#like I’m breaking my own forth wall
Explore tagged Tumblr posts
scarlettjemily · 2 months ago
Text
You ever see an edit so good, you look off into the distance like you’re staring at a camera
38 notes · View notes
tojisun · 2 months ago
Note
I’m soooooo obsessed with your poolverine! Especially where Logan is fucking reader while Wade watches!
But what if Wade gets so desperate that he cums untouched just humping his rosey leaking cock into the air as he watches Logan fill you round after round
teehee thank you!! and this is so delish oh my goood <33 // cw: SMUT; afab!reader; poly with set power dynamics (dom logan, sub reader n sub wade); voyeurism; praise kink // divider by @/plutism
Tumblr media
it’s—
it’s heinous, really, how wolve-fuckin’-rine could just go for hours fucking you, breeding you, while leaving wade leaking like a motherfucker. tearing up too, sure, but he’s still got his mask on so they can all pretend that he isn’t truly crying.
(he’s actually weeping but, well, semantics.)
it started the way it always does.
“stay there, bub,” logan sniped, his grin just a bite too mean, but wade didn’t even fight back because the three of you are used to this back-and-forth; of logan taking you like even after all these years, he still had to stake his claim, while wade was made to wait.
after all, this game is one of a hunt; it starts with wade waiting, raptly watching the way logan devours you, before being allowed the scraps—licking logan’s cum off your cunt, wade’s tongue pushing you to another shaking orgasm.
a hyena that is allowed to feast after the lion had its fill.
but it was different today—logan was more mean. he was more impatient to wade.
logan kept going; fucking his thick fingers in your cunt, crooning how he was doing this for your own good.
“shh, yer not ready for pups yet, darl,” he hummed, a heavy hand pressing down on your stomach to stop your thrashing; holding you down to force his thick fingers in, and scooping out his cum amidst the squelches of your cunt.
you keened, fisting the sheets as tears leaked out of your eyes, wetting your already-damp cheeks.
“s’too much!” you cried, unable to stop your hiccupping. “l’gan, please!”
but logan just nuzzled his maw on the inside of your thighs, puffing out breathy chuckles.
wade was straining then, his grip breaking the wooden arm rests. he ignored the splinters digging into his flesh, unable to do anything that wasn’t watching.
waiting.
he was slowly realizing that he would not have his turn today.
logan has you in a mating press now.
you’ve yelled so many times, warning logan—warning them—that you’re cumming but there was no gushing squirt nor trickling cum, and the two of them realize with hitched breaths that logan’s finally fucked you into dry orgasming.
it was a delicious sight, one that pushed wade to finally free his cock from inside his suit.
logan had shot him a gleeful look, his ravenous eyes tracking down the mess that wade has become—heaving chest, leaking cock, mask finally damp with his tears.
(you’ve glanced at your lover too, devouring how he looks, ever so patiently waiting even when he’s been denied for hours now.
wade always chirps. he’s always filled the silence with his chatter, but he’s been so, so quiet today. like he’s at a loss for words, unable to sound any more that isn’t ragged wheezes. like by staying quiet, he’s able to force himself to not jump you or to not touch his own cock.
fuck, what a good boy wade is.)
“almost, bub,” logan murmurs to wade, humping his cock in you like he’s affirming his own words. the action forces another choked moan out of you, and wade’s cock jumps, pre- dripping down his length.
logan tracks it throughout.
“yeah?” wade finally rasps out, his voice sounding so utterly broken. “y’fuckin’ swear?”
logan rolls his eyes at his words before huffing a fond laugh.
“swear on it,” logan replies, licking at his salty lips.
he pauses, turning his attention back to you. he ruts his cock in, nudging at the pudgy walls of your pussy with a pleasured hiss.
(you’re an unbelievable marvel, peanut. all soft and sweet.
all so delicious.)
amidst your high-pitched squeals, logan shoots wade another glance. he looks even more hungry now, and wade doesn’t get to ask his stuttered ‘what?’ when logan croons, “‘fore that, won’t y’cum for me, pool?”
wade’s body jumps to obey the order, only—
“but no touchin’ yerself.”
the whine wade lets out is so pathetic and broken, but it only makes logan smile wider, like he knows wade would be a good mutt and follow his command—
jesus. thinking about logan praising him just made him ultra-horny.
wade shuffles on his spot without a word, legs parting even wider to make it easier for himself. he’s so busy squirming at the feeling of the cool air wrapping around his cock that he’s missed you and logan changing positions on the bed—you’re riding logan now, your back to his chest, with logan’s chin hooked on your shoulder as the two of you watch wade.
wade curses underneath his breath when he finally looks up, and it tickles a giggle from you. it quickly peters into a high keen when logan fucks you up the length of his cock before dropping you down, using gravity to sit you snug and stuffed full.
fuck.
wade’s bitten moans spill into the hot space between the three of you, and he wonders: between you and wade, who is logan’s prize?
whose keening desperation is logan watching?
wade humps at nothing, unable to stop himself anymore. he times it with logan’s manhandling of your body—thrusting up when logan grasps at the back of your thighs to lift you up from his cock; then pressing back down on the couch when logan drops you back to engulf the entirety of his length.
wade’s not even embarrassed to admit that it doesn’t even take a while before his whole body is locking, pleasure and desperation mixing like a vice to grip at his body.
his orgasm builds—
“cum f’me, wade,” logan sings, sounding so utterly soft like he’s not in control of both you and wade’s pleasures, but wade has always been logan’s good boy. always been desperate for logan. always—
his orgasm rips him apart—that is the only way wade can explain it.
it wracks his body with unimaginable tremors, like wade’s body is undergoing its own earthquake. he nearly blacks out at the pleasure, and it should be embarrassing—it will be, later when logan’s cock is in his throat and your strap is fucking wade’s hold, and the two of you are murmuring how wade is your precious and desperate little cum slut—but right now, he basks in the pleasure and the pride shining in logan’s eyes.
jesus fuck. that was good.
Tumblr media
biting a rock bcuz this one rlly had me sweating like mmmmy god
im so sorry if this is bad 😣 wrote this while walkin’ around the mall so it might be choppy n clipped in some parts GAH
wade gets a turn (somewhat)
1K notes · View notes
highdefhoetry · 1 year ago
Text
Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media
tags: NSFW!!! female reader, MMF threesome, penetration (penis in vagina), unprotected sex, possessiveness, jealousy, voyeurism, vaginal fingering, cream pies, dirty talk, big dick, size kink, size difference, hair pulling, biting, marking
summary: sequel to this fic. gojo and toji fight over who fucks you better.
word count: 1,441
Tumblr media
The knock had been a warning. Satoru Gojo had no intention of waiting for you to answer, nor did he have any intention of letting Toji Fushiguro take what was rightfully his. Not after what he’d just heard. He kicks open the door and waltzes inside without so much as a greeting. Hands in his pockets, lips curled into a smirk.
Your heart pulses steadily as the two giants stare you down, devouring your nude body with their piercing eyes as you stand before them completely bare. Gojo on your left. Toji at your right. You back presses against the cold wall as you suddenly find yourself cornered by two powerful men that didn’t know how to share. Both tower over you at their massive heights, like two rabid wolves leering at their prey.
Satoru rips the dark blindfold off his face, shoves it in his pocket, gazes deeply into your eyes as his sparkling cerulean blues drink up the sight of your nakedness. Something within them, wild and untamed, threatening to break loose. 
“What a naughty girl you are, (Y/N). Shacking up with a loser like him, when I’m the only one you need.” Gojo says as he takes your hand in his, planting soft kisses on the inside of your wrist as he looks down at you with big, doe eyes. “You’re breaking my heart.”
You feel his right hand on the side of your neck, caressing the sensitive skin before sliding upwards, his fingers intertwining themselves in your hair. A flurry of breathy gasps fall from your lips.
Toji is a bit more aggressive. Displeased, he seizes your other arm, snakes his free hand around your back to rest on your waist, pulls you towards him with viscous strength. 
“Don’t be stupid, (Y/N),” he growls into your ear after dragging his teeth up your neck. “Remember who you belong to.”
Your heart races as their battle continues.
“Ah, ah, ah,” Gojo wraps his big hand around the back of your neck, yanks you back to him so he can kiss and nibble your ear in between whispered threats. “You’re mine, (Y/N).”
Toji snarls at his nemesis, bares his teeth like a savage beast as if preparing to tear apart this trespasser who has stepped into his territory.
“Back off, brat.”
“Get bent, old man.”
You feel yourself being pulled backwards onto the bed. They toss you down on your back like a ragdoll, pin your arms and legs down with their long limbs. Both men on either side. Your heart pummels your chest, thumping so loud you can barely hear your own breath while your eyes dart back and forth from Gojo’s wide smile to Toji’s deep frown.
“Well, (Y/N)?” Gojo smiles as he strokes your hair. “Let’s show him all the cute little noises you make whenever you fuck me."
You feel his large, weathered hand drift down your side, stopping to caress your hip before resting on the top of your thigh. His soft movements make you writhe in pleasure, fueling Toji’s anger. 
“Not before we show this stupid brat how hard I can make you cum,” he grumbles in a deep, gravelly baritone. Somehow he regains his dominance, forces himself into a position on top while Gojo is pushed to the side. He balls his fists in your hair, yanking your head to the side, allowing him full access to your vulnerable neck. You feel his rough, calloused hand squeezing your breasts while his mouth sucks on your skin so hard it leaves red marks. And once you’ve been warmed up, he pushes his fingers inside you. One at first, then two, both curling upwards in search of that spongy spot that makes you scream. He finds it in seconds, grinning wickedly as he watches your entire body tremble with pleasure. You feel yourself cum all over his fingers, letting out high-pitched shrieks as your orgasm sends shockwaves through your body. 
He pulls out his finger and licks them clean, savoring the taste of your juices. 
“That’s my girl…” he croons.
As you lay there panting heavily, skin dampened with sweat, your eyes turn to Gojo. He patiently waits for Toji to finish, donning a terrifyingly serene smile. Then, in one swift and graceful motion, he takes control, shoving his way to the top so his hands can work their magic. Toji disappears into your peripheral as Gojo strokes the undersides of your breasts, the sensitive areas he discovered during one of the nights you’d spent together. His touch is electric, like lightning. You whimper as his fingers trail down your sides, ghosting the tender skin on your hips and inner thighs.
“He's so aggressive with you,” Gojo complains in a lighthearted tone, teases your clit with one finger, circles around the hood while he relishes the way you arch your back and whimper. “You prefer a much gentler touch. Right, baby?”
He cups your cheeks in his hands, runs a thumb across your bottom lip. You feel his desperate lips press against yours, and invite his tongue inside to dance. He kisses your jaw, drags his lips down your neck. His tongue flicks your skin, making you cry out with every little taste of you he steals. 
"There we go," he smiles into his kiss, making you shudder with his words. "Cum for me, baby."
Your second orgasm comes just as easily as the first. Gojo’s fluttered words, the gentle teasing on your clit, and the delicate touch of his hands on your chest bring you over the edge. He coaxes out your orgasm, grinning madly as he watches you unravel. Your throat feels raw from the constant cries of pleasure both men have been forcing out of you, yet your moans do not cease. 
Neither men allow you any respite. A pair of forceful hands take hold of you, pulling you on top of a pissed off Toji who is now laying on his back in the bed. He yanks down his boxers, reveals his throbbing, pulsing cock. Before you can utter a sound, he lifts you up, then sets you down with your hole slowly taking him in. You throw back your head and moan, hearing your voice crack as your wall clench tightly around his dick. He lets out a deep, rugged moan that sounds like the bellow of an animal. His hands remain on your waist, controlling every one your movements. You hold onto his hands for dear life, digging your nails into his skin as you squeeze your eyes shut and feel yourself overcome with pleasure.
Meanwhile, Gojo climbs behind you, his own boxers long discarded somewhere on the floor. He grabs your hips while you’re in the air, stealing you from Toji once more, then shoves his own cock inside of you without warning. The sudden feeling of his massive dick inside you almost makes you cry. Now in doggy position, you surrender to him and sink your nails into Toji’s shoulders, bracing yourself while Satoru Gojo slams into you again and again and again.
They take turns stealing you, pumping their dicks in your tight hole as you whimper and cry for more. Toji ends up finishing first; you sit on his cock one last time and throw back your head as you feel his warm cum fill you up. You clench your walls around his pulsing dick one last time, and don’t release him until he’s completely empty. And while he lays limp on the bed, Gojo grabs your hips once more, caring not for the thick white cum leaking out of your pussy. He shoves himself inside, reclaims your hole as his. His strokes are quick, yet deep. He’s thrusting so fast you see stars, the corners of your vision going fuzzy. When he finally cums, you feel that same warmth spreading through your body and let out a sigh of relief. You’re panting like hell, sweating bullets as you gasp for air. 
You collapse onto the bed, and Gojo follows suit. Sandwiched between the two, you take a moment to catch your breath and still the rapid beating of your heart. You feel two sets of hands exploring your body, caressing your tender breasts and stomach, stroking your hips and thighs. Gojo buries his face in your neck, kissing it softly. Toji grabs your chin and pulls your face towards his for a kiss. 
“(Y/N)...” Gojo murmurs in one ear. “Say it. Say that you’re mine.”
“(Y/N),” Toji growls into the other. “Be a good girl and tell me who you belong to.”
You start to speak, but all that comes out is a fluttered sigh.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
@oatmealdrool @magalimachete @heartbroken-whoore @freebananabeard @niname-sensei hope u enjoyed <3
4K notes · View notes
milfjuulpod · 8 months ago
Text
Taken For A Ride
Downtown celebrating and socializing with your Abbott friends, Melissa seems to be more affectionate towards you than usual, and enjoying every second of it.
warnings: consumption of alcohol, smut, 18+
Tumblr media
A/N: hey pookies long time no see, after taking a long break from writing i finally finished something i enjoyed. i hope u all enjoy reading it as much as i did writing it :)
After the stressful few days that was the smoking fiasco, it was needless to say everyone at Abbott Elementary was relieved when Janine was able to help out the troubled student, even if that meant it included the “no smoking” sign somehow being attached to the brick wall. Mr. Johnson never failed to amaze the rest of the crew.
“You know what would be an ironic way to congratulate Janine and celebrate today working out? Going out for drinks and dancing downtown this Friday,” Jacob pitched to the usual suspects on their way out the door for the afternoon.
“Please, you’ll come up with any reason to get us all out and do something. You’re almost as bad as Janine.” Ava retorted. “But…I do know of some PR event happening that night, I could get us all in after a few shots.”
Unsure of your own decision on Jacob’s idea, you just listened to a few of your friends go back and forth between places to go, before settling on somewhat of a decent plan for the weekend. Looking between faces, a pair of jade eyes met yours. Melissa was already looking at you, realizing that caused a light pink spread across your cheeks. Luckily everyone else was busy caught up in the details of it all. Shifting your eyes away from hers, you walked closer to Ava.
“I’ll be at both this event Ava speaks of and whatever bar you all decide beforehand, but I gotta run. Text me the details?” You asked, picking up your pace once you were met with agreement from everyone.
Truthfully, you didn’t have anywhere special to be, but here in the car was better than being a flustered mess in front of the redhead. Melissa had clearly taken a liking towards you. At first it was innocent, her walls slowly coming down in an effort of friendship. Slowly but surely, her favoritism towards you became more and more clear. She always made sure you were close to her when the two of you were in the same room, she would let her touches linger while she watched your face for any sort of reaction. If you didn’t know any better, you’d assume it wasn’t just curiosity, Melissa liked getting such a reaction from you.
You shook your head to clear your thoughts before beginning the drive home. The evening was filled with mundane tasks, grading, cleaning, planning, nothing too out of the ordinary. The rest of the week was similar, mundane, but easy. That was, until Friday. Shortly after you had gotten home from work and started getting ready to meet everyone out, you got a call from Melissa. “Hey you,” came from your end as soon as you picked up.
“Hey sweetheart, can you do me a favor?” Melissa asked over the speaker. You couldn’t see, but you knew she was twirling the end of her hair and lowering her voice on purpose, she always did when she wanted something.
“What is it now, Schemmenti?” You teased her.
“I need you to get ready as quickly as you can and come to my house.” She answered rather quickly.
“And why is that?”
“Because…I don’t know what to wear,” She admitted.
You couldn’t contain the laugh as soon as you heard her answer. She couldn’t be serious, right? “Mel, why do you need me to come all the way to your house for an opinion on an outfit? Can’t you just tell me what you’re wearing or send me pictures? Or, oh! Just FaceTime me.”
“C’mon hon, it can’t possibly take you long to get ready, you look incredible without even trying. Plus, we can carpool. Save the planet.”
You knew it wouldn’t take long for her to convince you. “Fine, I’ll text you when I’m on my way.”
After a few songs and quick outfit adjustments, you were out the door and on your way to Melissa’s. As far as you knew, the clubs Ava tended to go to were more on the luxurious side, so you hoped your bodycon skirt and baby tee were cute enough to get past security. The drive was nice, but not long enough for your nerves to calm down. You had only been to Melissa’s house a few times, you wondered what exactly you had gotten yourself into just as you pulled into the driveway and went up to her front door.
“Hey, did you at least pick out a couple options? Or am I going in completely blind?” You asked, taking a step into her house. Melissa didn’t answer you, though. Instead she quietly shut the door behind you two and very obviously looked you up and down. “This…This what you’re wearin’?” She asked before giving you a once over (again). 
“I was going to, why? Do I not look good?” You began looking at yourself in the mirror in the hallway of her home, trying to fix any imperfections you could have missed. So focused on fixing yourself up, you missed Melissa sneaking up and getting in your space. That is until you could see her dark eyes in the mirror, her lips so close to your ear as she said, “No baby, you look good. Follow me,” She said, and walked away like she didn’t just turn you into the darkest shade of red. 
Upstairs in her room, she motioned for you to sit on the bed while she went into her bathroom. You took a short amount of time to compose yourself and take in your surroundings. It wasn’t messy, but it was lived in, well loved. It was very Melissa, and you wouldn’t expect anything less of the woman. When she emerged, you realized she had color coordinated the two of you. Her white top underneath her jacket matched yours, and her black leather pants matched your skirt. 
“Looks okay?” She asked, fluffing up her hair in the mirror once more before walking over to you. The redhead seemed to sway her hips more as she came closer, drawing more attention to the pants that hugged her tightly. 
            “Y-Yeah Mel, you look good.” You took the opportunity to stand back up and change the subject. “Are you ready to go? Who’s driving?” 
              Melissa gathered the rest of her things and motioned for you to continue ahead of her. “Barb is coming to pick us up, figured we could plan the rest out later since both our cars are at mine anyways,” she said, closing her door and following you down the stairs. You hadn’t considered that at the end of the night, you would be coming back to Melissa’s. Interesting. 
             The ride to the restaurant was nice, a bit of time to catch up for the work wives before meeting everyone else. You, on the other hand, zoned out for most of the ride. It wasn’t until Melissa turned around that you came back to life. “Hon, you in there?” Both her and Barbara were now looking at you, Barbara just stopping the car. 
       “Yeah, sorry. Just taking some me time before giving all my energy to the kids,” You replied, earning a scoff from both Melissa and Barbara. 
       “Those ‘kids’ are the same age as you sweetheart,” Barbara said, turning off the car and getting ready to go in. 
        “Doesn’t mean they don’t tire me out just like actual kids do,” You said, and shut the door behind you. You joined the two older women in stride, Melissa sneaking her hand on your lower back as you three entered the restaurant. It was easy to find your group of friends, all gathered at the high top closest to the bar. “So glad to see you could all make it!” Jacob enthusiastically said as you all sat down. “I have to say Jacob, I’m not mad at the place, so far.” Melissa teased her friend across the table. She reached for a menu in front of her, and turned to you. “Have you been here before?” She asked. 
        “I have, actually. It’s nice, the bar food is surprisingly decent and the bartenders know what they’re doing, which is a nice change of pace,” You answered honestly. The redhead laughed at your response, but it was clear she was genuinely listening to what you had to say. 
       After a few minutes, everyone had ordered a few appetizers and the first round of drinks, courtesy of Ava. “What? Yall think I don’t have principal money?” She laughed. “But you better make this first round worth it, all of yall. Drink up people!” The first round was quick to arrive, and the second round was close behind. “I’ll get this one, just in case I get too drunk and forget to pay for drinks later,” You said, half to your server and half to your friends. 
       Melissa’s hand snaked its way onto your thigh, squeezing it gently. “Don’t get too drunk now, I don’t want you puking in my bed later,” She said quietly to you. You laughed off her teasing, but couldn’t ignore her lingering touch on your thigh. The combination of the alcohol and Melissa’s touch made warmth spread throughout your entire body. 
        She didn’t stop there either. It seemed with each sip she took of her own drink, she was letting go of those walls and showing you more and more affection. As much as you loved the attention, it was driving you crazy. Every time she laughed she would lean into you, followed by meeting your eyes to see if you were laughing as hard as her. Whenever the redhead had a snarky comment to make, she would nuzzle into your hair and whisper it into your ear. Those times were the hardest to get through. 
        Luckily after the third round, everyone decided to change locations. Barbara was the only one who stopped after her first drink, leaving that version of Barbara for another time—someone had to wrangle in the kids. 
        “Alright everyone, whoever is coming to Ava’s club needs to follow me to my car, I’ll be dropping you hooligans off.” She laughed, but everyone knew she cared and would never hesitate to give any one of you a ride. Ava, Janine, Jacob, Melissa, and yourself followed Barbara’s trail in the parking lot. Gregory, despite many pleads from everyone, decided to head home. Something about getting up early for the perfect gardening weather, your memory was foggy since Melissa was drawing patterns on your back at the time. 
       “Wait, we have one too many…Someone has to sit lap. Couldn’t be me though, I get shotgun since I’m giving Barb the directions,” Ava told the group and quickly took her spot in the front. 
       “You’ll be fine, right hon? Besides, I’m a good seatbelt,” Melissa said to you, walking with you to the car and taking her spot without leaving you much choice. You took your seat, and silently prayed the club wasn’t too far away. As soon as Barbara started driving, Melissa had her hands on you. One splayed across your stomach and the other wrapped around your thigh. Luckily Ava was already in party mode and took over the music on the drive, leaving no room for conversation. If you tried talking, you fear it would be full of stutters and gasps. 
        Once everyone got comfortable in the car, Melissa took advantage of the position the two of you were in. She lowered her hand a bit on your stomach and tightened her grip on your thigh. You could feel her nails through your skirt and you attempted to close your legs more to get her to ease up, but of course it didn’t work. You felt her lips against the shell of your ear for a split second before you heard her voice. 
        “Stop squirming so much baby, or I’ll really have to hold you down.”
        Although the music was loud, you knew Melissa was close enough to hear the whine that escaped you. And if she didn’t, she certainly felt your body’s reaction to her. Just a minute later you were thanking your lucky stars as Barbara pulled up to the club and lowered the music. You knew you were blushing, way too warm, just an absolute mess thanks to the woman underneath you. 
        “Alright kiddos, have fun and be safe! Everyone please get home safely, and make good decisions!” Barbara said her goodbye, and everyone thanked her as they made their exit. Ava led the way to the bouncer, and though you took the opportunity in the cold air to calm down, Melissa stayed close by. Even when Jacob started talking about the famous drinks they had here, she pretended to listen all while keeping her beautiful green eyes focused on you. She was driving you insane. 
       As soon as Ava got everyone to their VIP spot and drink orders were placed, you took off to the bathroom. Cold water and alone time was exactly what you needed. You stood in front of the bathroom mirror obsessively looking yourself over, worried that the whole club would somehow be able to tell Melissa had you wrapped around her finger and was tugging on the string like a play toy. Focused on the cool water on your hands as you began to turn on the sink, you missed the sound of the door opening. 
        “Everything okay, hon? You left pretty quickly. Don’t tell me Jacob’s list of ingredients scared you from the drink you ordered,” Melissa’s voice was heard from behind you. Quickly you turned off the faucet and faced her, your body betraying your mind in an instant. “Please, not much could scare me off from a drink at a place with a bar like this one,” you joked. She took a few steps closer, inching you against the back of the counter. 
        “Then what’s going on, amore?” She asked, but there was a tone in her voice you couldn’t pinpoint. The nickname didn’t help your state either, it never did. “N-Nothing Mel, everything’s okay.” You would’ve walked away at this point if you didn’t feel cornered by such a beautiful woman. 
        As if a switch flipped in her, Melissa put her hands by your sides on the counter and pressed herself against you gently. “Don’t lie to me, I could sit here all night,” she said lowly. 
       “Melissa…” was all you were able to get out. She pushed herself against you harder, her breasts flush with yours at this point. “I’ll ask you one more time. What’s going on?”
