midiosaamor @sweetreveriee @emelia07 @f4iry-bell @zaraaaabear @thoughtdaughter3 @benny1989fredd @elysianwayy77 @maybxlle @sheisntyou @anintellectualintellectual @aleatorio1234 @adalia-jaycee @off-to-the-r4ces @lyra-kane @reminiscentreader @lyrakanefanatic @imaseabear @elizaa31 @loveinalocket

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” I roll my eyes, eyeing the names on the board.

It just has to be him doesn’t it.

“There must be a mistake,” Grayson says. I turn my head to look at him, for once we can agree on something.

“No there is no mistake,” the professor tusks, “class dismissed.”

Everyone gets up and begins to pack their stuff, chatting about the project and their partners and various other things. It sucks when you have no classes with your friends, but it sucks even more when you get partnered with your rival for a project.

I’m about to walk out of the classroom when I hear my name.

“Y/n l/n, come back a moment!”

I stop myself from rolling my eyes, I just want to go home. I spin around and sluggishly walk back to the teacher’s desk where she stands and beside her is the infamous arrogant prat Grayson Hawthorne.

“You have to change it,” Grayson snaps quickly, his voice so insistent, so sharp. I look up to see he’s gesturing to our names beside one another’s. Classic Hawthorne. Thinks he can command people to do whatever he pleases just because he feels entitled enough to do so.

“What you gonna do, bribe her if she says no?” I scoff, arms folded.

They both ignore me but my lip still quirk upwards, proud of the pathetic joke I’d made, even if I was the only one who found it funny.

“There will be no changes Mr Hawthorne,” our professor replies sincerely.

“You don’t understand,” he shakes his head so vigorously I have to bite back a laugh, “I can’t work with her.”

“Well you’re going to have to,” she says, “this is 30% of your grade for the year.”

His eyes widen and he almost looks panicked. Almost. Nevertheless it amuses me to see the stoic, ironclad blonde crack for mere seconds.

“Professor please,” he says so desperately he’s practically begging, which I’d always thought was too beneath him to do, “she’s impossible.”

“I’m impossible?” I raise my eyebrows.

He rolls his eyes and turns back to our teacher, “anyone but her. I’ll do it by myself if I have to.”

“I’ve told you once and I will only repeat myself one more time, there will be no changes made,” she says too calmly, “I don’t see the problem, you are both excellent students with some of the highest marks I’ve seen in my time. You need to get past whatever this little tiff is and move on. Bounce off of each other, enlighten each other, create a show stopping presentation.”

Such a teacher answer to give. Played off to be inspirational, really just a nice way of saying get on with it or you fail.

“On the contrary Miss, I think Hawthorne here is the only one kicking up a fuss, I haven’t uttered a word,” I point out.

“That may be true but don’t you think I can see the vicious looks aimed at both him and me?” she asks, accusation in her tone.

So maybe the dirty looks weren’t as sly as I’d thought them to be. Still, it wasn’t like he didn’t deserve them.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I lie through my teeth, sweetened smile to sugarcoat it further.

“Perhaps it should be discussed in a detention then, I’m free after school tomorrow,” she proposes, her smile even sweeter than mine.

“No, no, that isn’t necessary,” I say quickly, “I’m suddenly horribly aware of the looks I’ve been giving.”

I’m not the kind of girl who gets detentions, actually I’d never gotten one in my life and I didn’t intend to change that. My record was perfect, it was going to stay perfect. My professor, annoyingly, knew that a bit too well.

“Good, I suppose no detention then,” she says, “and what about you Mr Hawthorne, would you like to discuss your stubborn means to switch partners in a detention with me?”

“No thank you,” he grits through his teeth, his jaw nearly set in stone. I fight back a grin at his irritation.

“Challenges are good for the mind,” she smiles, “and I have a feeling you two will very much challenge one another. You once told me you liked a challenge, no?”

“I do,” Grayson nods slowly, then side glances at me, “but not of this kind.”

I think it was meant to be an insult towards me but it was so poor it didn’t even come close to mildly hurting me so I don’t bother to respond.

“Try something new, branch out a little,” our professor shrugs, “and who knows, you may even enjoy each other’s company.”

“That is very optimistic,” I scoff at the same time as Grayson says, “that will never happen.”

“Only time will tell,” she replies with a whimsical look in her eyes, “good luck.”

We exit the classroom in the coldest of silences. Any colder and we would’ve had an ice palace with an interesting rendition of ‘let it go’. I vote Grayson plays Elsa.

He actually barely spares me a glance, with his jaw all clenched and tightened. I wonder at one point if he’s breathing. He’s so tense, the feeling smothers the air around me, suffocating any sense of relaxation. I turn to leave the building.

“Where are we going?” he questions, too assertive for my liking.

“I’m going home,” I tell him bluntly.

He furrows his brows, “why?”

“To get changed,” I deadpan.

“Why?” he repeats. I try to read his emotions but they’re not clear enough to define. He’s accustomed to hiding them.

I stare at him, “I don’t need to explain myself to you.”

“Fine, we’ll meet here in 15 minutes,” he decides.

I don’t reply as I turn on my heels and walk away.

***

After getting changed and piecing together all of the things I might need to study, all my notes and books and highlighters and pens, I walked back over to our ‘meeting place’. As I approach Grayson is already stood there with a sour expression on his face. Of course he’s already there.

“You’re late,” he tells me, his voice so bitter I wonder how many lemons it would take to rival it.

“No I’m exactly on time,” I sneer, flicking my phone in his face.

“It’s been 15 minutes and 43 seconds, so technically you’re 43 seconds late,” he smirks. I almost feel sorry for him because I can see how proud he feels after saying this, sense the smugness burning in his chest.

“Did you count?” I try extremely hard to suppress my laughter.

“Of course not, I wouldn’t waste my breath on that,” he rolls his eyes, then pauses slightly, “… I set a timer.”

“Of course you did,” I purse my lips with a sigh.

His screws his face up, “what’s that supposed to mean?”

“It’s supposed to mean you’re a weird person who would time someone going home to get changed,” I shrug, attempting to walk past him.

Talk about being late, when he was the one stood here chattering on about meaningless subjects. He ignores the comment and briskly stands in front of me to block me from walking any further.

“What are you wearing anyway?” he asks, looking down on me with great distaste with all but his eyes.

“Clothes,” I deadpan, staring down at my much loved and slightly over worn band tee-shirt.

“They’re awful,” he tells me bluntly.

“Was that meant to hurt me?” I raise an eyebrow. I mean sure, it hurt a little, but I didn’t actually care what he thought. Or I shouldn’t at least.

“You could’ve picked something a little nicer to wear in public,” he continues, so cut-throat and cold.

I look directly into his mellowed silver eyes and wonder how someone with such soft, inviting eyes could be so sharp and jagged with the words he uses.

“Worried I’ll ruin your street credit,” I tease, “sully your good name with my sports leggings and band t-shirt?”

“I’m just surprised at your lack of care for your appearance,” he replies, a slight discomfort worming its way through his features. It makes me smile a little.

“I just think I’m not as fixated on it as you, I mean what’s with your outfit, James Bond? Do you own anything that’s not a suit and tie,” I ask.

“Matter-o-factly I do,” he replies bluntly as if to end the conversation.

So of course I continue it, “so do you just stare at those clothes then, hanging in your walk in wardrobe.”

His eyes snap up and his stare is suddenly so piercing it hurts to hold eye contact, “how do you know I have a walk in wardrobe,” he practically spits, in a defensive tongue.

I snort, “that was a joke, but yeesh rich boy you’ve got it all.”

“Rich boy, how original,” Grayson comments.

“I’ve got more,” I shoot back with that smile I know makes his blood boil and skin singe.

“Spare me them,” he responds, “sweetheart.”

A forbidden fluttering occurs in the pit of my stomach, it’s as if eight hundred butterflies have decided to dance a jive there. Some feeling between guilt and shame settles in my chest. The word sweetheart shouldn’t make me feel anything, least of all from the mouth of Grayson Hawthorne.

But it was the way he said it, so softly, so smoothly, the word just rolled off of his tongue like he’d called me it for years. It almost sounded nice. The guilt weighs heavier on my chest and I snap out of it. I don’t feel anything. For anyone. Least of all him.

“Awww you’ve got a nickname for me too Goldilocks,” I reply with a laugh to bury the truth.

“Did you not hear the spare me part?” he tusks, beginning to walk.

I shake my head, walking a little faster than usual to keep up with his strides, “sorry I usually don’t listen when someone irrelevant talks.”

He scowls at me and I wink back.

“Did your face get stuck in a permanent scowl as a child or were you just born unhappy?” I cock my head to the side and narrow my eyes.

“Do you ever shut up?” Grayson asks flatly.

“My therapist told me not to hold back,” I shrug.

“Doesn’t that explain a lot,” he says dryly, shooting me a look that makes me feel inferior. I go to bite my tongue, but ask myself when I’m trying to hold back. I don’t owe him anything.

I stare at him, “don’t look so disgusted blondie, just because you’re too up yourself to admit you need help doesn’t mean all of us are.”

“I don’t need help,” Grayson replies, each word candid and dull.

Something in me almost feels sorry for him. Did he really think he didn’t need help? Did he really feel that alone and isolated? I wanted, in that moment, to reach out and be there for him. Then I remember who he is.

“Whatever you say,” I sigh.

“We’re working at my house,” he responds abruptly, as we get to the end of the street.

I fold my arms and raise my eyebrows, “says who?”

“Me,” he shrugs.

“And who are you to tell me where I’m working?” I ask.

“I’m your partner and I’m making a decision,” he presses on, stubbornly. Little does he know, I’m twice as stubborn and I’m not going to back down.

“I don’t think you really understand how this whole project thing works,” I say.

“I’ve done plenty of projects and I can very much assure you, I understand what I’m doing,” he grumbles back, clearly annoyed that he isn’t getting his way this time. Someone has to teach him I suppose.

“Oh great,” I smile sickeningly sweetly, “then we’re not working at yours.”

“Why on earth not?” he screws up his face as if I’ve just told him I want to skin a cat alive.

“I don’t want to,” I reply simply.

“Well I do,” he argues back.

“That’s a shame,” I shrug softly, leaving him with no option.

He shakes his head and runs a hand through his perfect hair, “you are insufferable.”

“That the worst you got Hawthorne?” I giggle a little, turning left to walk down the pathway.

“And impossible,” he says, following me.

“Oh you wound me,” I say hyperbolically, putting I hand in my head and feigning a dizzy spell.

Grayson rolls his eyes, he’s done it so many times now I’m worried they might get stick here soon, “can we just work?”

“Where?” I shoot him a lopsided grin.

He sighs, most likely suppressing some very colourful language, “why don’t you decide seen as my ideas oppose you.”

“Much like your entire personality,” I let him know.

“My personality is fine,” he replies, probably trying to soothe his rapidly declining pride under that suit of his.

“Mhmmm,” I nod sarcastically, “and I have a unicorn that shits cupcakes called Craig.”

“Really?” he wrinkles his nose, “profanities?”

“Oh no is it too beneath the great Grayson Hawthorne to say fuck every now and then,” I laugh.

He tenses and mutters something under his breath. I don’t quite hear the words but you can see he’s fuming. It ignites something in me, a spark. I like seeing him furious. I really like it.

“Where do you want to work?” he asks me, grey eyes a little too distracting for my liking.

“The library,” I tell him, my answer almost immediate.

He tries to mask his horror but fails miserably, “in public?”

“You’re not going to get cholera,” I snort.

“Can’t we just work somewhere nicer,” he complains.

“The library is nice,” I tell him, “and they have a coffee stand outside and I want coffee so that’s where we’re going.”

“And you call me demanding,” he mutters underneath us breath.

***

We walk to the library bickering about how fast he walks and how slow I apparently walk. In my personal opinion I think he was walking fast on purpose, he obviously disagreed.

“Do you even know where you’re going?” I ask him, it now only just dawning on me that he was leading the way yet he didn’t know where the library was.

“I’m not an idiot,” Grayson spits back, nose in the air, posture upright and powerful.

He always carries himself like that as if he’s saviour of the world and we should all bow down to kiss his presumably pedicured feet.

“Are you sure?” I tease him.

“Certain,” he snaps regimentally.

“We’re here,” I say halting conversation to walk up to the coffee stand.

“I knew that,” he mumbled.

He glances at the cart, looking it up and down like it needs to be judged and inspected to his high standards.

“What is this?” he interrogates me.

“It’s called a coffee cart in english but in rich boy it might be called something else, I haven’t studied the language yet,” I respond coolly.

“Is this even safe to drink?” Grayson says, some variant of worry wavering in his tone.

“It’s coffee,” I deadpan, “not raw chicken.”

He rolls his eyes in an exaggerated manner.

“I like it and I’m getting some,” I tell him bluntly, “you don’t want to, you don’t have to.”

“No,” he checks his watch, “I need a coffee, this’ll have to do.”

I don’t bother wasting my breath to respond but make a mental note that maybe the Hawthorne wasn’t so different from me, addicted to coffee.

“Hey Jack,” I wave, walking closer to the cart.

I’d known Jack for a good eight years of my life, he was my rock. The smile in endless clouds of grey, the light at the end of the tunnel and of course, most importantly, the coffee provider to my caffeine deprived being.

“Bonsoir sunshine what can I get you,” he grins his usual grin at me, the witty mischief-ridden grin is known since I was nine years old. His eyes slide over Grayson judgementally though when he realises I’m watching him he immediately flicks back to his job.

“The usual of course,” he makes sure.

“You come here often?” Grayson raises an eyebrow, interrupting my answer.

“Just every day,” Jack says, before I can get a word out. I shoot him a look.

Grayson looks at me, “every day?”

“I really like coffee,” I explain with an exaggerated hand gesture.

“Coffee is bad for your health,” he responds almost immediately.

I suppress the hundreds of colourful words exploding in my mind settling for a more well-mannered reply, “well it’s good for my mental stability.”

“She’s addicted now,” Jack adds, “she’ll get withdrawal symptoms without it.”

“Shaking, sweating, you name it, I get it,” I continue.

“That sounds like a serious health condition,” Grayson says, his eyebrows pinching together. It was so soft I could’ve mistakened the expression for concern. But of course, why would he be concerned for me. I must’ve been reading it wrong.

“Hence me buying this coffee,” I tell him.

“Blueberry muffin, on the house,” Jack offers me, as if he didn’t every Friday.

We had a deal, I was allowed to take a free blueberry muffin that came out of his earnings if he kept up to date with his school work. Jack had always had a problem with handing things in on time and concentrating and school wasn’t his strong point. He hated going and was so close to dropping out too many times. That was until I made him stay. I talked him into it and he promises me he doesn’t regret it. It seems this week, he’s turned in all assignments on time.

I smiled, “you mean on the cart?”

“Sure whatever,” he brushes it off, “anything else?”

His eyes dare to skim over Grayson again though he is quick to come back and meet my gaze, his cheeks flush like he’s a child who’s done something wrong.

I turn to Grayson, “what do you want?”

“I’ll pay for myself,” he says shortly, looking slightly offended at my question.

I screw up my nose at him, “I wasn’t going to offer to pay for you asshole.”

“Play nice, sunshine,” Jack teases.

I glare at him and his smile quickly fades.

“You can’t play nice with that,” I glower.

He shoots me a look, the turns to Grayson, “what can I get you sir?”

“It’s not the evening,” Grayson replies.

Jack’s eyes are lost in a blanket of confusion, “sorry?”

“It’s not the evening it’s the afternoon,” he clarifies, as if it made the meaning of his sentence any clearer.

“You’ve lost me sir,” he shakes his head with furrowed brows.

“You said bonsoir but it isn’t the evening,” he chastises, “it’s afternoon and therefore you should’ve said bon après-midi.”

Jack turns to me, bewildered, “is he on drugs?”

“Probably,” I shrug. I wouldn’t be surprised if the rich kid had private access to that sort of stuff, he probably had the lawyers to cover it up as well.

“Are you…” Jack hesitates, “…you know?”

He makes an odd gesture with two fingers as I confuse to stare at him blankly.

“No I don’t know,” I reply.

“Are you with him,” he asks, “romantically.”

I almost choke on my own spit as I bark out a laugh, “oh god no.”

For a fraction of a second a look of relief passes over Jack’s features. Something uninvited tugs at my insides but I quickly ignore it.

“You’d be lucky,” Grayson scoffs.

“Oh he fancies himself,” Jack grins, clearly amused.

“Yeah it’s an ego thing, his is massive,” I explain.

“No it’s not,” the blonde insists.

“In denial as well,” Jack smirks, folding his arms.

“Always,” I say, then turn to Grayson, “now what do you want to drink because if you don’t tell him now I’m taking mine and ditching you.”

“Black coffee, no cream, no sugar,” the answer was instant, rehearsed.

“Ooo you made a hardcore friend,” Jack snickers, I want to slap him.

“We are not friends,” I make clear.

“Yeesh okay,” he raises his eyebrows, lifting his hands up as if he’d been convicted of a crime.

“And let’s be realistic here, rich boy probably has a massive sweet tooth and is too embarrassed to let people know,” I say with a sly smirk.

“Oh one hundred percent!” Jack nods, handing me my cup and muffin.

“I do not,” Grayson mutters, but loudly enough for us both to hear.

“That’s confirmed then,” Jack winks at me.

I giggle as he hands Grayson his drink. We exchange payment and then comes the dreaded point where I actually have to leave to get work done. Usually coming to the library for me was getting to see Jack and getting my coffee, not the actual going to library part.

“See you tomorrow,” I smiled sadly.

“Hopefully without thunder face here,” Jack says.

“I can hear you,” Grayson says curtly, before taking a sip of his coffee.

“I know,” Jack shrugs.

“I hope so too,” I reply to his previous comment, “bye!”

“Bye,” he salutes me as I turn around and begin to walk.

I’m aware that Grayson is by my side but neither of us speak. The only sounds come from our surroundings and the alternating elongated sips of coffee were taking to avoid talking. I practically inhale my muffin, after skipping lunch as school had booked my time table that way.

“I didn’t like the way he looked at you,” Grayson says suddenly with a sour expression on his face.

“The way he looked at me was none of your business,” I reply sharply, indicating for him to drop the subject unless me wanted a fight.

“Well I didn’t like it,” he continued. Fine, he wants a fight.

“I don’t really care,” I shrug, “he’s Jack, he’s been a friend since freaking kindergarten, he’s got no dishonourable intentions.”

A slight exaggerated lie on my part, but I wasn’t ashamed. It feels like I’ve known Jack that long anyway, the technicalities don’t matter.

“You don’t know that,” he states.

“I know that better than anyone now back off okay?” I snap, “or you and I will have a real problem.”

He laughs, “you’re almost adorable when you’re angry.”

“Adorable?” I say, fantasising spitting in his face after that comment.