       “I…You’ve been teasing me all night,” You felt Melissa put her hands over yours on the counter and squeeze them gently. “Mmm, I haven’t been that mean, have I? I figured most of my attitude tonight was directed towards Janine, not you dolcezza mia,” She tightened her grip on your hands with her last two words. If she wasn’t making your body feel on fire, you would’ve rolled your eyes just then. 
       “You know that’s not what I mean Melissa,” You said sharply, growing tired of this game with her. “Oh, this teasing then?” She asked, and a second later had her thigh pressed against your core, bodies closer than they ever have been. You groaned at the feeling and had to fight every urge to not grind against her in that moment. All you could do was nod, which drove Melissa crazy. You didn’t know it yet, but she loved teasing you until you couldn’t take it anymore, making you beg and plead for what you want. 
         “Aww, you poor thing, let me help you then.” Melissa slowly began rubbing her thigh back and forth against you, and captured your lips in hers to keep you quiet. She let go of your hands and let you touch her, and you wasted no time pulling her closer. The older woman moaned at how tightly and desperately you pulled at her. She broke apart the kiss to continue her way down your jaw and throat, and you felt her use her leg to open yours even more. 
       “Melissa…S-Someone could walk in,” you said between gasps. “No they won’t, I locked the door behind me,” She stopped kissing you for a moment to smile up at you, and you realized Melissa had planned this, and you went right along with it. In your moment of distraction, Melissa had pulled your skirt up, and it wasn’t until you felt her nails on your thighs again you realized it. “God, Melissa, you’ve been teasing me all night…please,” You muttered. 
        “Please what, my love?” You rolled your eyes at her response, to which Melissa dug her nails harder into your skin. 
        “Please touch me, fuck me, I need to feel you. I need you.” At your words Melissa brought her lips back up to yours, ever so slightly brushing them together. “Good girl.”
        Melissa tugged your underwear to the side and slowly drew a finger up and down your center. The bathroom was filled with your moans and Melissa’s gentle shushes and kisses across your body. She didn’t hesitate giving you exactly what you wanted, the feeling of her fingers inside you bringing you closer and closer to the edge every passing second. Her lips felt so soft as they left red and purple marks along your neck, her perfume surrounded you entirely, all you could feel was her. Opening your eyes, you looked at her. Her red hair falling across the two of you, the way her pants looked so good on her tonight, her fingers pumping in and out of you. 
        “Baby I’m s-so close…please Melissa,” You moaned. She kissed her way back up, stopped right by your ear again and said, “Let go sweetheart, let it all go for me.” After a few more touches, you rode your orgasm out against Melissa, overstimulated from the senses. She let you catch your breath, every once in a while planting a gentle kiss somewhere she left a mark earlier. Once you opened your eyes and met her green ones again, she spoke up. “Hi beautiful.”
        “Hi,” you giggled out. You felt higher than ever, post alcohol and orgasm. Melissa took your hands again and helped you stand up straight, adjusting your skirt in the process. It was sweet seeing her like this, so caring without having to say a word. You pulled her back up to you, kissing her again. This time it was less rushed, and you hoped she could feel your admiration and gratefulness in it all. 
         “I guess we should go back out there before our drinks get watered down,” Melissa said once the two of you finally pulled apart. “Yeah, I guess. But only if you let me hear what your moans sound like when we get home,” You replied. 
      Melissa giggled and led the two of you to the door, “Deal.”
606 notes · View notes
charmercharm3r · 1 year ago
Note
Not sure if you’re taking requests, but the THOUGHT of Jisung slowly fucking you while you’re trying to have a serious phone conversation with Chan or Minho has been sitting in my head rent free FOR DAYS🤦🏻‍♀️🥵
And everytime you try to cut the conversation short or hang up, Jisung threatens to stop altogether.
Stop it, I’m not okay😭😩
yum yum yummmm
Are You Done?
HJS
Masterlist
wc: 1.4k
-
You could hardly breathe, let alone speak into the phone laying on your chest. Minho was on speaker on the other end telling you about his upcoming schedule and how exhausted he was going to be by the end of it. Typical conversation, right?
Of course not when Jisung is your boyfriend and has an insatiable appetite for experimentation. Which is how he got you on your back, underwear discarded and him rubbing his cock back and forth against your clit. It took everything in you not to moan as he stared down at you with that hungry look in his eyes, waiting for you to break even just a little knowing his friend on the call would call you out the second something felt remotely off. 
Lip between your teeth, you bit back the bratty comment you so badly wanted to make at your boyfriend. Jisung just smiled and continued to press his tip into your bundle of nerves, dragging it so lazily that it felt like he was trying to get you to break on purpose. Granted, he was, but only because he knew you could take it.
Your head fell back as he hit a particular spot and you had to clap your hand over your mouth.
“Y/N? Are you even listening? I’m trying to confide in you and—“
“I— I’m listening, I promise. You just… caught me at a—“ Jisung prodded at your entrance with his fingers and stole your voice entirely. He urged you to continue, silently threatening to stop with his stare. “…bad time.”
“I don’t really care, I need your undivided attention. Whatever it is can wait. Me— your friend— is more important.”
“You’re right. Talk to me, I’m here.” Your boyfriend liked that answer, slipping his fingers out of your hole to bring them up to your lips. You took them in your mouth without hesitation and savored the taste on your tongue. Jisung enjoyed the view, his own tongue poking out of the corner of his mouth with a mischievous grin.
The man above you hiked your legs higher up his torso and teased your clit a few moments more before ridding himself of his shirt all together. The plain of his abs taking over your line of sight, you couldn’t help reaching up to touch and let your fingers trace the lines across it.
“I just wanna dance. That’s what I signed up for. I have so many covers recorded and none of them—“
Jisung thought it was a great time to prod at your entrance with his thick tip, you bit down on his fingers to suppress another moan.
“—have even been in the talks of seeing the light of day. It’s frustrating.”
“Have you—“ your voice was muffled by your boyfriend’s digits, popping them out for a moment to speak, “—spoken to the company?”
“Of course I have! They always say it’s never the right time.”
He pushed into you, languid and unrushed, letting your walls adjust to the intrusion with every millimeter he sunk deeper. Your mouth dropped into an ‘O’ shape and raked your claws down his abdomen. Jisung chuckled quietly until he came to the hilt. When your eyes rolled back and shut, Jisung squeezed your cheeks to pucker your lips and forced your concentration back to the conversation.
You felt so full and on the verge of vibrating out of your skin but found the strength to speak. “What about that— mmph— that messaging thing?” Jisung’s thumb found your clit again and circled it ever so lightly, hardly thrusting in and out. The sounds were wet and on the louder side, you wondered if Minho could hear it.
“Bubble? What, send dance videos there? It’s a paid platform, not everyone will get to see it.”
For a second you sobered up of the premature excitement, “idiot, you think the stuff you send there isn’t shared? It’ll get out even if you ask not to.”
Your boyfriend nodded along with your answer, agreeing. But then his thrusts picked up just a little, pulling out further to plunge back into the sweet spot he knew just how to hit. The light pressure to your nerves was driving you insane, almost as much as this conversation was.
Minho was silent for a second, but Jisung didn’t stop moving. “What are you doing?” The man on the phone suddenly asked.
You panicked and it made Jisung push in incredibly deep, “e— eating. I’m eating.”
“…Okaaaay… Still, I want it official, y’know? Like on our YouTube and stuff.”
It felt like Jisung wasn’t even moving but the constant stimulation told you that wasn’t the case. His own head tipped back and he let out a long, deep sigh, then gripped onto your hip with his free hand hard enough to bruise. He settled more comfortably on he knees to fuck up into you while switching to opt for shorter and repetitive thrusts. The pressure in your belly was rising higher as he continued to hit your soft spot. “What if you just– f– posted it yourself?” Jisung smirked and wiped the sweat from his forehead.
“Are you on a treadmill or something? Why do you sound out of breath?”
Your boyfriend leaned down and kissed up the valley of your chest, lightly teething at your skin. A hand came to tangle in his hair instead of keeping the conversation going and he shot a look up at you through his lashes. “The walk to the sink is far. Guess I should exercise more.” Jisung winked and kept going, doing a number on your clit that made your skin burn delightfully.
“Come with me and Jisung next time, maybe it’ll get him to stop complaining about how much he misses you. Anyways, back to me.” You held back a laugh that in turn made your boyfriend giggle as well, rumbling chest to chest. Walls clenching tighter around him, when he started to push harder into your clit you knew he was trying to get you along. You dug your heels into his back and pulled him flush against you. “Should I just make my own YouTube account? Just for dance videos? No, I’d get kicked out for that. What if I…”
Minho continued to speak without giving you a chance to intervene, not that you minded in the slightest. Jisung took advantage of it and rubbed just the way he knew to get you to cum around him, and it was working. Your friend on the phone was clueless and it made the both of you all the more aroused knowing you were going to get away with it. In a way, it was a proud feeling, something of a cross between accomplished and erotic with how simple this one inclusion in the bedroom was. You felt the knot tightening in your belly much tighter than usual and every nerve in your body tingled as you gripped onto Jisung’s hair for support. His face was right next to your phone on your chest, still urging you to pay attention to Minho. But it was getting harder to do so when your boyfriend was being so relentless.
Perhaps forgiveness would be a small price to pay for such a wonderful high that was just within reach. You could no longer hear what Minho was saying, just that he was speaking. All of your concentration went to keeping quiet and you couldn’t even do that anymore. The grip your teeth had on your bottom lip was on the verge of drawing blood, rutting your hips up in time with Jisung’s for maximum feeling. And that just about did it, a good nudge of his thumb at the same time as he prodded at your sweet spot and the sensation took over your body to lock him against your chest and buried within you. By the time the feeling passed, Jisung had left more than one obvious mark across your skin that was deepening with every second.
“Are you done?” Minho’s voice snapped you out of your glowy haze.
“Hm? Done with what?” Airy tone and a smile on your face, you felt Jisung kissing up your neck as the phone fell to the side of your head.
“Getting dicked down. I have real issues that require your help, and your boyfriend’s. Hi, Jisung.”
The two of you giggled, embarrassed but not nearly as much as you should have been. Jisung greeted his friend, then stole the phone to mute it for a moment. He leaned into menacingly whisper, “I didn’t finish, baby. Don’t think we’re done quite yet.”
-
tags:
@sensitiveandhungry @babebatter @changbinluvr @epiphanynaffit @fawnpeaks @linovely @dumplinbokkieracha @finnydraws @naturules @djeniryuu @hamburgers100 @skzhomiehopper @yesv01 @hyunjinsamdl @dazzlingligth @lvrhyuka @alexis-reads-fics @linaliskz @0002linoskitten @chillichillicrabcrab23 @zerefdragn33l @straycrescent @binnies-donuts @soldierstangirl-blog @bakedlilgoonie @levanterlily @shelbyyy44 @yeetmehome @in2heartz @astroodledream @the-sweetest-rose @leebitsimpracha @lilbugs-things @viviennenstan @staurdvst @alex--awesome--22 @imzenning @jeyelleohe @kaitchan @iadorethemskz @skyvastbunny
2K notes · View notes
moonstruckme · 9 months ago
Note
Glad your back love! I have a request if that’s alright. Remus and reader going on a bookstore date and lunch or something!! That would be so cute. Imagine how excited both of them would be picking out books and being affectionate. Just a lot of fluff and cuteness. Thanks sweetness hope you enjoyed your break!
Thanks for requesting sweetness!
Remus Lupin x fem!reader ♡ 1k words
You’re feeling a bit guilty about the teas you’ve snuck in, but if there are two people who can be trusted around books, it’s you and Remus. He takes a careful sip as he leans in to skim the titles, sticking one hand in the pocket of his pants. 
“Island of Love,” he reads, amusement lilting his tone. “Original.” 
“I think I’ve actually read some of that author’s stuff,” you say. 
Remus quirks a brow at you interestedly, hand coming out of his pocket to pull the novel from the shelf. “Let’s see, a summer wedding, the groom’s brother and bride’s maid of honor hate each other, but—oh, he’s frustratingly attractive…and something about passionate summer heat.” The corner of his mouth twitches. “Wonder what that could be alluding to.” 
“Alright.” You steal the book from him, slotting back into its space. “I never said this stuff was, like, literature to be studied at Oxford. If you’re going to disrespect my section, run along to yours.” 
“Fairly sure it’s considered rude to abandon your date,” he muses. “What’s my section, by the way?”
“Depressing stuff.” 
“Oh?” 
“Mhm.” You take a sip of your own tea, trying not to fluster under his attention. You scan the shelves idly for a distraction. “It’s all rather doom and gloom. Very well-written doom and gloom, to be fair, but I’m not always looking to have my life changed. This stuff is fun, at least.” 
“I see,” he hums. “Oh, this looks familiar.” 
You turn to see him holding up the shiny new version of the worn and waterstained paperback that rests perpetually on your nightstand at home. 
“How do you know about that?” you ask him. 
Remus smiles. Your heart flutters. “It was on the coffee table when I was over last week. Are you rereading it?” 
“Yeah.” You shrug, turning your eyes away from him. “I reread it a lot, it’s my favorite.” 
“Mm, I noticed it looked fairly battered.” 
“Well-loved,” you correct him. 
He chuckles quietly, and you grin because you can’t help it. “Right, so sorry. My mistake.” 
You brush a piece of hair out of your face, slotting it behind your ear. Watch Remus’ eyes track the movement. “So what’s your battered book?” 
“Hm?” 
“Your favorite,” you clarify. “The book that’s all war torn and full of nonsensical annotations.”
He thinks for a minute. “I’m not sure,” he admits. “I have a few I go back and forth between, but lately it’s been The Secret History.” 
You have to cover your mouth with a hand to hide the full breadth of your smile, and Remus narrows his eyes at you. 
“What?” he asks.
“That book is so depressing.” You shake your head, delighted at being so right. “I mean, it’s beautifully written,” you amend. “Really gorgeous. I’m just not sure I found the plot as compelling as the prose.” 
His mouth actually drops open. You can’t tell how much of the shock is teasing and how much is real. “You thought that book had no plot?” 
“No, I mean, plenty happened.” You turn to face him, forgetting about the books around you for a moment to focus on this one. “But I felt like it happened so slowly, and there was so much in between that was just tons of description. It was like they almost skimmed over the murder part! There were so many plotlines that were brought in and then just disappeared, though I guess I can respect the ways in which it reflected real life.”
You think for a second that Remus might argue with you (he should, really—it’s his favorite book and you’re slandering it), but he keeps his mouth shut, watching you interestedly. 
“And don’t you think Richard was a bit passive? Henry and Bunny had so much going on, but the narrator could have literally been a fly on the wall the whole time. He kind of reminds me of Nick Carroway, you know?” 
“From the Great Gastby?” He tilts his head, eyes squinting a bit (it’s devastatingly cute). “How’s that?” 
“Just, they’re both such flat characters.” You frown. “I don’t really think either of them needed to be in the story at all. I mean, having a narrator that’s a character with no personality is effectively the same as having a non-omniscient third-person narrator, right?” 
Remus is biting the inside corner of his lips like he’s trying not to smile. “Right.” 
“What?”
“I’m just thinking that I need to get you talking about books more often,” he says. And that’s real affection in his eyes, mixed in with the humor. 
You look down, grinning at the front of your shirt, but his little smile doesn’t waver. 
“Shouldn’t be hard,” you say. An awkward, obvious sidestep of the compliment, but he lets you get away with it. “Your turn. Let’s go to your section.” 
He shrugs. “If you think you can stand it,” he says, but starts moving in that direction. You notice he’s still holding the copy of your favorite book. 
“Aren’t you going to put that back?” 
“No.” He doesn’t need to look down to know what you’re talking about. “You’ve already torn one of my choice novels to shreds, now it’s my turn to read yours.” 
A little bite of nervousness snips behind your belly button even as his sidelong look lets you know he’s only joking. “You could always borrow mine.” 
Remus blinks. “I’m flattered that you’d trust me with it,” he says, and it almost has you blushing again, that he knows the significance of you offering him your copy, “but I think I’ll read the un-annotated version first. But if the offer still stands after I’m finished, I’d love to read your thoughts on it.” 
He says it like it’s nothing. Like taking the time to read your favorite book twice, just so he can get to know you more thoroughly, isn’t the sweetest thing anyone’s ever so much as thought of doing for you. You worry that if you look down, your heart will be glowing right through your shirt.
“Alright.” You muster your courage, taking him by the hand. “But now we also have to find one to read together.” 
Remus has looked down at your joined hands, something like shyness coloring his expression, but he looks up to quirk an eyebrow at you. “Are you so sure we’ll be able to find something we can agree upon?” “So long as it involves a main character that actually does something, I think we can manage.”
559 notes · View notes
picklehater101 · 1 year ago
Text
Better Than Me
Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media
summary: bestfriend!ellie x reader ~ you flirt with a pretty girl at the party and ellie teaches you a little lesson for doing so
content warning: jealous/possessive ellie, swearing, smut n shii, toxic… just a lil bit…
authors note: i got this idea from the song, better than me by q money. ALSO… i know some people don’t think hard dom ellie is fitting for her character, but i’m writing this anywaysss. NTM ON ME THOUGH!!
this is def not living up to my first post and i actually HATE this, but i need to post something so…
— ✩ —
Ellies body towers over yours as you stand next to the bed, the back of your legs resting against the foot of it. She is pressed into your naked body, her fingers harshly digging into your flushed cheeks as she firmly holds your jaw.
“You like pissin’ me off, hm?” She questions, her light green eyes clouded over with a fiery anger, lust pushing its way through that barrier.
At loss for words, you try to shake your head, although it’s hard as Ellie only tightens her grip on you.
“Thought you’d get away with it, baby?” She tilts her head, running her tongue along her top teeth, “flirting with that girl in front of my fuckin’ face?” Jealousy slipping through her words, entangled with every letter.
You only flirted with that girl in order to get a rise out of Ellie. If anything she deserved it for fucking that random girl the other night whilst you were next door.
It brought you enjoyment toying with Ellie earlier tonight. You loved the way you felt her burning gaze on your body from all the way across the room, you loved how you could look over and her eyes were already on you, following your each and every movement.
She looked so good leaning against the wall, her flannel folded up on her arms- allowing the auburn haired girl to show off her tattoo. Her arms loosely crossed over her chest, her jaw clenched so tightly that her teeth could break from the pressure.
And she looks even better right now in her boxers and sports bra with her strap wrapped around her sharp hips.
It was always fun and games until she brought you home and fucked you numb every time you thought about anyone other than her.
She wanted you all to herself, no matter what she did or how she did things. She wanted you as hers and that was it.
The truth is, neither of you are ready for a relationship and neither of you are willing to jeopardize everything you have to even give it a try in the first place.
She fucked other girls as a distraction, a way to get you out of her head. But it only fueled her fire, she only ever thought about you as she pounded into those other nameless girls.
She only wanted you, but she couldn’t have you the way she wanted, so why not try and focus on something else? Why should she sit around and wait when she could do something better with her time, she often thought.
You guys were always so back and forth, the only normalcy you and Ellie had were coming back to each other in the end no matter what. You both believed you could do whatever you want, and the other would still always be there.
She pushes your face away a bit as she releases you. She looks down at you with daunting, possessive eyes before she nods her head towards the bed behind you.
You immediately obey her silent command, turning around and getting onto her bed. You move yourself closer to the top, near the pillows before you bend over and push your face into it, your ass up and your back arched.
The only noise in the room at the moment is the soft breeze blowing through the open window, Ellie saying nothing. But you can feel the way she’s admiring you, soaking in every little thing about you as you’re in this vulnerable position… just for her.
Fuck… she thought… mine, mine, mine. That’s all she can ever think about, whether you’re with or without her. It’s almost like you own a part of her brain with how much she thinks about you. You’re a scratch she can’t itch and it drives her fucking insane.
She gets up on the bed herself, coming up behind you as she barely brushes against your bare pussy, a soft whine leaving your lips.
She brings her large hands to your hips, grabbing onto the skin there before sliding her hands back to your ass.
She leaves a harsh slap on your right cheek, making you flinch as you moan out at the soft pain that radiates throughout that area.
She does it again, and again, your cunt only getting wetter the more she gropes and grabs at your skin, goosebumps erupting over the entirety of your body.
“Fuck-“ you cry, your ass beginning to feel sore from the marks her hands leave behind. Ellie wants that though, she wants your ass to be so swollen it hurts to sit down, she wants you to recall this memory as you go on throughout the day, she wants you to remember who does this to you.
“When I touch this little pussy of yours, what do you think it’ll be like?” Ellie asks you, already knowing the answer, her words oozing with desire, the idea of roughly fucking into you pumping adrenaline through her veins.
Warm, wet, and tight.
“Wet.” You answer, your brain already beginning to become foggy and short of thought.
“And why’s that?” She questions, condescendence lathering her tone while slapping you again before gently rubbing her hand over the area to conceal the burn.
“Because of you.” You start, “because you make me feel good.” Trying to refrain from rolling your eyes as you go through the process where you give her the answers she already knows, but wants to hear anyways.
“Why else?” She asks, moving her hands back to your hips as she tugs you closer to her, her tip barely brushing past your swollen clit.
“Because I’m a dirty girl. Your dirty girl,” You say, making sure to emphasize the your. You know what she’s playing at, you know what she wants. And by all means, you’ll give it to her.
“Mhm, that’s right. My filthy little whore who can’t ever get enough.” Ellie smirks, finally bringing her fingers down to your pussy.
She runs them through your slit, collecting your arousal before circling your clit a couple of times. She brings them back to your opening, easily pushing her middle and ring finger into you, giving you no time to relax as she moves in and out at a smooth rhythm.
“God, Ellie- shit.” You whimper, closing your eyes as you relish in the feeling of her rough finger pads brushing against your slick walls.
“Fuck, baby. So fuckin’ perfect.” Ellie groans, picking up her pace a bit, loving the way you feel so tight around her fingers.
She begins to curl them up into you, hitting that sweet spot that makes you cry out at the pleasure rushing through you.
“Please.” You beg, desperate to feel her cock buried inside you. “Please, Els. I need you.” Throaty moans continuously leave your lips as she works her fingers into you.
“I have to get you ready for me, sweet girl.” She whispers, entranced by the wetness coating her digits. She wants to stretch you even more, adding a third finger into you which has you clenching around her.
“‘M always ready for you.” You plead, nudging your hips back, willing to do whatever just to feel her.
“Always so fucking needy.” She chuckles, only going faster as she ignores your pleas for her to fuck you.
That one of a kind feeling begins to linger in your stomach, slowly starting to bubble up. “Fuck- I’m gonna cum if you don’t stop. P-Please,” You whine, your cheek pressed into the comforter.
“Make a mess on my fingers, baby. Be the dirty little slut I know you are and cum all over them. I want it.” She guides you, only moving faster, hitting that one spongey spot every time she pushes into you.
The ache held in your stomach bursts, your orgasm running through you like water down a river, your mouth open but nothing managing to escape as your limbs feel tingly and warm.
“That’s it, angel.” She coaxs, still moving in and out of you, allowing you ride it all the way out.
She eventually slows down, taking them out of you, bringing her wet fingers to her lips without a second thought. Her tongue lapping around them, sucking your arousal off of them, her moans muffled.
“So damn sweet, ‘s like heaven on my tongue.” She whines, holding back from completely having her way with you and making you ride her face ‘til you pass out.
“Wanna taste?” She asks, her blown out eyes dragging up and down your body.
You nod your head, as to which Ellie takes one of her hands and wraps your hair around it before tugging your head back. You grunt at the pleasurable sting brought to your scalp.
She bends over, her front brought to your back as her head comes beside yours. You turn your own a bit, your eyes meeting hers as you giddily smile, waves of happiness coursing through your body.
She presses her lips to yours, greedily claiming your own, allowing you to taste yourself on her tongue as she slips it into your open, wanting mouth.
You moan into the kiss, deepening it, desperate for more. Your tongues glide together effortlessly, the feeling of her plump lips on yours only making your pussy throb for more.
“Please, please, please, Ellie. I’m begging you.” You pull back to complain, your low eyes meeting hers again. A cocky smirk is plastered on her face at the sound of your whiny voice causing her to pull back, coming behind you.
She huffs out of her nose, “look at you… bent over and ready for me to use you as I please.” She starts, “It’s ‘cause you’re a desperate, needy fuckin’ slut, hm?” She questions, wrapping her fingers around your hips, slowly inching closer to you in a teasing manner.
All you can do is moan, your brain focused on the singular thought of having her cock buried deep inside you. It’s all you want. It’s all you fucking need.
“Isn’t that right, beautiful?” She speaks up again, wanting to hear the sound of your voice waltz through her ears- the voice she’s utterly obsessed.
“Mhm- yeah, so fucking needy. P-Please, Els?” You ask again, arching your back even more, pushing your ass against her once again.
Ellie removes one of her hands, grabbing her cock as she runs her tip throughout your slick, earning a moan from you. She then slams into you, her pelvis meeting your ass before you even have time to process her being inside of you.
You suck in a sharp breath as a loud moan crawls it’s way up your throat, “fuck!” You scream, screwing your eyes shut as you fist the material beneath you.
You immediately accommodate to her size, your walls contracting around her, a mix of pain and pleasure shooting through your body due to the stretch your pussy feels.
“Jesus, baby.” Ellie moans, “no matter how many times I fuck this pretty little pussy of yours, you’re always so damn tight. Can barely fuckin’ move.” She whispers, digging her fingers into your hips.
She slowly drags her own out, the only thing left in you is her tip before she roughly shoves herself into you again. Doing this over and over again, her darkened eyes infatuated with the site of her cock disappearing into you with each thrust.
You bury your head into the bed, trying your best to stifle the loud screams and uncontrollable moans that slip past your lips.
That only frustrates Ellie more and dares her to pound into you harder as she slaps your ass, speaking from behind you, “don’t cover your mouth. I wanna hear all those pretty noises of yours. I want the fucking neighbors to hear who fucks you this good.”
You immediately lift your head nodding in compliance as you push your hips back onto her, meeting her thrusts, causing Ellie to groan.
She continues her movements, trying her best to push into you deeper and harder each and every time. Your body jolting beneath hers because of the forcefulness.
“You’re taking me so well, sweet girl.” She grunts, her nails ripping into the flesh of your skin. “Always so fuckin’ needy for my cock.”
You moan in response, clenching around her. Ellie continues to look down, watching as the both of you connect. Your pussy drenching her strap, the sound of skin slapping on skin and wet pussy filling the room.
“Tell me you’re mine.” She starts, her voice trembling as she speaks, the base of her strap rubbing against her clothed, puffy clit as she moves into you. “Tell me I’m the only one that has ever fucked you this good… the only person who gets to have this cunt.”
"Yes, baby. Only you. Only your cock makes me feel this fucking g-good. I'm only yours." You moan, finding it hard to speak.
“Yeah? Not that stupid bitch from the party? You know she’ll never treat you this good, angel. I’m gonna be the only fucking person that has you like this.” She mumbles, desperate to hear your voice console her tampered thoughts.
“A breathless fucking mess. I’m gonna be the one that has you absolutely ruined every single time. Only me. Not her. Not anyone else, you understand me?” She grits through her clenched teeth, jealously taking complete control of her. “I fucking own this pussy.”
You moan out at her demanding rant while Ellie repeats the same action as earlier, coming over your back, her cock pushing even deeper into you. As she leans forward, she tightly fists your hair once again, pulling tightly knowing you get off on it. Tears brimming your eyes at the pace she’s going at.
"You're so deep I can feel you in my stomach, Els," you cry, “oh god, it hurts so good."
Your jaw is slack as your moans are stuck in your raw throat. She presses her lips into your splotchy, damp cheek, tasting the salty tears that are now running down your face.
Ellie only goes harder and faster, thrusting into you relentlessly as she grins into your skin. She wants you to cum so hard that you see stars and your head spins.
And that’s exactly what happens as your second orgasm builds up in your stomach. “S-Shit… I’m gonna cum again, Ellie, plea-“ you huff out, “please don’t stop.” You plead, your orgasm on the brink of spilling over.
And so she continues moving the exact same way she was, wanting to get you there as much as you want yourself to. At that, your orgasm washes over you, your mind going blank while that warm feeling floods your body once again.
Your legs begin to shake as labored breaths leave your mouth, your chest heaving, desperate to pull in any oxygen.
Just as it finally passes over you, you expect her to let up, but she doesn’t. She continues fucking into you, causing more tears to fall from your eyes.
“Ellie- I can’t. Fuck, I can’t…” You mumble, your brain and body scrambled and dizzy. All you know is that you’re too sensitive and over stimulated to continue, your body already weak and shaky.
“Too fucking bad. Shut up and take it like the good girl I know you can be.” She whispers into your ear, finally pulling away, although the grip she has on your hair remains.
“I can’t.” You whimper, shaking your head as you push yourself into the bed, almost like you’re trying to escape from her. It feels so damn good, but hurts at the same time.
“C’mon, baby, please?” She asks, “just one more? I want it so fucking bad.” She begs, softening up a little but by no means stopping.
You whine at the feeling of her tip brushing past your cervix with each and every movement, the knot in your stomach only getting tighter, building up faster than before because of your sensitivity.
You meet her hips again, trying your best even though it’s hard with how weak you are. Ellie groans at the sight, “atta girl. Just a little more, you can take it.”
After a little while longer, she snakes her hand around to your front, her fingers circling your clit.
“Ellie!” You yell, your muscles tensing as her fingers are fast but soft against you. “Oh my god. ‘M so close.” You moan, your eyes rolling to the back of your head at pleasure being brought to your body.
And it’s all because of me, Ellie thought.
“I know, baby, I know. Let it go and give it to me.” Her angelic voice guides you towards another orgasm.
At the same time her own movements begin to falter, Ellie finding it hard to hold her orgasm back any longer. She quickens her pace with both her hips and her fingers and moments later you fall apart beneath her once more.
Your ears begin to ring as that hot white flash shoots through your body for the third time tonight, you falling completely limp as you can no longer hold yourself up, Ellie being the only thing that is balancing you.
The same thing happens to Ellie as her movements stutter against you. Her loud moans bouncing off the walls. “S-Shit, see what you do to me?” Butterflies release in your stomach at the sound of her weak, desperate voice, completely different from how it’s been all night.
“Fuckk.” She groans, throwing her head back as she tries her best to catch her breath, her hands still pressed into your skin.
“Christ.” You mutter, feeling like you’re floating as she finally stills in you. You let out a heavy breath, relaxing into her, your cunt throbbing as your cum drips down your thighs and her cock, Ellies confined in her boxers.
“I’m gonna pull out, m’kay?” She warns you, wanting to make sure you’re aware.
You nod your head, softly closing your eyes as she slowly removes herself from you. You wince at the slight discomfort, but it’s nothing you aren’t use to.
“I’m sorry.” She whispers, catching your hips before you completely fall into the bed. She softly flips you around, you groaning out at the soreness you feel pang through you.
Your eyes finally meet hers again, her face relaxed and droopy, a weak smile tugging at her lips as she stares down at your sweaty, fragile body.
“Such a pretty mess.” She states, running her calloused hands over your soft curves. “Did s’good for me, baby.” She whispers, leaning down to press a kiss onto your forehead. “Let’s get you cleaned up.”
You barely move your head, humming out in response as you softly return her smile, feeling content and woozy, completely drunk on sex.
Ellie is right and will always be right. Only she can make you feel this good. And you only want it to be her anyways.
— ✩ —
1K notes · View notes
hotchscoffeecup · 8 months ago
Text
banana pancakes
Fandom: Criminal Minds
Pairing: Aaron Hotchner/Reader
Rating: E
Category: Fluff (tooth-rotting)
Word Count: 1.2k
Summary: On a Sunday morning, you wake to find Aaron making breakfast in the kitchen. He surprises you with slow dancing to old country music, Jack is cute as all get out, and of course, banana pancakes.
Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media
“Jack?” you ask groggily. You prop yourself up on your elbows and note Aaron isn’t in bed beside you. “Hey buddy, is everything ok?” You glance at your phone plugged in on the nightstand where the numbers blink back 8:37AM aka too early on a Sunday.
Jack giggles quietly. “Daddy is being silly in the kitchen.”
Knowing that could mean anything to a six year old, naturally, your brow furrows. Your lips quirk into a half smile as you regard his own happy face. “What do you mean, silly?”
Jack’s little hands fly to his mouth as he stifles another laugh. “I’m going to go play in my room!” And just like that he bounces off of the bad and darts out the door into the hallway.
Now curious, you push the sheets back and slide out of bed, wrapping your arms around yourself as a chill passes through you. Before leaving the room, you pull on the gray cotton robe that falls to your mid-calf and tie it loosely over your sleep shirt and shorts set. As you step into the hallway, the smell of coffee and something baking fills your nostrils. Your stomach rumbles gently in response to the sweet aroma.
Quietly, you make sure way down the hall. When you’re close enough to peer into the kitchen, you lean against the doorway and watch. The stove is along the far wall, so if you’re cooking, you’re turned away from the doorway. He doesn’t see you, not at first.
Dressed only in a white t-shirt and boxers, the apron decorated with images of wine glasses on it contrasts sharply with the plaid pattern of his undergarments. George Strait is playing on the stereo. He gently shakes his hips back and forth as he quietly sings along to the country ballad. As he flips the pancakes over, you can’t help the smile that spreads across your face. You bite your thumbnail as you watch him and when he turns around, the stunned look on his face causes you to smile even wider.
“Now how am I supposed to bring you breakfast in bed if you’re not in bed?” he questions, the dark slash of his brow arching as he regards you with warm, brown eyes.
“You can blame the little man,” you reply cheekily. “He woke me up to tell me daddy was being silly in the kitchen.”
Hotch smiles, revealing the left dimple in his cheek. “Oh yeah?” he says, tone playful as he saunters toward you. Stretching his hands out toward the ties on your robe, he takes hold of them and pulls you in toward him. Looping one arm around your waist, he uses the other to swipe at the dial on the stereo. The volume cranks up and he takes your hand in his. Turning in a slow circle, he sways to the music, pulling you along with him.
He presses a kiss to your temple and holds you close as he dances you in small circles around the kitchen. Putting a deep country vibrato into his voice, he begins to hum and sing along against your cheek.
“I cross my heart,” he sings, “and promise to, give all I’ve got to give to make your dreams come true.”
You drop your head back and laugh as he whirls you around in a dramatic arc. “Aaron!” you cry giddily.
He continues to sing. “In all the world, you’ll never find a love as true as mine.”
The acrid smell of something burning starts to singe your nostrils. “Aaron, the pancakes!”
“Oh, let them burn!” he croons.
You playfully slap at his chest before breaking free from his hold. In turn, he slaps you on the ass. You shriek gleefully and he laughs as you dash over to the stove and pull the quickly blackening pancakes off the pan. Fortunately, he has a bowl half full of batter still off to the side alongside a plate of about half a dozen perfectly golden brown pancakes.
“Daddy! Daddy!” The pitter patter of small feet slapping against the linoleum echoes as Jack tumbles into the room. Aaron grabs him around the middle and swoops him into the air.
“Hey buddy!” he greets as he kisses him on the cheek.
“Daddy, it’s our song!”
Aaron quiets for a moment as he listens to the stereo and Jack is right. The track had changed over to another George Straight song, Love Without End, Amen.
As Aaron dances Jack around the kitchen, swinging him high and low and singing lyrics fractured with laughter, you couldn’t help but feel your heart swell with joy.
“Daddies don’t just love their children every now and then, it’s a love without end, amen.”
You couldn’t begin to imagine a more perfect Sunday morning than this.
“It’s a love without end, amen!” Jack sing-shouts as the song comes to a close.
Aaron sets Jack down on the floor and you start to clap and cheer. “What a show!” you exclaim. “Jack, that was amazing!”
He grins sheepishly, “Thank you.” He tacks your name to the end of his thanks as he runs to the kitchen table to climb into his chair and you can’t help but feel all the more grateful in return for how much Jack has welcomed you into his little family with him and his dad.
“I’ll get the pancakes,” Aaron says with a quick peck on your cheek as he scoots past you to pick up the plate.
“I’ll get the coffee!” you say in turn and pull two mugs down from the cabinet. As you fix yours and Aaron’s (black for you and splash of milk and two sugars for him), you make sure to grab a third mug from the cabinet to make Jack a glass of chocolate milk. Drinking out of a mug while you two drank your coffee made him feel like one of the grown ups, after all.
You carefully pile all three mugs into your hands and make your way to your seat at the table. Aaron sets a plate in front of you and Jack and you serve yourself and him two pancakes each.
“Oh! Do we have any—” you start and stop as Aaron places a small bowl of sliced bananas beside your plate.
He eyes you knowingly. “You think after all this time, I’d forget your favorite?”
You cup his cheek in your hand and press a quick kiss to his lips.
“Yuck!” cries Jack as she shoves a forkful of pancakes into his mouth.
“I do love banana pancakes,” you say as you scoop a spoonful onto the fluffy rounds in front of you.
Aaron hugs you from behind before taking his seat at the head of the table. “And I love you more than you love banana pancakes.”
399 notes · View notes
pearlessance · 4 months ago
Text
The Hand That Feeds - Idle Threats [iii]
Tumblr media
Series Summary — Joel has watch duty with Jackson’s twenty-year old, smart-mouthed brat and gets more than he bargained for.
Chapter Summary — Tommy sets Joel up on a date with a lovely, soft spoken, age appropriate woman at the Tipsy Bison. He has a much better time in the restroom with a little girl who can’t keep his fingers out of her mouth.
Pairing — Joel Miller/Reader
Warnings — Explicit sexual content MDNI, brat taming, age gap, mean!Joel, religious imagery and symbolism, catholic guilt, jealousy, light angst
SERIES MASTERLIST
[cross posted to AO3]
Tumblr media
When Joel wakes up the next morning, several hours later than usual, Tommy’s already sitting at the table beside Ellie. Maria is there too, smiling affectionately at the two of them as they bicker back and forth about one of the horses in the stables.
“She’s crazy,” Tommy says. “Always buckin’ and snappin’ at people. And she goes on hunger strikes, too. As if we don’t already worry about feeding ‘em.”
“Oh my God, dude,” Ellie grumbles. She stands from the table and disappears into the kitchen. When she returns, she acknowledges Joel as he laces up his boots only long enough to place a plate in front of him and say, “Made you a sandwich for lunch.” And then she turns back to Tommy. “She’s not crazy. You just have to be gentle. Approach with caution, isn’t that the saying?”
Joel thinks of you briefly at Ellie’s words. Approach with caution. It’s fitting, considering Joel tends to lose all morality within touching distance of you. But he’s not supposed to be thinking of you at all, and so he shoves the thought from his head as quickly as it appears. 
But then he thinks he’s been outed, as if his brother could read his mind. “Speaking of crazy,” Tommy says. “Mike’s back from his run so he’ll be on watch tonight. You’ll be free of her from now on.”
He’s not sure why, but it bothers him a little that you’re being referred to as crazy. Made even worse when he realizes his brother is currently comparing you to the broodmare out in the stables. He wants to say something but doesn’t know the words to speak without making himself look suspicious.
Thankfully, Ellie does it for him. “You know, Tommy, I’m starting to think you’re just a pussy.”
Joel knows he should probably chastise her. Especially in front of Maria—who has always been a little standoffish about Ellie and her lack of discretion. But he doesn’t. Joel laughs to himself instead, comforted when his brother breaks out into chuckles of his own. 
“Maybe so,” Tommy says. He stands from the table, and Maria follows him. But when she nudges Tommy with an elbow, he pauses and proceeds to ask, “You got plans tonight? Before your watch?” 
Joel shrugs and takes a bite of his sandwich. “Not really.”
“So you’ll come have a drink with me then? At the Bison?”
Joel hesitates. He’s not sure why—quality time with his brother sounds like a fine time to him. But there’s something in the tone of his voice that puts Joel on edge. “Why?”
Maria answers for him. “To catch up,” she says. “Been a minute since it was just the two of you. You deserve that, I think.” And then she turns to Tommy and raises her brows, a suspicious smile on her face. “You know what? I’ll take your watch for you. Mike and I have some stuff to discuss anyway. You two can have a guys' night.”
He can sense the bullshit from a mile away. All but solidified with the grin Ellie hides behind her hand.
But Joel isn’t in the mood to argue. It’s obvious they’re doing it for a reason, but whatever it is can’t be that bad. Otherwise, Tommy would’ve told him already. “Alright, then.”
“Come help me move this firewood and I’ll buy the first round,” Tommy offers.
Joel agrees, and after making sure Ellie would be occupied and safe within the walls for the day, they set out towards the edge of the perimeter. 
Tommy has the back of his truck bed overflowing with split wood. And truthfully, Joel is happy to see it. Because manual labor is a welcome distraction. Tommy’s incessant talking will occupy his mind and moving the wood from the truck to the stockpile will occupy his hands—both of which have tended to stray towards you as of late.
The only problem is that twenty minutes in, after updating Joel on how domestic his life has become since marrying Maria, Tommy looks over at his brother and asks, “Honestly, I never thought you’d be into the young ones.”
Joel’s chest tightens at the insinuation. He decides to play dumb, even knowing his brother likely sees right through him. “What do you mean?”
He throws an armful of wood onto the pile and puts his hands on his hips. Tommy’s got a light sheen of sweat on his face and a smug expression beneath it. “You had a conversation with her? Seriously, Joel? You think I’m that stupid?”
“Don’t go puttin’ words in my mouth,” he shoots back. “And you should be careful—throwin’ accusations around like that.”
Tommy narrows his eyes. “Is it an accusation?” 
For a split second, Joel thinks about lying. But he’s never lied to his brother in all his life. Evaded direct questions and neglected the truth a little, sure. But he’s never lied, not to Tommy—and he doesn’t want to start now. So, he stays silent. 
It’s answer enough. “Jesus, Joel,” he huffs. “She’s just a kid.”
“You think I don’t know that?” He forces his eyes away from Tommy, unable to face him. He gathers another armful of wood instead.
“No, no. I think you do know. Which makes this whole thing that much worse.” 
Joel has half a mind to snap back at him. His brother is far from perfect, despite judging Joel like he’s got no mistakes made under his belt. But what he’s done is wrong. And isn’t this deserved, after all? Tommy’s allowed to be mad, to be disappointed.
So, Joel lets him cut deep. 
“She don’t know any better,” he says. “Just an angry little girl, lost and lookin’ for someone to take care of her. And it can’t be you, Joel. Not like this. If you wanna…” Tommy moves his hands, swiping one out in front of him. “If you wanna keep her safe, protect her, that’s…ya know, that’s one thing. But usin’ her?”
Joel stops him, spine straightening as he tosses wood onto the pile. “It ain’t like that.”
“It’s cruel, s’what it is,” Tommy tells him. And Joel makes no argument. “I mean, seriously, what d’you expect is gonna happen? You two will, what? Fall in love, live happily ever after? You’re thirty two years older than her. Best case scenario, you live to be, what? Seventy? Seventy five? And she’ll still be around, left with nothin’ for the second half of her life. That what you want? She’s lost enough.”
He hears him. All of it. But Joel wants to know exactly what his brother means with those last three words. She’s lost enough. But now isn’t the time to ask, and Tommy isn’t the one he wants answers from. Joel lets out a long breath and shakes his head. “I told you, it ain’t like that. You think I’d let it go that far?”
Tommy scoffs. “You’ve already let it get this far. I don’t even know what all has happened and frankly, Joel, I’ve got no interest in findin’ out. I’m just sayin’ that whatever the hell’s goin’ on between you two, you’ve gotta put an end to it.”
Joel picks up more wood from the back of the truck. “I know,” he says, piling it on.
“I’m serious.”
“Goddammit, Tommy, I said I know,” he repeats, a little louder this time. “You gonna let me do all the fuckin’ work today or what?”
Tommy, thankfully, lets the subject go. But that painful ache in Joel’s chest? That stays and gets comfortable, makes a home where it doesn’t belong. They move the split wood in silence, though his mind is anything but.
There wasn’t a word untrue in his brother’s little spiel and Joel knows it. He doesn’t know what he wants from you, what business he has with you at all. It’s wrong to even think of you the way he does, to look at you the way he does…and acting on his impulses has been, perhaps, the worst thing Joel has ever done. Worse than killing. Worse than torturing. Worse than any lie he’s ever told.
Because he doesn’t regret it. Not even a little.
No. If Joel Miller could go back to the first day he met you, he’d still stare at that black lace beneath your wet shirt. He’d still admire the snow clinging to the ends of your hair. He’d still drink you in and eat you up and he’d still find an excuse to touch you, no matter what he tells himself.
But that doesn’t mean he can’t grow, that he can’t change. It doesn’t mean that he can’t be a better man, a man worthy of keeping you safe.
And he will, Joel vows silently. He will keep you safe, no matter what he’s done to you in the past. Someone has to look out for you, to keep you from falling off that edge of decency you like to toe so much.
When they’re tossing the last few logs onto the pile, Tommy wipes his brow with the back of his hand and says, “For what it’s worth, I think you deserve to find somebody.”
Joel shrugs. “I’ve got you and Ellie and this place. Don’t need much else, Tommy.”
“I know,” he says. And then again, “I know. But, uh…you know what I mean. Like a woman. Not a girl, but a real woman. Any of these other broads catch your eye?”
There’s something a little like hope in his eyes, and Joel knows his brother too well to believe this conversation is anything but a setup. “Why’re we talkin’ about this?”
Tommy squeezes the back of his neck. “That, uh…you know that drink we’d planned on havin’? It was…it was a lie. Kinda. You know Kelly? Works over at the grocer on Fourth Street. She’s real close with Maria.”
“No,” Joel immediately says, seeing right where this is headed. “No, I’m not doin’ that.”
“C’mon, man. What could it hurt? She’s got it real bad for you, ya know. The whole rugged caveman man thing seems to do it for her,” he jokes. Tommy’s laughing, but the joy bleeds from his face when he sees the threat in Joel’s eyes.
“I said no.”
When Joel turns to walk away, deciding to skip any quality time with his brother altogether for the sake of his sanity, Tommy grabs his shoulder and pulls him back. “Joel, look. Just…give it a shot. Kelly’s a real nice girl. Real pretty, too. Real young.”
Joel narrows his eyes. Thinks about clocking his brother in the goddamn nose.
Tommy laughs again and shakes his head. “Alright, I’m sorry. That was a little uncalled for,” he admits. He raises his hands in surrender. “All I’m sayin’ is it could be a good thing to put yourself out there a little. Get her out of your system.”
Joel doesn’t agree. There’s no erasing you, no scrubbing his hands clean. He’d made sure of it because he never wants to forget you. Never wants to wake up beside a lovely, soft spoken, age appropriate woman like Kelly one day and realize the taste of you has faded from his mouth, that the feel of your fingertips pressing into his flesh is nothing but a whisper of a memory. 
He’d consumed the forbidden fruit not once but twice, all to ensure he’d always remember the taste of ambrosia.
So, no. Having a drink with Kelly would not get you out of his system.
“Tell you what,” Tommy says. “You go have a drink or two, see where it leads. And if you decide she ain’t worth the effort, come on over and we’ll crack open that bottle of Johnnie Walker that I found from the nineties.”
The scotch sounds like a much better idea than facing the woman currently waiting for him, but the longer Joel thinks about it, the more his brother’s words slot together in his brain. Maybe Tommy’s right. About trying, at least. 
You’re too well embedded within him for Joel to ever forget you. But maybe it would help to curb his…urges if he was distracted by someone else. If he wasn’t always so high strung, if he could lose himself within a body that isn’t yours. 
Could he protect you better that way? Protect you from him a little easier? Maybe…maybe it would help. Maybe he could somehow keep you safe without it also being cruel, as Tommy had put it.
And, for you…it was worth a shot. For you, he would try.
“You want a ride back to town?”
Joel shakes his head. Tells his brother he needs the walk back. It’s only a couple blocks to the bar and Joel needs the quiet. Needs the time to think, to convince himself that this might actually work. 
And it could…right? Kelly isn’t bad looking. She’s got pretty blonde hair and green eyes, and her voice sounds a little like a character from a movie Joel watched once. Some southern belle who made pies and sat them on the window sill to cool. 
Even though Joel doesn’t want to convince himself it matters, Kelly is also in her late thirties. Nearly twice your age. Young…but not twenty. 
Joel makes his decision as he steps onto Main Street.
The Tipsy Bison is one of the most popular attractions in the commune. It’s a warm little place. The lights are low, and there’s always some blues rock song playing in the background. The walls are covered in framed photos, taxidermied mounts, old-school plaques. Little momentos all courtesy of Jackson’s population. Joel’s been here a couple of times with Tommy, and he can’t deny the nostalgia it brings up in him. 
It feels like before. Before the outbreak, before the end of the world.
He thinks of you then, wonders how different you’d be if the two of you had met in that world instead of this one.
And as soon as the thought crosses his mind, Joel begins to wonder if he’s fucking cursed. 
Because there, at the end of the round bar, you sit in one of the oak stools. You’ve got one leg folded beneath you, leaning against the bartop with a ballpoint ben clutched between your fingers. You’re writing in that journal you tried so hard to casually hide from him the other day, the one Joel has an insatiable desire to read.
You look beautiful when you think no one’s looking. Lively and youthful, soft and sweet. You’re wearing a pretty black dress with a sparse, white floral pattern printed on it. A jean jacket rests over your shoulders, and it’s a size too big but Joel thinks it fits you just right. Your black socks are bunched down around your ankles, and beneath the barstool there’s a pair of leather boots that sit unoccupied. Your hair falls loosely down your back, and Joel wants to run his hands through it. He knows it’s soft, knows it feels a lot like satin.