“Almost,” he corrects me.

“I can throw a good hard punch and I’m not afraid to,” I warn him.

“Oh I’m sure you’re not,” he says, a ghost of a smile twitching on his lips, “I can see as much in your eyes.”

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” I ask, raising my voice a little.

He stays quiet and averts his eyes, deciding to ignore me a continue walking.

“Oh ignore the question, real mature,” I roll my eyes, “so glad I’m having a proper adult conversation.”

Silence hits again, like a sonic boom of nothingness. He doesn’t even look at me. It’s as if I don’t exist, as if in the last three seconds I’ve become an irrelevant invisible being.

I stop Grayson in his tracks and force him to meet my eyes, “stay away from Jack,” I practically growl, “or I’ll fail this assignment on purpose.”

“We both know you wouldn’t damage your perfectionist reputation for petty revenge,” he murmurs, our faces only inches away from one another’s.

“I have a talent for getting myself out of things,” I cock my head to the side in an art of competition, my cheeks flushing at the realisation that I could feel his warm breath on my face.

“How funny,” he counters, “me too.”

His eyes are narrowed to challenge me. Okay Hawthorne, game on.

***

We’ve been researching for an hour with no further conversation. Since our previous altercation neither one of us had so much as looked up from our laptops. The only reason I knew he was still sat opposite me was the sound of his keyboard typing. I get out my textbook and begin to highlight the lines I need to use

“Why are you using six different highlighters?”

The first thing he says to me in an hour is that? I don’t bother looking up.

“Why do you care?” I ask, my eyes flicking over to my work, my hands continuing to highlight information.

“It’s annoying me,” he shrugs.

“Okay,” I reply slowly, “it sounds like more of a you problem to me.”

I look up. Grayson is staring right at me, his steel eyes cold looking on my face. He opens his mouth to reply but my surprise gets there first.

“You wear glasses?” I gape.

“Seen as I’ve had them on for the last hour that would make sense,” he teases.

“I never see you wear them at school,” I explain.

“That’s because I don’t,” he pauses, “why were you looking at me in school?”

“It was just generally, like I’d waste my time looking at you,” I roll my eyes.

Then catch his for a moment. My head tilts to the side. Something feels off about him. He looks warmer, softer, calmer.

“What?” he asks, clearly annoyed.

“You look weird,” I blurt out before my brain can filter it.

“How lovely of you to say,” he replies dryly.

“You don’t look like you,” I say, “you look more…”

Human. That’s what I want to say but I trail off instead.

“More what?” he prompts.

“It doesn’t matter,” I shake my head, getting back to my book. I can feel his eyes on me.

He stares me down quizzically, like he’s trying to work me out, “I know what you’re trying to do.”

“Highlight my textbook in peace? Yeah,” I scoff, “but that’s not really happening anymore.”

“You’re trying to get under my skin,” he seethes.

“By highlighting my book?” I raise my eyebrows.

“In six different colours,” he reminds me, as if I don’t already know.

I sigh, “I dare say that coffee made you even more of a bitch.”

He rolls his eyes, “you really feel the need to use those words?”

“No but I feel the need to punch you,” I retort.

“Well I’m right here, why don’t you?” he challenges.

“Because I have a level of self control,” I shrug gently.

“Are you quite sure?” he asks me.

He doesn’t realise I’m not the kind of girl to question myself just because a man did first. I’m not that kind of girl at all.

“Are you quite finished?” I reply, just a smoothly to mirror him.

“No.”

Our eyes linger on each others and it feels like we share a million unspoken conversation through the patterns of our irises. I’m fixated on him like I’ve been fixated on no other before. It’s not me but that doesn’t make me pull away. His gaze becomes more concentrated, harder to ignore without unwelcome feelings arising so I look back down to my highlighters and pick up for where I left off, except now I had a thumping heart in my chest.

I slide a sweaty palm on my trousers keeping it hidden under the table. I finish up my highlighting and then begin type up the final few notes I have to get done. After that, it’s over. I get to leave, I get my freedom, I get to breathe.

“I’m finished,” he announces when I’m mid sentence. Why is his tone always so articulated, so definitive?

“Okay I’m nearly there,” I say, frantically typing the last of my notes.

“Bit slow,” he comments.

I roll my eyes with no energy to reply. He’s done me in today. I’m exhausted at the thought of more bickering. With a few more clicks of my keyboard I complete all that I wanted to.

“I’m done,” I exhale, “just send me your work so I can proofread and check the facts.”

“You doubt my skill?” he raises an eyebrow.

I shrug, “I don’t know you well enough to trust it.”

“Then send me yours,” he purses his lips, “and I’ll do the same.”

“Okay then,” I say, sending him over my copy slowly.

He opens it and begins to read as I open his. My eyes are just in the middle of the second paragraph when there’s an untimely interrupted.

“It’s a waste of time,” he says suddenly, irritation thick in his tone.

“Not if I find mistakes,” I sing song, not taking my eyes off of his page, knowing full well I’d have to reread this sentence and other four times.

“You won’t,” he snaps.

“Oh take it out!” I exclaim finally, growing too exasperated to keep my feelings at bay.

He grows suddenly extremely confused, providing a perfect answer, “what?”

“The stick, wedged up your backside!” I whisper-yell, exasperated, “just yank it out already.”

“Excuse me!” he widens his eyes, looking highly disgusted.

“You’re rigid as a board, you never smile, your muscles are literally tensed, chill out a little,” I breathe, “I literally just want to check over the notes, why is it nearly world war three?”

“Your imagination is quite something,” he comments, practically ignoring all that I’d just said.

“So is your expressionless face,” I answer with a small shrug.

Grayson’s lips twist into a smile, “you think my face is quite something?”

“Don’t flatter yourself Hawthorne,” I scoff, rolling my eyes.

“I’ll try not to,” he replies.

“It must be hard for you,” I tease.

“Not as hard it is for you to admit you like my face,” he continues to smirk, annoying twinging through me with each curve of his mouth.

“If liking it means I want to spit in it, then yeah I really like your face,” I reply.

He leans over the table, getting closer, “you’re revolting.”

“Get the dictionary out for the next adjective,” I taunt him, “there’s one behind you.”

He doesn’t respond and I take that as my win. His eyes just become fixated on my notes all of a sudden. My stomach dances a little. I feel nervous, why do I feel nervous? It’s just Grayson, reading my notes… but my leg is bouncing up and down and I’m holding my breath without realising it. The clock has never ticked so loudly.

I focus on his notes and unfortunately realise he’s right. There are no mistakes. How annoying. I wanted to make him feel stupid for being so arrogant but he had a right to be. His work was practically perfect. Of course there are things I would’ve written differently but it didn’t taken away from the fact that his work was masterful.

“There’s a mistake,” he says suddenly.

Damn it.

“What?” I ask.

“In your work,” he smiles, almost proudly.

“Okay?” I say, “that’s why we proof things, hence proving my earlier point of the important of proofreading.”

“You got the date wrong,” he explains.

“Which one?” I furrow my brows, dates were the first thing I checked usually. It wasn’t like me to make mistakes on them unless I was distracted.

“1922 should be 1923,” he counters, showing me on his screen.

“Must’ve been a typo,” I shrug.

“Or poor research,” he replied smugly.

“Well I’ve written down 1923,” I tap my pen on my paper notes, “so it must have been a typo,”

“Well you should proofread more carefully then?” he says.

“Maybe I should’ve,” I nod.

He’s got nothing left to say. He can’t argue with me if I’ve agreed with him. Silence hit us like the dead. You could cut the tension with a knife.

“Just correct it,” I finally breathe.

“I will,” he says, tapping at the keys.

“Done?” I ask once he’s finished.

“Done,” he consolidates.

“Great so now we can leave,” I say, standing up, a little too eager to get out.

“Not yet,” Grayson tells me, his words slow and staccato.

“What is this? Some sort of damnation? I want to go home,” I exclaim.

“Well we need to seal our work with our fingerprints,” he explains.

I stare at him blankly, it feels like he’s just said something to me in a strange foreign language, “what?”

“Put fingerprint recognition onto the data base so only we can open our work,” he clarifies, as if it makes it any easier for me to understand.

“Why?” I ask cluelessly.

“So no one can hack into it,” he replies.

“Why do you say it likes it’s obvious?” I say.

“Because it is obvious,” he shrugs.

“Only you would have a fingerprint recognition for school assignments,” I roll my eyes.

“Well I want them secure,” he says.

“Clearly,” I snort.

He opens his mouth to reply but I interrupt him before he can get there.

“Let’s just get this over with, I want to go home tonight,” I sigh.

“Fine,” he says, “you just have to tap here.”

I place my finger where he directed it but it didn’t work. Huffing, I jab my finger at the screen a few times harshly. I’m surprised I don’t break the screen.

“I said tap, not murder,” Grayson says.

“I’m imagining it’s your face,” I growl back, still tapping relentlessly at the uncooperative piece of technology.

“It’s cute you think you’d even get close to touching my face,” he replies cooly.

I smack his forehead sharply. His reflexes aren’t fast enough to register it until the act is done. He sits there, stunned and blinking.

“Still cute?” I ask, batting my eyelashes.

“Adorable,” he growls, a sarcastic venom dripping from every letter.

I groan, as the fingerprint fails me again, “it’s not working.”

“You’re doing it wrong,” he tusks.

“Come on then genius,” I roll my eyes, “show me how it’s done.”

I’m surprised when he takes my hand gently and guides it to the screen. That familiar jolt in my stomach returns. He’s so delicate with me, as if I’m worthy of being treated fragile. He applies light pressure to the tip of my thumb so the fingerprint recognition goes through, his eyes fixated on the screen. Mine are on him.

“There, that’s how it’s done,” he says, snapping me out of my thoughts. The screen lit up green.

He let go of my hand and a wave of shame rolls over me because I’m disappointed he let go.

“Good then,” I nod, mentally telling myself to stop thinking such nonsense, “I need to get home.”

“It’s 6pm,” he deadpans.

“And I need to get home,” I repeat, remembering what an aggravating human being he could be. It washed away any tentative hand touch in an instant.

“But the assignment-“

“We have three weeks,” I say, “don’t get your kickers in a twist Barbie 2.0.”

“The names keep getting better,” he grits through his teeth.

“Well practice makes perfect,” I tease, enjoying myself a little too much

“Doesn’t it just,” he smiles sarcastically.

I sigh shaking my head, “why did she have to pair me with you?”

“I don’t know why you’re complaining, you got the better end of the bargain,” he says with a laboured laugh.

I pause and stare at him, “how?”

“You were partnered with me,” he states, “I’m coherent, cohesive, co-“

“Too many co words Mr,” I cut in.

“But I got you,” he says.

“You say it as if I’m a piece of shit on your shoe,” I practically spit at him. I hate the way me makes me feel inferior.

“Well you’re not exactly pleasant to be around,” Grayson defends, leaning back in his chair.

“Ditto.”

“You’re annoying, irritating-“

“They’re literally synonyms of each other,” I yell over him, earning myself a stern look from the librarian.

“I mean you’re clearly very argumentative,” he says, gesturing his hands as if I were proving his point, “but I wouldn’t put it past you, after all I’m presuming your background didn’t give you lessons in etiquette.”

I clench my jaw to keep it from dropping. I knew he was nasty but I didn’t know he could be cruel.

“My background?” I question him. I know what he means, I just want to see if he’s brave enough this stick his neck out and explain it

“You’re a scholarship student,” he shrugs.

“How do you know that,” I ask quickly.

No one is meant to know that. The headmaster assured me no one could possibly find out and yet Grayson Hawthorne knew. How funny. He only shrugs in response, he wasn’t going to let up that information. He could see it meant something to me.

“I know you think you’re king of the world and all that but it wouldn’t kill you to take your head out of your ass every once in a while and breath some fresh air,” I raise my voice a little, wildly furious.

“Must you be so creative with your insults,”he asks dryly

“Must you be so blatantly rude with yours,” I shoot back.

“So it’s not true?” he replies.

“You don’t have the right to judge me on what you think you know about my life,” I snap fiercely.

He raises his eyebrows, “sorry, did I hit a nerve?”

“You hit nothing,” I mutter.

He smiles to himself, he knows he hit something.

“I’ll be leaving now then, see you later,” I say, the annoyance too thick in my tone for me to hide. I stand up and grab my bag.

“Wait!” he calls.

I spin around, “what?”

“I need your number,” he says slowly.

“You don’t need to sound so desperate,” I smirk.

“I need it to text you the times to meet up and work on the assignment,” he clarifies with an infamous eye roll.

“You don’t need to use that as an excuse blondie,“ I say.

“How can someone some on so intelligent be so utterly exasperating,” Grayson groans.

My cheeks heat up. He thinks I’m intelligent. He values my mind.

“It’s a talent,” I grinned back.

He rolls his eyes as I write down my number and hand it to him.

“There.”

“Thank you,” he nods at me.

“Wow,” my eye widen in shock, “you can be civil!”

“Every once in a while,” he shrugs delicately.

I almost smile but suppress it. Quickly I stack all of the books I’d borrowed to out them away on my way out. Though as I go to carry the pile his voice stops me.

“You’re never going to able to carry all of those books,” he says.

“You don’t need to underestimate me Hawthorne, you’ve done that too much today,” I tell him.

“Watch me defy your so called fact then,” I retort, lifting all eight volumes on top of one another into my arms.

“I’m not underestimating you,” Grayson replies, “I’m stating a fact.”

It’s heavier than I’d estimated which is the first shock. They sit unstably, wobbling and threatening to come cluttering to the floor. But he could not be right. I wouldn’t buckle. I wouldn’t drop anything. I’m not a failure.

“Need some help there?” he tilts his head to the side.

“No,” I say, my strained voice giving me away.

“You look like you’re struggling,” he comments.

“Well I’m not,” I reply, feeling that my face is rosy from sheer effort.

He looks at me, “are you sure?”

“Very,” I grunt, my arms burning with the weight.

“I’ll save you the stubborn act and the library damage fee and take some,” he rolls his eyes.

“I said I’m fine-“

He takes a large sum of books from the top. My arms relax slightly as I glare at him.

“If you drop them you’ll like an idiot,” he explains.

“I wouldn’t have dropped them,” I state.

“Okay, whatever you say,” he replies.

“Don’t use my saying on me,” I say.

“It’s not yours,” he shrugs, “you didn’t create it.”

“I used it earlier, that’s close enough,” I tell him.

“Sure.”

We come to an abrupt halt in conversation and both turn back to back to put the books back to their respected areas. I see one in my pile that has a page marked. I flick to it and pause to skim over the contents.

“What are you reading?”

He almost makes me jump, I didn’t hear him sneak up behind me.

“An article,” I say, tying to keep my voice from trembling after the shock.

I can feel him now breathing down my neck, his chest almost touches my back. My pulse races, skyrocketing a little too far.

“Who’s it by?“ he asks.

My eyes flick to the bottom of the page where I read aloud my response, “am anonymous writer.”

He scrunches his nose up, “what good an article with an anonymous author?”

“It’s not about who wrote it, it’s about the impact it has,” I say.

“I disagree, if I wrote a life changing article I’d want people to know I’d written it,” he replies.

“Of course you want more,” I scoff, stacking the books a little too aggressively.

Classic Hawthorne. The second I think he might not be so bad he goes ahead and reminds me of exactly why I hate people like him.

“Want more?” he furrows his brows.

“You want the glory of it, your name talked about, your legacy preserved,” I snap.

“So I can’t want anything?” he shoots back with venom on his tongue.

“You’re a rich, stuck up prick, like all the rest of them at that school,” I laugh bitterly, “your grandfather is a billionaire, what could you possibly want that isn’t already at your fingertips?”

“You don’t have the right to judge me on what you think you know about my life,” he quotes me.

“Bite me Hawthorne,” I snarl, spinning around.

He catches my wrist and the corners of his mouth lift to form a smirk. A twinge of hatred shifts in my stomach as I glare at him.

“Any other requests?” he raises an eyebrow.

“Don’t play that game with me,” I say, my voice low and dangerous.

“And what game might that be?” he asks, our faces inching closer by the second. The butterflies madly gnawing on my internal organs.

“You know what you’re doing,” I mutter, as my fingers clasp around his wrist too.

His smiles broadens and his silver eyes ignite, “and what is it that I am doing?”

“Stop,” I snap at him. We’re so close now that our foreheads could touch with the slightest of movements.

“Stop what?” he questions me, his voice so hushed it send a shiver down my spine.

“I’m going to strangle you,” I growl, the sound coming from the back of my throat. An uninvited passion rippling through my tone.

“I’d like to see you try,” he murmurs, snaking a hand around my waist. A soft gasp escapes my lips at the warmth and tenderness of his touch. He holds me like I’m breakable. It makes me vulnerable and I hate it yet I don’t tell him to stop. I come to horrible realisation that maybe I don’t want him to.

“I swear to god Hawthorne-“

“Shhhhh,” he says, eyes pinned to mine.

“What are you doing?” I ask breathlessly. All the oxygen previously in my lungs had been sucked out mercilessly by his tentative being.

“Just shut up for one second,” he snaps.

Fury lights inside of me and the spark of rage burns brighter than ever, “don’t tell me to shut-“

“Shhhhh,” he murmurs, placing a gentle finger to my lips.

My mouth obeys without my brain’s consent and my voice ceases. It’s just him and I and the silence around us. My heart thumps in my chest, so loudly it rattles through my ears. Slowly, almost cautiously, my own hands slide up his back as if some other world force is tugging them that way. I know I don’t want to do this but a familiar aching for deprived feeling was forcing me to.

“What are we doing Grayson?” I say, the words barely heard.

“I don’t know,” he whispers, “all I know is, you drive me insane.”

“Funny,” I smile softly, “you drive me insane too.”

His pupils dilate as we get closer. An entrancing monochrome kaleidoscope, only black and grey. Our foreheads meet, pressing into one another. It feels so natural, so right. His hands tighten slightly around the small of my back, as my eyelash graze his cheek, tickling him lightly. I can feel his breath on my face and his heart beating against my own. Our lips go to meet and-

“We’re closing the library now.”

I jerk backwards to suddenly my back smacks into the shelves of books behind me. Pain surges through my spinal cord and I bite my lip to keep me from crying out. My eyes become glossy as previously stacked books thump to the floor. I look up to see the librarian standing there.

I cough, picking up the books, “thanks, we were just leaving.”

She raises a brow but doesn’t say another word. I feel my cheeks burn a feverish red. I don’t meet Grayson’s eyes as I spin on my heels and charge out.

thanks for reading my loves 🤍🤍

TIG masterlist

#bella writes 🤍#the inheritance games #tig #grayson hawthorne #the brothers hawthorne #the final gambit #the hawthorne legacy #grayson hawthorne one shot #grayson hawthorne x you #grayson hawthorne x reader #grayson davenport hawthorne #grayson tgg #graybae

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bigfatbimbo · 4 months ago

Note

Scenarios/headcanons about how Brett Hand feels safe with her!