But maybe he needs a reminder.
“Joel! I’m so glad you could make it!”
It’s only then he notices Kelly in her yellow blouse. She’s sitting just two seats down from you, sunshiney demeanor grabbing the attention of the rest of the patrons as she calls out for him.
Your whole body goes rigid at the sound of his name. And Joel’s blood ignites in his veins as you turn your head slowly and glance at him over your shoulder.
It’s a simple look, but it feels far from innocent.
Kelly approaches him, and Joel forces himself to look at her instead of you. Forces a smile onto his face, too, despite the obvious sway of her hips. He tries not to think about how her subtle charm isn’t nearly as enticing as your foul mouth. “Saved you a seat,” she tells him.
He lets her take his hand and pull him to the bar. Kelly smells like patchouli and Joel doesn’t hate it. It’s just…not quite right. Too earthy, too warm. He can’t explain it.
The desire to leave already rises in him. This is too much, too uncomfortable. Even though you’re not looking at him anymore, turned back to that leatherbound journal and scribbling intently, Joel cannot take his attention off of you.
Kelly notices. She sits between the two of you, and her head pivots from him to you, and then back to him. Her voice is lower as she suggests, “I know this isn’t the most secluded of places. Do you want to go somewhere a little more private?”
Joel opens his mouth to answer, but you beat him to it.
“Try the northwestern outpost,” you say without picking your head up. It’s resting casually in your left hand as if you hadn’t just blatantly been listening in on a question very clearly not meant for your ears.
“The outpost?” Kelly laughs, a crease forming between her brows in confusion. “Why would we go there?”
“Ignore her,” Joel says.
It’s then that you finally look up from your journal. Your mouth quirks up at the corners as you look only at Kelly. “You’ll like it there,” you tell her. “Trust me. It’s secluded and private, just like you want. I’m sure you two could get up to all kinds of nefarious activities.”
Kelly flushes, cheeks turning crimson at your insinuation. “O-oh…I didn’t mean…”
“What?” You snicker. “Isn’t that what this is?”
“Stop,” Joel orders. And he means it. Hopes you’ll see the warning on his face and take it seriously. But you don’t even look at him, and Joel wonders if this is how Maria feels. Invisible.
He couldn’t survive it for weeks like Maria has. Thirty seconds of it has his skin crawling.
“No, it’s not,” Kelly says. Her face is still pink, but her shoulders are pulled back all the same. She’s confident as she tells you, “It’s a date.”
Your eyes widen at that, brows rising. Joel can tell you’re holding back a laugh, can sense the impending doom that’s bound to follow whatever the fuck comes out of your mouth. And his assumption is proved correct as you say, “Hm. That’s…real interesting. Didn’t peg him for a man who’d be into someone like you.”
“That’s enough,” Joel says through gritted teeth. He’s been able to see right through you from the very beginning, could see that dog-like fight buried beneath your innocent looking exterior. Joel knows you’re a brat, but he’s beginning to think maybe you’re just simply fuckin’ vicious.
Poor Kelly, for what it’s worth, retains her composure. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
Your voice is sickly sweet, sarcasm almost undetectable in your answer. “You’re just so…so nice , Kelly! And so pretty, you know? Like, uhm…hm. How to put it…” You tap your pen against your journal as if you’re real deep in thought. Joel can hear the words before they leave your mouth. “You’re just so lovely and soft spoken. And Joel’s…well, Joel’s Joel.”
Kelly giggles and actually thanks you, completely unaware of the insult in your sugary words. And then she shrugs and says, “You know, sometimes opposites attract. Right, Joel?”
It feels like a kick to the chest when you finally, finally turn your eyes on him. It knocks the air from his lungs, the flicker of spite in your expression more threatening than that of any rabid dog he’s ever encountered. You smirk and repeat Kelly’s words. “Right, Joel?”
His heart is beating so fast he thinks it might explode. Unfortunately, however, it doesn’t, and Joel is left with the two of you staring right at him, expecting an answer. He swallows hard and says, “...Right.”
“Well, I’ll leave you to it, then.” You stand to your feet, gathering your journal and pen in one hand and your boots in the other.
Joel watches you sit on the other side of the bar, further out of earshot this time. The bar is too small for you to sit anywhere and not hear them, but the effort is there. And Kelly, it seems, is satisfied with it.
“Sorry about that,” she says to Joel, voice lowering to a whisper. “Have you met her before? She’s kind of a recluse. Sticks to herself. Bit of a troublemaker, really.”
He hardly hears her, ears finetuned to pick up the cadence of your voice as you speak to Tara who’s tending the bar. You laugh at some joke she makes, and order ‘that one drink that doesn’t taste bad but has all those different alcohols in it. What’d you call it last time? A long island?’
“Anyway,” Kelly says. “Can I admit something to you?”
Joel, genuinely, could not give a fuck less about whatever she’s going to say. But he forces himself to pay attention to the woman in front of him and not the girl at the other end of the bar. “Sure.”
“I wasn’t sure you’d show up,” she says.
Me neither, Joel doesn’t.
“She has a point, you know. I feel like we don’t have much in common. But…I like you, Joel,” Kelly confesses. She sets her hand on his arm, fingers squeezing lightly. 
And it’s wrong. It’s all fucking wrong—too soft, too tender. Not enough claws. Not enough you.
But that’s not fair, is it? Joel isn’t hear to compare the two of you. He’s here to try. For you. For your safety.
He tries to give her a warm smile, knows it comes across as more of a grimace. “Yeah,” he sighs.
“So, how do you like Jackson so far?”
The small talk is slowly killing him. “It’s great,” he says honestly. “I think it’ll be good for Ellie.”
She nods. “Of course. I’ve heard a little about what you two went through to get here. It must’ve been hard, a young girl like her.”
“Ellie’s strong,” Joel says.
“Oh, I’m not disagreeing,” Kelly defends. “I just mean girls that age can be a little unruly. Best to have a routine, you know? So they don’t end up like that.”
Joel almost pressures her then, urges her to say exactly what she’s thinking. He can read between the lines, knows she’s referring to you and your bad behavior. Joel wishes he could come to your defense. But he can’t, so he just says quietly, “Yeah.” 
He’s not adding much in the way of discussion. He knows he should be asking about Kelly, about her family or her pastimes or anything. But he doesn’t care, and he doesn’t have it in him to pretend he does. He’s thankful when Tara approaches and asks if they want to order anything.
Kelly orders a Coke, and Joel orders a double whiskey neat.
Tara sets them down in less than a minute, and Joel’s already tossing his back before the glass can touch the bartop.
She eyes him suspiciously for a moment and then carefully asks, “Do you…drink a lot, Joel?”
“No.”
You burst into a fit of rambunctious laughter, trying to play it off like a cough at first. But your amusement is loud and obnoxious and you’ve got one hand over your mouth, and you quickly give up pretending to be polite. When you notice they’ve both turned to stare at you, Kelly with her brows knitted together in bewilderment and Joel with that signature scowl on his face, you wave your hand in dismissal. “I’m sorry,” you choke out through your giggles. “I just remembered something funny. Sorry, I’ll be quiet.”
Joel turns back to his date, but sees you stand out of the corner of his eye. Watches you disappear down the hall to the back of the bar.
“Oh, okay. Well that’s…that’s good,” Kelly says. “That you don’t drink. I don’t either.”
He nods once. Clears his throat. Prays silently for this awkward atmosphere to dissipate. 
“Maria told me….uhm, she told me you had a daughter.”
Nope.
Joel’s barstool scrapes against the floor noisily as he rises to his feet. “Been a while since I’ve had something so strong,” he says, nodding to his empty glass. “Whiskey went right through me. I’ll be back.”
He finds you right where he expects. You’re in the dimly lit restroom at the back of the bar, standing with your back against the counter, hands braced behind you. Joel catches a glimpse of his reflection in the mirror above the sink and thinks he looks a little untamed, a little feral. You’ve got a playful smirk on your face as if this whole situation is just so funny, and it rubs his nerves raw. “You need to leave,” he says, standing as far away from you as possible.
You don't comment on his words. Don't even acknowledge that he’s said them. “Kelly, Joel? Really?”
No, not really. It’ll never be Kelly. Not the one he ends up with, not the one he distracts himself with. Joel knew as much the moment he set foot in this bar. But he doesn’t correct you—he’s too busy trying to get himself under control. Too busy trying to stop staring at your bare thighs, at the space where they disappear beneath the seam of your dress. He’s too busy praying to a God he stopped believing in long ago, begging for strength.
Because he’s all out of options. Nothing he’s tried has worked, and Joel knows now that it’ll take some divine force to keep him from you.
“I didn’t take you for the kinda man to move on so fast,” you continue. “I wonder if Kelly knows where you spent your night.”
“Stop that,” he warns. “That ain’t fair.”
“Fair? And you somehow think you being here, flaunting her like that in front of me is?”
“I’m not flauntin’ anybody.”
This has got you worked up, Joel can tell. So much so that he can see the pulse throbbing in your neck from here. “You’re an asshole, dude. Seriously.”
Joel stiffens at the curse word in your mouth. But he doesn’t do or say anything about it. It’s not his place. Not anymore. He made sure of it. “We can’t do this. It ain’t right.”
“You can’t,” you correct. “Don’t put this on me, Joel. You do what you have to do—but don’t make it my fault.” 
“I’m not blamin’ you,” he insists. Anger rises in him, hot and uncontrollable. It’s not your fault and it never has been. Joel hates that he’s somehow put the idea in your head and he aches to set it right. You’re not the problem. He is. Joel and his inability to keep his hands off you. 
“Yes, you are.”
“That’s not true.”
“Yes, the fuck it is.”
“No, I’m—” Joel stops, sighs heavily, presses his fingertips into his throbbing temple. “Will you stop and hear me out for one second?”
“Mm…let me think.” You’re grinning like this is some kind of joke. It only serves to annoy him more. You tap your index finger against your chin in a forgery of contemplation and then say, “Probably not.”
And Joel loses it. He crosses the small room in just two steps, grabs your face in his hand and tilts your chin upwards, forcing your attention to remain only on him. “I’m not askin',” he says darkly. It’s a wretched thing on his part that he enjoys the flash of unease in your eyes, but Joel’s too angry to think too deeply about it. “Now, you’re gonna shut that pretty mouth of yours and listen. You understand?”
You look up at him through your lashes and Joel’s weak in the knees. While your eyes are shining and bright and painfully innocent, your response is anything but. “If you want me to shut my mouth, then maybe you should put something in it.”
Joel swallows as you reach below his belt. He catches your wrist in his hand seconds before you find evidence of just how much you affect him. A hundred images flash through his mind— fantasies of what he wants to do to you, how badly he wants to defile you. He wants to push you to your knees and force himself down your throat. Wants to wake up to your mouth around him. Wants to feel your tongue on the underside of his cock, familiarizing itself with the veins there. He wants to peer down at you beneath the dinner table, that sweet mouth of yours drooling for the sustenance only he can provide. Wants to finish at the back of your throat with the taste of you on his lips. “Enough,” he snarls, equal parts to himself and to you.
“What’s wrong, Joel? You don’t like it when I’m mean to you?” Your voice is sugary sweet, that same subtly sarcastic tone you took with Kelly. But then it falls away, all radiance bleeding from your words. “Join the fucking club.”
It’s then he sees it—the slight tremble in your bottom lip, the way you fight against your watery eyes, the slump in your shoulders. You’re not being bratty just to make him mad. You’re doing it because you’re hurting. Seeing him here with another woman has hurt you, and Joel feels his heart crack behind his ribcage at the realization.
He knows he doesn’t have to explain himself, knows he probably shouldn’t. Knows it would be best to just let you hurt for a little while until you decide to hate him. Because if you hate him Joel won’t have such a hard time resisting you. He wouldn’t be begging the divine forces for strength to hold himself back if you were pushing him away. 
But he can’t let you be hurt if he has the power to fix it, either. He should. But he can’t.
His grip on your jaw softens. “I didn’t know,” he says. Joel wills his fingers to stay still but they, like you, don’t listen to his wisely spoken advice—his thumb strokes your cheekbone, his pinky presses against your throat to feel the flutter of your pulse. “They set it up…Maria and Tommy. I didn’t know.”
Your stare is hard, but he sees the long breath you release and knows that his confession has done its job. “And that’s somehow supposed to make this better?”
“No, I…” He doesn’t know what to say. Doesn’t know the words to make this right. “I’m just sorry s’all.”
Your eyes narrow just slightly, searching for something on his face. A lie, maybe—but he would never lie. Not to you. He feels the coil of anxiety that’s weaved itself around his neck loosen as you place your hand over his and lean into his touch. “Joel, why did you follow me here?”
He doesn’t know.
Or at least, that’s what he’s been telling himself. 
But as he stands here now, holding you close, slipping his free hand around your waist and resting it against the curve in the small of your back, Joel can admit the truth. “I can’t stay away from you, baby.” 
You stare up at him so beautifully—a perfect picture of innocence, the most mouth-watering fruit he’s ever seen. You press a tiny kiss to the pad of his thumb, bringing his hand down lower, just beneath your jaw. “No one’s making you go anywhere,” you say. “You can stay right here.” 
Joel stares at you, entranced, forgetting that too much of a good thing can turn to poison, as you press your lips to each of his fingers—index, middle, ring, pinky, and then repeat the action in reverse. He feels a little like he’s being worshiped. It makes heat bloom in his chest, warming him from the inside out.
You’re right. Joel hates it when you’re mean. To him, anyway. But you make up for it when you’re being like this; sweet and kind and angelic, his perfect little girl. Ambrosia-flavored venom, Joel thinks. “I can’t,” he says. 
And then your soft tongue darts out between your lips, licking up his middle finger, and Joel’s breathing turns heavy. You watch him tremble as you pull his hand closer, leaning forward to take his finger into your mouth.
He shudders at the softness of you, at being inside of you. You’re so pretty like this, Joel thinks. With his finger in your mouth, the low lights reflecting in your hair, eyes wide and desperate. “Fuck,” he breathes, drawing out the word. 
You pull your head back, mouth hanging open. “Language,” you scold. And Joel laughs lightly, and you mirror the sound, and then he’s lifting you onto the counter, and this time you take both his middle and index finger into your mouth and Joel is moaning.
It feels so good. It’s so fucking good that he could die . Pretty girl sucking on his fingers because it’s the only part of him he’s allowing you to have in this moment. But he knows how badly you want more because Joel does, too. Wants to feed you his cock, wants to fuck you right here in this bathroom with your panties pulled to the side and his date waiting out there for him.
But no. No. You deserve better than this. Better than a sleazy bar bathroom, better than to be kissed only in secret. Better than him. “We can’t, baby,” he whispers. 
You only hollow out your cheeks in response, sucking his fingers in deeper. Joel lets you because he can’t bring himself to stop it. 
“I’m sorry, I…it ain’t right. It ain’t…you’re too young, sweetheart. You know what…goddamn, you know what people will say? About the both of—both of us?” Joel moves his free hand from your spine, rests it on the inside of your thigh instead. “They’ll think I’m some dirty old man, touching’ you like this…they’ll say I’m a pervert, that I’ve got no business bein’ near you. And they won’t be wrong, baby, don’t you get that?”
You squeeze your thighs together and tilt your hips forward, whimpering sweetly around his thick fingers in your mouth. Your eyes are pleading as you grab his wrist and slip his hand beneath your dress.
Joel can’t help himself. He presses hard against your clit, grinning at the little whine you let out in response. “Y’like that, hm?” You’re nodding and Joel’s mouth is watering and he knows he shouldn’t but, fuck, he has to. “You know what they’ll say about you?”
When he moves your panties to the side his fingers glide through your slit easily. You’re so wet, so fucking wet and he can’t wrap his mind around the fact that it’s all for him. Your head falls back, thudding softly against the glass mirror. Your chest heaves and your breath is hot against his drool-covered palm. 
“They’ll call you a slut, baby,” he whispers tenderly. “They’ll say you spread your legs for any man who gives you attention, and that ain’t what you want, is it?” Joel rubs circles around your clit, feeling it throb beneath his middle finger. His hand moves fast, desperate to get you there, to take that ache away. “We can’t have that, sweetheart. You know why?”
You shake your head, tongue sliding between his fingers. Joel pushes them in deeper.
“Because if anyone but me ever called you a slut an’ I heard about it?” He presses your clit harder, grinning when you start panting. “I’d have to kill ‘em, baby.”
A whimper leaves you at that. Joel chuckles darkly as you lift your legs, trying to find purchase on the countertop to no avail.
He wonders if you think he’s joking. Joel knows he’s not.
“C’mon. You got it. Legs up,” he says, nudging your knee with his shoulder. When the heel of your boot catches the edge of the counter, he helps you with the other one and praises, “There you go. Spread ‘em wide, baby.” 
Joel’s cock throbs in his jeans, painfully hard, pushing against his zipper. He ignores it because the second he gives it any thought he’ll be pulling it out and indulging himself in you as if last night meant nothing. And it can’t mean nothing. 
His name is muffled in your mouth as you whine, but Joel knows what you’re trying to say. He knows how close you are, can feel it in the needy movement of your hips.
“S’okay, I know,” he whispers. He allows himself to appreciate the way you look with his fingers in your mouth for one more second before hooking them around your jaw and pulling your face toward his. Your eyes flutter open, but there’s nothing but blind trust in them. It makes him feel bruised, tender, devoted. 
And then he takes his fingers out of your mouth, reaches down, and slides them into your pussy instead.
Joel kisses you hard, echoing the sound of your moans. You taste a little like alcohol and a whole lot like addiction, and he’s never been so thrilled to have a fix. He drinks you in, tongue sliding against yours, licking into you like it’ll be the last time. Joel knows it won’t be, and he wonders why that thought is so goddamn comforting. 
Your legs begin to shake. One of them slips off the countertop. “Joel,” you whimper into his mouth. “Joel, I’m gonna come, I’m—”
“Go’head, baby, c’mon. Give it to me.” His fingers are covered with your drool and slick, pooling in his palm as he strokes that spot inside you that makes you writhe. He’s still circling your clit with his other hand and keeps up a steady pace. When your fingers tangle in the dark curls at the nape of his neck and pull, Joel just kisses you harder despite the ache it brings.
“Ohh, God, God, Joel, please don’t stop, don’t stop—!”
He feels your walls clench around his fingers and Joel lets out a moan of his own, his cock convulsing in his jeans. “Yeah…there you go. Good girl, baby. You listen so fuckin’ good when you’re all full’a me, don’t you?” He fucks you through it, relief reverberating through his ribcage with the sounds you make. “Sweet little thing, just need ta’ be told what to do, ain’t that right? Hm?”
You moan his name one final time, and before your breathing evens out you’re pulling his flannel out of his jeans and tugging at his belt buckle. “Joel, please, please, please.”
He thinks you beg so prettily. He thinks he doesn’t deserve it. Not your attention, not your desperation, not your trust or admiration. Yet he doesn’t stop you, even knowing he should. 
Never in his life has he wanted someone so badly. And never in his life has he wanted to protect someone so much. It’s an impossible task. One he’ll undeniably fail over and over and over again. He thinks about his conversation with Tommy and his gut wrenches.
But then you look up at him and all doubt ebbs away, fading into nothingness. Joel knows this feeling. Had nearly forgotten it, in truth. But it hits him like a freight train now, like a bullet to the head. You smile at him and Joel feels heat stain his cheeks and it’s here, here, in this sleazy bar bathroom that he remembers what it feels like to be cherished.
And it’s been so long, so very long, that Joel’s forgotten until this very moment just how hungry for it he’s been.
What’s a starved man to do but devour?
You carefully snake your hand beneath his jeans. Your fingers are soft, delicate, as they wrap around his hard length and squeeze. There isn’t a second that you look away from him, and he wonders if you can read his mind, if you can see the shift in him, if you can hear all his rapturous thoughts of admiration.
The leather of his belt bites deliciously into his hips with the extra pressure. Your hand begins to move, stroking him softly. Joel’s eyes almost roll to the back of his head, but he resists because he doesn’t want to forget this moment. Doesn’t want to look away from you. He reaches up and takes your face in his hands. “You’re so pretty, baby,” he says, kissing you softly. “Keep goin’, just like that.”
Just a few quick touches and he’s melting; putty in your hands, unable to catch his breath. “Like this?” You squeeze him harder, stroke him faster, and Joel groans. “Am I doing good?”
He doesn’t even have it in him to be embarrassed as he explodes so quickly at the sweet sound of your voice. “Fuck, sweetheart— mm, so good. Such a good little girl, shit.” 
A pretty smile graces your face as he coats your hand in stickiness, satisfied with your work. You draw out every last drop until he’s trembling, and even then you make no effort to slow your movements.
Joel grabs your wrist to still you, every inch of him overly sensitive. And when you wiggle your hand out of his jeans you giggle as you lick up the mess he made. He can’t take his eyes off of your pretty pink tongue as it slides between your fingers, the filthiest thing he’s ever seen. 
When you’re finished, you push yourself off the counter and straighten your dress. “I get it,” you say quietly. “Why you don’t want to be with me. I mean…I don’t really, because I don’t give a fuck what any of these people have to say about me.”
It nearly gives him whiplash. Joel doesn’t understand how you can be licking his come off your fingers one second and go right back to being angry with him the next. But that irritation has slipped back into your voice with a vengeance, leaving Joel at a loss.
“So, I guess I get it, but I don’t understand,” you continue. “I did tell you this would happen, though, didn’t I? Gave you the idea, most likely. So…you know. Go ahead. Go have your date with Kelly. Go find an age appropriate woman, and I’ll find an age appropriate man, and we’ll just—”
“No.” His voice is dark, leaving no room for argument. The thought of you with someone else brings up a fiery rage in him, burning his insides, leaving nothing behind but bloodthirst. “Don’t be like that.” Please. He doesn’t want to lose this place. He doesn’t want to lose you.
“No?” You shake your head. “I’m not going to wait around for you to make up your mind about me, Joel.”
You shoulder past him and walk out of the door without another word.
Joel feels the loss like a knife.
[part two] [part four]
296 notes · View notes
highvern · 11 months ago
Text
Home for the Holidays
Pairing: Jung Wooyoung x fem!reader
Genre: romance, smut, angst, exes to lovers, Christmas!AU, fake dating
Warnings: she/her pronouns, Drug use, 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
Length: ~24k
Note: God this was such a doozy. I started it on December 1st and barely finished it this morning. Based on Happy Place by Emily Henry (if you like romcoms I highly recommend all her books) and most cheesy Christmas movies (Exmas). Did I project my middle child syndrome onto fellow middle child Wooyoung? Maybe! BUT why write if not to explore your own trauma lmao
Like, comment, reblog, enjoy or don’t! Merry Christmas! MWAH!
This blog is intended for 18+ only! MDNI or you'll be blocked!
June 27th
“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.”
“Oh,” is all you manage to say before your vocal cords seize.
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, unaware that several whip around to look at the man left sitting behind you.
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 7th
Wooyoung
…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.” His mom 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 her 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 her 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.” She deadpans.
“Is it a bad time?”
“What do you want, Woo?”
“How have you been?”
“I’m fine. But you aren’t calling to ask me that.”
Wooyoung wants to object but she’s right. “I’m not but I still care.”
“Sure.”
“Okay, so my mom called and asked if you were coming over for Christmas.”
“Why?” Y/N asks after a pregnant pause.
“Because I haven’t told them we broke up.”
A rush of clattering sounds from her end along with a few curse words sounding far away before she continues. “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.”
“I can’t!”
“Why not?”
“Bibi keeps talking about how she wants everyone how for one last Christmas and with Kyungmin going to colle—”
“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 shit anymore.”
“I can tell them your busy and the hospital is keeping you or—”
“No,” Wooyoung can picture the hand scrubbing down her face, fingers massaging her temples the same way she always did when his shenanigans got them in 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.”
“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.”
“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 her 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
Y/N🥰🍯💖: ill venmo you
Wooyoung: Cool, send me the details
There’s a weight on Wooyoung’s tongue at the new dynamic settling between them. Eight years of dating but now she’s a stranger. The last text messages arranging for their mutual friend Lisa to pick up a box of her stuff from his apartment. 
Six months and he didn’t know if she kept her hair the same way or what new book she was obsessing over in her sparse free time; if her neighbor in Boston’s yappy geriatric dog finally kicked the bucket.
Lovers. Almost fiancées. And now strangers.
December 10th
Wooyoung
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 Y/N 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 she’s flying out of New York, not Boston. Why isn’t she flying out of Boston? There’s no way it’s cheaper than flying out of Boston and she wouldn’t go through the trouble of getting down here unless she had 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. She lives here, in New York. She’s been in the city and he didn’t even notice. Questions race forward. How long has she been here? Where is she working? What neighborhood is she in? Why didn’t he know she moved back?
The last question is more his own fault than he cares to admit.
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 till 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!”
Y/N
“Let me get this straight: your ex asked you to pretend to be his girlfriend and now you’re spending Christmas with his family?”
Sparing a glance from the manilla folder containing notes on your next patient, you see Hongjoong watching 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 clicks, 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 chestpiece 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. 
Wooyoung
Wooyoung: since when?
Wooyoung checked his phone after finishing pick up duty, one of several over the next month as a bargain to keep his job.
She’d ignored him. It wasn’t the first time his messages went hours before being answered. She was a doctor, and before that a med student, and before that pre-med when they’d met at some dive and realized they shared a behavioral psych class. Y/N always maintained a full schedule, only responding to the outside world when the night bled into the early hours of the day.
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 she’d been in the city.
Double fuck.
December 14th
Y/N
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 wanna carpool?
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. 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’d never been 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?
December 21st
Wooyoung
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. When Wooyoung flew home for Bibi’s birthday in April, she decided to turn her inquiry towards him and Y/N. 
How fun it’ll be to answer those questions again with his temporarily not ex-girlfriend.
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.”
“Thanks.” Wooyoung gives a tight smile.
Nodding his head to his colleague, the TSA agent steps away and allows Wooyoung to pack his bags.
He really needs a drink.
Y/N
“I’m sorry ma’am, the flight is overbooked. But there is room on the next flight to Denver!”
“No charge?”
“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, Wooyoung would take it personally if he found out you sat in business when he paid for a last minute economy flight on a teachers salary. 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, before speaking with a perfect customer service smile. “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.”
“Wanna start a tab?”
“Yes, please.” You answer, handing over your credit card.
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
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.
In her usual flying outfit, Wooyoung’s ex-girlfriend stands twenty feet away every bit as beautiful as the last time he saw her. 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 her nose. The silver carry-on she bought in the airport last time they visited his family at her side.
And a sour look of absolute disgust twisting her lips.
Better he sees her for the first time since their break up now instead of later in front of the audience of his nosy family. In the safety of anonymity, she can kill him multiple times over with her eyes, and Wooyoung can grovel and pander like he usually does.
Or Wooyoung would if she hadn’t taken a seat along the bay of windows at the opposite end of the alcove.
Wonderful.
Y/N actively avoids 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 their flight. But she digs her nose into her phone, tapping furiously to who Wooyoung assumes is her best friend. If he wakes up to Lisa 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 she struts 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 Wooyoung shuffles down the cramped aisle, full overhead bins already closed half way down the plane. He doesn’t spot Y/N 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.
Y/N
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. And two hours unsupervised with Wooyoung’s mom would ruin the entire plan.
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, with a loud, “You’re fucking kidding me.”
“Sorry!” The man who is not your ex-boyfriend apologizes.
“No! Not you, sorry!”
Wooyoung just stares blankly. If habit and history were to repeat itself, Wooyoung 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..
“Y/N,” he tries again.
In your periphery, you can see Wooyoung folding 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 patient’s 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, having offered to trade seats with either of you so you didn’t have to talk across him. You apologize once Wooyoung is out of earshot, 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. The stranger's name is Jay, and he laughs at the irony.
“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.” 
“Excuse me.” Wooyoung arrives over your shoulder.
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.”
“How’s work?”
“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 act cordial?”
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.
“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 buses 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, and the nerves of seeing Wooyoung so soon after such a fresh 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. Smiling at her before circling the trunk where Wooyoung packs away your bags, you snatch his hand before he can throw it closed.
“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, even the overabundance of cartoonish kisses anywhere his lips could reach. 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. So 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 doze along with her son. The gentle caress of warm air from the vents, paired with the smooth carols from the radio, lulls you down into a shallow rest.
Wooyoung
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 the firm body of Y/N dozing behind him. She shrugs his hand off her thigh, burrowing back down into the collar of her sweater.
“Come on, sleepy heads. We’re home.” His mom announces as she opens her door.
Home for Wooyoung is a cream two story, five bedroom, three bathroom, 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 two college 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 snowglobe. 
Another yawn before braving the inevitable blast of chilly air, Wooyoung spots Y/N in the rearview mirror; features curled in a sleepy scowl, eyes squinted against the sudden light.
Wooyoung joins his mom at the back of the car, crowding her away from the truck as she insists on helping them carry everything inside. She manages to snag his backpack and Y/N’s 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!” Y/N calls across the icy lawn, bidding the older man to stay inside as she struggles with her suitcase.
“I can see that.” His dad laughs, jogging down the salted sidewalk curving along the front of the house to reach them.
His dad lifts her larger suitcase out of the truck with ease, leaving Wooyoung to roll his own inside while Y/N balances her tote bag and his carryon. 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 as they climb the staircase in the foyer 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 they shared the quilt covered bed of his childhood room. How the last trip here had been the last time Y/N slept in his arms, the last time he laid her bare beneath him. Six months and the memories felt as real as they had when it happened.
Sharing the tiny mattress could only mean trouble for the delicate truce Wooyoung had made with her in the airport.
“I can sleep on the floor.” He offers, unzipping his suitcase for clean clothes to sleep in.
Digging in her own suitcase, Y/N scoffs at the idea. “Don’t be stupid, what if Bibi comes in?”
“She’s gotten better about knocking!”
“Yeah, after she saw us having sex!”
Not like that’s gonna happen again.
“We can share the bed, it’s too cold up here to sleep on the floor.” Y/N says as she grabs her toiletry bag and shuffles to his door. “You’re a diva when you don’t get good sleep.”
“I’m not a diva” Wooyoung whines after her, rebuttal bouncing off the piece of wood separating them. 
When Y/N returns 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. She leaves the day after Christmas and after he returns to the city he can tell his family they decided to part ways.
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.
He finds her balancing on the edge of the narrow mattress, a sliver of space behind her for him to sink into. Neither says anything as the minutes tick by, both refusing to fall asleep despite the fatigue swirling over them attempting to find root. Back to back, Wooyoung stares at the wall as he tries not to listen to the gentle whoosh of Y/N breath.
December 22nd
Y/N
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?” 
“This is fine.” You say, raising your mug.
“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
Wooyoung hates waking up alone. It feels inexplicably wrong. Especially after sharing an apartment with Y/N for those four years she was in 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 Y/N’s fingers brushing his hair like she always did when they’d been together, 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 her short nails sending goosebumps down his spine stopped. Eventually, the lazy drags lulled him back into the land of sleep as her heart sang his favorite lullaby.
The second time Wooyoung woke up, she’d been long gone and he felt the familiar emptiness he thought he’d forgotten after all these months apart.
Trudging down the stairs with loud footsteps, Wooyoung spots his mom in the kitchen, mouth spread wide over laughter as Y/N sits at the counter, cradling a mug of steaming coffee. If Wooyoung had to bet, the ceramic mug probably contained more sugar and milk than anything.
“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 Y/N nonetheless, resting his cheek on her shoulder, feeling her startle at the contact. 
Wooyoung hides a satisfied smirk in her sweater when a hand starts scratching his back under his hoodie. He can almost forget their lying to everyone in the gentle passes of her cold fingers chilling against his hot skin.
 “Your brother is getting in this afternoon so we thought of letting everyone relax until this evening and then having a game night.” His mom calls over her shoulder, busy with the pan heating in the flames of the stove.
“Where’s Kyungmin?”
“He went with Bibi to volunteer at the church this morning.”
“Sucker,” Y/N mumbles 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.
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 Y/N, 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. But the second Wooyoung sent a picture to his mom of the girl he had not so casually started dating fall semester of senior year, his grandmother ceased all effort to set him up. And after she met Y/N 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 had survived it, their older brother had survived it, and now it was Kyungmin’s turn to endure the special brand of Jung family meddling.
And 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 Y/N’s overly sweet coffee can’t clear his mouth of the sour taste.
“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!” Y/N snaps, 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.
Y/N
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 arm 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 Jung’s 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 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 nothings 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 nose dive 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 as you lean against.
“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.”
“Oh?” 
Bibi’s implication isn’t lost on you, or Wooyoung for that matter when you hear him curse as he trips behind you.
“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–”
But Bibi is already filling the kettle and rummaging in the cabinets for tea bags as if you didn’t speak at all.
Wooyoung
Cursing his grandmother for making an already tense situation worse, Wooyoung shakes his head as she flutters around the kitchen. Perhaps 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 completely hypothetical; but marriage had almost been a 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, and him and Y/N.
The board begins to crowd 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.”
“Quips, 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 Y/N before he ruins their celebration. “I know! And when you have a U and an I and every other letter I need for QUILTING on a double word score. Plus bingo for all the tiles we don’t have…Boom 96 points.”
Arms thrown around each other's shoulders, he bounces up and down with Y/N in victory. Their cheeks squish together, matching bright tipsy grins pulled across their lips. 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.”
Y/N doesn’t move from his hold except to take another swig of the tea his grandmother made her. Wooyoung tries not to think about what it means; having an arm curled around the back of her chair while she settles into the crook of his chest, watching his family over the top of her head, relaxing firm pressure of her body against his own. Taking the tentative peace for granted, Wooyoung greedily overindulges in the illusion of normalcy.
December 23rd
Y/N
In the cool toned light of the snowy 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 serepate you.
Wiggling in his grip, you're ashamed of the quiet moan 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 panties.
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 stuttered breath and pounding heart.
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. 
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, called by the coffee you’ve begun brewing. 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.
Wooyoung
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 she pushed back into him with a purpose. He’d heard the whimper she tried to silence, felt her press her legs together the way she did when she was wet and needed his help.
Wooyoung hadn’t meant to launch her 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 their charade Wooyoung needed less complications, not more.
But the knowledge of how wrong he should feel doesn’t stop the memories of them together from placating his mind as he palms his aching cock. Months of abstinence fail to dissolve Wooyoung’s photorealistic memories of his ex-girlfriend in compromising positions; bent in half to take his cock, staring down her nose as she sits in his lap. And his personal favorite, Y/N on her knees, eyes watering as her swollen lips stretch around his length, the flared head nudging the back of her throat.
The swiftnesses of his orgasm is a fatal blow against his fragile ego. Biting the meat of his fist, Wooyoung watches his cum sink down the drain. Unfortunately, the confusion pulsing through him doesn’t follow.
As Wooyoung descends to the living room, he spots his dad and his brothers watching 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.
Y/N
The acrid sting of acetone and nail polish burn your nose under the harsh white lights of the nail salon. 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.
“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 it was 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.
“I think being scared means you care. And 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 teething 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 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 packages 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 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 you 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 fucked him in his childhood bed. 
Three more days. You think, shivering lessening as steam billows around you. 
Then you can leave this entire maddening ordeal behind you forever.
Wooyoung
The squeeze of Wooyoung’s heart threatens to topple him to his knees at the sight of Y/N curled up in his bed. His old college hoodie circles her face, lips pouted and eyebrows furrowed at whatever dream world she’s lost in. 
Wooyoung aches to wake her up with innocent kisses as he holds her to his chest, fingers ironing out the wrinkles of her forehead as she breaches the surface of sleep. To smile at her 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. Even if it kills him not to touch her like he used to be able to, Wooyoung won’t subject her to the torture of his feelings. It’s the least he can do for pulling Y/N into this sham after ending their relationship without explanation. 
“Y/N,” he whispers, fingers prodding her shoulder. “Gotta wake up.”
She responds with a throaty groan, pulling the edge of the blanket over her head to hideaway.
“C’mon it's almost time for dinner.” 
“Youngie, it’s cold.” Y/N protests as he tries to lift the covers.
Grinding his teeth against the nickname, Wooyoung continues to pry the quilt from her iron grip.
“I can get Bibi up here.”
Flying into a seated position, she blinks against the overhead light. “I’m up!” 
“That’s what I thought.” Wooyoung smirks, crossing to the door. “Let’s go sunshine.”
Y/N mutters empty threats under her breath the entire way to the kitchen, so close she’s 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. Y/N demolished Myungho’s long standing winning streak the first year she entered the competition; Mia taking her place the next year in Y/N’s absence. 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 Y/N attempting to eat his bag of gumdrops in his periphery. Their half gone by the time he’s noticed but he simply laughs under his breath. What she doesn’t know is that those are her gumdrops and his are stashed under the table since they sat down.
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.
“Mine’s the Grinch,” Kyungmin says.
“The Grinch?” Y/N asks, confused by the horrendous green and red abomination.
“See, you get it!” 
Shaking her head, Y/N points to her own monstrosity. “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. 
“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. 
“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 Y/N is leaving the same door he is, and that a sprig of green leaves sit just above their heads.
“Mistletoe!” his mom squeals.
“Huh?” Grunts Y/N, confused.
Wooyoung looks up and spots the infuriating piece of decoration, another pair of eyes trailing after his own. 
If they were still dating, Wooyoung would swoop her into his arms and make an entire production of giving her a short peck on the cheek, his parents were watching after all, while Y/N laughed at his ridiculousness. But now he hesitates as he looks into her eyes, barely missing the nod as she leaves a brief kiss on his lips before turning and leaving the room.
Even under the brief 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 he watches her walk away until she’s turning a corner and is 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. 
Y/N
Stupid. Stupid. Stupid! You think, watching yourself in the mirror as you brush your teeth.
You’d spent the rest of the night sweaty and flushed, stuttering like an idiot because of a G-rated kiss with your ex-boyfriend for crying out loud. 
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.
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. 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. 
The foaming residue of 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.
His tiny room is notably empty. Wooyoung nowhere to be seen as you burrow into the blankets. 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? 
But you don’t ask and Wooyoung doesn’t provide an answer.
December 24th
Wooyoung
Christmas eve is Wooyoung’s favorite part of the holidays. Not even a poor night sleep on the freezing unforgiving floor can dull his excitement. 
He’d risen early, sneaky out of the room the second the sun peaked from the horizon and illuminated the space. Y/N slept soundly, back turned away from him as he evaded her successfully.
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 to her. She’d basically avoided him after they got caught under the mistletoe, scurrying upstairs the second it was polite for her to do so. Technically, she 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.
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.”
Y/N
“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 looks at you for help, but you 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.
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. The youngest was a sweet kid; perhaps he had an attitude sometimes, but he was a teenager after all. 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. 
“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?”
“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.
“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.
“What's she like?”
“She’s nice. She’s in my history class at school.”
“Oh?”
“And she got a scholarship to play soccer in Georgia.”
“That’s cool.”
“Yeah, she is.”
“So you like her?”
“I mean, of course I do. She’s my best friend.”
“Kyungmin…”
“It doesn’t matter. She’s so out of my league.” Kyungmin sighs.
“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.
“Exactly. Maybe you should ask her on a date.”
Kyungmin snorts at the idea, “Yeah, sure.”
“Party out here?” Myungo 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 calls back, folding in half to step on the roof.
“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. Wooyoung’s hair is 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.
You feel Wooyoung’s breath caress the shell of your ear before he speaks.
“What are you guys doing out here?” He whispers.
“Bibi.” You whisper back.
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. Hooking your pointer finger around his, Wooyoung sighs next to you before settling. 
It somehow hurts worse than if he would have let go.
Wooyoung
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 Y/N in the eye; why he felt a punch in the gut when he spotted her on the roof with his little brother, taking care of him like Kyungmin was her own family; how he wanted to cry when her 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 Y/N’s 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. 
Resting his cheek against Y/N’s knee, Wooyoung twists his hands in his lap. He can’t touch her. Not sober and absolutely not high out of his mind like he is at this very moment. Because if he starts, Wooyoung is too weak to stop himself. And considering the way she keeps staring at him every time she thinks he isn’t looking, Wooyoung doesn’t think Y/N 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 Y/N.
They get ready for bed 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 her to land on the mattress.
When the shuffling ceases, he finds her in a nest on the floor, back towards him.
“What are you doing?”
“You took the floor last night.”
“You don’t hav–”
“Just go to bed.” She bites, voice fragile.
“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.”
“Why not?”
Sitting up, Wooyoung barely makes out her 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 her.
“What are you doing?”
“Sleeping. Now shut up.”
“Wooyoung,” she sighs.
No more energy to fight, Wooyoung burrows deeper into the mound of quilts; set to sleep next to her on the floor if she continues to refuse the bed. If he was a diva on poor sleep, Y/N was a menace. She’d cave eventually when her hips ached from the painful stiffness of the unbending wood.
Except Wooyoung can’t sleep. All of his nerves are heightened next to her. His entire left side burns in her heat, acutely aware of every shift of her weight or rustle of the blankets. Wooyoung’s lips still burn from their 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, it all makes his blood rush to his head and a weight settles on the back of his tongue.
When Y/N stops twitching beneath the covers behind him, breath even and shallow, Wooyoung finally follows her into sleep.
December 25th
Wooyoung
Christmas morning brings Bibi through the upstairs hallway with a familiar wooden spoon and small tin pot. Wooyoung hears the first crash slide under the crack beneath his door, an ice bath to his system.
He’s still on the floor, a foot between him and Y/N. 
“Get up.” Wooyoung shakes her, not wasting a second as he stands to dive into the still made bed.
She groans in the morning light, eyes crusted as she looks for the disturbance.
Another shrill beat sings through the hall. Much closer to Wooyoung’s door than last time.
“Shit!” 
Y/N tackles him into the pillows. Both attempting to look natural as the door rebounds against the wall, a well rested Bibi standing 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.
Dual sighs of relief leave their lips, Y/N rising to stalk to the bathroom without looking back.
Y/N
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 hoards of the city 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 whispers, 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.
“Oh, 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.”
“But I really—”
But Wooyoung’s mom is a force to be reckoned with. Slipping 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, patting your back comfortingly; 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 marring your cheeks with soft 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
Wooyoung can’t help but worry at what happened between presents and breakfast to make Y/N so upset but his mom keeps squeezing her shoulder and Bibi just smiles knowingly in her direction. The new necklace circling her neck is familiar but Wooyoung can’t place why and he hasn’t had the opportunity to ask. 
Crowding into the living room as the sun sets, he doesn’t miss the way Mia intertwines Y/N 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 her in waves next to him. Muscles locked and leg jittering the same way it did before she had to take her MCAT or open exam results. When the screen fades to black, Y/N is up the stairs and out of sit before he can blink.
Following her up, Wooyoung finds her perched on the edge of his bed, fingers stroking the pendant resting between her collarbones. Shut in the quiet of his room, Wooyoung asks the question that’s buzzed in his veins 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, Y/N hands 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 Y/N to come here but then again he didn’t think about how hard this must have been for her. To secretly say goodbye to his family and their relationship after she was already working through it on her own. He should have known she was bottling it all up, the same way he was prone to.
“I didn’t realize she’d—”
“Why did you break up with me?” She asks, 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!” She bites, glazed eyes blazing as she 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!” her 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. Is that what she was planning to tell him when he interrupted her? 
“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 their mess, Y/N falls back onto the bed.“It was gonna be my last weekend trip down.”
Sniffles and desperate breaths fill the space. And Wooyoung gathers the courage to tell her the truth.
“I was planning to propose.” He can see her head turn in his peripheral, but he’ll lose the gaul if he sees her face so Wooyoung stares at the wall ahead as he speaks. “I had the ring for a year. And I was gonna ask you but I…” he trails off.
“You what?”
“I got scared.”
“Of me?”
“Of everything. 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.” She objects, shaking her head. “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.”
“Then why were you being so secretive about it?”
“I wanted it to be a surprise. I knew you’d been stressed and I ddin’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.”
“I still have it by the way.”
“What?”
“The ring.”
“Why?”
“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?” Y/N fumes, 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.”
Y/N
The suffocating atmosphere of Wooyoung’s room pushes you into the chilly shower stall. In the stifling 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.
“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 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 through the trees. Clenching around Wooyoung harshly, the tell tale hitch in his breath signals the beginning of his end. 
But he is truly done for when you lean up and whisper his words back into his ear, “forever.”
December 26th
Wooyoung
Wooyoung wakes to an empty bed, cold sheets, and the pillowcase squishing his cheek already damp from the tears he shed while sleeping.
December 29th
Wooyoung
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 Y/N wanted him too? All the moments he nearly forgot they’re barely more than strangers after months of silence, how they still fit together so perfectly. Wooyoung knew he’d been a mess after the break up but the past week made him realize how lost he felt without her. 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 her 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 her next to him again, knowing he can’t fix what he did?
“When were you planning to tell us you two broke up?”
“Huh?”
“Wooyoung, 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.”
“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 Y/N too.”
Wooyoung’s mom is notorious for going under the speed limit, waiting to turn even if the oncoming car is five hundred feet away, and 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.
“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. I’ll we’ve ever wanted is for you to be happy sweetie.”
Crossing his arms, Wooyoung flicks away the beads of moisture tracing down his chin. “You’re my mom, you have to say that.”
“Well I’m not Y/N’s mom but I talk about her the same way.”
“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.”
December 30th
Wooyoung
Rather than give into his impatience, Wooyoung stews on his mom’s advice. And 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.”
“Fuck you.” Wooyoung responds.
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?”
December 31st
Wooyoung
When Wooyoung’s messages go unanswered and his calls fall into the abyss of Y/N’s full voicemail box, pulls out Plan B.
Unfortunately, Plan B has no moral or ethical oppositions to castrating him.
“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?
He hears Lisa sigh on the other end of the phone, almost as if she’s disappointed. “Just leave her alone, Wooyoung.”
And 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 Y/N’s best friend.
The vinyl table top shakes as Wooyoung drops his forehead down with a bang, groaning in frustration. 
“She’s working at NewYork-Presbyterian.” Yeosang mentions, returning to munch on his bowl of cereal.
“What?”
“Y/N works at NewYork-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.
“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 him 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 friend’s don’t trust him not to hurt Y/N 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.”
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 Lisa can force him.
But for now, he focuses on getting Y/N to listen to his apology.
January 1st
Y/N
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. 
Impression: Upper respiratory infection, right otitis media
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. 
January 3rd
Wooyoung
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. Each chime of the bell over the door results in awkward eye contact with a stranger that certainly isn’t his ex-girlfriend.
After three hours, his butt is numb and Wooyoung’s abandoned the newspaper he’s memorized. The NYT 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 jitters aggressively. 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 she isn’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 tiny drop of hope still clinging to his heart. Shaking from the chill and overindulgence in caffeine Wooyoung watches as the clock hits nine. 
She isn’t coming.
She doesn’t want him back.
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 him and Y/N, high from the intoxicating joy of one another’s presence and the city lights in the winter. Fingers interlocked as they trapeze 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.
Her hair is a mess, nose and cheeks blushing from the cold, breath obscuring her face as it fogs in the cool air. But she’s here, looking every bit unsure as he feels.
“Hi.” He says, dumbfounded.
“Hi.”
“You came.”
“I did.”
Wooyoung might faint. His heart is beating a mile a minute, breath shallow and labored. She’s here. She’s here and she’s looking at him like that. And the fear creeps into his pause.
“I’m sorry.” He warbles.
“I know.”
But she 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 her and how breaking up with her was the greatest regret of his life flies out the window now that she’s in front of him and willing to listen.
“Is that all you wanted to tell me?”
“No.”
“Then talk to me, Woo.”
The only thing she’s ever asked him for is the truth. Wooyoung’s been so afraid that if he tells her how he truly feels, she’ll think less of him. That being so in love it terrifies you is disgusting, pathetic. 
“I don’t know where to start.”
“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—,” she pauses, shaking her head. “I don’t know.”
“I had a whole speech prepared.”
“Really?” She smiles apprehensively.
“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, she nods at him. “That’s a start.” 
And the space between them grows a little warmer.
“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 her. Y/N never made him feel less than. The only person in their relationship who thought he wasn’t good enough for her was him 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 Y/N’s face. Her 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?” Her 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 them into this mess and now he doesn’t know how to get them out.
Y/N
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 the delicate kiss you land on his lips.
“I love you.” Wooyoung whispers back, forehead resting against your own.
“Forever?”
“Forever.”
Four months later
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 as children dart across the walkways, giggling groups of friends crowd around blankets on the greening grass, and a menagerie of dogs zigzag around their owners in the fresh air.
Today is a rare day where they both can spend interrupted hours lounging in one another’s presence, eager to make up for years of long distances and the months neither likes to talk about. Wooyoung woke Y/N with innumerable kisses across any sliver of skin his lips could find, basking in the knowledge today he’d finally ask the question hanging from the tip of his tongue since this time last year.
Sprawled across an old throw blanket, skin warming in the afternoon sunshine, a thick book obscures her face from view as Y/N rests her head in his lap. Wooyoung tries not to check his pocket for the millionth time this afternoon, ensuring the little velvet box is still there. He isn’t worried she’ll say no. But the phantom fear from the last time he planned to ask creeps up no matter how many affirmations he silently repeats in his head. But when she looks up at him, crinkled eyes visible just above the edge of the book pages hiding her smile, Wooyoung forgets all his worries.