-🌌

Stay With Me, I Don’t Want You to Leave ⭑.ᐟ

a/n — Sometimes I don’t proofread my fics because the thought of reading my own writing back makes me want to die! WHY’S IT ALWAYS SOUND SO BAD??

warnings — Just fluff, like one sex joke, gender neutral reader, hurt/comfort.

summary — Scenarios/headcanons about how Brett Hand feels safe with you

⭑.ᐟ Brett is already desperate for everyone else’s validation, so this would definitely be enhanced with his significant other.

⭑.ᐟ He would live to please you, so you need to be able to keep it real with him. Ground him, while still showing him love.

⭑.ᐟ He has so much crippling self doubt, daily affirmations from you would be very helpful.

⭑.ᐟ Telling him how cute he looks while you straighten his tie in the morning, and at the end of the day always finding something to compliment him about.

“I think you handled that situation earlier really well, by the way,” You looked out the car window. Brett seemed especially anxious, judging from the natural frown on his face and his deadly grip on the steering wheel. “Really?” He asked.

“Yeah, I never know what to do when Reagan looses one of her science-y tools. Girls already uptight, but when she can’t get her work done. Woof—” Your tone was light, he always felt more comfortable that way.

He smiled, looking up, “Yeah, she really hates inconveniences. That’s why I always carry an extra crowbar on my person — it is very uncomfortable under a suit jacket!”

“Well, that’s really considerate, baby.” His grip finally loosened, shoulders resting. “Thanks,” his smile was soft.

⭑.ᐟ You giving your full attention to him any time would also make him feel very safe and loved.

⭑.ᐟ People obviously acknowledge him, but when your attention is payed in full it makes him feel so appreciated. (Also given his childhood).

⭑.ᐟ Having an understanding of his body language is also very important, because if he’s upset chances are we won’t tell because he doesn’t wanna ruin your mood.

⭑.ᐟ So if his acting off, take his hand in yours, caress his knuckles, and subtly ask about what would help.

Ex. “Do you need anything?” “We don’t have to do anything later. I think there’s a Friends marathon on later, how’s that sound?”

Watch him kinda loosen up and look at you with such appreciation. “Yeah, yeah. That sounds good,” he’s almost sigh with relief.

⭑.ᐟ He doesn’t feel like anything is expected of him in your relationship, he can just exist and be himself without having to put on a show.

( I could see him talking to Reagan about you, “They actually like watching old 80s movies with me— Have you ever met anyone willing to sit through a Van Dam movie? I only know two people: me and them! MAN, those movies suck.

“And the sex - its great! For like 15 years, I thought my only kink was fufilling other peoples kinks, turns out there’s SO much more to me, Reagan!” )

⭑.ᐟ Brett really feels seen around you, like you actually make him feel cared about. And that is such a big part in his feeling safe with you.

a/n — btw, Reagan fic coming hopefully tonight. After that I wanna do something with Gigi, peg Brett, and then probably a Stanley Pines fic?

#inside job x you #inside job brett x reader #inside job x reader #brett hand x you #brett hand x reader #inside job #x reader #fluff x reader #brett hand

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chappellcastiel · 1 year ago

Text

Nothing drives me more crazy then seeing people take away skills from Arthur he would have to know and giving them to Merlin to teach him.

Like wdym Arthur can’t read?!?! He would be one of the only people that actually knew how. I’ve seen fics where Merlin tells Arthur about stars and while I kinda of see it Arthur would already know a good deal about them it’s how he has to navigate.

seen someone write that he didn’t know what to say to a group of people because Merlin usually told him and I burst into tears. Because did you watch the show in a different language with your eyes close wdym Arthur can’t speak infront of people he does it all the time😭

Or the one where MERLIN teaches Arthur to dance.Merlin can barely walk and he’s going to teach Arthur the prince who even if he wasn’t the best dancer would still do better then Merlin with two left feet to dance . And we have seen how serious Arthur takes footwork that man would be able to dance be serious.

Arthur is not a sim stop having Merlin give him all his skills and personality traits thank you😁

#Do people think Arthur was sitting around doing nothing all day before merlin #He is still the prince with or without Merlin he would have skills #needed to get this off my chest #bbc merlin #arthur pendragon #merthur #(and yes I know at the end of the day their just fictional characters but idc)

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witless-winion1 · 11 days ago

Note

Reread your fic and it got me thinking:

God Games reprise/parody but it's the crew in the afterlife discussing whether to help Odysseus during 600 strike. Different arguments and stuff but same musical structure.

After getting Perimedes but to the tune of the Aphrodite name intro in God Games stuck in my head, I need to share this concept with someone. Uh, Polities is Athena and the one in Odysseus's defense. Eurylochus gets Ares' bit (the Ares, Ares intro chant is Euryl-ochus). Elpenor gets Apollo's part. Idk who the others are. Zeus's bit is Hades because they're trying to convince him to let them leave the Underworld temporarily to go kick his brother's ass (except he's not a sore loser).

oh my god

OH MY GOD

OH MY-

HOLY SHIT THATS-

wiaitwoaiyeaitwaitwaitwait

H A N G ON

Thank you for rereading my fanfic!!! :)

I feel like Eurylochus would be better as Hephaestus because he has MANY MIXED FEELINGS that cancel out to become a real emotional neutrality, like Hephaestus’s stoic neutrality, and both are one push away from deciding in the other’s favor. Does that make sense? I’m incomprehensible when excited

There’s not enough named men in EPIC to fill every role, so we might have to get…creative…

Thank you, you’ve cursed my brain to loop ✨~Periiimeeddeeesss~✨ or elPEnor 🦜

Zeus- Hades

Athena- Polites

Apollo- Elpenor (argument: Ody didn’t care enough to notice when he died on Circe’s island) (counter argument is that he was stressed tf out and still high on moly, he wasn’t great at counting heads, also it was Elpenor’s fault for getting drunk, like how Athena basically says “the sirens were trying to kill him, you dolt”)

Hephaestus- Eurylochus (the argument is literally the same as Hephaestus’s, but he’s on the verge of tears) (Poli just kinda murmurs something about it being many people’s fault, including Eury’s, and then hugs him, and Eury just barely chokes out his agreement)

Aphrodite- Perimedes (argument: is sacrificed six men to Scylla! And he gestures to six traumatized souls in the corner— counter argument is that there was no other way unless they’d all rather get thrashed by Poseidon instead of only six being eaten by Scylla) (or maybe he just points out how stupid it was to fix himself to the Cyclopes, and Poli goes “..a guy can make mistakes, can’t he? He’s just a man…”

Ares- ……an older, gruffer solider that’s bitter with Ody for just giving into Zeus’s demand to choose instead of using his Buff Brain like he has been this whole time (with the counter-argument that it’s LITERALLY ZEUS, KING OF GODS)? Or Hades pulls up a Trojan guard/solider that got killed, but idk how Polites would convince him…

Hera- I’m thinking either a) Persephone (because Zeus used his wife and also Persephone wanted to be included and Hades wasn’t gonna tell her no), and she’s already kinda “I’m fine with letting him go but I wanna mess with this funny little pancake boy” or b) a killed siren that Hades fetches, but he accidentally grabs a younger one that had no idea what was really happening during the massacre and is really confused so she just goes “uh-um, who? Some guy who wants to get home? Sure go help him but first you gotta sing with me” (like Hera’s disco battle)

it’s be fun if we could add Tiresias, Anticlea, or Astyanax in, but that probably wouldn’t work because

Tiresias- I can see him being irritated by Ody screaming in his face like an angry owl; he would be a good option, but I can’t see him fitting anywhere here

Anticlea:- are you kidding? That’s just Hades rigging the game in Polites’ favor. She’d say “YES GO GET MY BOY BACK HOME. EVERYONE’S WWAAAAIIITTIIIINNNNGGG FOR HIM” before Polites could even open his mouth. The entire verse would literally just be harmonizing the Waiting motif.

Astyanax: it’s a baby.

I’m actually so tempted to write the song or a fanfic about this, bestie you’re a fucking genius I hope you understand that

if anybody has any ideas or points, please please share them!!! This is such a cool concept

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sterredem · 6 months ago

Text

Obsessed

Oscar Piastri x singer!reader

Face claim Olivia Rodrigo

Warning stalking (online), not proofread, Speling mistakes

Summary y/n is obsessed with her boyfriend’s ex.

A/n We are just gonna say that Lilly’s account is public… so that everything makes sense.

Also this may be more of a Lilly x reader the an Oscar one… it’s also a bit short… and this is probably the only fic you’ll get in a bit

Instagram

120.124 likes

F1.Gossip BREAKING NEWS: Our favourite young couple, Oscar Piastri and Lilly Zneimer has reportedly broken up! After their 4 years and a bit realation the couple found out that they where better of as friends then being together. Many hard are broken after hearing this news, but they claim that they are still friends. We wish them both the best with their careers, and we with them the best in future relationships.

View all 2.234 comments

User1 NOOOOOOOOO😭😭😭😭

User2 I don’t believe in love anymore😭😭

User3 WHYYY?!?!💔

User4 Hearts ♥️ been. Broken 💔 Too. Many. Times ⏳😭😭

User5 MY FAVROUTE COUPLE😭😭😢

User6 Why am I so upset at a couple that I don’t even know😭😭

|———————————<3—————————————|

Twitter

|———————————<3—————————————|

Time skip

Twitter

|———————————<3—————————————|

Real life

Y/n knew she was crazy. It was actually sociopathic what she was doing. She was stalking her boyfriend’s ex girlfriend.

And not stalking stalking. She was not following her in real life… just on social media.

She was just going through the girls instagram photos, looking up everything about her, wanting to know everything that there is about the girl.

Beside that she was also looking at old Twitter threads, shortly after the break up was leaking by a gossip account F1 Twitter went crazy, they loved the couple. They made comments upon comments expressing their hard break at the news, they also still make post dedicated to Lilly and her achievements. And it tore the singer apart.

And she has to admit; lily is perfect.

And that was the worst ever.

Lilly was sweet, good with kids, talented, smart, funny, gorgeous and genuine. And maybe even far better than herself.

She now knew almost everything about her: her star sign, her blood type, her family, hot what school she goes to and on what class she was in. She knows that she slept on her side of Oscar’s bed (which didn’t make her feel good). And other things that Oscar had told her, with them knowing each other and being friends while they were dating and him finding comfort in her after the break up.

And she knows it was crazy; they broke up. They don’t even speak anymore! But still, every time he says her name, Y/n can’t help but think that he mistakes herself for his ex.

So she has to admit, she is jealous.

She always knew she had some kind of a problem, but this?

She thought about Lilly 24/7. If you knew how much she thought about the girl, you’d think she was in love.

And if you’d know how much she looked at her pictures, you’d think that they were best friends.

And that was the moment she realised: she was Obsessed with Lilly Zneimer, her boyfriend’s ex.

And not obsessed in a normal way, she wasn’t just jealous of the amazing girl, no.

She had a had a whole white board dedicated to her: all the things she liked, the things she did, the clothes she white (thanks to the fan accounts), the people she hangs out with, her hobby’s, her go to food places, everything.

She was really going crazy.

Not that Oscar knew, of course he didn’t. If he did he would break up with her for her sociopathic behaviour.

After realising that, she knew there were few things she could do.

So she walked through the house to her music room, she sat down, and begin writing.

She needed to stop with the obsession, and the only way for that was music.

|———————————<3—————————————|

Instagram

Liked by LillyZneimer and 2.964.624 others

Yourusername SUPRISE! My new song ‘obsessed’ is out now! The music video will be out midnight est!!

Thank you @DanielNigro With working with me on this!

View all 264.275 comments

OscarPiastri Excuse me??

OscarPiastri Why didn’t I know?

Yourusername …suprise…?

SabrinaCarpenter AMAZING (but also…?)

GracieAbrams Another banger!!

Laufey The best song ever!

Conangray Girl, check your msg

User7 HUH??

User8 This ganre swich is INSANE! but I love the rock!

User9 Dare I say that this is about… Lilly

User10 Y/n in her stalking era

User11 Nit Lilly liking this😭😂

User12 The aesthetic😍

User13 Oscar didn’t know??

|———————————<3—————————————|

Instagram

212.543 likes

Celeberty.Gossip After recent speculations that Y/n Y/l/n’ new song ‘obsessed’ is about Lilli Zneimer (Oscar Piastri’s ex girlfriend) The pair was seen hanging out and shopping together. Is the song about someone else? Is there a sudden new friendship? What is going on?

View all 3.765 comments

User1 OMG?!

User2 the line about them being best friends?

User3 Or about them being in love??

User4 I don’t know what’s going on but I love it!

User5 They look very good (together)

User6 I ship…

|———————————<3—————————————|

No part 2… open ending!!

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hollowed-theory-hall · 2 months ago

Note

Love the posts on Harry’s mischaracterisation!! It’s soo soothing to come across Harry appreciation!

How infuriating is it that everything he does, particularly his successful defeat of Voldemort, hinges on Hermione’s guidance. Fic writers out here writing smack like without her, the trio would’ve been lost and aimless. Or how Hermione’s spell repertoire kept Harry alive throughout school. Uhm, ex-bloody-cuse me? And then some fics go to the extremes of even making Harry a pliable weakling who can’t think for himself or make him apologise for coming off as self-righteous and prejudiced against the racist party? 🙄

Honestly, it’s seems less like terrible reading comprehension and more of extreme bias for their fav character, who is definitely so not Harry, and some blatant dislike of him instead. You never see the titular character so severely undervalued and made fun of in other series smh.

Thank you so much! 😊

Harry is my favorite and I can't get how people can dislike him so much after reading the books.

Now, I don't want to put down Hermione. Her spell repertoire and tendency to plan ahead did save their lives multiple times. Ron, also, had his share of clever heroic moments and he got to save the trio's lives too. And so did Harry. All three of them are smart, talented, and capable wizards in their own right. Like, the entire Golden Trio are not average and it's shown to be so repeatedly.

But, Harry is special. He is the main character and the chosen one for a reason. While Ron and Hermione are smart and talented, they don't have Harry's sheer magical talent that's on par with characters like Voldemort and Dumbledore.

Honestly, I find the weak-willed passive Harry more offensive than the unintelligent or magically inept one. Harry is so smart, but one of the most defining aspects of his character is his iron will and strength of character. It's a big aspect of what makes him special. what makes him the main hero. I mean, there's a reason he can naturally resist the Imperius. Harry James Potter is so strong. He goes through so much and is such a good person anyway. He's willing to stand up and keep fighting against impossible odds, and honestly, book!Harry is an inspirational character. There's a lot you can learn from him and aspire to (not everything, but his resilience is truly something to behold).

That being said, I don't think this is unique to Harry Potter (Ron bashing which often mischaracterizes him, for example) or the HP fandom as a whole.

I used to be a huge Percy Jackson fan (I kinda hate everything past the Last Olympian, HOO was not to my liking at all, but I digress). And from what I remember in fics and the PJO fandom when I was there (I think it's worse now, from the bits I see on occasion), it had just as much of a problem as the Harry Potter fandom does. Fanon often portrayed Percy as stupid, or this kind of sunshine character, when he really isn't. Fans complained back when House of Hades came out that Percy was OOC for chocking a goddess with her own blood, and I was sitting there, like, this is the guy that turned his abusive stepdad to stone with Medusa's head when he was 12 — are we really talking about the same character?

Percy in the first 5 books was clever, witty, genuinely funny, but also really bitter. He had loads of spite in him but he also genuinely cared about people and was incredibly loyal to his loved ones. The fandom, just turned him into a happy-go-lucky funny guy who can't get out of a paper bag without Annabeth (the smart love interest). And it infuriated me there too because I liked canon Percy.

I was also, a huge Gravity Falls fan (still am, actually, even if I'm not as hyper-fixated as I was in 2015). When I was in high school, I was in the Gravity Falls cipher-breaking trenches. I was analyzing that show frame by frame and spoiled all the plot twists to my irl friends because I saw the clues (such as predicting who's the author and the stan twins situation after s1 ep19). I actually predicted a good chunk of what's written in the Book of Bill that came out this year with the Bill Cipher psychological analysis I wrote when I was 15. (I feel so vindicated about that. I sent a bunch of quotes from the book to those same irl friends who thought I was overthinking Bill and the finale captioned: "I told you so").

Point is, the main characters of Gravity Falls (Dipper and Mabel) got so mischaracterized by fandom and fics back in the day.

Dipper was often pigeonholed as a goody-two-shoes awkward smart-guy nerd and fans complained he was OOC when he acted more vindictive in season 2, when, in fact, Dipper was always vindictive and could hold a mean grudge. (Dipper Pines, s1 ep8: "Revenge is underrated, that felt awesome!"). Dipper isn't a typical smart-guy character, yes, he's nerdy and clever and socially awkward, but he's also incredibly brave and determined. Honestly, Dipper's determination is his most defining trait, not his intelligence or intellect (which is sometimes more preformative, s2 ep7: "Sometimes I use big words and I don't actually know what they mean, I mean, I'm supposed to be the smart guy"), but I digress.

Mabel was the fandom's punching back around the finale of season 2 and the fandom treated her like a selfish horrible person for acting like a twelve-year-old girl who loves her brother. They made her out to be some kind of awful monstrous person when Mabel is one of the sweetest characters in media ever. She makes mistakes, she is a little selfish at times, but she truly cares about being a good person, about doing good and making people's lives better. Hell her worst confession was her feeling guilty about not loving all her stuffed animals equally and the fandom still called her evil. She also owns up to her mistakes, which is more than many people can say.

So, really, this disdain for the main characters and mischaracterization of them isn't new or unique to the HP fandom. I think it's been part of literature analysis since human literature existed if I'm being honest. It just feels worse now because everyone with an opinion has an internet connection and social media amplifies a lot of bad takes (but also a lot of good takes!). But, yeah, this is a prevalent fandom thing, but it isn't just the HP fandom.

As I said many times before, write and read whatever fanon content you feel like, have fun, but canon exists, and sometimes, canon is better.

#sorry I went off about other fandoms but this is something that annoyed me in literally every fandom I stepped foot in #harry potter #hp #hp meta #asks #anonymous #hollowedrambling #gravity falls #mabel pines #dipper pines #pjo #percy jackson #i guess #about fandom tendency in general #fandom #fanon

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glassartpeasants · 1 year ago

Text

I was doing a writing warm-up and made this piece. I kinda like it and might make a fic series about it if anyone is interested. Also, I call Kid 'Eustass' in this because it felt right for some reason?