Plucking the book from her grasp, he carefully marks her place before setting it down beside her hip. Wooyoung folds in half to silence her protesting “hey!” with a kiss, humming when she gives in all too easily. 
“I was reading that.” She mumbles as they separate.
“Wow, you’d rather read some smutty book than kiss your real life boyfriend?”
Laughing, she presses another peck to his mouth before answering.“Glad you understand.”
“What about your fiance?”
Y/N smile melts into shock, mouth gaping and staring at him like a deer in headlights.
Wooyoung smoothly maneuvers her 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. He drops it a third time when Y/N tackles him in a fierce hug, tear filled laughter spilling from their lips and into the field where they lay. 
“Yes!” She squeals into his neck, “Yes, I’d love to marry you.”
At dinner with all their friends, he subconsciously holds Y/N’s hand so the diamond glints at anyone looking. When Wooyoung walks home, giggly from champagne and love, he kisses her knuckles a ridiculous amount of times just to feel the cool band under his lips. Once inside the doorway of her apartment, Wooyoung crowds Y/N against the door; his thumb focusing on the bevel of the diamond sitting on her ring finger as his other hand pushes the strap of her sundress off her shoulder so his tongue etch her collarbone from dip of her throat where the locket he gave her for their first Christmas together rests to under her ear. 
“So, future Mrs. Jung, now that we’re alone, how would you like to celebrate?” He asks, nipping against the sensitive skin she sighs, 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 her parted legs.
“Yeah, future Mr.Y/L/N. I don’t think there’s anything else to discuss right n—fuck, Youngie.”
Wooyoun can’t help but giggle at her reaction, rocking again just to hear her moan his name once more. 
“What were you saying?”
“Don’t,” she huffs, whimpering at another torturous drag. Wooyoung can feel the heat of her cunt through her panties and his jeans. “Don’t be mean to your future wife.”
“Love when you talk dirty.” He bites, teeth raking against the strained muscle raising from the side of her neck.
“That turns you on? Calling me your wife?”
“Feel for yourself.”
“And if I call you my husband?”
Wooyoung doesn’t dignify her question with an answer other than sprinting to the bedroom to demonstrate just how much he likes the new name.
© highvern. copying/reuploading/translating my work anywhere is strictly prohibited.
700 notes · View notes
somethinginthewayiam · 4 months ago
Text
The girl behind the bar (Part 4.2)
Tumblr media
pairing: Jake Hangman Seresin x plus-size reader
warnings: banter, bad pick-up lines
words: 3.6k
Summary: After Penny allowed you to open the bar for the few navy pilots, you hang with your group at the pool table since you weren't actually working and you challenge Hangman to a game of pool...
a/n: I hope you have as much fun reading this chapter as I had writing it. It's probably one of my favorites. All the pick-up lines used in this chapter are courtesy of the instagram page of jimmyandnath. Check them out, they're really funny.
Link to my masterlist
“Who’s ready for the first round?”, you called out and everybody basically ran towards the counter. By now, you were used to those kinds of rushes, they didn’t scare you anymore. You collected their credit cards and opened the tabs before you placed a few bottles of beer on the counter and opened them in a row. Then you filled the glasses with the beer from the tap and handed out a few tumblers with Whiskey, Bourbon or Jack Daniels. Everybody spread out across the bar, someone put some money in the jukebox and filled the room with music. Counting yourself, there were 13 people in the bar but they managed to make it sound like thrice the amount.
Since you weren’t actually working tonight, you grabbed a beer and walked over to the pool table where your typical group of people had settled for now. It was nice to get the chance to sit down with them for a change. Normally you were working and didn’t have time for a real chat, only some small talk or, in Hangman’s case, a little back and forth of jokes and banter.
“Hey Y/N, up for a round of pool? We’re playing two against two”, Fanboy asked you. You found Hangman and Coyote on the other side of the table, revealing who your opponents were going to be. You always wanted to play against Hangman and this was your chance. “Sure”, you simply said and hopped off the bar stool at the wall. Bob handed you his cue as he walked past you and took your seat.
“I always see you play every time you’re in here. Let’s see how good you really are”, you challenged Hangman when you stepped up to the table. “Oh, I am good, I’m very good”, Hangman assured you.
You put the end of the cue down on the floor and it slipped from your hand. “Whoops”, you said in surprise and picked it back up. When you stood straight again, you caught Hangman and Coyote exchanging a look like it would be the easiest thing in the world to beat you at this game.
“How we’re gonna do this, Fanboy?”, you asked and tried again to lean on your cue. “Uhm, okay, we’re playing team against team, meaning every time it’s our turn we take turns playing the ball”, he explained to you and didn’t look so excited about forming a team with you anymore.
“And do we play with the fully colored ones or do we play all and just see who’s quicker?”, you asked and had trouble holding down your giggle. Even to your own ears you sounded stupid. “That is determined by the break”, he answered. “Who’s taking a break?”, you asked bluntly. “I mean when we shoot the first shot, we’ll see which we sink first and we play the rest of that color”, he explained and almost looked pained.
“Okay, then let’s go”, you said enthusiastically. Hangman had a wide smile on his face. He couldn’t wait to start playing and wipe the floor with you.
“Wanna make it interesting? How about a little bet?”, Payback stepped forward. You looked at Hangman and he looked at you, challenging you with his eyes. “I don’t think we need to put a bet on it”, Fanboy chimed in, sounding nervous. “Alright. What do you suggest?”, you asked but looked at Hangman.
“When I win, you have to serve me every drink with a bow and a ‘here’s your drink, my master’ for a week”, Hangman suggested, his look dead on you. The fact that he used when and not if didn’t go unnoticed by you. You let your tongue run along the inside of your bottom lip as you contemplated.
“Okay. And if I win you have to work a shift at the Hard Deck, call me boss all night and literally do anything I tell you to. You’ll be pretty much my bitch”, you countered his bet.
You saw how his jaw stiffened, his teeth grinding and you had to bite down on the inside corners of your mouth to keep them from curling upwards.
He extended his hand and you took it. “The bet is on”, he almost grunted. His grip tightened around your hand. “Nervous?”, he asked, not letting go just yet. “Only about the many glasses you’re gonna drop during your shift”, you threw back at him with an equally low voice.
Coyote and Fanboy stood off to the side, exchanging looks and already regretting being your team mates.
“Alright, let’s do this”, you said, walked back to where you were first sitting, pushed your cue into Bob’s hands and took a sip of your beer. You used the hairband you had on your wrist to tie your hair back up into a ponytail. Meanwhile, Coyote set up the balls in the triangle on the other side of the table and after doing so, placed the plastic triangle on the little table behind him.
You took your cue back from Bob’s hands and walked back to the table. “Who’s starting us off?”, you asked in the round, looking at Fanboy, Coyote and then Hangman, who was smiling, confident of victory. “Ladies first”, he said and placed the cue ball on the marked spot on the table.
“I can take the first shot”, Fanboy came a step closer, whispering, looking as concerned as can be. “I got this, don’t worry”, you whispered back and winked at him.
“Gentlemen”, you announced with a loud voice, focusing everybody’s attention on you and you took the two steps to stand directly in front of the cue ball. “We’re playing 8-ball on a 9-foot-regulation table. I will start us off with the break”, you said, bent forward, aligned your cue with the cue ball and took the first shot.
You watched as the balls spread out on the table, a solid and a striped one disappeared in the pockets. “Table is open”, you announced and walked around the table to where the cue ball had landed and aimed your next shot. “Solids, number 2, right side pocket”, you announced your shot and after a second of aiming, you sank your next ball.
“Fanboy, you’re up”, you told him and looked up from the table. You found everybody looking at you with dumbfounded expressions on their faces. Your face lit up with a confident smile.
“Wait, what?”, Fanboy called out and said what everybody was thinking. “What the hell just happened?”, Payback asked. “I played a lot of pool in my twenties”, you simply said and shrugged your shoulders.
“Why did you act like you haven’t seen a pool table from up close before?”, Coyote asked. “And miss out on the stupid looks on your faces? No way!”, you told him and shot a big smile at Hangman, who was suspiciously silent.
“Come on, Fanboy”, you called him again, nodding at the table to take his shot. He walked to where the cue ball had landed and started to aim at the number 5. “Take the 7, over the head rail”, you advised him and motioned the way the cue ball had to travel with your finger in the air. He breathed out loudly, indicating that that wasn’t an easy shot for him. “You got this”, you patted his back.
Fanboy took a beat to think about the shot. “Number 7, left side pocket”, he announced, aligned his cue and took the shot over the head rail like you had told him. The ball came a bit slow but he managed to sink it. “Yes!”, he called out and you high-fived.
It was your turn again. You grabbed the chalk and gently wiped it over the tip of your cue, holding the eye contact with Hangman, a sugary sweet smile on your face. You blew the dust off the cue tip, still looking at him. Only after that, you took a look at the table and decided on your next shot.
“Number 1, bottom right corner, over the long rail”, you announced the shot and executed it perfectly which earned you a few Ohs and Ahs from your little audience.
Fanboy was up again and despite his best efforts, he didn’t manage to sink the ball and now it was, finally, Hangman’s turn. “Okay, let’s get this over with”, he said, rolled his shoulders back and bent his neck to either side as he stepped towards the table.
“12, upper left”, he said and quickly sank the ball. You took a sip from your beer, not getting nervous. His cockiness will ultimately be his downfall, you could only hope that the time has come tonight. You did everything in your power to make that happen.
Hangman went on to immediately align his cue with the cue ball again. “Hey, it’s Coyote’s turn”, Rooster called out Hangman’s little cheat. Jake presented Rooster with a death-glare before he rose up again and took a step back. You and Fanboy exchanged a little smirk as Hangman seemed a bit nervous.
Coyote, sadly, couldn’t handle the pressure and missed his shot. “Come on, man”, Hangman called out in frustration. “Oh, is it me again?”, you asked with playful innocence and walked towards the table. You heard Rooster chuckling behind you.
The cue ball had landed on the opposite side of the table and you had to walk around to where Hangman was standing. “Excuse me”, you said and looked up at him from under your lashes. If you weren’t mistaking, you heard him growling at you before he reluctantly took a step to the side.
You scanned the table. For the solids, the numbers 4, 5 and 6 were left before you had to sink the 8-ball and would, ultimately, win the game and the bet with Hangman. But with how your balls were set on the table at the moment, every shot was tricky.
You chewed on your bottom lip as you went through the possible shots in your head, visualizing them. “Okay, number 6, left side pocket”, you announced and bent forward to place the cue on the edge of the table. “How?”, Phoenix asked confused as the cue ball was nowhere near placed for that shot to be possible in her eyes. You extended your arm and let the cue shoot forward, hitting the cue ball, which bounced off the opposite long rail from where you were standing, hitting the short rail and coming straight for the number 6, not only sinking the ball but also stopping in a perfect place for Fanboy’s next shot.
“Like this”, you said to her and stood up straight again. You turned to look at Hangman and said, “Geometry, baby!”, and shot him a sly grin. When playing pool, your cockiness could match his and you weren’t the slightest way sorry about that because you knew you were good at it. Hella good!
Fanboy sank the number 5 with ease and now only the number 4 was left. But it was an impossible shot and everybody saw it. And if you weren’t sure already, you only needed to take a look at Hangman’s face which lit up like a child’s face on Christmas morning.
“Okay, we all see it, I’m gonna say it. There’s no way I’ll sink that ball, but here goes”, you said. Since you knew it was about to be Hangman’s turn, you at least tried to place the cue ball as shitty as possible. He still had a lot of balls on the table though, so it wasn’t impossible to hit something.
“Oh, is it my turn again?”, he asked cheerful and came up to the table after taking a sip of his drink. “13, upper left”, he announced and sank it. “10, right side pocket”; Coyote stepped up and sank his ball too. Now they had finally found their flow and sank ball after ball. Your hopes of beating Hangman at something died little by little with every ball he and Coyote sank.
Hangman was about to sink his last ball before the 8-ball. “It was nice wiping the floor with you two”, he said with a slimy voice and bent forward to take his second to last shot.
He indeed sank the last ball but he also sank the cue ball and therefore immediately forfeited his turn to you.
Everybody gasped including you. The expression on Hangman’s face was a picture for the gods. “Oh my!”, you called out and hopped off your chair with big eyes. Fanboy still had to sink the number 4. It was a hard shot but not impossible. Like a real fighter pilot, he withstood the pressure and sank the ball.
Now, only the 8-ball was left on the table. They only thing you had to do was sink it and you could call sweet victory our own. You emptied your bottle of beer and wiped your mouth with the back of your hand.
You stepped forward towards the table and stood next to Fanboy. Everybody’s eyes were glued to the table while you studied the placement of the ball and whispered to your team partner about the ways to sink it, all while swiping the chalk over the tip of your queue.
“Okay, how about you shoot the cue ball here, not too hard, have it hit the second diamond. Then it should go into the bottom right”, Fanboy suggested as he walked halfway around the table and placed his finger on the spot where he suggested for you to aim.
“Stop helping her”, Hangman called out, looking increasingly more nervous. “They’re on the same team, Bagman”, Phoenix said before she took a sip of her beer.
“Everybody shut up”, you said in a loud voice and bent over to take your shot. You aligned your cue and took a deep breath, focusing on the spot where Fanboy still had his finger placed.
You took another deep breath and when you exhaled, you pushed your cue forward and took your shot. It got really silent as everybody watched the white ball hit the spot at Fanboy’s finger than rolling back into your direction, hitting the 8-ball just enough to have it roll towards bottom right pocket. It moved slowly but consistently and your grip on your cue got tighter as you watched it for every long second until it finally fell into the pocket.
Hangman looked at the pocket in disbelief with big eyes and let his head hang in defeat.
“AHHHH!”, you screamed out in surprise that it actually worked just like the people around you. You threw the cue onto the table and ran towards Fanboy, who was coming at you equally excited and threw yourself into his arms. “Oh my god, I can’t believe we won”, you told him with big eyes as you pulled back at an arms-length. “It was all you, Y/N. That was amazing”, Fanboy congratulated you.
You felt hands on your shoulders that were squeezing and shaking you. When you looked over your shoulder you found Rooster looking like a kid on Christmas morning. He was just so happy that Hangman just got it handed to him. “That was awesome”, he congratulated you. “Thanks”, you said with a bright smile that you just couldn’t wipe off your face.
Your eyes fell on Hangman who was coming towards you. He extended his hand. “Congrats! I didn’t think you’re gonna make that shot”, he said as he shook your hand. “Are you gonna be a sore loser?”, you asked. “I don’t know, I haven’t lost until now so we’ll see”, he said and the cocky tone in his voice was back. That didn’t last long. You rolled your eyes at him.
“Well, then I’ll make sure you don’t forget this moment so you get a LOT of practice”, you said and it sounded like a promise.
“Let’s raise our drinks to Y/N, the defeater of Bagman”, Phoenix called out and everybody raised their bottles and glasses to toast to you. Even Jake managed to grab his beer and give you a little toast while you smiled in the round and bathed in your victory.
A little later, everybody was sitting in little groups at the tables, the jukebox was playing in the background. You were sitting together with Fanboy, Payback, Rooster, Phoenix, Bob, Hangman and Coyote after handing out more drinks and somehow you had arrived on the topic of stupid pick-up lines.
“Are you my pinky toe? ‘Cause I bang you on the table seven times a day”, Fanboy said and some of the guys nodded, other’s laughed, you and Phoenix rolled your eyes.
“Is that a phone in your back pocket? ‘Cause that ass is calling me”, Coyote said. “I like that. That would work on me ‘cause my ass is great”, you said and clinked the neck of your bottle against Coyote’s. You must really be a bit drunk to just say stuff like that to everybody.
“Okay, I got one. Are you a shark? ‘Cause I’ve got some swimmers for you to swallow”, it was Paybacks turn to be gross. “Come on”, you called out, pulled a face but laughed anyway.
“My dick is so polite, it stands up so you can sit down”, Bob suddenly spoke up. The table got quiet and everybody looked at him with big eyes, seriously surprised that those words had just come out of his mouth. “Ma man”, Coyote leaned forward and patted Bob’s shoulder. The whole table erupted in laughter “Dude, you’re making me blush”, you said and in return made him blush. “That’s a good one, I gotta write that down”, Fanboy said and jokingly pulled over a napkin like he was actually taking notes. “Yeah? Let me know how that works out for ya”, Rooster commented with a chuckle and took a swig of his drink.
“Are you a washing machine? Because I have a load for you”, Hangman said and everybody groaned. “Hangman, don’t make me ring that bell. You know the rules”, you warned him and pointed at the sign hanging in the middle of the bar circle. “What did I do?”, he asked surprised. “You’re bordering on disrespecting women”, you told him. “Your whole existence is a disrespect to women”, Phoenix chimed in. “I just said what everybody else said. Why is it gross when I say it?”, he asked honestly offended. “Because everything sounds gross when you say it”, Phoenix lectured him. “Whatever”, he said and threw some empty peanut shells at her which made her laugh.
“Why is it always about banging and swallowing your stuff? What happened to ‘Hello, my name is…Can I buy you a drink?’ or ‘You look beautiful, I would like to get to know you’”, you asked into the round, honestly irritated. Phoenix nodded agreeingly while she took a sip from her drink. “Those phrases have been worn out, they don’t work anymore”, Payback waved it off. “Works when you haven’t heard it that much”, you mumbled at the rim of your beer bottle before you took a sip. Out of the corner of your eye, you saw Hangman looking over at you.
“You have to be clever, creative or those chicks won’t give you any attention”, Fanboy chimed in and pulled everybody’s attention on him. “And you wanna tell me that a cheesy pick-up line talking about your jizz will earn you more numbers than an honest ‘Hello, how are you’?”, Phoenix asked and shook her head. “Works on the right girls. I like ‘em freaky”, Fanboy answered her and wiggled his eyebrows.
“No wonder, you never get laid”, Rooster commented and made everybody laugh.
“You guys need a new round?”, you asked to change the topic. “I think we’re good for the night”, Rooster said and finished his beer. “We’ve got an early call tomorrow”, he added and got up from his chair.
“Hey, everybody! Pack it up”, Phoenix shouted and earned a few groans. It was already past 10 PM.
Not only did everybody collect their things, ready to go, but to your surprise, they all brought their bottles and glasses to the bar, placing them on the counter.
“Wow, thanks guys. Why don’t you do this every time?”, you jokingly asked as you closed the tabs and started handing back all the credit cards.
“Do you know how you get home? You shouldn’t drive”, Rooster asked as you handed him his card. “A bunch of you shouldn’t drive home anymore”, you countered. “We all Uber home and get our cars tomorrow”, he replied. “Oh okay, sounds reasonable”, you nodded and collected the glasses off the bar. “You should come with us, we get an Uber pool anyways”, Phoenix leaned on the counter, resting her head in her hands.
“I still have to clean up, you don’t have to wait for me”, you shook your head and smiled at her begging face. “Just come in earlier tomorrow”, Fanboy suggested. “It hurts my heart leaving you here”, Phoenix added and it made you chuckle.
“Alright, just let me put all the glasses in the baskets and wipe down the counter real quick”, you yielded your protest. “Yay”, Phoenix said and came around the bar. “I’m helping you. Come on, guys”, she waved over her colleagues.
“I’ll get us the Uber”, Payback said and got out his phone. Out of the corner of your eyes you saw Coyote and Hangman leaving through the front door.
With the help of the others, it only took you a few minutes to clean up most of the bar before the Uber arrived. The six of you got in the van and got dropped off one by one at your houses and apartments. You were the last one in the car and it was 11 PM when you finally walked through your front door.
Next chapter: Part 5.1
166 notes · View notes
iluvapplesxh · 4 months ago
Text
⧽⧽Beat It!⧼⧼
Tumblr media
summary: Just a relaxing afternoon with your girlfriend, ice cream and coffee.
warnings: my writing, english is not my first language
A/N:I honestly just put words after words and...voilà.
Tumblr media
“Ooh, I like that” You nod softly to the beat, the wire of the white JBL headphones, which were on your head, wrapped around your index finger.
Billie gazes at you from next to you, legs crossed over-on-top of each other, hands resting on her legs. “Yeah?”
“Mhm” 
Billie’s face lights up with a grin, her eyes taking in your relaxed form in her T-shirt and a pair of shorts. She bites her lip softly before reaching over and stopping the audio recording. 
“Ahw, why’d you stop it?” You huff, pushing the headphones off of your head, letting them rest softly around your neck. You turn your head to look at your girlfriend with furrowed eyebrows.
She chuckles softly and shakes her head, stretching her legs while leaning back in the chair. “Calm down, mamas. Let’s take a break, hm? We’ve been in this studio for hours and the A/C’s shit” 
You roll your eyes and sigh. “Okay, fine. What do you want to do, then?” You reach up slowly, grabbing the white headphones and pulling them off from around your neck, placing them on the black marble table in front of you, stuffed with electronics and mixing tools Finneas uses and you don’t even know the names of.
Billie sends you a smirk before standing. “Hm, I don’t know. My legs are sore” You roll your eyes.
“Oh, I’m not going for a walk with you, before you ask” Bille pouts and walks in front of you.
“Please?”
“Nope” You shake your head side to side, popping the ‘p’ softly, looking up at her, immediately lost in her darkened blue seas. “Don’t give me that look”  You groan as you throw your head back against the head of the chair, hands covering your face.
Billie grins, white teeth flashing as the bright sunlight filtered through the window. She leans forward, hands on your thighs. “Come on, baby. You always give me what I want” 
You drop your hands from your face and look up at her. “That is so not true” You shake your head as you straighten up, eyes lingering on the way Billie’s hands rest on your thighs.
“OH, please, we both know I’m right” She smirks, hooded eyes studying over your face hypnotizingly.
You bite the inside of your cheek, sighing. “No. No walking. You have a dog for a reason.” You nod towards the couch by the wall to your right, Shark napping on its brown cushions soundly.
Billie hums and pulls her hands away, instead crossing them over her chest. “Wow, that is really low of you. Making me wake up Shark for your own filthy pleasure”  She tsks, shaking her head disapprovingly.
You squint your eyes at her. “Is that…” You pause as your eyes widen and your eyebrows rise to the roof of the Scotch Mist painted studio. “Are you guilt-tripping me, Bills?” 
Bille lets out a loud gasp, hand flying to her chest. “What? How dare you assume-” You scoff and stand up, standing face-to face with your bandana wearing girlfriend.
“You” You gently poke her chest with your finger as you glare at her. “Are unbearable” 
She grins smugly, grabbing your finger with her hand, bringing it down before interlocking your fingers with hers. “You love it, ma.” You gaze down at your hands, a smile tugging on your lips, making you break your angry act as Billie is still grinning at you. “So…” She trails off, looking out the window. “Walk?” 
You sigh, swinging you and Billie’s hands back and forth between your bodies. “Just let me look over some of your other songs, pleasee” You whine out, looking at her with puppy eyes.
“Nooo, that’s Finneas’ job” Billie shakes her head, letting out a deep breath as she looks into your eyes. “Come on, I’ll buy you a coffee or ice cream on the way”
A grin appears on your face and you nod immediately. “Yeah, okay, let me just grab my phone and we can go” You step only a meter away, picking up your phone from the empty chair. Billie watches your reaction with an amused smile, her eyes twinkling with adoreance and endearment as her hand squeezes yours gently.
“Ready, baby?” Billie asks when you turn back to face her, smile widening when you nod your head. “Okay, let’s go” She throws her free hand up in the air, leading you towards the door. 
A minute later, the two of you are walking on the dangerous streets of L.A., hand in hand as you make casual conversation. 
“So, Pirate,” You look at her, wiggling your eyebrows as her third name rolls off your tongue teasingly. You hear her groan, free hand holding the top of her hat when a strong summer ‘breeze’ catches onto it. You smirk and continue speaking. “I was thinking, maybe we could get coffee and ice cream. I know a good place” 
Billie sighs, looking at you with an un-amused expression. “I don’t like when you ‘know places’” 
You gasp in an over exaggerated way, your free hand slapping her shoulder. “What is that supposed to mean? I know good places, just for your information” 
“Mhm” Billie hum as she looks away from you, watching a speeding car go by the two of you, 3 police cars speeding right after it. “Mm, this city will never get boring”
You look after the cars, shaking your head. “That is for sure.” You click your tongue, hand squeezing Billie’s.
Tumblr media
You and Billie did eventually get both ice cream and coffee. Honestly, it didn’t take too much effort for you to beg her, she gave in after an exaggerated ‘pleaseeeee’.
Now, you’re back in the studio, Shark now wide awake and sitting in one of the chairs, and the two of you on the brown couch. Billie is sitting down, legs spread with your head in her lap as your legs hang off of the armrest of the couch, swinging occasionally. 