Eustass Kid/ Trafalgar Law x F!Reader

warnings: Angst, small amount of blood, cheating, slut shaming maybe? Modern Au

~~~

“Does he think I’m a fucking idiot?! Does he think I can’t see the way his eyes follow girls’ asses as they walk by?” Gripping the edge of the bathroom sink, you struggle to hold back tears as you talk to your best friend on the other line.

“What am I doing wrong (....)? I’ve done everything right! I gave him all of me, and he’s out here eyeing other women!”

“That’s just the way he is (Y/N). I tried to warn you about him. You can’t change someone who doesn’t want to change.” You bite your lip as your body shakes. Emotion overwhelmed you to the point you could no longer hold back tears.

“I don’t understand. He told me he loved me and that he couldn’t imagine a life without me. He made me a matching ring to his. He promised me that his playboy days were over…”

“Well, if he’s staring at other girls, then obviously he broke his promise.”

~~~

You're feeling a lot more numb than you thought you would. At first, you thought you’d be yelling, crying, and screaming. Asking him why? But now that you're actually hearing his moans along with an unknown woman's echoing in your shared bedroom, no tears fall from your eyes.

Maybe your heart and mind were mentally and emotionally ready for this. There were many signs he was starting to stray. Staring at other women, no longer being affectionate in public, you even saw him take off his ring once. He hasn’t done it again, but that was the last straw your heart could take when you tried to ignore the signs.

You should've known it’d end like this. He’s been a fuck boy all throughout high school and college. Slithering his way into vulnerable hearts and crushing them without a care about the people he’s heart. How you’ve been friends with him for so long and knowing what he was doing was something you criticized yourself for.

While you weren’t best friends during high school and college, you both always had a class together. The two of you just ended up talking during each of them. Well, him hitting on you and you always telling him that you rather swim in hell’s flames than get with him. All throughout high school and college, he’d do this. In a way, you said no to avenge all the hearts he’s broken. But once college started, you accidentally started growing feelings for the idiot. Yet, you still said no until graduation day. He came up to you with a bouquet of roses made of metal that he made in shop class. Every rose was made individually, letting you pluck one out and hold it in your hands. Everyone in said class said he’d been working on it forever. Throwing away and remaking it more times than anyone could count. All to make sure it was perfect. It was then that you finally said yes. No one had done anything so thoughtful for you before.

But when you told your best friend the news, she wasn’t happy.

“What?!”

“Listen, I know it sounds stupid-”

“That’s because it is stupid (Y/N)! We both know his past and how he still was before you agreed to go out with him! How are you sure he isn’t gonna do the same shit to you?!”

“He’s been asking me for years and actually made me this metal bouquet of flowers. Aren’t they beautiful, though?” Showing her the flowers, you watch her sigh.

“What happens when he breaks your heart? What will you do then?” You were silent as you looked away from her. Her hands go to your shoulders, and it makes you look at her.

“I just don’t want you crying over someone like him. I’m just worried about you, okay?”

“I know. Thank you for watching out for me. I’m going to give him a chance. Maybe he’s ready to grow up? But if I get my heart broken. Then you’ll get to say, ‘I told you so’.” Laughing at the last part, you pull (.....) into a hug and enjoy how you could always rely on her to be by your side.

Your eyes caught the metal bouquet on the kitchen table. The sun hit it just right to where it shined in your eyes. Furrowing your brows, an immediate disgust came over you as you looked at them. The one thing that had you thinking he’d changed was laughing at you and calling you a fool for falling for it.

Turning away from the bedroom door, you carefully and quietly walked to the metal sculpture. You pull one of the roses out from the vase they resided in and look at it. You twirled it with your fingers before gripping it tightly. Using your other hand, you encase the metal rosebud with the palm of your hand before twisting it harshly.

The sharp metal cut into your hand as you ripped off the rose head. A small hiss escaped you, yet you continued. Putting down the first destroyed rose, you move on to the second one. Then the third, fourth, fifth, until every single rose had been ripped apart. By the time you were finished, the stems of the flowers were scattered across the kitchen table, as well as the blood-covered roses. A good representation of a broken heart if you say so.

You could still hear the moans coming from the bedroom, and the more you listened and paid attention, the more you swore you recognized the tone of voice. Tip-toeing to the door, you place your ear against the wood. Taking a few seconds, you listen carefully to try to pinpoint who it could be.

“Eustass~”

As soon as the words were heard, you felt your world shatter. That was (.....)’s voice. That was (.....) in there fucking your boyfriend. And your boyfriend was cheating on you with your best friend. The two people you cared about the most stabbing you in the back. It’s even worse knowing that (.....) was cheating on her own boyfriend, Trafalgar Law. The smartest person you’ve ever met. He was valedictorian in high school and had the highest grades in college. He's now a world known respected doctor who’s saved so many lives. Everything he’s done, and this is what happens to him? How could Eustass and (.....) pull this on you and Law?

A rage washed over you as soon as you heard her moan his name again. Grabbing your phone from your pocket, you unlock it and call Law. You thankfully had his number after a project you guys did together a month before college ended, and you just never remembered to delete it.

“Come on, Law. Pick up.” Whispering, you cross your fingers.

“(Y/N)-ya? Why are you-”

“I really need you to stay on the line, okay? I’m going to facetime you now, alright?”

“What? Why? (Y/N)-ya, I have to go back to work-”

“(.....)’s cheating on you with my boyfriend right now as we speak. Don’t believe me? Listen!” You put your phone against the door, and all you heard was silence on Law’s side of the phone. A groan of (.....)’s name leaving Eustass’s mouth finally made you snap.

“That’s it!” Busting open the door, your met with a half-naked Eustass and a very naked (.....).

“Shit (Y/N)!”

“(Y/N)! It’s not what it looks like!” Clutching your phone tightly in your hand, you finally feel your anger bubble over.

“Don’t pull that shit with me! If your gonna be a backstabbing whore at least admit it! Fucking my boyfriend?! The boyfriend you hated?! Did you just want to fuck him the whole time?! How long has this been going on?!” You watched as (.....) scrambled to get her clothes on, and Eustass pushed his dick back in his pants.

“This is the only time it’s happened, I swear!”

“This is all an accident (Y/N), okay? I promise-”

“Oh, so your dick accidentally found its way into her? I don’t believe that for a second! And don’t tell me about your bullshit promises!” You can feel the cut on your hand finally start to sting as blood starts to puddle against the floor. The cut must have been much deeper than you originally thought.

“You're bleeding! (Y/N) are you okay?!-”

“Oh, don’t act like you care (.....)! If you actually cared, you wouldn’t be fucking my boyfriend in my bed! If you actually had a fucking heart, you wouldn’t have cheated on Law either!” The mention of Law's name has a look of horror appear on (.....)'s face.

“Please don’t tell him (Y/N)! I love him, and I don’t want him to leave me!”

“I’m breaking up with you.” (.....)’s face dropped when she realized Law heard everything. Tears start pouring down her face.

“That makes two of us.” You take off the ring Eustass gave you before walking over to (.....) Plopping it into her hand, you look at her with hatred and a disgusted smile.

“Obviously, this was meant for you since he loves you so much he can’t stop saying your name.” You grab the bag you left by the bedroom door before turning around and start to collect things around the apartment that you need.

“I’ll make sure to tell the landlord that my name’s off the lease and that I’ll gather my things tomorrow morning.” Holding everything you could gather at the moment, you make your way to the front door.

“Where do you think you're going?!” You feel Eustass grab your wrist and bring you closer to him. Looking into his eyes, you see panic, fear, and anger swirling around in them.

“Leaving, obviously! I’m not gonna stay and shatter my heart more after seeing a man I loved, wanted to marry even, fucking my now ex-best friend.” The panic grew more evident as he pulled you to his chest. Both arms wrapped around you so you couldn’t leave.

“You can’t leave, alright! I know I fucked up, but please, let’s talk about this. She means nothing to me! She’s just some slut-”

“A slut you fucked knowing you were taken.” Tears started spilling from your eyes as you felt him hold you closer.

“Why? Why would you do this to me? Why’d you say you loved me when you out fucking my best friend? How dare you hold me close and act like the stench of sex and her perfume isn’t surrounding you?”

“I’m outside in the car (Y/N).” Hearing Law’s voice shocked you as you remember you never hung up on him. He was so quiet, and you heard nothing on the other side of the line. Having him even show up was surprising, but you weren’t gonna throw away this opportunity to get away from Eustass and (.....).

“Alright, be right there-”

“No, she won’t! Fuck off, Trafalgar, and take your bitch with you!” Eustass grabbed your phone and hung up before throwing your phone on the couch.

“Eustass! Are you-” You feel one of his hands push your head to his. His lips met yours, and you could feel the urgency in his kisses.

“Please don’t…leave me…” Kissing your between words only had your heart shattering more. How could he kiss you like he loves you after pulling a stunt like this?

It took almost everything inside you not to dig your fingers into his hair and kiss him back. You wanted it all to be a dream and that when you woke up, you’d be sleeping against his chest.

Putting your hand against his bare chest, you feel his bare skin against your open wound. It made him pull away from his panicked kisses when he felt your bloody hand on his chest.

“Jesus (Y/N)! What happened?!”

“Doesn’t matter.”

“Stay here, I’m grabbing bandages!” Letting you go, you see him rush to the bathroom. Taking this chance, you grab your phone and start running out the door. Anything you can carry in tow, you run down the stairs as you hear (.....) scream your name and Eustass yelling at you to stop.

But who was he to tell you what to do?

Bursting out the apartment complex’s door, you see Law’s car parked waiting for you. Using all your strength, you run as fast as you can. Grabbing the car door, You swung it open before slamming it shut. Everything you brought with you on your lap.

“Drive!” Wasting no time, Law stomps on the gas, and as you see Eustass run out of the apartment, watching you and Law drive away.

~~~

If you guys do want this to be an actual fic series, let me know cause this concept is quite interesting to me.

#one piece x reader #eustass kid x reader #eustass captain kid x reader #trafalgar d law x reader #trafalgar law x reader #law x reader

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writingsoftarnishedsilver · 24 days ago

Note

*insert Elmo in flames meme*

Ahhhh! I'd be happy to give you some Ominis fic ideas 😁🩷 of course, you could just scrap this altogether but I was thinking 🤔 could we have a 7th year Ominis being able to gain financial freedom from his family because MC gave her Hogsmeade shop to him? I know a lot of people want him to escape to America but Hogsmeade just feels so cozy and perfect for him being a shopkeeper.

And MC realizing her feelings for him during one instance when she had to return to him to replenish her supplies from her travels, and maybe decides it's time to be with him? 😣💕

It's okay if you don't like this plotline but I just finished the Haunted Hogsmeade quest, and I immediately thought of Ominis being its owner!

Thank you so much!!

Threads of Fate | Ominis Gaunt x Reader

Anon, I hope this is everything you hoped for! Thank you for the request and inspiration <3 it was my absolute pleasure writing this.

Words: ~6,700

Tags: Reader Insert, Female MC, No Y/N, Post Canon, Not Actually Unrequited Love, Romance, Fluff, Fluff AGAIN

“You’d think after all these years I’d be better at writing letters, but somehow, I still find myself pausing, trying to decide how to start. Then again, you always make it easier when you write first. Your last letter was… exactly what I needed. You have a knack for saying the right thing, even when you don’t realize it.”

“Anne stopped by the shop recently. She told me to stop ‘hovering like a nervous bird’ over your enchanted scarves and to start charging more for them. Apparently, she’s appointed herself my business manager, whether I wanted one or not. She also asked about you—how you’re doing, where you are, why you haven’t written her back, and, most importantly, when you’re finally coming home. I told her I didn’t know, but she was unimpressed by my answer. Honestly, I’m not impressed either.”

“Sebastian, meanwhile, has decided that I’ve become too boring for his liking. He keeps trying to convince me to pack up and visit you, as though I could just leave the shop to run itself. His words, not mine. It’s ridiculous, of course, but I wonder if there’s something to it. You’ve been gone so long now, it’s hard not to feel like there’s a part of this place missing.”

“Speaking of which—are you planning to come back anytime soon? You told me six months, and that was, what, six months ago? You’re not terrible at keeping promises, but you’re testing the limits here. I’ll forgive you if you write soon with some good news—or better yet, with the promise of coming home.”

“The shop is still standing, though I’ve made a few small changes here and there. I hope you won’t scold me when you see them. It’s funny, even when you’re not here, I find myself thinking, ‘What would she do?’ And sometimes, I swear I can hear your voice, usually chiding me for something I’ve misplaced or forgotten. I wonder—did you know, even then, how much this shop would mean to me? …Did you know how much you mean to me?”

“Take care of yourself, won’t you? Though I doubt I need to remind you. You’ve always been reckless, but you’ve never been careless. But I can’t help worrying about you—it’s impossible not to.”

“Write soon, or better yet, come home. I’d like to see you again. I’d like to… well, there’s plenty I’d like to say in person.”

Yours, always, Ominis

The letter, over a month old now, was worn at the edges, its parchment soft from being folded and unfolded too many times. Your fingers traced the familiar loops of Ominis’ handwriting, lingering over the slight smudge where his quill must have hesitated.

Even as the train carried you closer to Hogsmeade, you felt guilty. You hadn’t written back. But you hadn’t trusted yourself to put quill to parchment, not even to Anne or Sebastian, neither of whom could be trusted to keep your long awaited return a secret.

Six months. You’d promised him six months, and here you were, long past that mark. You’d wanted to return sooner—Merlin knew how much you’d wanted to—but there had always been one more ruin, one more curse to break, one more excuse to stay away.

It wasn’t just the work, though. The truth you hadn’t dared admit to yourself was that the thought of walking into Stitches and Draughts again, of seeing Ominis after all this time, terrified you. What if things had changed? What if the delicate balance of your friendship—of your stupid, traitorous feelings for him—had changed?

Merlin knew you had.

You caught your reflection in the train’s window, and for a moment, it felt like looking at a stranger. The girl you once were, the one with the boundless energy and effortless grace of youth, was nowhere to be found. Gone was the lithe figure and carefree ease that had come with an 18-year-old’s metabolism, replaced by a version of yourself you were still learning to accept. The life of a cursebreaker hadn’t been kind to your body—or your soul. Years of chasing dangerous leads, grueling physical labor, and long nights spent deciphering ancient scripts had taken their toll. Meals were often hurried, whatever you could grab between assignments, and the relentless travel left little room for rest. You were softer now, and your body bore the marks of your journey—an ache in your shoulders from carrying too much weight, faint scars from brushes with danger, and an exhaustion that felt carved into your very bones.

You turned away from the window, forcing your reflection out of sight. The sight of it only dredged up insecurities you had no business indulging—not now, not when you were so close. It was stupid to worry about it, you told yourself. What did it matter whether Ominis found you attractive? Seven years had passed. Seven years of separate lives, separate paths. You couldn’t expect him to still see you as he once might have—or to have waited for you at all.

Back then, you were just kids, after all. Even when your friendship had danced on the edge of something more, neither of you had ever been brave enough to take that final step. You thought of the moments that had felt like more—his hand brushing yours when you walked side by side, the way he’d linger in the shop late into the night, his head tilted toward you as though he could hear the shape of your smile. But those moments were fleeting, always followed by silence or a change of subject. Neither of you had ever said the words.

And now? Seven years was a long time to expect someone to wait for something that was never truly spoken aloud.

Still, the thought haunted you, gnawing at your resolve. Would he notice the changes in you? Would he care about the extra softness to your curves, the faint lines of exhaustion that hadn’t been there before? The idea that he might—that he’d look at you with anything less than the quiet warmth you remembered—made your stomach twist.

The train jolted, pulling you from your spiraling thoughts as it slowed to a screeching halt at Hogsmeade Station. The sound of the brakes, sharp and familiar, was like a spell breaking. You rose stiffly from your seat, clutching your bag as you tried to gather yourself.

The platform was just as you remembered it: bustling with witches and wizards, steam curling in the crisp air, and the faint smell of coal mingling with the fresh, wintry scent of snow. Twinkling fairy lights hung from the lampposts, casting a warm glow on the frosted cobblestones, while festive garlands of holly and enchanted mistletoe draped along the edges of the station roof. You adjusted the strap of your bag and stepped off the train, your boots crunching against the frost-dusted ground.

The walk into the village was surreal, like stepping back into a dream you hadn’t dared let yourself miss too much. The bustling streets, the cheerful glow of the shop windows, the distant chatter of students—every detail tugged at something deep inside you. It looked the same, as though no time had passed, and yet that was precisely what unsettled you.

Time had passed. Seven years, to be exact.

Seven years since you’d walked these streets as a Hogwarts student, clutching a bag of Honeydukes’ sweets or ducking into the Three Broomsticks with your friends to escape the cold. Seven years since you’d stood inside Stitches and Draughts as its owner, turning your ideas into enchanted creations, the room filled with the warmth of softly glowing candles and the sound of laughter. Seven years since you’d worked side by side with Ominis, his sharp wit cutting through Sebastian’s dramatic tales of Quidditch triumphs, all while the three of you shared late nights in the shop as though the world outside didn’t exist.

But even then, you’d known the shop wasn’t meant to be your forever.

The decision to give it to Ominis had come in the quiet months of your seventh year, after countless conversations where he’d confided in you about his family, his fears, and the cage he felt he could never escape. You’d listened as he spoke of the suffocating expectations of the Gaunt name, how every aspect of his life had been dictated by tradition and duty.

And money.

It wasn’t fair. Ominis deserved more than that. Far, far more.

Your Ominis deserved everything.

The idea had taken root during one of those late nights in the shop. He’d been helping you charm a batch of scarves to repel rain when you’d caught him standing at the counter, running his hands over the worn wood. There’d been a wistful look on his face, one that had stayed with you long after the candles were extinguished and the shop had gone dark.

By the time graduation loomed, the decision felt inevitable.

You still remembered the day you handed him the deed, the way his pale fingers trembled as he unrolled the parchment. His expression had been unreadable at first, his face carefully composed as he scanned the document.

“What is this?” he’d asked, his voice low and wary.

“It’s yours,” you’d replied, keeping your tone light even as your heart pounded. “The shop. Everything in it. Consider it a… graduation gift.”

The silence that followed had been deafening. Ominis had stared at you, his brow furrowing in confusion.

“You can’t be serious,” he’d said finally. “This is yours. Your work. You can’t just—”

“I can,” you’d interrupted, placing a hand over his. “And I am. You’re the only one I trust to take care of it. To make it more than I ever could.”

He’d tried to argue, of course. Ominis always argued. But you’d stood your ground, knowing in your heart it was the right choice.

“It’s not just about the shop,” you’d said softly, looking into his unseeing eyes. “It’s... about giving you a way out. A chance to build something that’s yours—not theirs.”

That had silenced him.

He’d accepted the deed reluctantly, his gratitude laced with disbelief. And though you hadn’t admitted it aloud, you’d known you were giving him more than just the shop. More than just securing his freedom. You were giving him a part of yourself, a way to stay connected even when you left.

And now, as Christmas loomed all these years later, your legs carried you through the village, back to that very same place. You were almost on autopilot, even as your heart pounded erratically in your chest with every step that brought you closer to the shop. Around you, the village bustled with holiday cheer, but all of it faded into the background, a distant hum drowned out by the sound of your own heartbeat.

And then you were there.

And Stitches and Draughts looked beautiful.

The building had been freshly painted, its trim gleaming with a soft, snowy white that contrasted perfectly with the deep emerald of the shop’s sign—still the same one you’d painted years ago, but lovingly restored. The doorframe was draped with enchanted holly garlands, the bright red berries twinkling like tiny stars. The windows sparkled in the glow of lights strung carefully along the eaves, and the front display was nothing short of magical.

Inside the glass, enchanted scarves floated gracefully in midair, their threads shimmering with subtle, festive embroidery—snowflakes that danced along the hems, holly leaves that twisted and turned like they were caught in a gentle breeze. Beside them, self-heating gloves sat arranged in neat little bundles, their tags tied with golden ribbons that seemed to hum faintly with charmwork.

It was perfect. Too perfect. And the sight of it, so familiar and yet so undeniably different, had your heart aching in your chest. This wasn’t just a shop anymore—it was his shop. Every detail spoke of Ominis’ care, his precision, his thoughtfulness. He’d taken what you’d built and turned it into something so much more.

Your grip tightened on the strap of your bag as your eyes flicked between the display and the freshly polished door handle. The urge to turn and flee surged through you, but your feet remained rooted to the spot. You’d faced cursed ruins, ancient traps, and magic designed to kill, but nothing—nothing—had ever felt as daunting as the prospect of walking through that door.

Would he even want to see you? Would he welcome you after all this time, after the months of silence and unfulfilled promises? Or had the years widened the distance between you too far to bridge?

The bell above the door jingled as someone exited the shop, their arms laden with carefully wrapped packages. They offered you a polite smile as they passed, but you barely noticed, your gaze fixed on the door that had swung closed behind them.

Your legs felt heavy as you took a hesitant step forward. Then another.

With a deep, unsteady exhale, you pushed the door open, the familiar chime of the bells above echoing like a memory brought to life.

The warmth of the shop enveloped you immediately, the scent of cedar and lavender mingling with something faintly sweet—probably from a batch of enchanted candles near the counter. Shelves lined the walls, filled with bolts of fabric, potion bottles, and racks of neatly displayed scarves and gloves. The hum of magic thrummed softly in the air, a comforting, familiar sound.

But none of it mattered, not really.

Your eyes were drawn to the figure standing behind the counter, his back to you, the blond of his hair catching the golden light.

"Be with you in a moment," he said, his voice smooth and warm, but it hit you like a jolt of lightning.

It had been so long—too long—since you’d last heard his voice, and even now, it was exactly as you remembered, richer with age but still undeniably Ominis. It overwhelmed you, the weight of it pressing down on the breath you tried to draw, stealing the words you’d thought you’d prepared.

And then he turned.

The sight of him was truly your undoing.

Ominis was taller than you remembered, his frame lean but strong, elegant but unyielding. He was wearing a soft sweater in a deep charcoal gray, the fabric snug across his broad shoulders and loose around his narrow waist, the sleeves pushed up just enough to reveal the sharp angles of his wrists and the pale skin of his forearms. His blond hair, a touch longer than it had been when you’d last seen him, was still combed back, though a strand at the front had fallen to rest against the curve of his face.

Time had only refined the sharpness of his cheekbones and the strong, angular line of his jaw. His features were striking in a way that felt almost unfair, the kind of beauty that drew the eye and held it captive.

And yet, there was something softer about him, too—something that hadn’t been there before. The rigid tension that had so often defined him in your Hogwarts years seemed less pronounced, replaced by a quiet ease as he worked. He looked… content.

It was too much.

You’d imagined this reunion a hundred different ways, but none of them had accounted for the way it would feel to see him again, to hear his voice, to stand so close and yet feel the weight of all the time and space that had separated you.

“My apologies for the delay. Welcome to Stitches and Draughts,” he said, his tone polite and practiced, yet warm in a way that made your chest ache. He tilted his head slightly, as though listening more intently. “What can I help you with today?”

The words hung in the air, impossibly ordinary for a moment that felt anything but.

You opened your mouth to respond, but nothing came out. All the carefully rehearsed greetings, the lighthearted explanations you’d planned for why it had taken so long to return, evaporated.

Your silence stretched just a second too long, and you saw the faint furrow of his brow, the slight tilt of his head as he picked up on your hesitation.

“Are you alright?” he asked, his voice softening, concern creeping into his tone.

That was what finally broke you.

“Ominis,” you managed, your voice trembling despite your best efforts to steady it.

His lips parted as though to say something, but no words came, and his sightless eyes, usually so calm and focused, seemed to search for you in the space between.

“Is it—” he began, his voice barely above a whisper, trembling at the edges. “Is… it really you?”

Tears pricked at your eyes, hot and relentless. You nodded before realizing he couldn’t see the gesture.

“It’s me,” you managed.

Ominis moved before you could register it, stepping out from behind the counter with a swiftness that made your breath catch. “You’re here,” he murmured, his voice filled with something close to wonder. “You’re actually here. But you… you didn’t write back. I thought—”

“I know,” you said quickly, guilt flooding your chest. “I’m sorry, Ominis. I—” Your voice faltered. How could you possibly explain everything? The silence, the distance, the fear?

Before you could try, Ominis closed the gap between you. His hands reached out, tentatively searching, as though he were afraid to reach out and find nothing there. When his fingers brushed against your sleeve, he inhaled sharply, and then his hands moved upward, settling on your shoulders.

You watched as his expression crumbled. The carefully constructed composure he’d always worn fell away, replaced by something raw and unguarded.

“You’re home,” he said, his voice trembling. “How long have you been planning this?”

The crack in his voice broke something inside you. “I… for months,” you whispered, your own voice shaking. “I'm so sorry, it took so long—”

Your words were cut off again as Ominis pulled you into him, strong arms wrapping around you with a desperate urgency, his hands firm against your back as if he were afraid to let go, afraid you might slip away again. The suddenness of it made you stiffen, your insecurities flaring instantly to life.

He’d know.

He’d feel the difference—the softness of your curves where you’d once been lithe, the weight you carried now, both physical and emotional. The image of what you’d been years ago, the version of you he might still hold in his mind, clashed violently with the reality of who you were now.

But then there was the feel of him.

Him, warm against you, the steady rise and fall of his chest, the faint scent of his characteristic cologne—it was all so achingly familiar, so Ominis, that you couldn’t bring yourself to care about the way you’d changed.

Tears spilled freely down your cheeks as you let yourself sink into his chest, your arms lifting to wrap around his waist. You clung to him, the years of distance and silence collapsing between you as if they’d never existed.

His hand moved gently, brushing over your hair in a soothing rhythm that made your heart ache. “I missed you hopelessly.” He murmured, his voice muffled by your hair

“I missed you more than anything,” you murmured, pulling back just enough to look up at him, tears still streaming freely down your cheeks. “I thought about you every day.”

Ominis pulled back slightly, his hands still resting lightly on your shoulders. His sightless eyes searched your face as though he could somehow see you, the corners of his mouth twitching into the faintest of smiles. You felt his thumb brush against your sleeve, as if he needed the tactile confirmation that you were truly there. One of his hands slid down to grasp yours, his fingers curling firmly around yours as if to anchor you both in this moment.

For a long, breathless second, neither of you spoke.

Then, without a word, Ominis turned toward the shop’s entrance, your hand still firmly in his. He moved quickly, his steps sure as he crossed the space to the door. Releasing your hand only briefly, he flipped the sign to Closed and twisted the lock with a decisive click.

“To hell with work,” he muttered under his breath, the faintest hint of a smile tugging at the corners of his lips.

The words caught you off guard, pulling a startled laugh from you—a sound you hadn’t realized you’d been holding back.

When he turned back to you, his expression softened further, though there was still an edge of something you couldn’t quite name in the set of his jaw. Relief, perhaps. Or the determination of someone who wasn’t about to let this moment slip away.

“Come upstairs,” he said, his voice low and steady. “The shop can wait.”

He didn’t give you a chance to argue—not that you would have—before leading you to the small staircase tucked behind the counter. His hand stayed in yours as he guided you, his grip firm but gentle, like he was still afraid to let go.

The stairs creaked faintly under your feet as you followed Ominis into the flat above the shop. The scent of cedar lingered here too, mixed with something faintly herbal—his cologne, no doubt.

“Forgive the state of things,” he said quickly, his tone uncharacteristically self-conscious as he gestured toward the room. “I wasn’t exactly expecting... well, anyone. Least of all you.”

But as your eyes roamed the space, you couldn’t find the “mess” he spoke of. The room was tidy, cozy, and so very him. A small bookshelf stood against one wall, lined with neatly arranged tomes you recognized from your Hogwarts years, alongside a few newer additions. A comfortable-looking armchair sat in one corner, its seat draped with a soft, worn throw blanket. A half empty mug of tea sat forgotten on the small table beside it, next to what appeared to be a half-finished crossword puzzle.

There were small signs of his life everywhere: a folded sweater resting on the back of the chair, a walking stick leaning against the wall by the door, a well-cared-for violin resting in its case near the bookshelf. The window was framed by simple curtains, their edges charmed to shimmer faintly in the light, a detail that felt unmistakably him.

“It’s perfect,” you said, turning to him with a soft smile.

He let out a huff of disbelief. “Hardly. It’s small, and I wasn’t expecting guests, so it’s a bit—”

“No, really,” you insisted, stepping further into the room. “It’s... you. I mean that in the best way.”

His lips parted slightly, as though he wanted to argue, but he seemed to think better of it. Instead, his free hand gestured vaguely at the space. “I haven’t had much reason to bring anyone up here,” he admitted, his tone quieter now. “I usually keep to myself unless Sebastian or Anne drag me out for something."

You turned back to him, catching the faint blush dusting his cheeks as he moved to straighten a few items on the table near the armchair. The sight made your heart ache in the best way, the years falling away as though you’d never been apart.

“It’s nice to see you’ve kept up the crossword habit,” you teased, gesturing toward the table.

Ominis smirked, his confidence returning just enough to quip, “It’s either that or let my mind wander, and we both know that can only lead to trouble.”

You laughed, the sound light and easy, "That's true."

He gestured toward the couch near the window, its cushions plump and inviting. “Sit,” he said, his tone soft but insistent. “I'm sure you’ve been traveling all day.”

You hesitated, still standing near the door, but Ominis stepped closer, his expression gentle. “Please,” he added, his voice quieter now.

With a nod, you set your bag down near the door and crossed to the couch, sinking into its cushions. It was as comfortable as it looked, and you let out a quiet sigh as the tension in your body began to ease.

He moved toward the kitchenette. “Tea?” he asked, his head tilted slightly in your direction.

“Yes, please,” you said quickly, your voice softer than you intended.

Ominis nodded, his movements fluid and purposeful as he filled the kettle and set it on the small stove.

“I’ve got chamomile, mint, and… some Earl Grey that Sebastian swore I’d love but tastes like someone soaked socks in bergamot,” he said, the corner of his mouth quirking into a smirk.

You laughed softly, leaning back into the couch. “Chamomile sounds perfect.”

He nodded, plucking the sachet from its place with an almost practiced precision, his hands moving with the same quiet grace you remembered so vividly. Despite the ease of his movements, you could see the faint tension in the set of his shoulders, the way he hesitated before reaching for the mugs.

"Did Sebastian and Anne know about you coming back?" Ominis asked, his voice calm but carrying a subtle edge of curiosity.