You feel Billie’s fingers threading through your hair gently, making you relax. You can also hear her hum one of her new songs under her breath as she looks down at you, eyes filled with adoration, a soft smile playing on her lips as she nods when you ask her if she’s listening to your rambling.
You soon realize, she wasn’t, when you ask her if she knew that dogs have four legs and she shook her head at you. You sit up and hear her huff softly at the loss of contact. “Why are you not listening?” You frown as you glare at her.
Billie bites back a smile at your pout, hand reaching out to touch your shoulder. “Sorry, sorry, baby. I’m listening” She murmurs, voice soft and silky and just as raspy and low, her hand pulling you back down on her legs.
You huff again, sighing softly before clearing your throat. “So, as I was saying, I was in the kitchen…” 
223 notes · View notes
dollwrites · 2 years ago
Text
𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐝 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐜𝐥𝐨𝐮𝐝𝐬 — 𝐬𝐚𝐧𝐞𝐦𝐢 𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐚𝐳𝐮𝐠𝐚𝐰𝐚
𝗰𝗼𝗻𝘁𝗲𝗻𝘁 𝘄𝗮𝗿𝗻𝗶𝗻𝗴𝘀 ∣ smut ( minors dni ), fem!consort!reader, rough sex, sub space, sanemi is kind of mean, dumbification, facial, name calling ( slut, bimbo, fucktoy ) , all characters featured are 18+
𝗶𝗺𝗽𝗼𝗿𝘁𝗮𝗻𝘁 ∣ do not repost or translate. please reblog && leave feedback. not proofread so there’s probably mistakes. thanks for reading <3
𝗻𝗼𝘄 𝗽𝗹𝗮𝘆𝗶𝗻𝗴 ∣ head in the clouds by 88rising
Tumblr media
“SA— NE— MI—!”
each syllable is broken apart from the previous one, squealed through your ragged breathing. it was almost difficult for you to hear your own screaming over the sound of your slick skin smacking into his. you choke them out, eyes wide, as you stare into his, bouncing on his lap. your knees are bent over his shoulders, quivering on either side of his head, but the force at which he dribbles you, impaled on his cock, jostles your legs. your feet flop helplessly against his back, toes curled tight.
“That’s right, scream my name. Scream it until your voice goes out!”
he was a merciless lover, you knew that already, but in this position, with both of his palms gripping handfuls of your tender ass so he can jerk you back and forth, controlling the ferocity of your ride, you could swear the Hashira was trying to see if he could break you— like a child who’d been handed a toy and told it was unbreakable, he wanted to see just how much abuse your body could take, which was exactly why each time he pulled you flush against his groin, his girth slammed home, as deep as he could force it.
and you cried out his name each time, mouth open and your tongue threatening to hang out over your lower tier.
“That’s the look—“ he growls through grit teeth, staring back at you, “that’s the look I like see on that cute face a’yours. You’re in shock, aren’t you? Because you can feel every— fucking— inch of me.” you nod, mewling when he emphasizes those three words by rocking his hips to pound them into you harder. you can’t do much in this position; hug your legs as they trembled between his chest and yours, and scream for him. he was being cruel, but you couldn’t pretend that it didn’t feel incredible. he knew that, too. you made it apparent in the way you moaned, your walls clenching. “Look at you,” he hisses, “Squealing, trembling. I’m breaking this pussy in and you fucking love it. You want me to ruin your little, fucking cunt?”
you nod, panting, and you reach for his arms. they were too big, you couldn’t wrap your fists around them, but you could sink your nails in and try to relieve some of the pressure he was pounding into your core. “Ruin me!” you plead, scratching at his forearms. the pain only spurs him to pull you into him with more vigor, and you hang on for dear life, “Don’t stop! Please don’t— st—!” each slam felt like it was cracking something deep in your mind, fucking you absolutely braindead. and you welcomed it.
he knew that when you dug your nails in, and the way your voice broke in desperation, that you were gone. even before he saw the glaze on your heavily lidded eyes, even before you melted for him. “Where you going, eh?” Sanemi snarls, never breaking pace, though sweat stuck his silvery locks to his face and no doubt burned his eyes, ”I’m fucking your useless, little brains out, aren’t I?” you find yourself nodding, whimpering, submitting to a thoughtless, blissful existence where the only thing you could think about was his cock battering your insides. “You don’t need them anyways,” he taunts, but he’s snorting like a beast. if you were in your right mind, you would’ve known he was close to coming undone. “I don’t care if you’re fucked so dumb that you can only lay there and take it, you will. Fucktoys don’t need to think, and I’ll keep you so dickdrunk that you won’t want to.” you close your eyes to keep them from rolling around in your head, and enjoy the way he assaults your body. you could hear his grunting, and feel him pulsate in your depths, and your head lolls around against your shoulders.
but you feel like you’re weightless. if he wasn’t digging his cruel digits into the fleshiest portion of your ass, you would simply float away.
“Wanna… cum on that dumb, little expression you’re wearing…”
it was the only warning you really got before he tosses you off his lap. you bounce and roll on to your back on the bed, whining from a shock of sudden emptiness between your hips. your legs start to bunch up towards your chest, pressing together, but he’s on you in a second, pressing his knee on your chest, one hand wrenching your legs back open. this time, you keep them spread wide. “Open up, bimbo.” he barks, and you do as instructed, eyelids fluttering, opening your mouth and sticking your tongue out. you’re too hazy to move much, but he doesn’t seem to mind, he drags his swollen cock over your tastebuds, eliciting the most bestial of groans from deep within his heaving, sweaty chest. you catch a glimpse of his belongings in the corner of the room as your head half hangs over the edge of the bed, his uniform neatly folded and his sword leaned against the wall. you didn’t care about them at all. you moan, tasting yourself dripping from his length. “Look at me.”
your head rolls against the mattress, eyelids heavy but you fight them to look up, a glassy film over your vision of him hovering over you, pumping himself brutally. “Cum,” you whine, hardly coherent, “please cum on my face, Sanemi… oh, god, I need it. Need it… Mm…”
Sanemi was panting, now, pressing his knee to smash your breast under his weight, and stroking furiously, moans and expletives on the tip of his tongue. he took a long, hungry look at your fucked out, drunken visage, and came unraveled.
when he does, he gasps, splattering warm, white streamers over your face. you close one eye to avoid being blinded as some dribbles into your hairline, and you whine in unison with his sounds, grateful for his release painting your skin, babbling thank yous and trying to tell him how much you love it. excess leaks from the red tip on to your tastebuds and you slurp, savoring the raw essence.
“Heh, so filthy.” Sanemi scoffs, but the corners of his lips are twitching, threatening to etch into a smirk as he watches you, half conscious, lapping at the sensitive head of his cock. “Clean me up good,” he shudders, aftershocks attacking his muscles, “make sure you suck up every last drop.”
you were starting to come around, but only enough to reach up and wrap your fist around his base. he was still hard. twitching, sensitive, and oozing his final spurts, but still solid. sealing your lips around the thick tip, you hollow your cheeks and look up at him, your countenance sticky and covered with his release. you didn’t have to say it, the fervent bobbing of your head would suffice soon enough.
you weren’t going to let any go to waste.
1K notes · View notes
ohtobeleah · 7 months ago
Text
Secret Sacrifices // Jake Seresin
Chapter Two: [Like A Brick]
Summary: With the weight of the world sitting on your shoulders, you confide in the gentle soul that is Bob Floyd. Also known as, your first kiss.
Warnings: Jake Seresin x F!reader. Witness Protection F!reader. Platonic Bob Floyd x F!reader. Mentions of death. Mentions of drowning.
Word Count: 2.8k
Author Note: I'm Back! To get back into the swing of things I thought this little chapter would do us good. although this chapter is mainly focused on Bob and Brewer, we, being @a-reader-and-a-writer and myself, thought it deserved its own moment to really capture the significance of the shared secrets.
Series Masterlist | Main Masterlist
Tumblr media Tumblr media
Being caught deep in swirling memories wasn’t something out of the ordinary for you. Being swept along with the tide, the waves of which push and pull your mind between present times and your past. The very idea of being caught between realities, a paradoxical space between now and then always seemed to be better than the alternative. Live through hell.  
“My mum says I’m too young to kiss girls.” 
Thoughts of who you could have been and thoughts of who you became push together to create a constant state of flight. Nostalgia is like a whirlpool that you drown in deep inside your mind. You’re unable to tread water as you feel the waves breaking against your skin, forcing you under as you gasp for air. What good were those swimming lessons you were forced to partake in as a child? 
“Do you tell your mum everything, Bobby?” 
Your mind becomes an unblended mix of memories you’d like to replay on repeat, and those you’d like to hide. Nothing ever seemed simple anymore. Not even the memory of your first kiss. The memory that you’d once considered colourful was now shrouded in forced denial. It couldn’t have happened, for you weren’t Y/n Y/l/n anymore. 
“What’re you still doing here?” It has been a long night, so long the sun had just started to kiss the horizon as you made your final lap around the front and back decks of the Hard Deck. Bob sat patiently waiting on one of the picnic tables, typing away something on his phone. 
Your voice must have startled him, but you’d never make fun of the way the Back Seater jumped enough to knock the chair his boot-clad feet were resting on into the small outdoor pot plant that sat beside the table. You watched it rock back and forth before steadying itself once again, like a boi floating in the current. That same current that had on many occasions, tried to drag you under. 
“I thought for sure you would have been the first one out the door?” You followed up on your initial question as you collected an empty glass you’d missed. Bob pocketed his phone with a tired smile as he looked your way. 
“Fanboy’s still in the bathroom with Payback–” Bob explained softly as he looked your way. “Big night, someone had to be the deso though.” You could see it in Bob’s eyes, the colour of a clear blue sky through a broken prison wall. He wanted to ask, wanted to bring it up. He knew you were lying, but why was the biggest question. 
“I was gonna call them and the other stragglers a taxi—“ Only a handful of patrons remained inside the Hard Deck as you went about your closing duties. Usually, you would have kicked them out by now. You weren’t necessarily one to want to hang about with people possibly lurking in the shadows. But two-thirds of the stragglers left behind were none other than two-sevenths of the Hard Decks top contributors. “If I had known you were coming back for them I would have told you not to worry,” The chuckle that left Bob’s voice at your statement was undeniably genuine. “I would have sent them home with vomit bags tucked into their back pockets too.” 
“That’s why they pay you top dollar I guess?” Ever since Bob first saw you behind the bar that very first night, he knew he knew you. It wasn’t some distant memory of a forgotten past for Robert Floyd. The memory of his first kiss was an easy one to recall from the rolodex inside his mind. It just so happened to be a core memory that unlocked a whole other category of life’s simplest pleasures. But the more you denied its existence, or more specifically denied you were the one who ultimately shared in that childhood memory, Bob wasn’t sure if he’d dreamt the whole thing or not.
Perhaps his first kiss came a hell of a lot later in life than he always thought. 
“Top dollar?” You had to stifle your laugh as you joined Bob on the picnic table. As you sat with a small huff, you knocked your knee against his playfully. “Please, but the tips are good.” 
There was a heavy silence so deafening that washed over the two of you not too long after you finished speaking. Its gravity felt like an intense pressure forcing itself down against your chest. The longer you and Bob sat there in pure silence, the more time slipped unwillingly through your fingertips, the more your heart beat faster inside your chest. 
The silence magnified the pressure mounting, and the scale of your anxiety all felt like it was about to come to a boiling point. As you sat there next to Bob in shared silence, it felt as if the world had turned once again on its axis, and you were just a few short seconds away from falling off the face of the earth. 
“I have a small confession to make,” It wasn’t ever supposed to be aired in the open, but the guilt that sat heavily on your conscience was making it harder and harder to keep lying. For three years you had told not a single soul, but Bob Floyd had created a paradox of inner turmoil you weren’t prepared to harbour. “To be perfectly honest it isn’t all that small of a confession.” 
“Brewer,” Bob sighed almost reluctantly. The last thing he ever wanted to do was force someone into sharing intimate details of their life. “If there’s a reason why you keep denying it, I’m sure it’s a good one,” Bob had thought about this long and hard, there surely had to be a reason why. He was adamant that you were the girl who kissed him all those years ago. That yellow pigment in your eye was the dead giveaway. He couldn’t ever forget looking into the eyes of the girl who had pressed her cotton candy-flavoured lips against his for three point-five seconds. “And you don’t have to tell me that reason, but, at least tell me, I’m not crazy.” 
Again, the silence was deafening as you sat with your secrets for the last few moments. Only a handful of people knew, all of whom were involved in keeping you safe and working your witness protection case. If news got out that you had told someone intimate, key details of your current situation, you’d be forced to restart a whole new life once again. But Bob was different. He was worth the risk for an ounce of normality. 
“You aren’t crazy,” It was all the confirmation Bob needed, but that didn’t stop you from wanting to share your personal hell. “I uh, I remember.” You hadn’t told a single soul in three years. You’d been through a thousand things in your life that people didn’t know about. You had experienced things that would shock them if you mentioned the horrors. Those things changed you. Hell—they broke you. 
“Bob, I haven’t been Y/n Y/l/n in a little over three years now,” You hung your head low as you spoke, almost like you were afraid that if you looked anywhere but between your feet, you’d see the bloodied and bruised ghost of your dead husband. “I, uh,—saw some things that I shouldn’t have,” The shake in your voice was hard to mask, the sting in your eyes burned like ice against your skin. “I thought that maybe I should tell someone about what I saw, and when I did that I—“ 
“Brewer,” Bob's voice was soft enough to be barely audible, but you heard him. “You’re in witness protection, aren’t you?” Bob took your immediate silence and broken sob as a definitive yes. He couldn’t even say the idea hadn’t crossed his mind after all the shutdowns and denial. 
“I lost my family,” You had a taste of what true love felt like. To experience such an emotion was the greatest gift of all. You loved your son, Charlie, to the moon and back. So much so that you wished every night you let your head fall against your pillow, that you’d be reunited. “I was set to testify against the company I worked for in some whistleblower trial, but the day before I was set to take the stand, we were run off the road.” 
Bob sat silently beside you just taking everything you were saying in. He couldn’t imagine what it was like to be in your shoes. To some degree, he almost felt guilty for all the times he couldn’t let the kiss memory go. Every time he brought it up in hopes you’d finally cave and give him the validation he was looking for, it probably felt like an old wound being ripped open. 
“You have to understand that I don’t get a choice very often over who I let in,” You finally had to look up, and when you did? Bob was already looking at you. You could see the sympathy plastered across his face in your peripheral. “You can’t tell anyone, and I know it’s a burden to bear, believe me,” The tears had begun to fall long ago and seemed to never stop, but when you finally worked up enough courage to look toward the backseater who sat beside you, your tears were mirrored. “And I know it’s unfair to burden you with such a thing,” The very idea that Bob was now one of the very few people who knew about your situation didn’t taste all that great, but you couldn’t take it back now. You couldn’t shove your secrets back into the can you’d just released them from in a moment of vulnerability. “But please, you can’t tell anyone.” 
Bob Floyd was, if anything, a wallflower. He didn’t like being the centre of attention. If he could, Bob would happily spend any time he had off work in the comfort of his own home. He’d spend his free time working on the world map puzzle that had been sitting half-finished on his coffee table for months. But Bob never got to spend those free moments working on his hobbies, no. His found family more often than not would drag him to the Hard Deck. Most of the time Bob would settle into the background and try his best not to draw attention to himself, he couldn’t begin to imagine what it was like to stand in the middle of a crowded room and not be seen for who you really were. 
“Nothin’ to tell Brewer,” Bob shrugged his shoulders. “And even if there was? I’m not the gossip type.” 
That very fact gentled your soul. All you could do as the overwhelming sense of loneliness overtook you was sob. Bob let you lean your head on his shoulder. His arm soon found itself wrapped around you as your sobs grew stronger and more pained. Tears stained your cheeks as the trails they made collected the makeup you wore, leaving clear indications of distress behind. 
“You know there was this girl,” Bob wondered if now was an appropriate time to share his own darkest secret. The idea of maybe holding onto something so important to one another may have softened the blow of knowing Bob held your greatest secrets in the palm of his hand. Perhaps if he shared his own with you, that feeling, that heaviness he knew you felt, would be a little easier to live with. “Her name was Bieanna, everyone back home called her Brick though.” 
You had to collect yourself enough to get your breath back before you could speak. Bob understood that. He sat in the silence broken with gentle sobs that softened as more time passed. He wanted until you were ready to speak. 
“What did everyone call her Brick?” The question came out easily enough, but the way Bob stiffened at the question as you raised your head from his shoulder made you question if it was harder to hear than to ask. 
“She never learnt how to swim–” Bob mumbled as he looked out into the empty car park of the Hard Deck. “If she tried she’d sink–” He waited for you to finish the sentence, and you did. 
“Like a Brick.” The realisation wasn’t hard to notice in your saddened eyes. If anything, Bob wondered if he had to continue his story of tragedy or not. You were a smart girl, he knew you could put two and two together. But he wanted to share, he wanted to let you know you could trust him wholeheartedly with your secrets. And you with his. 
“Bingo,” Bob smiled softly as you whipped your tears from your heated cheeks. “She ended up drowning a few months after we started dating.” 
“Oh, Bob.” Your heart ached for the Back Seater who sat beside you. “I’m so sorry.” 
“The worst part is I could have done more to save her,” Bob pressed his lips into a fine line of guilt. “She’d been going great guns for a few weeks while I was teaching her how to swing on her family’s property just outside of town,” Bob could very clearly still remember the taste of the dirt-laced water he’d ingested trying to save her. He could still see the panic in her eyes. “She got her foot stuck in some weeds at the bottom of the damn, panicked, and despite everything I did, I couldn’t save her,” 
“It wasn’t your fault, Bob–” 
“It was my idea to teach her own to swim though,” Bob admitted as he let his elbows rest on top of his knees. “I don’t ask people to swim anymore, and I’ve never told anyone about the fact she sometimes visits me in my dreams,” Bob explained as he let out a sigh that he wasn’t aware he’d been holding in. “But now you know, and now the secrets we keep don’t seem so heavy.” 
The very idea of knowing one of Bob’s longest-kept secrets made you feel a little better about him knowing yours. You trusted Bob, there was no doubt about it. But that gesture of solidarity made you feel safe, trusted. 
“No one can know, Bob,” You finished the conversation at that, faking a small smile as Fanboy and Payback came barreling out through the front doors of the Hard Deck. You were instantly on your feet, back in work mode as you wiped away the remaining tears that stained your cheeks. 
Bob watched on from his perch on top of the picnic table as you attempted to wrangle the two drunk and disorderly men who could barely tell which way was up and what way was down. He let a few moments pass as he watched on, allowing your life-altering, world-shattering secrets to plague his mind with what-ifs and worst-case scenarios. The very idea that there were people in this world after you didn’t sit well with him. The fact you’d been living a stranger’s life for three years made him want to hug his mother a little tighter the next time he got the chance to see her. He couldn’t begin to imagine to heartache of losing a child, but he knew enough of grief to know what losing a significant other could do to a person. 
And for someone who had experienced the worst of what life had to offer, you still saw the very best in people. 
“Alright you two drunks, let’s get you two home in one piece,” You chuckled as you walked the aviators over towards where Bob sat. “Taxi’s waiting and the meters running.” 
“You’ve given us alcohol poisoning, Brewer,” Payback mumbled as he stumbled with you over to where Bob was. Bob stood with a groan to collect Fanboy from beside you.
“Oh piss off, will ya Reuben–your liver will thank me for cutting you off when you did,” you teased as you handed the men over to Bob with ease. “Get these two home safe Floyd.”
“Will do Brewer.” Bob's soft smile and kind-natured nod was all you needed in response to know he meant his words. “Have a good night, or morning I guess.” 
You watched on from the veranda as the three men walked across the sandy car park and over to Bob’s Suzuki, knowing that the next time you saw Bob amongst his Squadron—there would be no mention of that first kiss. 
***~***~***~***~***~**
Tags: 🏷️ @a-reader-and-a-writer @xoxabs88xox @hiireadstuff @buckysteveloki-me @athenabarnes @els-marvelvsp @blindedbythelightt @tayl0rhuynh @na-ta-sh-aa @kmc1989 @sunlightmurdock @mamachasesmayhem @jaxfart @lauenderhaze @sugarcoated-lame @maisie-rebloging-blog @captainmoonknight @seitmai @shanimallina87 @kajjaka @imnotcreativeenoughforthisblog @imladrisofabookdragon @buckysteveloki-me @mrsevans90 @allepaula @els-marvelvsp @djs8891 @paperbag33
200 notes · View notes
hees-mine · 1 year ago
Text
𝐊𝐢𝐧𝐤𝐭𝐨𝐛𝐞𝐫 𝐝𝐚𝐲 𝟏𝟒 𝐬𝐮𝐠𝐚𝐫 𝐛𝐚𝐛𝐲 - 𝐋.𝐡𝐬
Tumblr media
𝐇𝐞𝐞𝐬𝐞𝐮𝐧𝐠 ⚥ 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫
𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠: smut, mommy kink, unprotected sex, cursing, over stimulation.
Tumblr media
“Does that feel good mommy?” Heeseung moans right next to your ear while slowly stroking your soaked pussy In missionary, rolling his perfect hips at the perfect pace for you to feel every inch of his long thick cock.
“Yes, my baby boy, so good” You place your hands on his ass pulling him closer to you until he bottoms out and is forced to still inside you cause of your tight grip.
You voluntarily clench around his base so you can hear him make those pretty little noises next to your ear. “M-mommy,” he whimpers softly, and this time, when you clench around him again, it’s completely involuntary. That’s just the effect his voice had on you.
You release your grip on him, and he immediately starts fucking into you, slowly whining about how good your pussy feels on his cock.
You strum your fingers against his back, making little goosebumps form all over his damp skin.
“Yeah, pretty boy, feels good? You like feeling mommy’s pussy all tight and wet just for you?” You purr next to his ear.
“Hmm, y-yes s-so,” he choked up before he could even finish losing his train of thought while your warm walls massaged his hard length. “Mommy, I’m gonna cum” he breathes out, body shaking and trembling above as you feel that familiar twitch.
“Is that really how you say thank you?” He knows it’s not. He knows better than to cum before you, but tonight he just couldn’t hold it. He was feeling so unusually needy for you.
“I can’t” he shakes his head back and forth, gripping tightly onto the pillows trying his best to stave off his orgasm, but his hips seem to have a mind of their own cause he can’t stop pumping you full of his cock as little whines leave his lips. “I'm s-so sorry,” he choked out when the first spurt of warm cum invaded your walls. “S-sorry, Mommy,” he nudges his face against yours while endless apologies spew out of his mouth as he finishes inside you.
“Don’t be sorry, my sweet boy,” you say softly, running your hand through his hair. “Now you just have to make it up to me,” he nods in the crook of your neck, immediately willing to do anything you ask. “You can cum again, can’t you, my sweet boy?” He whines, still sensitive from his previous orgasm and the other two he had prior.
“M-mommy,” he whispers, and as soon as you hear the apprehension in his tone, you clench around him and tug on the roots of his hair. “Yes, Mommy,” he lifts his head up, his hazy eyes meeting yours before he zeros in on your lips, kissing you to try and give himself a little bit of cooldown time before he starts moving inside you again.
You gladly return his kiss, sticking your tongue in his mouth, roaming every inch before sucking on his warm and wet tongue.
He can’t help but whine at the sensation every time you do that to him. It always made him feel so dirty, but dirty in the best way, and he didn’t even get a chance to go soft cause the feeling of you was too addicting.
“That’s a good boy.” You break the kiss to let him take a breather before reconnecting your lips to his.
He can’t help but thrust into you from the praise, but before he can start fucking you properly, he winced, far too sensitive to go on. “I can’t.” he hides away in your pillows, embarrassed and disappointed with himself.
“Baby boy,” you say sternly, and you feel him tense up at your tone. “After everything we did today and all the gifts I bought you, you can’t do me just this one little thing?”
“N-no, I-I can,” he tries again and fails again, nearly on the verge of tears cause he’s not doing his job right and ultimately leaving you unsatisfied.
You click your tongue. “Hmm, okay, go get cleaned up then.” you let go of his waist so he can get up and go, but he doesn’t.
“No!” He cries out and starts moving his lower body, willing himself to give you the orgasm that you deserve after spoiling him all day. Plus, he couldn’t have you leaving him to get your satisfaction elsewhere.
“You sure you can handle it?” he nods, too focused on keeping his sanity to give you a proper answer. “Mommy’s boy”
“Yes,” he huffs out a tired breath, picking up his pace gradually until the pain he feels is mixed with pleasure. “Your boy” he easily handles your body, placing your legs around his waist, gripping your thighs, and fucking into you with all his strength. “Fuck” he pants, leaning back on his knees to fuck you from a different angle, one that makes you moan instantly.
“Just like that.” you drag your nail down his chest, eyes trailing over every inch of his perfectly toned chest and abdomen.