You hesitated, fingers tracing the edge of the couch cushion. "No," you admitted softly. "I didn’t tell anyone. I didn’t… want them to spill the secret. I thought it might be better this way."

He turned slightly, his sightless eyes tilted in your direction, one brow arching faintly. “Better for whom?”

You huffed a humorless laugh, biting your lip. "Me, I guess. I thought if I just showed up, it would be easier. Less... complicated."

Ominis tilted his head slightly, as though weighing your words, his fingers brushing the rim of the mug as he prepared your tea. "You thought sneaking back into Hogsmeade unannounced would be less complicated?"

A faint smile tugged at your lips despite the knot of nerves in your chest. "Okay, maybe not less complicated. But at least it meant I wouldn’t have to explain myself to Sebastian. You know how he gets."

He let out a soft laugh, the sound light and genuine, and it warmed something deep inside you. "Indeed. He is relentless," he said, placing the mug of chamomile tea in front of you on the low table. "Though, I can’t say I’d have been any better. If I’d known you were coming, I wouldn’t have been able to focus on anything else."

You looked up at him, startled by the quiet sincerity in his voice. He wasn’t smiling anymore, his expression open and unguarded as he sat down across from you, his own mug cradled in his hands.

“I didn’t mean to make you wait,” you said softly, your fingers curling around the warm ceramic. “I just—” You paused, your words catching in your throat. "I don't know. I suppose it doesn't matter. I'm here now."

Ominis’ lips pressed together for a moment, his brows furrowing slightly as though he wanted to press further. His hands tightened almost imperceptibly around his mug, the tension in his shoulders betraying his thoughts.

But then he exhaled softly, the lines of his face smoothing as he nodded. “You’re here now,” he repeated, his voice quiet but steady, though you could hear the unspoken for how long? lingering in the air.

You quickly took a sip of your tea, the warmth a welcome distraction as you scrambled for something that would steer the conversation elsewhere. “This tea is lovely,” you said, offering a smile that you hoped looked effortless. “Everything is. The flat, the shop... it’s all incredible. You must be so proud of what you’ve built.”

Ominis tilted his head slightly, his expression softening into something almost amused. “That’s kind of you to say, but I hardly think a well-stocked tea shelf qualifies as incredible.”

You laughed, grateful for the easy banter. “It’s not just the tea shelf, though it is very impressive. The shop looks amazing—I noticed the display when I walked in. And the enchanted holly on the door? It’s such a nice touch. It’s all so... you.”

He leaned back in his chair, a faint smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “I did have some help with the holly—Anne insisted. She thought it might ‘soften my cold, foreboding reputation.’”

You grinned, picturing Anne bustling around the shop, her infectious energy clashing against Ominis’ quieter demeanor. “I think it works. Though I can’t imagine anyone thinking you’re 'foreboding'.”

“Oh, you’d be surprised,” he said dryly, his smirk deepening. “Anne says I scare away the first years who stop in. Apparently, my ‘stern demeanor’ doesn’t pair well with curious children looking for enchanted scarves.”

You laughed, the image of wide-eyed first-years inching cautiously into the shop playing vividly in your mind. “I’m sure you’re not that bad,” you teased. “Maybe they just don’t appreciate your charm.”

Ominis quirked an eyebrow, his smirk softening. “Charm, is it? I’ll be sure to tell Anne you said that next time she accuses me of being the ‘shopkeeper equivalent of a Boggart.’”

That earned another laugh, lighter this time, and you shook your head. “If she really thought you were a Boggart, she wouldn’t have helped with the decorations.”

“She likes to keep me humble,” he replied, his tone full of wry affection.

But even as Ominis joined in your banter, you could see the way his fingers drummed absently against the side of his mug, his thoughts clearly turning over something unsaid. He was playing along with your attempts at small talk, but you knew he wasn’t fooled.

Still, for now, he let it go, his quiet smile lingering as he said, “So tell me, how does it feel to be back?”

The question caught you off guard, and your smile faltered slightly. “It feels... surreal,” you admitted, your voice softer now. “Like I’ve been gone forever, and yet somehow nothing’s changed.”

Ominis nodded, his expression thoughtful. “Hogsmeade does have a way of staying the same. But you..." He hesitated, and his words hung in the air, unfinished but heavy with meaning.

You’re different.

He had noticed. Of course he had. Ominis was nothing if not perceptive.

You lowered your mug to the table, your hands curling into your lap as if that could somehow steady you. The warmth that had spread through your chest moments ago was now replaced with a twisting unease, a voice in the back of your mind whispering, This is it. This is when he sees what’s changed and decides it isn’t enough. That you aren’t enough.

"I know I’m different," you murmured, your voice trembling under the strain of your nerves. It cracked as you spoke, barely louder than a whisper. "I… I’m not the same person I was when I left. I know I’m not exactly how you remember me, and I—" Your breath faltered, hitching as you shook your head, your thoughts spiraling. "I just didn’t want you to be disappointed."

“Disappointed?” Ominis’ voice broke through your spiraling thoughts like a sudden, sharp wind, and when you looked up, his sightless eyes were fixed on you, his expression taut with something between shock and frustration. "Is this... is this why you've taken so long to come home?"

The question hung in the air, sharp and unrelenting, like the edge of a blade poised to strike. You opened your mouth to answer, but no sound came. The truth was tangled in your chest, knotted with years of insecurity and fear, and the weight of it pressed down on your throat, stealing your voice.

Ominis’ expression softened as he straightened in his chair, his jaw tightening as though he were holding back his own frustration—not at you, but at the very idea that you could feel this way. He exhaled slowly, his fingers tightening around his mug before setting it aside with deliberate care.

“Is that really what you’ve been carrying all this time?” he asked, his voice quieter now, but no less intense. “You thought I’d be... disappointed? In you?”

The lump in your throat grew heavier. "I’ve been gone so long... and you’ve built this incredible life here, and I—” You hesitated, your breath catching as you fought to steady yourself. “I didn’t know if I’d still fit into it.”

“You think I could ever—” He stopped himself, exhaling slowly as he ran a hand through his hair. “Merlin’s beard, don't you have any idea how much of this life exists because of you?”

Ominis leaned forward further, resting his elbows on his knees, his hands clasped tightly together. His fingers curled and uncurled against one another, as though he were searching for the right words. When he finally spoke, his voice was softer, but no less firm.

“Do you know what I thought when you walked into that shop today?” he asked, his words deliberate.

You shook your head, though he couldn’t see it. “No,” you whispered.

“I thought I’d finally woken up from the longest, most frustrating dream of my life,” he said, his lips twitching into a faint, almost self-deprecating smile. "And now, you’re sitting here, telling me you’re afraid I’d notice you’ve changed. Of course you’ve changed. I’d be more worried if you hadn’t. Life does that to people. It changes them. But just because you're different doesn't mean..." he swallowed, his words catching for just a moment before he pressed on, his voice quieter but laced with conviction. “Just because you’ve changed doesn’t mean you’re any less.”

He paused, his fingers tightening where they rested, his knuckles pale with the effort. His expression softened as his words seemed to tumble out, as if he couldn’t hold them back any longer. “That couldn’t be further from the truth, actually.”

You blinked, caught off guard by the sudden shift in his tone, by the faint flush creeping up his neck.

Ominis sat back slightly, his hand running through his hair in a rare display of bashfulness. “It’s been seven years,” he continued, his voice quieter now, almost hesitant. “Seven years, and in the brief time I’ve had to—to touch you, to hear you, to smell that very same perfume you always wear, you’ve only… Merlin, I don’t even know how to say this without sounding foolish.”

You felt your breath hitch, your pulse quickening as his words sank in. He wasn’t looking at you, not exactly, but the intensity in his voice made it feel as though he could see every piece of you, laid bare and vulnerable.

He exhaled slowly, tilting his head slightly in your direction as he gathered his thoughts. “You’ve only improved,” he said finally, his voice low but unwavering. “Despite whatever ridiculous notions you’ve been carrying around, you haven’t diminished. You haven’t become ‘less.’ If anything, you’re... more.”

“You’ve been away, yes," he continued. "You’ve faced things I can only imagine. And yet here you are, sitting in front of me, as strong and resilient and...” He hesitated, his lips curving into a faint, almost shy smile. “As breathtaking as the day you left. You think I’d notice the changes and find fault with them? How could I, when every single one is just another piece of the person I’ve been missing for so long?”

Your hand flew to your mouth, your vision blurring with tears. "Are you... you sure? You really don't have to say this, I—"

He shook his head, raising a hand to stop you, though his touch hovered just shy of reaching across the small space between you. “Of course I'm sure,” he said, his voice soft but insistent. “I’ve never been more certain of anything."

He drew in a slow, measured breath, his shoulders rising and falling as though he were steadying himself for a duel.

“I’ve spent seven years wondering if I’d ever get the chance to say this,” he admitted. “To say all the things I was too much of a coward to admit before you left. And I won’t waste it by letting you believe for even a second that you’re anything less than extraordinary," his voice softened, trembling at the edges as he stood from his chair. For a moment, he simply stood there, his sightless eyes cast downward as though steadying himself for what he was about to do. Then, slowly, he moved forward, kneeling on the floor in front of you with a grace that made your breath catch.

His hands reached out, tentative but deliberate, brushing over yours where they rested in your lap before curling around them.

“You don’t have to say anything,” he said quietly, his voice raw with emotion. “But I need you to hear this. I need you to understand.”

You opened your mouth to respond, but he shook his head, cutting you off gently.

“I love you,” he said, his voice trembling slightly, his thumbs brushing over the backs of your hands. " I’ve loved you for so long that I don’t even remember what it feels like not to. And I know I should’ve said this before. I should’ve told you when we were still at Hogwarts, when you handed me the shop, when you left. But I was scared. Scared of what it would mean, scared I’d ruin what we had. And then you were gone, and I thought… I thought maybe I’d lost my chance.”

You couldn’t speak, couldn’t move, your heart pounding so hard it felt as though it might shatter through your ribs.

“But now you’re here,” he said, his words almost a whisper. “And I can’t let you leave again without knowing how much you mean to me. You are the most extraordinary person I’ve ever known, and I’ve spent seven years building a life that, no matter how complete it might seem from the outside, has always been missing you.”

You stared at him, your breath catching as the world seemed to slow around you. The face you’d waited seven years to see again—its every detail etched into your memory but now somehow more vivid, more real—was right before you. The faint furrow of his brow, the slight parting of his lips as though bracing himself for your response, the glisten of unshed tears in his sightless eyes.

It was all so achingly familiar, and yet time had made him even more beautiful in his quiet, unassuming way.

And you loved him.

You always had.

The years apart, the missed chances, the countless letters you’d written and rewritten but never sent—it all fell away, leaving only this moment. This man. The only person who had ever made you feel like you belonged.

“I’ve loved you too,” you whispered, the words spilling from your lips unbidden, your voice trembling but resolute.

Ominis stilled, his brows furrowing further as though he hadn’t quite heard you. “What?”

You reached out, your hands shaking as you cupped his face, your thumbs brushing over the faint stubble on his jaw. His breath hitched, his sightless eyes searching the space between you as though trying to see what your touch already told him.

“I love you, Ominis,” you said again, your voice steadying as you saw the hope flicker to life in his expression. “I always have."

His lips parted, his breath catching audibly as he tilted his head toward your hands, leaning into your touch as though it were the only thing grounding him.

“Say it again,” he whispered, his voice trembling.

You smiled through your tears, leaning closer until your forehead rested against his. “I love you,” you murmured, your voice soft but sure.

A shaky laugh escaped him, a sound filled with so much relief and joy it sent a fresh wave of tears streaming down your cheeks. His hands moved to cradle your face, his touch reverent and tender as his thumbs brushed away your tears.

“Merlin,” he breathed, his voice cracking with emotion. “I can’t believe... after all this time...”

“Believe it,” you said, your voice filled with quiet certainty.

His grip tightened slightly, his hands trembling as he pulled you closer. “Promise me,” he murmured, his breath ghosting over your lips. “Promise me you’ll stay—I’m begging you—don’t leave again. Merlin, I... I can’t go another seven years without you. Not knowing where you are, if you’re safe, if you’ll ever come back.”

You didn’t hesitate. “I promise.”

130 notes · View notes

starsinthesky5 · 8 months ago

Text

you belong with me III || joe burrow x reader

description: when date night ends with something more than just a goodnight kiss ;)

a/n: first off, can we talk about how delicious joe looks when he wears this specific jersey. it’s literally causing me to spiral. i can't. he’s so fine

anyway, welcome to part 3! yall have shown this little mini series so much love and it’s given me some great inspo to write a little more! i really love writing these fics <3 this turned out to be a lot longer then what I thought off which might explain why i struggled to finish it lol

warnings: language, smut

word count: 11.6 k

part 1 part 2

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December

You and Joe have been dating for a few weeks now, and things couldn’t be going more perfectly for you both. Ever since your confession on Joe’s birthday, you both had been more attached at the hip than usual, but neither of you was complaining. Nothing really changed in the way you were acting around each other, everything pretty much stayed the same--other than the constant kissing & extra flirty conversations--which was another indication that you were already acting like a couple long before you made it official.

“Joeeee, come back over here I’m cold,” you whined as you looked up from the couch, watching Joe as he warmed up a bowl of popcorn.

“Just a sec, Baby,” he said as he pulled out two cans of Sprite from your fridge.

Baby. You blushed at the pet name, which was becoming increasingly common for you two. If you had told your freshman year Ohio State self that her best friend, Joe Burrow, would be in her apartment warming up a bowl of popcorn for them to watch the latest episode of ‘Love Island’ together, and was calling her Baby, she would for sure punch you in the face for lying. But the sweetest part was, you wouldn’t be lying because it was reality.

A few moments later, he walked over with the snacks, placing them on your coffee table and plopping down on the couch next to you.

“I can’t believe you have me watching trashy reality TV,” he laughs as he wraps his arm around your shoulder, pulling you into his chest.

“Honestly, me either,” you giggle, kissing his neck. “But I love hearing your commentary,”.

He lets out a chuckle and says, “Thanks, but I mean, these people are wildin’. If you’re actually looking for love, you would never go on a dating show because that shit will never end right,”.

“Oh for sure,” you nod, grabbing some popcorn.

“Like what happened to being a genuine friend? These girls just steal each other’s man like it’s nothing and the guys are absolute airheads and go along with it,” Joe expresses, taking it a little too seriously.

“Calm down, Joe,” you giggle. “Remember, we watch for the entertainment value not for the ethics,” you say as you rub his arm.

He lets out a sigh and then grabs a handful of popcorn, stuffing his face with the buttery snack. “I just think these people really don’t know real love when they see it,”.

“Luckily, we aren’t them,” you smile, grabbing his hand and pressing a soft kiss to the back of his palm.

“Ohhh yeah,” he says, moving his other arm around your leg, gently sliding his hand up and down your calf. “I have real love and I am never letting go of it,”.

“You better not,” you tease, moving your head up and pressing a few kisses to his lips, tasting the buttery popcorn on them.

“We still good for tomorrow night?” he asks, referring to the little date night he had planned at his house.

“Mhm, I can’t wait to see what you have planned,” you say as you grab some more popcorn.

“I think you’ll love it,” he smirks, pressing soft kisses all over your forehead. He had decorated his backyard with fairy lights, making sure to hang them all around his patio set up so that there was no darkness in sight. He had bought your favorite flowers and decorated his backyard with them, got his chef to prepare all your favorite foods, and even got you a little gift.

He had his jeweler custom make you a ring that had your birthstones in an alternating pattern all around the ring with diamonds in between each stone. The ring was kind of like a promise ring, but mostly something that he got for you to show that you were it for him. Even though it was way too early to think about that, Joe could envision spending the rest of his life with you. So it was kind of like a mini engagement ring, just without the whole marriage detail, for now.

“What should I wear? Something laid back orrrr..” you ask.

“Wear what you want to wear,” he smirks. “You look Sexy and Beautiful in everything,”.

A blush rises on your cheeks and you feel your belly filling with butterflies again. It was amazing to hear him say those things about you. He already made you feel like the most beautiful girl in the world, but his endless compliments just made everything better.

“God, it feels so great to finally be able to say that to you,” he adds, throwing his head back against the pillow.

“You’re so cute,” you laugh, moving your legs so that you are now sitting in his lap, pressing kisses all over his face. His hands run across your thighs, then eventually move up to your waist. His fingers softly scratch against the fabric of your shirt, and then make their way inside so that you can feel them against your bare skin.

“But seriously, what should I wear?” you ask.

“Hmm, maybe that lacy black dress you wore to your sister’s engagement party,” he sighs, his hands now sliding higher up your body.

“Why that particular dress?” you smirk, knowing exactly why he wanted you to wear that dress. You took him to her engagement party as your plus 1 and his reaction when he saw you in the dress for the first time should have been a dead giveaway about how he felt about you.

“Because,” he says, his fingers teasing the band of your bra, increasing the tension around you. “The first time I saw you in that dress is still burned into my mind and I would love a repeat of it,”. You feel his fingers slide into the cup of your bra, giving your breast a soft squeeze.

“Oh really?” you smirk, moving both your hands to each of his shoulders. “What did you think when you first saw me in the dress?”.

“Other than that you looked heavenly,” he starts off, causing you to blush again. “Like I wanted to kiss my way up your arm,” he says, removing his hands from underneath your shirt, then moving his lips to your arm and doing what he was saying. You closed your eyes and let out a few short breaths as you felt him pressing wet kisses along your arm.

“Then, I wanted to leave a few pretty purple marks around your neck so that people could see you were mine,” he says, moving to your neck and sucking on the soft skin.

“Joe,” you breathe out, a warm feeling now replacing the butterflies in your belly. You move your hand into his hair, pulling at the strands and relishing his touch.

“And then, I wanted to rip the dress off your perfect body and show you how much I loved you,” he says, moving up from your neck and meeting your eyes.

“Damn, I didn’t think you felt so..” you trail off, trying to find the right word.

“Horny?” he says, causing a laugh to leave your lips.

“I was gonna say passionate but horny works too,” you finish. “Who knew Joey B could have such impure thoughts about his so-called bestie,” you tease.

“That’s just 1 occasion out of a million others in which I felt like ripping your clothes off,” he whispered in your ear, sending shivers down your body.

You felt like you were about to pass out from the heat rising up your body because of your boyfriend’s alluring words & thoughts. Who knew that Joe could ever be capable of thinking that way about you? And who knew he was capable of making you feel like this? You wanted nothing more than to rip off his clothes right now and have your way with him.

“I could list even more occasions in which I wanted to rip that Jersey off your body and take you for a spin after every game,” you wink.

“Oh yeah?” he smirks. “Why didn’t you do anything about it then?” he says while rubbing your ass.

“Hmm, maybe because you were spoken for at the time and I didn’t want to be the other woman,” you joke, moving his bangs out of his eyes.

“Please, if you gave me ‘fuck me’ eyes for even a second, I wouldn’t have hesitated to make you the woman,” he said.

“I feel like I’m committing a crime saying all these things to you,” you blink, feeling like you were doing something forbidden by acting like this with Joe.

“Oh me too. If our Ohio State selves walked in through the door right now, they would probably be traumatized for the rest of their lives,” Joe chuckles, your eyes wandering to his perfectly soft pink lips that you had been obsessed with for the past few weeks. With Joe, you were acting like you were a teenage girl who had just gotten her first boyfriend, all of the childish yet insatiable feelings were rising to the surface.

“Then they would for sure be missing out,” you mumble as you push yourself closer to his body, capturing his lips in a messy kiss, taking him by surprise. His hands grip your waist as he pulls you even closer, your crotch right on top of his, and a feeling of hardness underneath you that makes you pull away from the kiss.

You meet his eyes which are now dark with lust, “Joe I-,”.

“Hey, it’s okay,” he soothes as he rubs your thigh to comfort you. “We don’t have to if you don’t want to,”.

“I know it’s a lot even though we’re like, adults now” he laughs, softening the air around you.

“Could you be any more perfect,” you whisper out loud.

“Hm?” he questions.

“You didn’t even know what I was going to say,” you mumble as you start pressing kisses on his jaw, trailing down to his neck as you can feel him move around underneath you, trying to find pleasure in just sitting there. You pull your head back up and meet his eyes again, “I was going to say that I need you,”.

“Are you sure?” he asked.

“Absolutely,” you say as you kiss his right cheek. “Positively,” you say as you kiss his left cheek. “Sure,” you say as you press a big kiss on his lips, hearing Joe let out a soft groan into the kiss and feeling him melt into you as you suck on his bottom lip.

Your kisses became more urgent and needy as Joe’s hands wandered down to your ass and then back up to your waist. His grip on you tightens, prompting you to moan into the kiss. He gets up from the couch, still holding you while you were attacking his lips, and walks you both over to your bedroom.

He kicks your door shut as you pull away from the kiss to look at him for a few seconds. You press your forehead against his and whisper, “I love you,” with the biggest smile on your face.

“I love you even more,” he replies, softly placing you down on your bed before climbing on top of you; you open up your legs to accommodate his large body before going back to kissing him.

He moves down to your neck, kissing and sucking on the skin as you start to realize what was happening. Yeah, you were insinuating that you wanted to go there but that was purely coming from your heart. Now, your brain was awake.