“Mommy, you feel so fucking good” he digs his fingertips into your thighs, clapping noises added to your low moans and his little whimpers.
“You do too, my sweet boy,” you moan softly, clenching around him when you watch the way his eyes roll back in his head. That alone could make you cum.
Hearing that nickname only motivates him to go faster and deeper till your bed frame is knocking against the wall and your moans increase in pitch. “Yes, Mommy, keep squeezing on my cock just like that,” he groans, eyes turning even darker as he watches you falling apart around his dick. “So fucking pretty like this” he placed his hand on your right breast, squeezing softly, earning more moans from you.
“Fuck! Baby boy right t-there ngh” You hold onto his waist for support, your tits sloshing with every single thrust, and you’re not far from cumming on his cock for the fourth time tonight.
“Yeah? Mommy? Like it right there?” He smirks down at you while bringing his thumb to his mouth, wetting the pad on his tongue before traveling down to your clit and rubbing you in tiny circles. The feeling of getting you off replaced all of the overstimulation he felt.
“Yes! My prince,” he hits that spot over and over till you're clenching and cream all over his sensitive dick. “Cumming!” You cry out in pleasure, and every orgasm with him feels better than the last, and it always leaves you wanting more.
“Mommy,” he moans, brows furrowed together as he rests his elbow beside your head, stroking you through your orgasm while playing with your clit. “Mommy, I think I need to cum again. Can I please?” he bites on his lip, soft eyes scanning your pleasure face as you contract around him.
“Yes, please cum in me need your cum, my little prince,” he creams inside you the moment the words leave your mouth.
“Thank you, thank you, thank you,” he mumbles, lowering his head so he can capture your lips in a messy make-out session while caressing you down from your highs until you’re both panting against each other's lips. “Mommy,” he moans, the soft, wet sounds between your bodies filling up your room until you’re both content and relishing in the post-orgasm bliss.
“My baby boy, you did so good. Mommy’s so proud of you.” he lays his cheek on your chest, snuggling up to you and listening to your calming heartbeat.
“Thank you, Mommy,” he whispers, completely exhausted.
Before you can even think about going to clean up, you hear his labored breath and see the soft pout on his lips, and he looked too cute to move him so despite him still being inside you and the bedsheets stained with a mix of cum and sweat you softly stroke his hair babying him to sleep cause after all he was just your cute little sugar baby.
Tumblr media
Thanks for reading please reblog and leave feedback.
601 notes · View notes
georgiapeach30513 · 6 months ago
Text
Trying To Save Me, Part 1
Summary: Fate. A word you were forbidden to ever speak. It wasn’t real and it didn’t exist. A word that was always whispered around you, but never to you. You didn’t know why you were fated for something. Just that the day you were born the great winter came and you’ve been on the run with your family since, but now they were gone. Traveling to what you thought was further and further away from the dark king’s palace. Instead, you had begun to get closer. Following a white wolf instead of your learned route. No wonder you wound up captive and given to the king as a gift. As was fated…
Pairings: dark king!Bucky Barnes X Reader
Rating: explicit
Warnings:  language, violence, death, curse, attempted SA, kidnapping, humiliation, objectification, non/con fingering, 18+ ONLY
Word Count: 4.8K
Series Masterlist
*dividers created by @firefly-graphics
Tumblr media
A woman’s shriek echos up into the mountains while a young boy looks up at the sky. His freakishly green eyes look all along the night sky. His hand taps on the arm of the other man beside him as he points up at the sky. “You need to tell Malik,” he answers, keeping his eyes in the sky.
A twig in the distance breaks, and both men look towards the tent as a long drawn out scream comes from inside, “Go, now,” he answers annoyedly as he watches the first snowflake drift from the sky. “Our fates are sealed, I fear.”
The younger boy runs inside, eyes going large and round as a woman reaches down, and cradles a just born baby to her chest. Tears and sweat pour down her face as she clings to the child, rocking back and forth.
“Sire.”
“Silence,” a gigantic man says, stepping closer to the woman, “My queen. Let me see the baby,” she cries harder, shaking her head. “Let me see the child!”
“She’s just a baby,” she cries, looking up at him. “She doesn’t have to know. Nobody has to know. She’s just a baby!”
“Sire,” the guard says again, and the large man turns abruptly, eyes aflame as he approaches slowly. “My king, the snow is falling,” the queen in the background wails. Her hands slap at everyone who tries to take the baby from her arms. “He will come for her.”
“Clean them up. Cicely, stop your screaming. Everything you know, will be no more. If you want to keep the child. If not, we can end it now. It is fated…”
“Malik, she’s a baby! My baby! No, it doesn’t exist. Take the crown on top of my head. I don’t need this life,” with a sigh, Malik slings his head to the side and everyone in the tent scrambles. “What are you doing?”
“This will be a winter like you’ve never seen before. They’re loading the necessary items,” picking his crown off his head, he throws it to the ground. “She’ll never know. Yours, too,” the queen kisses her daughter’s head before letting her own crown fall to the ground. Life would forever be different.
Tumblr media
You reach your hand into the snow, digging around a moment before you pull up a small root. Wiping it clean before gnawing your teeth into the fibrous twig. Glancing out through the thin trees. You haven’t known anything but winter. And typically you were alone. Had been for a few years, until him. The white wolf. He always lingers around when you scavenge for what little food you could find.
“It’s not meat, you beast,” the wolf’s eyes never leave you as it sits down into the snow. “I can see that you’re looking at me like you want to devour me, but you also know I’m too skinny for eating, huh?” Chuckling, you tear another piece off the root. “Did you eat a rabbit out of my trap? I’d like to get some real food in my belly. I have to start traveling again.”
The perks of living in a village was you weren’t completely alone. There is a comfort of having a wall, and humans, even if you didn’t talk to them. “I can’t go back into the walls without something. They do community soup. You have ruined my supper a few times. This shit is horrid,” you groan. A part of you wants to throw it at the beast that wouldn’t leave you be, but you need the sustenance.
“If someone saw you, they’d kill you. Your pelt and meat would be useful,” the wolf yawns, laying himself down fully in the snow. “You’re not even scared of me, huh? I wish you could talk, so you could tell me where we were. I miss my family. Ugh,” you groan, standing up and the wolf remains laying there. “Should you ever attack me, I will kill you.”
The wolf looks you completely in the eyes, his silvery blue ones a stark contrast to your overly green ones. Looking upon each other for too long before you throw the small remnants of the root towards him. “Do not pursue me, white wolf.”
Turning your back on a wolf could be stupid, but at this point you welcomed anything that would break up the monotony. Anything that would give you excitement outside of this routine life. You’d stop at the few traps you’d laid for the small game, and hopefully carry something back. The hunger in your belly grows stronger everyday, and if you want to leave this forsaken village, you need food. Real food.
‘Don’t stay in one place too long. Don’t give people your real name. Don’t look them in the eye. Don’t speak too much,’ all your parents taught you was running away and fear. You aren’t even sure why you had to constantly move, and constantly hide your identity to the point you aren’t even sure who you are. It was all made up lies after all.
Who were you? That is a funny question because you aren’t sure. There have been glimpses of who others thought you were. There have even been whispers that you try to ignore unsuccessfully. Mentioning a word that you were forbidden to say out loud. Who were you that made people fear you, and your family fear for you?
Leaning over a trap, you thankfully pull up a rabbit. That stupid wolf didn’t eat everything. Minding your business outside of the walls of the village is your safe space. People inside the walls, particularly the ones your age are cruel. Their curious but angry eyes always on you. Watching. Planning some form of your demise.
“If it isn’t the little sapling caught all alone again,” standing up straight, you look behind you at one of the village boys, but choose to just walk to the next trap. Don’t engage. Don’t give them a reason to hate. “What’s the matter, princess? You scared of a little fun?”
You didn’t want the fun he was willing to dish out. You wanted to eat, and leave this place. Talk to as few people as possible. They were the ones dragging you into their drama, “Yeah,” you stop your movement. Turning in the other direction when two boys start stalking you. “We just want to play a little bit.”
“Maybe fill your belly, so you have to stay. That’s what you’re getting ready to do, huh?” Three boys. You’re fucked. Instead of collecting from your traps, you walk towards the wall. You try to find something. A large stick, anything to use as a weapon. Of course there would be too many.
“She thinks she’s too good for us,” four. Where the hell were they coming from? Head down. Walk faster.
Another steps from behind a tree directly in front of you, and you nearly forget to breathe, “It doesn’t matter what she thinks. I’m tired of the girls here. I like fresh meat. I’ve heard your untouched,” fuck. Your bright green eyes look around at all five of them gathering around you. What amazing men they are.
Grabbing onto the knife at your hip, one of these jackasses grabs your arm, “Don’t think so, sweetheart,” another hand, another weapon.
“Girly, we just want to have some fun.”
“Fun for who?” Your voice isn’t as strong as you hoped. It is borderline screeching.
“Keep screaming. We like it,” god, they are just a pleasant bunch. You wouldn’t give them the satisfaction. First is pain, and then a blinding light as you drop to the ground. “Go on, give us a scream.”
“Are you too stupid to say anything?” You clench your eyes closed as you try to ignore the pain in the back of your head. Snow squishes up into your ear, and you drift off to anywhere but here. Hands grabbing the furs on your body, and you hate you’re always alone. There is never anyone to protect you, so you have to take everything.
“She sure is pretty face down like this,” one of their hands hooks under your pants. “We won’t tell anyone if you won’t. What the fuck? Ahh,” snarls. “Help me!” Your assailant screams while all his friends run away. Pulling the furs close to your body, you scurry around, sitting on your ass, and start to scoot away.
Those silvery blue eyes stare deep into your soul as his teeth dig into the boy’s shoulder deeper. “Get your knife! Do something!”
“You were about to rape me. All of you,” you would have to be a fool to not know what those boys were attempting to do to you. And this one had the gall to demand that you do something to save him. Who was going to save you from them?
“We were teasing, you little bitch!” The white wolf’s muzzle raises as he watches you. Too still for an animal in the forest. “Stab it!” His screams are hideous, but you don’t feel sorry for him. That disgusting excuse for a man would had laughed at every scream you made.
You give a single nod to the wolf, and he bites down so hard on his shoulder, you hear the sickening crack of his bones. His voice shoots into the twilight as the wolf drags him away. It felt like he was waiting on you to tell him it is okay to kill him. At least the beast would have some meat tonight as would you. You could finally get a full belly, and could leave this terrible place. As soon as the first ray of sun came through your tent, you’d be gone.
Grabbing up your rabbits, you try not to vomit at the horrid screams, and crunching bones that are not far enough away. Your stomach rolls, realizing the wolf was trying to keep the young man alive as long as possible. Wanting him to feel every bit of the pain he was ready to inflict on you. “Thank you, and you’re welcome for dinner, white wolf.”
Tumblr media
No. You squint as you look up into the sky, and then back at the beast. That isn’t the right way. “You’re going to get me killed,” the wolf continues to look at you, turning his back he walks a few steps before looking back at you. “I’m not following you.”
He takes a slow calculated step towards you, snarling as he takes another. “Fine! But you follow me,” another step. “Don’t lead me closer to the center of the realm,” you don’t even know why that is a thing. Why did you have to stay on the outskirts? A wildling, living in an eternal winter. You are no longer a child, and surely people still didn’t believe the prophecy.
“Do you know what spring looks like?” You’re talking to a wolf. Walking where you shouldn’t be, and you have lost your mind. Wandering around because you no longer even understood why you had to do this. Humans weren’t meant to live alone, you couldn’t see the purpose of needing to lay low. It’s silly to assume that you couldn’t live the life that some did in the villages. Getting married, having a family, being as normal as winter would allow.
You didn’t want to bring a child into this world. A world where food is just as scarce as the warmth. And the king’s cruel reputation for using women as currency. Sounded like a grand world. What if you had a daughter, and she was one that was kidnapped by the king. Sold into whatever life he made them live.
Maybe those were enough reasons for you to not go close to the kingdom. “Do you think the king’s guards ever go outside the kingdom walls?” Your furry friend puffs as he continues his trek. “I suppose they’d have to. I wonder how the kingdom works. Why wouldn’t people just refuse to have children? And what is he doing with these women? Eating them? Does the blood of virgins keep him alive forever? Is the king really not that cruel, but the stories are because he hoards food? Maybe even something nice to eat. Not just to sustain oneself. Ahh!”
You flinch, having to step back as he starts to walk towards you again, “Okay, I won’t talk about the king. Truce. I am just talking, and didn’t realize you understood me,” nodding his head, he turns back around. Weird creature. Even though the wolf couldn’t respond, you feel the need to talk. Like you have an audience for the first time.
Why the hell did this wolf understand you? How did it possibly know what you are talking about? And did he like or not like the king? Maybe they were sworn enemies and talking about the king pissed him off. Or maybe they were in fact friends. “How was your dinner last night? I’m sure the meat was rotten, but I suppose it was better than a squirrel. Thank you by the way. Don’t think you and I have to be friends, but I think they would have left me for dead.”
There isn’t a doubt in your mind that’s what they were going to do. Fucking men. They were all little boys who wanted to destroy things deep inside of them. “Monsters. The word men shouldn’t even be used. They’re monsters. Like you, white wolf, I know you are a beast and can kill me, and eat me it seems, and I still follow you. Do you have any idea where we are going?”
You are glad that no one is around to hear you gab on with a damn wolf. One that would surely have you for lunch. “That’s probably what you’re doing, huh? Leading me to your den where you can all feast on me.”
The giant dog stops abruptly. Throwing his head up to the sky he bellows out a howl, and you cover your ears as his noise vibrates through your body. This didn’t sound like a normal wolf. Or maybe you’ve never been so close to one. Screaming out in pain as you move away from him. “You fucking asshole!”
You need to get away. The beast seriously did bring you to your demise. Sending out a distress call to his fellow demons to come chow down on your body. “Asshole,” you mutter under your breath, trying to run far away from the creature that is going to see that you’re ripped apart limb by limb.
“Where did she go?” Fuck! More men. Monsters. All of them. The only ones worth anything were the ones laying cold and dead in the snow. “Go in all directions. It’s time,” you’re going to die, actually die this time. Die out here in this frozen wasteland because if you run, they’ll chase.
“This will be easier than I thought,” an evil leer as the man spots your footprints. Damn this winter! There should be a downpour of snow right now. Instead you’re a sitting duck with a trial of prints right to you. Taking off your pack, you pull out your daddy’s necklace, and kiss it. If they wanted you, they’d have to catch you.
One slow, solid breath, and you launch out of your hiding spot, and spring towards anywhere. “Got her,” shit! Everywhere you run there are men. But not just any men. The ones you had tried to avoid for a lifetime.
“By order of the king, I command you to stop!” They could cut your head off. If you were going to die, you’d die trying. And you weren’t going to stop. What choice did you have but to do everything in your power to not be taken captive.
“Oomph,” you start choking as a large man wraps his arms around you tightly. “She’s a fighter. The king will love that. Someone that can deal with his overgrown bratty self.”
“Get your hands off me!”
“Cuff her,” the blond man says, nodding his head towards another. “Hold still!”
“I don’t want to be your toy!” You hate men. They’re disgusting. The most vile of humans.
“You won’t. Not ours anyways,” he chuckles as the chains are put around your wrists, and even your neck. “Careful now,” he says obnoxiously as metal is extended towards your face. “It shouldn’t hurt but just a little. With this on, no one but the king will touch you.”
You didn’t want anyone touching you. Not this guard. Not the king. Closing your eyes, you grit your teeth as the mask is pressed against your face. A quick sting from the metal that is too cold to be on your skin. But then something pricks the back of your neck, and your scream lights up the forest, and then darkness. Nothing but eternal despair.
You were warned. And you failed. The one place you were to avoid, you ran right to it. Stupid girl.
Tumblr media
Living in a world of ice and all alone, you get used to things not going your way. You’re a bit too vulnerable in a society that looks down at you because you’re a woman. A marked one at that. But a woman whose only one purpose you possess is for men’s pleasure and carrying babies. Other than the last remaining people of your tribe, you never met a man that was worth anything. And now you were in the belly of the beast.
The worst man of all. Some people claim that his influence sludged out to the realm, and it’s what turned all men sour. The fairy tale that once upon a time men were chivalrous, and they changed along with the weather.
Once your mind came to it didn’t take long to figure out exactly where you were, and in whose dungeon you are in. His. The man you were told to stay as far away from. He was the bogeyman in the stories you were told growing up. Foul, hideous, loathsome, and the worst kind of human, and now you’re trapped with a damn metal mask on your face.
Feeling completely alone except for the stupid mutt laying beside you with his head on your lap, “You are filth. Don’t try and butter me up because you got me caught,” his head pops up, his crystal blue eyes staring deep into yours, and you turn away. “I’m going to die here.”
It’s something you have never doubted. Getting caught equals death. Being here, alone, with a damn wolf, with a mask cannot be a good thing. The king will most likely stall, making sure you have no fight left before he pulls you apart one inch of your skin by one inch. Your mind races with ways the dark king can destroy you.
It’s cold. Colder in here than even outside. At least outside there is a dryness to it. In here the walls drip with what you hope is water and not something more sinister. What could you possibly have looked forward to in this life? An eternal winter? Constantly fighting for men not to touch you? Becoming a wife that had no desire to birth children in this world? Maybe this is better off.
“Where are you going?” You whisper as the four legged menace runs away. “Coward,” even he knows it’s desolate here.
Clanging sounds from behind the door, and you roll your eyes up to meet the blonde guard that captured you in the woods. “About time you woke up. Come on,” his mouth sets into a leering smile as he pulls you up from the floor. Using the key at his side to undo your chains. “He’s been waiting on you.”
“Dare I ask who?”
“You know exactly who. Your fate,” swallowing bile, he pulls you into his body. No amount of making yourself heavier works as he practically drags you out of the dungeon. That word is a curse. You’re more scared now than you were getting caught. “I saw your necklace, girlie,” his laugh grates on your nerves as painful as the arm that is wrapped around your waist.
“We’ve been waiting on you.”
“To torture me,” he chuckles right into the shell of your ear, and you want to retch. “What is this on my face?” His talking stops abruptly. Continuing to tug, and pull on your body, “You’re hurting me.”
“Get used to it,” torture it is. Did you think anything less? The most vile of humans that you were supposed to stay away from, and he captured you. Of course you were going to be tortured. Now you have to suffer the consequences. He shoves you into a room so hard that you fall down to your knees, and you yelp. Turning around to look at him. “Face forward and have fun.”
You hear another man clear his throat, and you try to disappear. Looking down at the floor with your eyes closed as you listen to his light footsteps. Walking around you before his meaty hands go under your arms, hauling you up to stand. Your breathing is nonexistent, but his breath is heavy. Fragrant of a scent you can’t place. And he inhales deeply.
Leaning into your ear, “You smell like a fucking dog,” he should talk. You weren’t the only one that reeked of something, and he is a king. You’ve been in a dungeon. “I’ll enjoy watching you be bathed.”
Fuck. Torture seems to be subjective. “Has any man touched you?” What did it fucking matter? Like he was going to ask for permission? He had you tied up with something on your damn face, impairing your vision, and he cared about how many men have put their grimy hands on you? “If you want to be able to sit on your ass, I suggest you open your goddamn mouth. Has a man ever touched you,” he swats at your backside hard as he comes to stand in front of you.
“Men always touch what they think they can own.”
He clicks his tongue, smiling gleefully at you, “None of those men had the power to own you.”
“And you do?” His hand goes underneath the mask, grabbing your neck with his fingers on your chin as he turns you to look at a mirror. You stare horrified as a wolf shaped mask covers your face. Your hair is oily and matted, and your bones protrude out of your body. But the mask is evil looking on your face. Otherworldly, and it didn’t belong there, “You don’t own me.”
“Is that so?” This man is far faster than any other man as he pulls and yanks at the rags that dress your body. Pulling off everything in shreds until you’re bare before him, and he throws you over his shoulder. Marching out of the room you are in before he throws you into a body of water.
You sputter, struggling to keep your head above the water before standing up. Shivering and naked. Wishing you could throw daggers at every part of his skin. Looking around to see an audience of people staring at your shame, and you dip back into the water for coverage with your arms hugged against your chest. You want to yell and curse at him, but you’re outnumbered. “Clean her. Then we’ll all enjoy inspecting you.”
“What does that mean?” Panic rises in your voice as men and women come into the pool with you. Men grab at your arms while women scrub on your body with a brush. The king sits down in a chair, and a creepy smile spreads over his face. “What does it mean? Ow!”
If he wasn’t so vile you might find him handsome. Cheekbones carved so sharply, and dark hair slicked back. He rolls his fingers over the armrest, and you start counting every ring that is laid upon his fingers.
“You’re so weak,” he chuckles, staring too intently as the women cup and scrub your breasts. His eyes drift to your necklace as he leans back, “Do you even know who you are? Or why you have always been mine? Every inch of you belongs to me. Those eyes and your necklace prove it. Your mom was nothing but a lying whore, and your dad was a fool anyways.”
“You don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“I don’t? I don’t know that your so called father sat on a stolen throne? And your lying mother laid down with the rightful king. Your sweet innocent father thought your eyes belonged to him. You telling me he didn’t know your mom was fucking his guard,” your eyes go large as you stare at him. They were eerily similar to Jarrod’s.
“She tried to fight this curse and our connection, and instead, let a cock drive your bastard self right to me. What do you know of the day you were born?” Nothing. But you wouldn’t tell him that. “I’m sure they didn’t tell you much. The first snowflake fell that day. Everyday that you’ve been kept apart from me was another day of winter. The day you were born every drop of blood in your body and every inch of your delectable skin belonged to me. The night you were conceived is the same night your cunty father murdered mine. His guard was pumping his wife full, and here you are.”
God the way he talked about your family is despicable. Because you really wanted to know about your mother’s affairs. “Your mom was so scared to give birth to the king’s daughter, she gave her cunt to the next best thing. Jarrod was always the king. You can’t fate. Just like you can’t escape my wrath. Remove the mask.”
A woman slowly takes the metal off your face, and you glare at him. Wishing your look alone could set his entire body on fire. His head twists to the side curiously as he looks at you. An odd softness before he looks at the swell of your breast, and the snarky smile appears again.
“Bring her to me. On her knees, so I can look upon what’s mine. Don’t fight it either. I’ll fuck you like an animal right in front of all these people if you fight,” your chest heaves as all these hands carry you in front of him. Turning you away before lowering you to the floor. Someone pushes down your head as you stay on all fours before the king.
“This is how I like to see you. Submissive, spread and so puffy for me,” his fingers run through your core, and you hear a rumble in his stomach, “you can try deny me, but your body backing up to my fingers? Your body craves me. It’s like a magnet you can’t escape, and if you keep acting like a needy bitch in heat, I’ll give you exactly what your body has been denied.”
That’s a lie. You’ve never wanted any man to touch you. Never desired anything from them, but even you can’t deny the moan that escapes your mouth as one of his fingers breaches your walls. Loud and salacious as you glance back at him. “Since you love how it feels when we’re connected, just wait until I fuck you.”
You keep your head low, knowing that everyone in this room can see you down on your knees like an animal, while the king has a finger inserted so far into your cunt. He pulls the appendage out before shoving two more in. The audience starts to walk closer as the king stabs them into you, and you hope you don't react. That the only thing he can see if your fingers curling up, and you biting on your tongue.
Your cheeks heat up in flames with embarrassment, but also a sickening pleasure that you wish you didn't feel. The lewd squelching sound of your body causing the king to licks his lips with need. Fucking his fingers into faster before pulling out. Denying you release, and he slaps over your lips. "Juicy enough to eat."
“You’ll never get to fuck me.”
“I will, and you’ll beg for my seed every night. Don’t forget this moment. The moment you learned that your life is meant to serve mine. Put the mask back on her, and I want her placed in her gilded cage right in front of my bed. Maybe she’ll like me fucking into some whore’s cunt. Or would you like to watch me fuck my hand? I’ll even spurt my cum on your face. Make the servants wash you after you lick up every drop of my load. One of these days, you won’t be able to deny us. And maybe then we’ll get to see the world how it was intended.”
“And how’s that, your grace?”
“Not covered in fucking snow,” his voice is harsh as he walks out of the bathing room. Leaving you with all these people just staring at your naked body. Dressing you like you are a doll. You’d never beg for him. You didn’t want him. Or any man. It would never happen. And winter had nothing to do with him fucking you.
Because you belonged to no man.
Next
Masterlist
Taglist: @tis-thedamn-season @marveloustaylortot @pono-pura-vida @peaches1958 @seitmai @smile1318 @andydrysdalerogers @cjand10 @midnightramyeoncravings @kmc1989 @pandaxnienke @rogersbarber @theinheriteddutchess @buckybarnesisdaddy @jesevans @alexakeyloveloki
186 notes · View notes