You were about to have sex with Joe.

Yes, you had been dating for a few weeks now and this was bound to happen considering how you two couldn’t keep your hands off of each other, but it was actually happening for real this time and you were freaking out. But it wasn’t like you were afraid; you knew he would be the most gentle and considerate person ever. You were feeling a mix of excitement and nervousness. What if he didn’t like it? What if it wasn’t as good as what he might have been used to with other girls?

Other girls. The thought of other girls being in this position with your boyfriend made you want to rip your eyelashes out. Was he feeling the same way about you though? The same feeling of bitterness at the thought of you being like this with other guys?

Oh, the things you would do to just get your brain to turn off for a few hours. You were pulled out of your trance, letting out a moan as Joe had seemingly just found your sweet spot.

“There it is,” he smiled as he continued to nip and suck at the skin, surely leaving a purple spot there like he wanted to. His left hand gripped your jaw, pushing your head to the side to expose the skin of your neck a little more.

“Fuck,” you whimpered at the increased pressure on your neck and the gush of wetness pooling your core.

He began to slip his fingers into your sweatpants, but before he could get too far, a blaring & piercing sound filled your bedroom. You looked down and saw the noise was coming from Joe’s pocket, probably from his phone. Then you looked over to the clock on your nightstand, the time reading 7:30, which made you let out an internal sigh of relief.

But why were you relieved? You wanted this to happen.

“Joe,” you say, trying to get his attention but he was still spending time on your neck. “It’s time to go, Baby,”.

“Mmm, I can be late by an hour,” he mumbles, kissing up your neck and to your jaw.

“Uhhh,” you say as you place your hands around his head and move it back up to your view. “You have practice tomorrow morning and we both know how cranky you get when you don’t get enough sleep during the season. And it’s December football so you cannot miss a single practice,”.

“But–,” he starts to say.

“I know, I know,” you giggle. “But I’ll make it up to you soon, I swear,” you say, sealing your promise with a kiss.

He stares into your eyes for a few seconds before sighing, “Fine,”.

“But I expect to be compensated for this sooner rather than later,” he says as he moves off of you, reaching out to help you off the bed.

“Trust me, you will,” you say as you move your messy hair out of your face. You walk over to your vanity to grab a hairclip while Joe fixes his clothes and some other things. You look into the mirror, a shriek leaving your lips as you examine your neck.

Joe flips his head around to you, “What’s wrong?” he asks.

“Joseph Lee!” you yell. “My neck!”.

He walks over and leans his head to look at your neck, laughing at what you were screaming about. “I told you. Pretty purple marks to show people you’re mine,” he winks before opening up your bedroom door, leaving you speechless at your mirror. Seeing this side of Joe for the first time was so weird for you since for years the relationship between you two had just barely grazed over the zone you were in now, so all this was unexplored.

Even though it was strange and new, you loved every single part of it. He was making you feel things that no other guy could make you feel; feelings that had yet to be brought out, but now were because of him.

A few minutes later, you help Joe gather his things before walking him to your apartment door. His hands wrap around your waist as yours loop around his neck, holding each other in a hug for a few moments.

“I don’t want to go,” he mumbles against your head.

“Hey, I’ll see you tomorrow night at least,” you say, rubbing the nape of his neck.

“Mmm, I just wish we could always be near each other. 9 years of waiting plus not being able to wake up to your pretty face and kiss you goodnight every day is killing me,” he sighs.

“I told you that my lease is up in 2 months,” you say, meeting his eyes.

“2 months is so long,” he pouts. Joe had casually asked you a week ago what your thoughts were about living together at his house. He said that you both had already gotten comfy around each other since you have known each other for so long, so living together wouldn’t be so bad, but he also didn’t want to move things along too fast if you weren’t ready. You quickly shut down that thought and told him that you’d been waiting for nearly a decade, so you were definitely not rushing into anything. So naturally, you said yes. The thought of living with him felt like a dream, and now you were a step away from it being a reality.

“They’ll pass by faster than you think,” you smile, pressing a kiss to his lips to make him feel better.

“They better,” he says, returning your kiss with two more kisses. His lips were always so soft and felt like clouds against yours. There were so many times you didn’t want to stop kissing him because it felt like heaven and as if you were floating.

“I’ll see you tomorrow, Okay?” You say, pressing your head against his chest and going back to the hug.

“Yes, Ma’am,” he replied, pressing another kiss to your head.

“I love you,” you say, moving your head up to press a kiss to his chin.

“Babe, I’m not gonna leave if you keep kissing me,” he laughed.

You move your head out from his chest again and say, “If you don’t leave, we’re going to be doing a lot more than just kissing and I do not feel like having the entire team on my ass for making you skip practice,”.

“Fair enough,” he sighs as he lets go of you. “I love you,” he says back, pressing a final kiss to your lips before opening up the door and exiting your apartment.

“Good night,” he says softly as his eyes twinkle in the light of the hallway.

“Night, Joey,” you smile back, slowly closing the door as the smile on your face stays. You turn around and press your back to the door as that feeling of giddiness, caused by Joe, remains in your body.

The Next Day

You finish applying the last bit of your lipgloss before grabbing your car keys and heading for your door. You took one final glance in the entryway mirror, making sure that everything was perfect.

You were wearing the dress Joe had wanted you to wear which hugged your body in all the right places, especially around your breasts. You had the tennis bracelet he gave you on your left wrist and a small diamond chain around your neck, which still had purple marks around it that you didn’t bother to hide. You also grabbed a black cardigan to wear on top of the dress since it was pretty chilly out tonight. The red lipgloss you had put on pulled the whole look together, and you looked hot. You smiled at your appearance and sent Joe a text telling him you were on your way before grabbing your purse and heading out the door.

Meanwhile, Joe was out in his backyard making sure that everything was perfect for his little date night.

He had started a fire at the fire pit, hoping the warmth would find its way over the dining table a few feet away. Pots of flowers he had gotten--pink and white carnations--were scattered around the corners of the deck and his chef had prepared a delicious dinner for you both. Joe had requested that he make chicken potstickers, kung pao chicken with fried rice, spicy garlic noodles, and red velvet cupcakes for dessert. Everything was your favorite, and he made sure that it was flawless. The ring he had gotten made for you was sitting in his pocket, and he couldn’t wait to give it to you.

The fairy lights he hung up a few days ago were still going strong and the entire backyard was now covered by a warm glow, no darkness in sight, just like he had wanted. That’s how Joe felt with you in his life. You were the fairy lights. You filled his world with light, getting rid of all the darkness and emptiness that was there before.

“Shit, need music,” Joe mumbled under his breath as he realized he was forgetting something. He walked back inside the house and grabbed his speaker from the living room, hooking his phone up to it and bringing it back outside. He decided to put on your playlist, smiling as he scrolled through the songs and saw all the new ones you two had added over the last few weeks. Joe had added “Fooled Around And Fell In Love” by Elvin Bishop, “Head Over Heels” by Tears for Fears, and “Heavenly” by Cigarettes After Sex. You had added “My Love Mine All Mine” by Mitski, “Margaret” by Lana Del Rey, and “Dress” by Taylor Swift.

Although Joe wasn’t the biggest fan of Taylor Swift’s music--because it wasn’t his particular taste--he had grown fond of her love songs, particularly “Dress”. The song lyrics were just a little too relatable for both of you.

The sound of his doorbell snapped him out of his daze, looking at his messages and realizing you were here. He tapped shuffle, threw his phone onto the couch outside, and ran over to the main door to let you in.

While you were waiting at the door, you pulled out your phone to get another look at yourself, making sure that everything was perfect. Your eyes moved to your cardigan that was covering the dress, the dress that Joe had specially asked you to wear.

You put your phone away and shrugged off the cardigan as it was ruining the vibe you were going for. You looked hot, and the cardigan did not emphasize that. “A little cold didn’t hurt anyone,” you muttered as you heard the door lock click and open.

Joe opened the door, his heart skipping a beat as he laid his eyes on you. You looked absolutely desirable and angelic, and he was definitely feeling a repeat of how he felt when he first saw you in this dress. The same feeling of attraction and need.

“Hey,” you smiled as you straightened out your dress.

“Hey,” he smiled back. “Come in, it’s cold out there,” he says as he stretches his hand out to lead you inside the house.

You place your hand in his as he leads you inside, and then you put your stuff on the kitchen island before turning around to face him again. You watch as his eyes move from your feet to your bare legs, to your hips, to your chest which was covered by black lace from the dress, to your neck that still has purple marks from yesterday, and up to your beautiful face. Although the dress you had on was made for you, it was making him want to rip it off right now. He wanted to skip dinner and get straight to dessert, and he was not talking about the red velvet cupcakes.

“Like what you see?” you giggle as you pull him closer.

“You look fucking incredible, Y/N,” he whispers, his hands sliding across the silk fabric of your dress.

“All for you,” you say before you press a kiss to his lips, but quickly pull away as you smell something delicious.

“What is that?” you say as your eyes light up.

He lets out a soft laugh before grabbing your hand and leading you out to the backyard, “Our Date,”.

“Our date’s outside?” you wonder as he pulls you out the patio door, stopping you at the bottom of the steps. Your mouth falls open as your eyes move up to the lights hanging all around the deck, brightening his usually dark backyard.

“Holy shit,” you whisper as you let go of his hand and walk further onto the deck. Your eyes move to the corners of the deck, noticing pots of your favorite flowers all around. Your eyes then navigate to the lit fire pit and the dining table a few feet away, which had all of your favorite foods on it.

You flip around to face Joe, who is standing on the steps with his hands in his pockets and a grin on his face. “Joe, did you do all this?” you asked him.

“Maaayyybee,” he blushes as he looks at the sky and bounces back and forth on his feet.

You run back over to him and leap into his arms, pulling him in for a big hug as you press kisses on his cheek. “I love you so so so much. This is so perfect,” you beam.

“I’m so glad you like it,” he says as he sways you back and forth. His hand sliding down to your ass, giving it a soft squeeze, sending electricity throughout your body.

“Nobody’s ever done this much for me for a date,” you say as you pull away from the hug, cupping his face with your hands and rubbing his soft skin.

“Well, like I said before. I’m setting the standards in the boyfriend department,” he smiles as he moves his hand around your back and leads you over to the dining table.

“Please, you are the standard,” you laugh as he pulls out your chair for you. Joe helps you settle in your chair before walking over and dragging his chair closer to yours and then sitting in it.

“This food looks beyond amazing,” you say as you look at all the delicious foods as Joe starts to fill your plate.

“You have good taste,” he smiles.

“Oh, I know,” you wink as you take the plate from him. Joe grabs his water, taking a sip to hopefully calm down the impure thoughts he was feeling at the sight of you. “Not just in food though,” you add as you give Joe a loaded look, making him almost choke on his water.

“Oh really? What else do you have good taste in?” he teases as he places his water back down.

“Hmmm, I think I have pretty good taste in NFL Quarterbacks too,” you wink.

“Quarterbacks plural?” he says as he raises his eyebrow.

“Yeah, I think that guy from Kansas is pretty cute too,” you lie as you take a bite of the spicy noodles.

Joe’s face drops as if he just saw a ghost and he feels his heart stop for a second, making you burst out laughing. “Oh my god, you should see your face,” you laugh as you put down your fork and throw your head back, your entire body shaking from his reaction.

“That is not funny,” he says with a straight face.

“Aww, poor baby got a little jelly?” you giggle as you come back forward and grab his hand.

“You don’t have to worry. The only Quarterback I have my eyes on is 6’3, has dirty blonde hair, is from Ohio, plays for the superior Ohio football team, and can plan a killer date night for his girlfriend,” you say as you lean over to kiss his cheek.

“Good, because I heard that QB only has eyes for 1 girl as well,” he smiles.

“Hm, I wonder who she is?” you say as you bat your eyelashes.

“Well from what I heard, she’s suuuper funny, gorgeous, loves trashy reality TV, is a big football girl, and knows exactly how to make a guy fall head over heels in love with her,” he says before taking a bite of the kung pao chicken.

“Did you say that last part because of the song that’s playing right now?” you laugh as you hear the melody of “Head over Heels” in the background.

“Now that’s just a beautiful coincidence because I meant that for real,”.

“Well, I have a good feeling that the girl feels the same way about the Quarterback,” you say as you move your foot to touch his.

“Perfect, I know he’ll be happy to hear that,” he smiles.

A little later, you both are digging into the yummy dinner as you talk about upcoming games, your schedules, and your sister’s wedding.

“So, you’re good to go with me to Kaylee’s wedding in a couple weeks right?” you ask as you shove another spoonful of rice into your mouth.

“Mhm,” Joe nods as he finishes chewing the chicken. “I think I have a few suits I can pick from that can match your dress,”.

“Great, I’ll text her tomorrow,” you say as you finish up the last bit of food on your plate. “They’ll be so excited to see you and you know Kaylee will be on our asses for finally making a move on each other,”.

“Oh I am well aware,” he says as he takes one final bite before grabbing your plates and stacking them up to take inside. “I can only imagine how many people we’ll get bombarded by at the wedding,”.

“Bring some edibles or something. I don’t think I’ll be able to sit through the reception without something to take off the edge,” you say as you reach down to unstrap your heels.

“You got it,” he smiles. “It’s getting pretty cold so why don’t you move over to the day bed by the fire pit and I’ll bring the cupcakes out over there. I’m sure it’s warmer there anyways,” he says as he gets up and starts to clean up the table.

“You don’t want any help?” you ask as you get up from your chair.

“I’m good,” he smiles. “You just sit over there and look pretty like you always do,”.

“I love you,” you yell as make grabby hands towards him and you walk backward to the day bed.

“I love you more,” he echoes as he walks inside.

You hop onto the daybed, feeling the warmth of the fire pit gravitate toward you which was the best feeling since you were pretty cold now, especially since your dress wasn't really helping. You leaned back against the pillows as you looked up at the fairy lights, humming along to the music playing in the background; a smile appeared on your face as you realized the song that was playing.

“Say my name and everything just stops, I don’t want you like a best friend,” you mumble, reciting the song lyrics. “Only bought this dress so you could take it off, take it off–”.

“Oh, I will be,” Joe winks, snapping you out of your daze.

You look back straight and see Joe standing in front of you, holding a plate with 2 red velvet cupcakes.

“Hello, again,” you say as you sit up straight and scooch over to make room for Joe.

“You warm enough?” Joe asks as he settles in next to you, his body warmth making you even more warmer.

“Now that you’re here, absolutely,” you say as you press a kiss on his cheek while you grab a cupcake from the plate. You take a bite of the cupcake, Joe, attentively watching you as you close your eyes and let out a groan because of how good it is.

“Mmmm, that’s the best thing I’ve ever had,” you open your eyes as you wipe your lips with the back of your hand. You look at Joe, who seems to still be staring at you, not saying a single word. He was thinking about how this was his life. How you were his life and he still hadn’t processed that this was real yet. He felt like he was dreaming and he was 1 moment away from waking up and all this being over.

“Hey, you okay?” you ask as you put the cupcake back down on the plate.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” he says while running his fingers through his hair.

“You were staring,” you say as you tilt your head to the side, the purple marks on your neck now fully visible because of the light shining on you from above.

“Just thinking,” he says, giving you a reassuring smile.

“Care to let me in?” you ask as you sit on your knees. “Just because we’re a couple doesn’t mean we still can’t talk about how we’re feeling,”.

He lets out a soft laugh before placing his hand on your knee, “It’s nothing bad. Just thinking about us,” he says.

“Oh?” you say as you look up at him.

“Again, nothing bad. I just can’t believe that this is real life and I know that sounds dumb, but it’s true. Having you with me was already the best part of doing what I’m doing, but now having you with me as my girlfriend, as my partner, just feels–,”.

“Unreal?” you interrupt, letting out a laugh when you see Joe shaking his head with a grin on his face.

“Very Unreal,” he says, reaching for something in his pocket.

“I feel the same way. I know it's only been a few weeks, but I already know this is everything I’ve been waiting for,” you grin.

“We’re always on the same page about everything aren’t we?” he says as he pulls out a little box from his pocket.

“My favorite thing about us,” you say as you look down at the box. Before you could ask him what that was, he said something else.

“I just want you to know that you are the most important person in the world to me, and I love you more than words can describe. Everything about you just works for me, it always has and it always will. You light up my life, just like how these lights are lighting up the backyard,” he says as he opens the box. “You’re it for me, Y/N. My best friend, my twin flame, my girlfriend, and the person that I want with me for as long as we’re on this planet. Or any other planet if we end up going to Mars or something in the future,”.

You feel like you’re slowly melting away at his words and then you look down at what was in the box, now feeling tears pool in your eyes. “Sooo, to show you that, I got you a little something,” he says as he takes the ring out of the box.

“Joe, I- I,” you barely say before the tears fall from your eyes. He looks up and notices the tears falling from your eyes, puts the ring down, and starts to wipe your cheeks.

“Hey, why are you crying?” he softly asks.

“Because,” you laugh through the tears. “You’re perfect. Everything about you is fucking perfect,” you say as you stuff your face into his neck.

He wraps his arm around your waist and moves your hair to the side, “I hope that’s a good thing?” he asks.

“It’s a great thing” you giggle before pulling your face out from his neck. “Can I see it?” you ask as you wipe your eyes and nose.

“Duhh,” he smiles as he picks up the ring again. “Both of our birthstones in an alternating pattern, 9 diamonds to represent the 9 years we’ve known each other, and the date we met plus the date we became an official couple engraved on the inside,”.

“How do you think of these things?” you ask as you feel fireworks setting off in your heart at how much detail he put into designing the ring. The ring was gorgeous, and it was definitely a pretty penny. “But this was probably really expensive,” you say.

“We’re not doing that again. You said the same thing when I got you this bracelet,” he says as he touches the tennis bracelet on your wrist. “And what did I say?”.

“In case you forgot, I am a millionaire now, and you never wanna upset a millionaire,” you say, recalling his words from a few years ago.

“Exactly,” he says as he eyes your hands, trying to decide which finger to put it on.

You watch as his eyes dart from one hand to the other, then eventually setting on your right hand, slipping the ring onto your 4th finger.

“Why that finger specifically?” you ask.

“It’s your right hand’s ring finger,” he shrugs.

“Soooo,” you say, expecting more for the reasoning behind it.

“Your left hand’s ring finger is being saved for another ring that I’ll give you later on, so this was the next best thing,” he says so casually. He was talking about your ring finger, the ring finger. He wanted to put that ring on it.

You lean forward and pull him in for a kiss, not needing to say anything else to him because he already knows how you feel. You feel his hands travel down to your waist, gently picking you up and placing you in his lap. His hands travel up and down your sides, and then you feel him pull away from the kiss which makes you let out a little groan.

“Have I told you how Sexy you look tonight?” he says, his lips all glossy from yours.

“Ohh yeah," you nod. "Have I told you how great of a Boyfriend you are?” you ask him as you slide your hands up and down his chest.

“Yeah, a couple of times,” he teases. “But seriously, you look hot. Like incomprehensibly hot,”.

“You still thinking those same thoughts you felt when you first saw me in this dress?” you ask as you move your face closer to his, pressing feather-light kisses on his jaw.

His hands move down to cup your ass and his head shifts so that his mouth was right by your ear, “Those thoughts plus maybe a few more. Why don’t I show you in my room?” he whispers, setting off that warm feeling in your stomach again.

“Sounds perfect,” you say as you kiss around his neck, hoping to leave a purple spot there just like he did for you yesterday.

He holds your waist tightly as he slides off the daybed, your legs wrapping around his as his hands slide to your ass again. You hide your face in his neck as he quickly closes the fire pit and unplugs all the lights before walking back inside.

Once you’re back inside his warm house, you move your head out of his neck and go back to kissing him. You were so lost in his lips that you didn’t even realize you had made it up to his room until you heard him close the door. Your eyes looked to your left towards his bed, stopping at his bookshelf and at the photo of you two that Joe said was his favorite a few weeks ago. You smiled at the thought of how things had changed from then to now, still not quite believing that this was real.

He places you down on his bed before crawling on top of you, the same position as yesterday before you got interrupted by his alarm. You feel his lips travel from your jaw down to your neck again, slightly sucking on the already bruised spots, making you let out a whimper.

“Joe,” you blubbered at the slight sting you felt.

“Don’t worry, I’ll leave your neck alone,” he chuckles as he moves down to your chest. Your chest was lined with the lacy part of the dress, and Joe felt like a kid in a candy store. He started to press kisses along your soft skin, moving one hand to the strap of the dress and pulling it down slowly. You closed your eyes, feeling desire building inside your body with every touch and kiss from Joe. He pulls down the straps of the dress, his eyes widening at the fact that you weren’t wearing a bra and this was his first time seeing you naked.

“No Bra?” he asks as he looks up.

You feel shy all of a sudden and open your eyes, remembering you didn’t put one on since the dress held them pretty well. You move your hands to cover your chest, but Joe stops them before you can.

“You are beautiful, Y/N. No need to hide,” he says as he presses a kiss to your chest again, getting rid of all your shy thoughts. “Absolutely gorgeous,”.

“But, no bra makes it seem like you came over with an agenda tonight,” he laughs as he kisses down to your nipple.

“I told you that you’d be compensated sooner rather than–,” you smile before you feel Joe wrap his lips around your nipple and swirl his tongue around the bud. “Oh my god,” you moan at the contact. His tongue continues to work its magic around your sensitive bud, prompting a few gasps and whimpers to leave your lips as you play with his hair.

“Joe,” you moan as you squirm underneath him, feeling him move from your chest and down your body. He moves down your body, pressing wet open-mouthed kisses along the way as he pulls the dress down with him.

“God, you’re so pretty,” he mumbles as he kisses your stomach. “And your skin is so soft,”.

You smile as you hear him continue to praise you while pleasuring you, making sure that you feel good about yourself in every way possible, physically & internally.

He moves to your arm, “Absolutely stunning,” he says as he presses a kiss to your forearm. He then moves back to your stomach, “Drop dead gorgeous,” he says as he presses a kiss to your hips. “Hottest girl I’ve ever come across,” he says as he presses a kiss to your belly button. ��And all mine,” he says as his lips graze over the sensitive spot on your belly close to your heat, feeling a gush of wetness pool at your core.

“Shit,” you moan and pull on his hair as you feel him kiss that spot on your stomach, feeling butterflies flying through your stomach. He was so sweet, even in the most heated moments, and that was another thing you adored about Joe.

“Found another sweet spot I guess,” he chuckles as he presses another kiss to it before moving down to your core. He pulls your dress all the way down your body, now leaving you in nothing but your panties. He looks at you for a few moments, seeing you in your most natural form in front of him, and it makes him feel like he is on cloud 9. The fact that you were so comfortable around him, especially like this, was another reason why he is absolutely obsessed with you. You felt comfortable with him emotionally & physically, and he felt the same with you.

“You good?” He asks before going further.

“I’m great,” you smile as you make grabby hands towards him.

“Tell me if you want to stop,” he says.

“That’ll never happen, but okay,” you smile.

He comes back over you, pushing his lips against yours in a messy kiss that has you both gasping for air and feeling more needy than before. You feel his hand travel down to your thigh, his fingers massaging the plush skin before he pulls away and goes back down to your core.

You feel your brain click, just like it did last night, as you realize what was going to happen. You feel his hands teasing the band of your panties before you feel his lips on your inner thigh. You feel him suck and nip at the skin, definitely leaving another mark.

“You love marking me up don’t you?” You laugh.

“People gotta know that you’re mine,” he says as he sucks on the skin of your inner thigh. The words coming out of his mouth were still new to you. The thought of Joe, your Joe, doing this to you and saying these words to you was something you never thought would be possible.

Before you could say something else, you feel him ghost his fingers over your slit, feeling your wetness seeping out of your panties. “So wet for me,” he chuckles before he pulls down your panties and throws them to the side.

You start to feel those nerves again, so you close your eyes, hoping rid of those thoughts. The cool air of the room hits your core at the same time as you feel Joe’s mouth lick a long stripe from your folds to your clit, sending the first waves of pleasure throughout your body. “Mmm,” you whimper as you throw your head to the side, your fingers twirling the strands of his hair as his mouth starts to go unhinged on your core.

Wet slurping sounds fill the room along with your breaths that are coming out in short gasps. Joe’s mouth was magic, pure magic, and you were mad at yourself for missing out on this for all those years you stayed away.

“Joey, fuck don’t stop,” you shamelessly moan as you push his head closer to your core, feeling him groan into you as he continues to lap at your folds. You could feel his soft scruff rubbing against your lower half, the real feeling of it better than what you had imagined it felt like.

“You taste like heaven,” he says as he presses kisses around your skin before attaching his lips to your sensitive clit, sending intense shocks of pleasure throughout your body.

“Fuck, Joe,” you moan as you start to arch your back, but he gently pushes you back down before moving his hand to cup your breast, his thumb sliding across your nipple while his mouth continues to send you to heaven. “God, you’re so good,” you whined. You were melting under his touch, letting him do whatever he wanted to you, and it felt so right. The way his mouth was worshipping you was sending you into overdrive, his soft lips caressing every part and making you lose all control, but you were trying to keep it together.

He looked up for a few seconds, watching you struggle to hold it together as the sounds coming from your mouth were absolutely unhinged, a juxtaposition to your facial expression. He watched as your free hand was gripping the sheets, your knuckles losing color at the tight grip you had on them. Every time you moaned his name, it felt like everything would just stop, and he loved it.

His hand slides down from your breast to your thigh, gripping the back of it to throw your leg over his shoulder, opening you up even more. You feel his tongue thrust into your core, just as you start to feel your pleasure building up while his thumb was rubbing circles around your clit.

“I’m so close,” you whisper as you open up your eyes and look down at him, feeling incredibly dazed at the sight of him doing what he is doing right now. He moves his lips from your core up to your clit, rhythmically sucking and swirling the bud before you let out another moan.

“Oh my god,” you whine as you feel your pleasure begging to be released. You let go of the sheets, stuffing both your hands into Joe’s hair and grinding against his mouth. The combination of his tongue and your movements push you towards your orgasm as you feel the band in your belly snap hard, seeing stars for the first time in a long time; almost feeling like you had just fallen into a cloud of pink dust and the room had just gotten 10 times brighter, and it was all because of the man in front of you.

“Joe,” you whimper as you throw your head to the side and smile into the pillow, waves of pleasure crashing over you as he continues to lap at your folds, softly rubbing your shaking thighs and milking every last drop of your orgasm. He continued to lap at your folds, a little more delicately than before. Then he moved back up to your face, he watched as you continued to grin into the pillow, soft moans and whimpers still leaving your lips as you came down from your high. A few moments later, you open up your eyes, panting from the aftermath of your orgasm, seeing Joe’s face just inches from yours.

His lips and chin were coated with your wetness, his cheeks were flushed, and his hair was all messy. He wiped his chin with his hand before bringing it to his mouth to clean your wetness off of him.

“How was it?” he pants, praying that you enjoyed it and felt good. He wanted nothing more than to make you, the love of his life, feel good. It’s all he has ever wanted.

“You’re really fucking good at that,” you breathe out before you pull him closer and kiss him again. You could taste yourself on his lips and that made the kiss even more sweeter. Your tongues tangled in each other's mouths as you moved your hands to his back, stuffing them underneath his shirt and tracing his torso with your freshly manicured nails. You pulled his shirt higher, signaling that you wanted it off. He pulled away from your lips for a few seconds and took his shirt off before going back to you, his lips sucking on your top lip, almost biting it at the feeling of your hands finding themselves inside his pants.

Before you got lost in his lips again, you pulled away, leaving him a little breathless and very needy. “Mm, come back,” he whispered as he moved to kiss you again.

“I think you forgot to take something else off too,” you say as hold his face just inches from your mouth while you look down at his pants.

“Damn, straight to it?” He laughed as he got off of you and started to take his pants off.

“We’ve been waiting for way too long for us to not get straight to it,” you say as you watch him take them off. The nerves only get stronger as your brain starts to fully wake up, and the thoughts of last night come right back. You were about to see him fully naked and have sex, and there was a very real possibility that he wouldn’t enjoy it. But at the same time, why wouldn’t he? He loves you, and he made it very clear that you were the one for him; you both wanted this to happen, and you even said it to each other’s faces many times.

“No, No No. Stop it Y/N. He loves you,” you think to yourself, trying to get out of your head again. You watch as he is just left in his boxers, expecting him to pull them down any second, but he just stands there with a straight face.

“Everything alright?” you ask him.

“I don’t have any condoms,” he says as he rubs the back of his neck.

You stay silent for a few seconds, “I’m on the pill,” you tell him, feeling even more nervous at the thought of him fucking you without any barriers.

“Are you sure? I don’t wanna force you into doing something if you don’t feel comfortable,” he asks.

“Joe, I promise you that it’s fine,” you say as you give him a sincere smile.

He nods his head before he pulls down his boxers, your breath hitching as you look down and see him fully bare for the first time. You felt like you were back in high school and hooking up with a guy for the first time since you were feeling all of the same feelings again; excitement, hesitation, desire, and tension.

“Are you still good?” He asks as he moves onto the bed, pumping his cock as he gets in between your legs.

“You’re just so-,”.

“I know,” he laughs. “But I promise, you can handle it,”.

“Oh really? What makes you so sure?” You tease.

“Because I know you and you never back down from a challenge,” he winks.

You let out a soft laugh as you looked down again. Your smile faltered as the thoughts in your head only got louder and now your face was showing it, and he was noticing.

“Hey, you okay?” he asked as he stopped and cupped your face.

“I’m fine,” you sigh.

“Talk to me, Y/N. I know you’re not fine,”.

You let out another sigh, knowing you could never lie to him, “Just nervous I guess,”.

“Am I making you nervous?” He asks as he moves a few strands of hair out of your face.

“No, no. God no. It’s just that I keep thinking you won’t like it, and then I think about the other girls that have been in this position before,” you confess.

He stares deeply into your eyes for a few seconds, his heart dropping at the thought of you feeling like this because you were thinking about other girls.

“You’re crazy if you think I won’t like this. And stop thinking about other girls,” he says. “Look around. You’re the only girl in my bed, you’re the only girl that will be in my bed, and you’re the only girl that gets to have me like this,” he reassures you.

It felt as if your brain had just gotten a soft blanket and pillow, preparing itself to take a nap and finally turn off for the night, and it was because of Joe. He always got you out of your head when you were too far gone and this was just another example of it.

“I love you,” you say as you look into his baby blue eyes, filled with desire for you.

“I love you more than anything in the world. Will you finally let me show you?” He asks as he presses a kiss to your nose.

“Of course,” you say as you press a deep and passion-filled kiss onto his lips.

He pulls away and says, “Let me know if you want to stop, let me know if it hurts, and let me know if it’s too much,”.

“Joe,” you blink.

“What?” he asks.

“I’ve had sex before,” you laugh.

“Okay, but you haven’t had sex with me before,” he says as he raises his brow.

“Fair point,” You giggle.

“Just know that I'm here and that you’re safe,” he says before you start to feel pressure down below, his cock slowly sliding through your drenched folds.

“Okay,” you whimper as you throw your head to the side, feeling a slight sting at the sensation of him stretching you out. A few gasps leave your lips at the fullness you felt, and then a whine when you feel him stop. “Don’t stop,” you said

“Fuck, you feel so good,” he groans as he slides in all the way, feeling your cushiony walls wrap around him for the first time.

“Joe,” you whisper, moving your face so that you are looking into each other's eyes. He starts to thrust into you, setting a slow pace so that you can get used to the feeling. The slow rhythmic pace he set made your toes curl, the feeling of him inside of you was unlike anything you’d ever felt before and you loved it. The way he held you close to him, the sounds leaving his lips, and the feeling of being fucked by him was all too much for you.

Faint sounds of skin hitting skin filled the room as he moved deeper inside of you with each well-placed thrust. He grabbed your leg, cupping the back of your knee and placing it around his waist, opening you up even more for him to go deeper.

“Yeah,” you moan as you feel him moving closer to your G-spot. The new angle allows him to move deeper into you, reaching new territory each time he pushes into you.

“Does it feel good?” He pants as he presses kisses around your jaw.

“Feels fucking amazing,” you say as you open your eyes and move your other leg around his waist. You move your hand into his hair again and push his face closer to yours, soft moans leaving your mouth against his lips before he moves closer and captures your lips in a gentle kiss.

A few seconds later, a well-placed thrust causes you to pull away, his cock grazing your G-spot. “Joe, holy fuck,” you moan as you throw your head back against the pillow. You had him so close to you, but you wanted him closer. His pace was fulfilling, but you wanted more. “Joe,” you moan again as you open your eyes.

“What, Baby?” he breathes out as he continues to thrust into your slick core.

“Fuck me,” you moan. “Fuck me harder, please,”.

He looked into your eyes for a few seconds, smiling at the sight of you begging for more and feeling like this because of him. You felt comfortable with him, and that’s all he wanted. You were the only girl that he wanted like this, and now that he had you, he felt like he was on top of the world.

“I never thought I’d hear you say that, fuck, that’s hot,” he pants as he begins to thrust into you harder. He picked up the pace of his thrusts, the feeling of him pounding into your core with no barriers was too good and neither of you could get enough of it.

“You feel so good,” he moaned at the feeling of his cock pumping into your core. You started to buck your hips against him, matching the pace of his rough thrusts and pushing you both into another realm of satisfaction. The sound of skin hitting skin only got louder, just like the sounds escaping both your mouths. One of his hands traveled to your chest, cupping your breast and teasing your nipple with his thumb.

Hearing Joe like this was sending chills down your body, again thinking about how quickly things changed from innocent to whatever the hell this was between you two. It was pure passion, love, and desire that had built up between you both for years, and it was finally coming out in the best way possible.

“Yeah,” you groan as you move further up the bed, his cock slamming into your cervix with each snap of his hips. You moved your hands to cup his back, helping him move against you as every stroke hit your pleasure point.

“J- Joe,” you struggle to moan, his lips move down to your neck again, but this time nestled against the spot by your ear.

“You. Are. Un. Fucking. Real,” he whispers into your ear, punctuating each word with a rough thrust before dropping his head into the crook of your neck. He felt himself getting lost in your touch, the way you felt around him was unlike anything he had ever felt before with any other girl. The sounds escaping your lips, the smile on your face, the softness of your touch, it was all unreal.

Joe continued to fuck you senseless, your pleasure building inside of you with every thrust. “Right there,” you smile as you feel him find another pleasure point inside of you, your breath coming out in short gasps again as you feel him slam into you harder, making sure he hits that spot just right.

“Fuck, Y/N,” he moaned as he felt your walls start to clench his cock.

“Mmph, I’m close,” you whimper as you press a kiss to his forehead, prompting him to come out of your neck.

“Fuck,” he pants as his thrusts start to become more erratic. He could never get enough of you, the feeling of being balls deep inside of you was something he needed to feel all the time. He’d never felt this good with another girl before, you were something special.

You felt your legs start to burn and a thin layer of sweat formed on your body. He moves one hand to grip your waist, his lips find their way to your mouth again, and his other hand starts to navigate down to your clit. The way he was touching you sent electricity through your veins.

He starts to toy with your clit as his mouth crashes against yours, and a few rough thrusts later, you were clamping down on his cock. “I- I’m cumming,” you moan as you break away from the kiss, digging your head into the pillow again, feeling the band in your stomach tighten.

“I’ve got you,” he says as he presses a kiss to your cheek. Your arms wrapped around his back, drawing him closer to you as you felt the world stop.

“Joe!” you screamed as you felt your orgasm wash over you, your walls clenching his cock in a rhythmic manner making him groan. It felt like a rush of dopamine, a breath of fresh air, and like you were going down a big drop on a rollercoaster. All of which created a feeling of euphoria.

You whimpered and moaned at the feeling of your high; it was a feeling of raw satisfaction. You’d never felt like this with another guy before. Those thoughts and doubts you had were long gone as all you could focus on was the pleasure you were feeling at the man who made it happen. He managed to make you feel like the most extraordinary girl in the world earlier with everything he said to you, and now he just showed you that he meant everything he said.

He was still moving, but not as strongly as he was before. You didn’t feel him reach his high yet, which made you a little nervous, so you were determined to get him there. You opened your eyes, seeing a content smile on his face as he slowly pumped into you.

“Don’t stop,” you said, maybe for the 50th time, your voice raspy from how fucked out you were.

“Are you sure? I don’t wanna push you too much,” he said as he pressed a kiss on your nose.

“Keep going, it’s perfect,” you whispered as you closed your eyes and let go of all your thoughts and feelings, letting him do whatever he wanted. You felt his pace pick back up, feeling him move closer and closer to his release.

“Shit, I’m close,” he moaned as his thrusts became rougher. The soreness down below was setting in, but you didn’t care. All that mattered was that you wanted him to feel good, just like how he made you feel good. A few seconds later, you felt him still inside you and hot spurts of his release coating your walls, just as he gently pressed down onto your body, whispering sweet nothings into your ear as he felt his high. The feeling of him inside you was magical, and something you could never get enough of.

“You’re so good, Y/N. Fuck, I love you,” he whispered into your ear, causing you to grin. You both lay there for a few moments, basking in the afterglow of what had just happened, your breaths steadying out. You thought about how exciting this was, getting to finally do this with Joe. Finally getting to be his girlfriend, finally being able to do what couples did. It was all you had ever wanted.

He moved his face back to your view, seeing your flushed cheeks and messy hair along with the grin on your face. “H- How was it?” he asked as he slowly slid out of you, a hiss leaving your lips at the sensation.

“I don’t think I can even begin to express how much I loved that,” you said as you pulled his face back down to yours, pressing a big kiss to his lips. “Wait, did you like it?” You asked him as you suddenly pulled away.

“Does this answer your question?” He laughs as he moves back down and kisses you like he has never kissed you before in his life. “That was the best. You are amazing,” he said against your lips.

He gets off of you a few moments later, walking into the bathroom to grab a washcloth to clean you up. Then, he walks into his closet and finds a t-shirt for you to slip on, as well as some fresh clothes for him.

“Here,” he says, handing you one of his Bengals t-shirts.

“I hope you know that you’re not getting this back,” you giggle as you sit up and slip the shirt on.

“Fine by me,” he shrugged as he put on shorts and clean boxers before sliding back into the bed.

“I should probably change these sheets,” he realized, starting to get back up but feeling your hand wrap around his arm, pulling him back down.

You toss your leg over him, holding him down to the bed. “Later,” you say as you move closer to his chest, his arm wrapping around your waist.

“Someone’s feeling clingy,” he teased as he kissed your forehead.

“Clingy, glowy, infatuated, in love. Whatever you want to call it,” you smile up at him.

“How are you feeling?” He asked you as he rubbed your belly.

“Like I’ve just had the best sex of my life with the love of my life. I can’t believe I’ve been missing out on that,” you shake your head.

“I feel the same way,” he chuckles.

“Thank you for tonight,” you say as you press a kiss to his bare chest. “This was really special,”.

“Don’t thank me,” he says. “You deserve this. Only the best treatment for the girl of my dreams,” he smiles.

“I love you so much that it literally hurts,” you giggle as you hide your face in his chest.

His hand slides up and down your back, his heart bursting at the thought of you both together in this moment. “I loved you then, I love you now, and I’ll love you forever,” he whispered into your ear, making your cheeks turn another shade of crimson. You slide your hand up his chest, softly grazing your fingers over his muscular body and admiring the ring on your finger, having a moment of realization.

“Hey, I just noticed something,” you say as you bring your hand to your face, admiring your ring.

“What?” Joe asks as he looks down at you.

“I know you said there’s 9 diamonds for the 9 years we’ve known each other, but you know what else is 9?” you say as you look up at him, your words laced with love.

“What?” Joe asks, not catching on to what you were saying.

“You, silly,” you say as you pat his chest. “You’re number 9 and the ring has 9 diamonds. I’ll always have you with me even if we’re not always in the same place,” you giggle.

“That’s actually really sweet and wasn’t even on purpose,” he cheeses. “But trust me, we’ll always be in the same place,”.

“Hmm, what about when you have to go to the team hotel the night before games? Or away games since I wouldn’t see you until after the game?”

“I’ll sneak you in. Show up in the mascot’s uniform, and just the uniform,” he winks. “I'm sure you’ll make it up to our floor if you make a good excuse,”

“Oh, I’ll make it up to your floor, I have spy-like reflexes, but I think they’ll realize that there’s a girl in your room once they hear us going at it,” you laugh into his chest.

“Hey, they should appreciate that I’m letting my built-up tension and nerves out in a healthy way,” he shrugged. “Having your star QB all tensed and nervous before a game is a recipe for disaster,”.

“You’re too much,” you blush.

“But you still love me,” he laughed, looking down at you.

You crane your head to his face, meeting his ocean-blue eyes that never fail to send butterflies into your body. “That I do,” you say as you shift your body so that you're on top of him, feeling a wet spot on the bed as you were doing so.

He watches as your face scrunches up, looking a little uncomfortable. “You good?” He asked.

“Hit a wet spot,” you laughed. “There’s a lot of body fluids on me and this bed right now,”.

“Do you want to shower?” He asked as the pads of his fingers massaged the plush skin of your thighs.

“As long as we get to repeat this,” you mumble as you move your face closer to his.

“Already?” He asks as he raises his brow, stunned at your stamina.

“9 years Joey. 9 fucking years,” you laughed.

“Fair enough,” he says as he presses his lips against yours, sliding off the bed with your legs wrapped around his.

“You might need some Advil after this,” he says as he opens the bathroom door. “I have a lot of energy,” he winks.

“I’d be mad if you didn’t,” you smiled against his shoulder, your entire body sizzling with anticipation. This was going to become a regular thing for you both, and that made your heart soar. He was perfect, your relationship was perfect, everything was perfect.

--The End--

#joe burrow #joe burrow fic #joe burrow x reader #joeburrow #joe burrow imagine #nfl imagine

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